The Blue Mountain (The Forbidden List Book 2) (27 page)

“General,” Haung said, as he pitched the body of a Mongol warrior over the wall. He turned away before the body completed its downward journey and joined the pile of dead at the base of the wall. “We need reinforcements or the
Fang-Shi
. The Mongols are not giving up. They think we are weak. We need to show them our strength.”

“Colonel, the
Fang-Shi
are working on our defences as we speak. We cannot interrupt them,” the general replied.

“General, they will just keep on coming. We need to do something,” Haung pushed.

Gang and Liu looked up from their own work. Everyone, Haung thought, knows that the last attack was close. Two days into the war on the wall and there was no news of the reinforcements, no word from the Emperor and, as yet, the
Fang-Shi
had not been brought into the battle. The wall had magical defences. Haung knew that. Xióngmāo had explained it to him yesterday. The
Fang-Shi
controlled them. They should be out here, on the wall, adding their strength to the battle.

At least the Mongol magicians had not become directly involved yet. Another aspect of the wall defences she had told him about. Mongol magic could not touch the wall, but did not stop the magic affecting the men on the wall. However, to get close enough for that would put the magicians in range of
Fang-Shi
magic and the wall’s defences. It was a stand-off. Neither side ready to risk their magical contingent. The crux of the matter for Haung rested upon the fact that, on the wall, the
Fang-Shi
could be protected. The risk was minimal. They could activate the wall’s defences from perfect safety. So, why was the general not using them?

“Colonel, we will do something. Gongliang,” the general called, “what do you have left to use?”

“General,” the thin man stumbled over. There were grey lines around his face and his shoulders were slumped. He looked worn out, and with good reason. Haung had heard that the munitions factory, the small rooms where they made the black powder weapons, had been working day and night. Supplies were running low and there had been some accidents that further depleted the stocks of powder. “We have few powder weapons left. However, we do have the
Pen Hou
Qi
weapons in place.”

“How long will they,” the general started to say before he was interrupted by a messenger who handed him a scroll. The officer paused to read the scroll and then proceeded to screw it up and fling it back at the messenger before walking away from the group. The young soldier caught it in reflex but then stood there, unsure what to do. Haung took pity on him and waved him away.

“General?” Haung walked after him and waited for him to speak.

“Well, Colonel,” the general said eventually, “you seem to have another promotion. The
Tongjun
was killed in the last attack, an arrow through the neck.  You are now my second in command.”

“I am not an administrator, General,” Haung said.

“You are whatever the army needs,” the general snapped and folded his arms across his large belly. “However, we have administrators who can take over that role for a time. It is more important that we hold the wall and you are too good a fighter to lose to paperwork.”

“Thank you, General,” Haung bowed.

“Do not thank me yet,
Tongjun
. There are some things you need to know. Come to the tower, we have to talk” The general turned away and started for the tower.

“Master Gang,” Haung called, “find Enlai and the two
Wu
, if you can. I have a feeling I will need to talk to them very soon.”

* * *

“That would explain a lot,” Xióngmāo said as she cleaned and stitched up Gongliang’s arm. “Stop moving, you’re making it difficult to keep the stiches small. Unless you want a scar, of course. It might impress the women.”

“No scar, please. My wife already worries. I do not think a reminder of the battle is something she needs to see.” Gongliang’s smile turned to a wince as the lady pulled the thread tight.

Haung watched the group, his sword resting across his lap. Gang and Liu sat near the fire, inspecting their weapons by the flickering yellow light. The large warrior was using a rag to clean blood from the ball end of the hammer. The taller, lithe master was sharpening the blades of his axes. The whisper of the whetstone was even and slow. Xióngmāo was finishing up with Gongliang’s arm and Zhou pacing about the fire. The last member of the small group, Enlai, sat near the wall, just outside the ring of light from the fire. Haung wanted to talk to the man. He was clearly trained as he had been, a
Taiji
, and according to Shifu there were few left.

“No reinforcements then?” Zhou said.

“A messenger has been sent,” Haung corrected, trying to sound confident. “We will receive reinforcements as soon as they can be mobilised. I am sure of it.”

“And how long will that be?” Gang grumbled without looking up from his task. “The nearest garrison is weeks away. Armies do not march quickly.”

“Does the Emperor even know about the attack on the wall?” Liu asked.

“The
Fang-Shi
say that some of the message got through before the Dragon Gate stopped working,” Haung admitted. “But not enough, I would guess, to make much of a difference.”

“I can get a message to the Emperor,” Xióngmāo said and she slid the needle, one last time, through the flesh of Gongliang’s arm.

“You can?” Haung bent forward on his chair to stare intently at her.

“I can,” she said.

“How?”

“Colonel, I do not ask questions about your skills so why ask me about mine? You would not understand anyway,” she replied, her tone final.

“Can the gate be fixed?” Gongliang asked. “I have some engineers who have little to do now that we have run out of powder.”

“I am not sure that they will be much use,” Haung said. “The
Fang-Shi
have been working on a fix since the attacks began.”

“Is that when it went wrong?” Zhou stepped closer to the fire and Haung could see some of the anger that seemed forever on his face had given way to curiosity.

“Apparently so. The general told me that when the
Fang-Shi
activated the gate, it flickered like a rainbow and stopped working moments later.”

“And they have not been able to fix it,” Zhou asked.

“Of course not,” Xióngmāo said.

“Why?” Haung turned away from Zhou and looked across the fire at Xióngmāo.

“All they know is how to use it,” she said. “That is all
Fang-Shi
know to do. Colonel, you have been through some of their training. You must have been. All
Jiin-Wei
have some magical talent. Did they ever explain where the power comes from? How it occurs? The processes by which the power is transformed into the effects? Of course they did not, because they do not know.”

“Xióngmāo,” Zhou spoke in a quiet voice, “who does know?”

“Zhou, you have been through a Dragon Gate. You have even used the first one ever built, the bowl on the mountain. It was a
Wu
who developed and created the Gates, Boqin’s teacher, in fact. The knowledge was given to the Empire and more gates were created, each one with the assistance of a
Wu
.”

“Do you know how they work?” Zhou asked and held a hand up to forestall Haung’s own question.

“I know how they work,” she admitted.

“Can you fix it?” Haung ignored Zhou’s gesture.

“No,” she said. “I don’t know how it was broken. Once the connection is made it should not be possible to break unless the Gate itself is destroyed.”

“Can you make another?”

Haung held his breath, waiting for the answer.

“Not a chance,” she said. “I know how they work, but I do not have the skill to make one.”

“Can you?” Haung looked to Zhou. He saw confusion on the man’s face and followed by the realisation that the question was a serious one.

“No, Colonel,” Zhou said. “I have no idea how they work. I fear that all that knowledge was lost on the mountain.”

“Can anyone?” Haung flicked his gaze between Zhou and Xióngmāo. Zhou shrugged.

“One or two maybe, but no one who can help us now,” Xióngmāo admitted. “It is best if I try and talk to the Emperor. I doubt there is much he can do for us here, given the distance.”

“Forgive me, I do not ask how you can get a message to him, but why should he listen?” Haung said in a respectful tone.

“I have known the Emperor for a long time,” she said with no further clarification. “Zhou, you will have to watch over me.”

On Zhou’s face was an expression that puzzled Haung. It was gone in a moment, but he filed the memory away for later consideration. The list of things to worry about was growing larger every day.

“Tomorrow is going to be an interesting day,” Gang said.

* * *

“Well, Master Shen?” the general said. His breath turned to mist in the first rays of the dawn sun. All along the wall the Empire soldiers were moving into position. The few stragglers were being harangued by the sergeants and officers. The clump of boots and creak of leather soon settled down into the silence of pre-battle fear. Haung could feel it in his stomach, a fluttering of butterflies. He could feel it in his veins, ice cold blood circulating through his body, causing his hands to tremble. In his mind, thoughts of Jiao and the baby.

The
Fang-Shi
stood calm in the centre of scrutiny. The general was staring at him, foot tapping with impatience. Gang and Liu stood apart from the group, but gazing towards the magician. Zhou, short staff in hand, looked ready to grab the silent sorcerer by his robes and shake the answer out of him. Xióngmāo had found another weapon, one that Haung had not expected.

The
Guan dao
was a fearsome weapon and it looked to be almost twice her height. The long, large and curved blade at the top was anything but subtle. Haung, not wanting to be impolite or cause offense, had not asked her how she planned on using it in battle.
Guan dao
were good battlefield weapons, when you had room to swing, and good for large warriors with lots of muscle. Neither of those, it appeared, she possessed.

Gongliang had joined the group, but only to hear orders and contribute his ideas to the upcoming defence. He was needed up on the tower with the last of his new weapons.

The last member of the group had changed. It took Haung a moment to put his finger on the difference. The man’s hair had lost its grey and turned jet black. His stance, once a little stooped and weary, was now erect and strong. The uniform had gone and he wore a tunic of interwoven leather and metal scales instead. His legs were covered with leather boots tied tight around his calves. Around the man’s waist, a simple belt and dagger and in his hand he carried a sheathed
Jian
sword, the hilt of which looked freshly wrapped with black cord. Jutting up, over his shoulder, the longer well-worn hilt of another sword could be seen. Enlai was no longer a corporal, he was something else, a
Taiji
warrior. It worried Haung.

“Shen, answer the man or get out of the way,” Enlai said and even his voice was different. The country accent had gone and been replaced by a more cultured and educated tone.

“You will speak with respect or I will teach you some.” Shen turned on the ex-corporal who just smiled, without humour, at him.

“Gentleman, it is too early to argue. However, Master Shen I would appreciate an answer. Are the
Fang-Shi
ready?” the general snapped.

“They are, Lord General. All of my
Fang-Shi
understand their role in the upcoming battle. Be assured they will carry out their orders without fear or failure,” Shen said, his voice muffled by the dark hood he wore.

“Good, then I suggest we get into position. It will not be long before the day’s defence begins and the Mongols learn what it really means to go up against the Empire.” Haung watched the general rub his hands together either in excitement or due to the morning chill. He hoped for the latter, battle was never to be desired. Haung rubbed the small medallion that hung on his necklace. No, he thought, battle was anything but glorious.

The arc of the sun’s disk rose above the mountains to the east and a great shout went up from the Mongol army. Haung watched them shift into position for an attack. If this followed the pattern of every attack so far, the first action would be the horse riders racing up to the wall, releasing a volley or two of arrows and before retreating.

“Shields and crossbows,” Haung said and the order raced along the wall. The clatter of shields being raised and the creak of bow strings under tension broke the hold of fear. “Let them get into range, pick your targets and loose when ready.”

And here they came. A great cheer, louder than that which greeted the sun, rose from the attackers. Their horses kicked into motion, a rolling wave of brown flesh and screaming men hurtled towards the wall. There was no doubting the bravery, or the skill, of the riders who guided the horses with nothing but their knees.