The Blue Mountain (The Forbidden List Book 2) (28 page)

“Wait,” Haung shouted as bolt went off early. “Loose when you have a target.”

The short bows of the Mongols had a longer range than he had first thought, enough to reach the top of the wall from quite a distance. The crossbows though had range and height. A clap of thunder followed by a rain storm as the Empire soldiers loosed their bolts. The confident loosed at the limit of their range, the inexperienced followed suit and wasting theirs. The trained and calm waited a few moments longer, just to be sure.

A few Mongols managed to loose their own arrows, but most were more concerned with guiding their mounts through the confusion of screaming horses and dying men that was the result of the Empire’s crossbow volley. The coldest and cruellest of Empire archers held their own bolt until they could see those who had made it through. Haung could feel the indrawn breath as they waited, patient, and their grim satisfaction when they picked off the survivors. No Mongol warrior made it back to their own lines this time. Practice making perfect.

“Now it really begins,” Gang grumbled.

“You are never happy are you?” Liu patted the shorter man on the shoulder.

Zhou saw the red line advance. It moved in clear order and with purpose. Every Mongol warrior in step with the others. Just out of range of the Empire crossbows, by the wall of spears, they knelt and planted their burden. Giant crossbows of their own that could fire a bolt large enough to cut a man in half. They had used them for the first time the day before.

The Empire’s own
Chaungzi Nu
were already finding their targets amongst the Mongols. On the towers and along the wall the specialist teams wound the large crossbows back, fitted another bolt and loosed it into the attackers. Before long, the Mongols had their own ready and the back and forth battle of bolts began. It was a war that the Mongols could only lose. They knew that, but it was only the opening move in the day’s war.

Under the dubious cover of the intermittent bolts, they launched forward. Archers at the fore, scampering to close the distance to the wall. Behind them, the more heavily armoured infantry and amongst the archers, lightly armoured troops carrying siege ladders.

The handheld crossbows on the wall joined the battle again, but now the Mongol archers were returning every bolt with an arrow of their own. The Mongol infantry ran past the archers and up to the wall. Men on both sides fell, the Mongols taking the worst of it. That was, Zhou thought, the purpose of the wall.

A shouted order and from the top of the tower Gongliangs’ weapon spewed jets of fire. The flaming liquid fell on the advancing infantry. Cries of agony wafted up the wall accompanied by the odour of burning flesh. Zhou gagged on the stench. All along the wall the weapons caused havoc amongst the advancing Mongols.

Then, above the heads of the invaders, clouds formed and a heavy rainstorm fell upon the burning Mongols. There came the hiss and snap of cooling metal, the cries of the wounded, and the heat of the fire died down.

“And now their magicians are involved too,” Xióngmāo said.

“Master Shen,” the general said, “it appears as though your
Fang-Shi
will be needed soon.”

“Of course.” The black robed magician bowed to the general and with a flick of his wrist sent one of his accompanying initiates off with orders.

“General,” it was Xióngmāo again, “concentrate on the infantry and the walls. I have requested some assistance to nullify the Mongol magicians. It should be possible, I am told, to temporarily disrupt their magic. Use that time to destroy their soldiers.”

“Request? Assistance?” the general asked, caught between outrage and puzzlement. The man’s mouth opened and closed without any words passing his lips a few times before he managed to gain control of his speech and said, “Well, Master Shen, you heard the lady. Focus on the infantry.”

Zhou looked away from the battle when Shen did not respond immediately. The magician’s face was in shadow, the great hood blocking the sunlight that would have given Zhou a clue to the man’s thoughts. The general repeated his instruction and there was movement within the hood.

“Of course, General. It shall be as you say. My
Fang-Shi
have their orders.”

The Mongols continued their advance, stumbling over the bodies of their fallen. Picking up dropped siege ladders and raising them to the walls. The Empire soldiers, now practised at this, pushed the ladders to the side. More were raised.

Zhou looked down at Xióngmāo as she sat behind the parapet. Her eyes were closed and she was still for a moment. An arrow clattered on the top of the wall over Zhou’s head. He ducked in reflex.

“Now, general,” Xióngmāo said without opening her eyes.

“Master Shen,” the general said, “you have free reign with the walls defences. Wipe those Mongols from the face of the earth and make sure that they never return.”

Shen bowed. Selecting a piece of paper and picking up his writing brush from the small table the initiates placed in front of him, he began to write.  Each symbol, once completed, flared and vanished. As they did so, he began to chant in a strange language and discordant rhythm. The initiates either side took up the chant and Zhou could hear it repeated all along the wall. A cold mist rose from the stones. It covered Zhou’s lower legs and continued to rise. Before long it was to his hips and, as he watched, it rose to cover the head of the seated Xióngmāo.

“What is this?” he asked.

“I do not know,” the general admitted as the mist continued to rise, “but Master Shen assures me that the wall’s defences will win the day. This must just be the first stage.”

“General,” Haung’s voice was muted by the mist, “soon the men will not be able to see the attackers. We will not be able to loose bolts or push away the ladders.”

“The
Fang-Shi
are conducting this part of the defence,
Tongjun
. Patience,” the general said. The mist had risen to the shorter man’s chin. There were still the cries of the wounded and the sounds of crossbows being wound and loosed at the enemy continued. Though, soon, even those sounds vanished into the clouds.

Zhou called to the spirit. His vision was shrouded by the billowing grey of mist and the warmth was being stolen from his skin, replaced by a damp chill. The spirit raced down the thread and suffused his body. It warmed him and when he opened his eyes, through the grey, he could make out the blue sparks and outlines of the soldiers on the wall. The red tide still lapped against the base of the wall. The Mongols had backed away, too scared to ascend into the mists.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a blue spark flicker, sputter and dim. Zhou took a rapid glance along the wall. Here and there, dotted in amongst the Empire soldiers the same was happening. The temperature continued to drop still further on the wall. No one was moving, not one person taking any action against the increasing cold.

He bent down and touched Xióngmāo on the shoulder. “Something is wrong,” he said.

“Let me see,” she replied and went silent for a moment. “The others report that they have locked down the Mongol magicians’ access to their power, but something is fighting them. If the
Fang-Shi
do not do something soon they will have to break off.”

“I think it is the
Fang-Shi
that are doing something wrong?” he whispered.

“What?” Xióngmāo’s voice was stronger, an indication that she was back from the spirit realm.

There was a thump and a clatter from the top of the wall, another and then another. All along the wall the soldiers, the blue glows, were falling. Not dead, because the spark, dim though it was, remained.

“Zhou, stop the
Fang-Shi
. It is them, they are freezing the wall and the soldiers,” Xióngmāo said as she struggled to her feet, pointing.

In the grey mist where normal vision had failed, the spirit vision made it easy to pick out red from blue. On his section of the wall there were three red glows. Zhou leaped towards them, swinging his staff in a flat arc at their heads. The first initiate went down under the blow. The second, the deepest red glow, stepped back out of range. The third, the other initiate, Zhou guessed, let go whatever magic she was performing and grabbed his arm. Clearly, they too could see through the mist. He swung the staff up and under his attacker’s arm, striking the elbow. There was a sickening crack and a scream from the female
Fang-Shi
. He kicked her away and turned back to Master Shen.

The sorcerer vanished. One moment, Zhou had been swinging his staff at the head of the traitorous
Fang-Shi
and then he was striking mere air. He span around seeking out more of the red glows. From this left, another of the
Fang-Shi
was in the act of turning in his direction. Zhou raced through those soldiers still standing, towards his new enemy. The
Fang-Shi
thrust a hand in his direction and a bolt of red energy raced towards him. He swayed to the side and let it pass him by. Where or who it struck, he had no idea. All that mattered now was the sorcerer who had tried to kill him.

Zhou jumped. With muscles enhanced by the spirit of the panther he sailed over the heads of the statuesque soldiers and landed directly in front of the
Fang-Shi
. He drove the end of the short staff into the magician’s throat and left him, choking to death on the cold stone. There were no other
Fang-Shi
close enough to tackle and so he raced back towards Xióngmāo.

“What can you do?” he asked as he knelt beside her.

“They are trying,” she said. “The spell seems to be centred on Master Shen. If we can kill him then the others will be able to block the flow and the spell will fall apart.”

“The Mongols are doing nothing.” Zhou checked on the red tide that still waited at the bottom of the wall.

“They will not need to do anything. If this carries on we will soon freeze to death,” Xióngmāo said.

“And that is my plan.” A bright red glow, brighter than before, stepped between the frozen soldiers coming to a standstill next to the general. “See how easy it is for a master to destroy an army.”

“Shen,” Zhou growled, “you will die.”

“Shen?” the red glow laughed. “Shen is still here, but he cannot hear you. He has allowed me the use his body.”

There was a stress on the word ‘allowed’ that made it clear Shen had little choice in the matter.

“
Fang-Shi
magic is still quite primitive even after all these years. But I will add its skills and uses to my own. Just as the Mongol magicians now bow to me, so will the
Fang-Shi
and, very soon, the
Wu
too.”

“I do not think so,” Xióngmāo came to stand beside Zhou.

“Little Panda,” the red magician said and Xióngmāo gasped. “It has been a long time. I am sad it has to end this way.”

The figure moved its arms in a complicated gesture and pointed at Xióngmāo. A bolt of force raced towards her. Strands of red, black, violet and white, each as wide as a man’s wrist, entwined, twisted and coruscated along the bolt. Without thought, Zhou stepped in its path and raised his staff.

“Zhou,” her scream was long and drawn out.

The bolt struck the staff. There was a great flash and it was flung from his hands. The individual strands of the bolt writhed around his body and he stumbled. They dug through his armour and into his skin. The pain was intense. A thousand hot needles being pushed slowly into his skin, into his brain. Zhou staggered backwards, hands curling into claws. Throughout his body the spirit fought back, snapping and biting at the snakes of power that were trying to invade his being. But it was giving ground, edging back towards the thread that bound it to the spirit realm. Zhou collapsed to the floor, curling into a foetal position.

“
I will not allow this
.” A voice he knew spoke to him, and in his mind a new energy pulsed down the thread. A trickle at first, then a flood of green flowed around the bright blue. The many hued snakes halted their advance towards the thread of blue binding him to the spirit realms. Beneath the serpents a green carpet formed and they sank into it. The blue spirit raced across the safe ground and tore into the remaining snakes.

Zhou felt the pain ebb away and he struggled to his feet. The staff lay off to the right. Too far to reach. Shen, at least the bright red outline of the man, had not moved from the spot and Xióngmāo was picking herself up from the floor. He still hurt, but there was enough anger to take the pain away. There was rage, the need to protect those he cared about.

“Impressive, little
Wu
,” Shen’s voice said. “You will be an interesting study.”

“Never again,” Zhou roared and jumped forward, fingernails extending into claws, teeth becoming fangs.

A second bolt caught him mid-leap. This one comprised of a dark so deep it was more the absence of colour than true black. It lifted him, threw him, backwards, over the wall.

Zhou fell, the top of the wall disappearing into the distance.