The Red Plains (The Forbidden List Book 3) (17 page)

Haung stood still, one hand grasping his sword, the other shielding his wife from the upcoming battle. She looked just as beautiful as she had when he had left for the Wall. There were some changes. She was balanced, a steadiness and poise that she had not possessed before, and a strength in her arms and shoulders. Not muscles or anything so obvious, but the way she carried herself and stood hinted that there was more to her than met the eye, not that Haung needed to be reminded of that. The straight edged
Jian
sword she held in her right hand though, that was new.

Right now all the questions he had for Jiao had to be put aside as Enlai and Shifu stood, less than a sword length between them, ready to kill each other.

“You should not have come back,” Shifu said, the tip of his sword not moving at all.

“It was not completely my choice,” Enlai responded. “I didn’t know you had moved house. Your student forgot to mention it.”

“It is likely that he did not know who you are,” Shifu said.

Enlai slipped a pace closer, bringing the sword tips in contact. There was the quietest of chimes as the two swords kissed, the barest whisper of a butterfly’s wings, a petal falling from a flower and floating to the ground, then both men were in motion.

Jiao gave a sharp intake of breath as Enlai’s sword darted forward, the point aimed at Shifu’s throat. The older man shifted his feet and pushed the sword away with his own, the blade passing his neck by. Enlai did not stop the thrust and charged forward, seeking to use his weight to push Shifu off balance.

The move was unexpected and Shifu was forced to step to the side, his sword never losing contact with Enlai’s until the moment the
Hushou
, the hand guard, would have caught the blade. Shifu span away from the charge, creating room between him and the other
Taiji
. Both men turned, in perfect balance, to face each other. The gap between them was wider now.

“Why did you come back?” Shifu asked.

“Perhaps it was time,” Enlai said.

On unspoken agreement the two warriors raced towards each other. Shifu’s sword was the first to cut and Enlai used his own to parry the attack away, following this up with a straight punch with his free hand. Shifu followed his sword, just a Enlai had a second or two before, but whereas the young man used brute force the elder man twisted down, underneath the punch. There was little he could do, his free arm was on the wrong side of the battle and his weight was moving away from the line of attack.

Instead, the old man continued his turn, letting his sword arc around his body, descending towards the ground and then back up as he completed the circle. Shifu used the speed of his turn to leap into the air, sword sweeping upwards. Enlai leaned away from the sword that threatened to cut him from waist to opposite shoulder, using his own to guide the attack past.

As Shifu landed, Enlai rushed in, cutting at his opponent’s legs. The block was in place before Enlai’s sword covered half the distance and Shifu was back in stable stance. The next cut came in high, aimed at Shifu’s cheek. Haung’s teacher swayed backwards, his
Jian
sword catching Enlai’s and pushing it higher.

Haung, even in the quiet, almost missed what happened next. As Enlai’s sword rose over Shifu’s head, the old man let his blade hand weaken, the tip now pointing behind him, so that his sword was now free. With little room to swing, Shifu stabbed forwards with the tasselled pommel of his sword. The decorated pommel was metal and heavy, it balanced the sword in the wielder’s hand, making the sword swing more quickly, more cleanly. Haung’s sword was balanced for his reach and strength, just as Shifu’s was, just as any true swordsman’s was. The pommel had only a short distance to travel, there should have been no chance for Enlai to dodge and, as his sword was currently arcing over his opponents head no chance to parry. There should have been the sound of metal striking flesh and bone. There was not. Enlai’s free hand caught Shifu’s arm at the wrist, stopping the attack just a short distance from his face.

There was no hesitation, Shifu’s foot snaked out to hook the Enlai’s ankle, intending to trip him. The younger
Taiji
stepped into the attack, ramming his shoulder into Shifu’s chest and sending the old man stumbling backward. Within two steps, and before Enlai could position his sword for another attack, the experienced
Taiji
had recovered.

“Stop this,” Haung shouted into the sudden stillness.

“Shifu,” Enlai said, “we do not have to do this.”

“We do,” Shifu said. “All of the things you have done mean this must happen.”

“I do not wish to kill you,” Enlai said, “and we know that I can. I do not believe you wish to kill me.”

“You have done so many things,” Shifu said, stepping to the left, positioning himself.

“I know, and I cannot ask forgiveness for them all. Some of them I believed to be right and will never ask forgiveness for.” Enlai matched Shifu’s steps, his own sword held out before him, two fingers of his free hand extended and pushing on the flesh below the ball of his sword hand’s thumb.

“The skills of
Taiji
were not meant to be used in this way. You shame the order.”

“The order died out long ago, Shifu. There are so few left. You know that better than I. That is why you gave up all you had been and passed the burden on.” Enlai’s voice was a whisper, but the weight of it was heavy. “You wish to go. For it to be at an end. I did not realise that at the start and when I did, it hurt.”

“You have everything you wanted,” Shifu said.

“Everything?” Enlai said, letting the tip of his sword lower to the ground. “I have the skills, the responsibility and understanding, but the latter is a bitter poison. To know that my father wants to die by his son’s hand? You call that everything and imagine I wanted it.”

Shifu lowered his own sword. “I do not wish to die today nor tomorrow. That is not why I passed the burden on to you. It was time, that is all. In all my searching for the next one, I never expected it to be you. But it is, the burden is yours and I gave it willingly.”

“You gave this curse willingly?”

“It was time. I cannot explain how I knew, but I did, just as you will when the time comes. Every
Taiji
trained to become what you are now, hoping they were to be next. Those that could never be, trained others in the knowledge that one of them must carry the burden, but it is not a curse unless you choose it to be so.” Shifu reversed the sword in his hand and sheathed it.

“No son wants to be the death of his father,” Enlai said.

“All men die,” Shifu said, a note of acceptance and joy in this voice. “This you were given to know when you accepted the burden. You knew what it meant.”

“But I didn’t understand,” Enlai said.

“No one does until they carry the burden for a time.” Shifu walked forward to stand only a pace away from Enlai, whose sword was still bare in his hands. “I’ve lived many lifetimes, always seeking the next one, just as you will do. I am happy that you will outlive me. No father should bury his son. Put down the sword, Jing Ke, perhaps it is time we talked rather than fought.”

Haung, hearing the name, shifted forward, his own sword rising and his feet moving. The tight grip on his arm pulled him backwards and he turned to look into Jiao’s eyes.

“Let them talk,” she said.

“But he is...”

“His son,” she interrupted. “Let them talk.”

# # #

“Well, Colonel Haung, how was your homecoming?” The Emperor’s smile was, to Haung’s eyes, more a knowing grin than an honest question.

“My Lord, there were some unexpected moments, however my wife and son are doing fine. Shifu has taken excellent care of them,” Haung said, conscious of the courtiers and administrators that surrounded them.

“And your guest, how did the introductions go?”

“There were some nervous moments, my lord, on both sides. It does seem that Shifu had met him once or twice before. They appear to have a lot to talk about.”

“I am told that
Taiji
meeting
Taiji
is no longer a common occurrence. I have known Shifu a very long time, Colonel, and I am sure they had much to discuss.” The Emperor smiled again and Haung was sure that most people would have taken it as sign of confidence and happiness. Haung knew there was more meaning in the words than the smile.

“Perhaps I should keep a close eye on their discussion, to see what I may learn that will help my own training?” Haung tested.

“I do not believe that is necessary, Colonel. Shifu has my complete trust and your guest is well-known to me. Despite any rumours and stories you may have heard, your guest has done much for the Empire and will again. It is you that I have immediate need of.”

“How may I serve?” Haung bowed.

The Emperor held out a hand and an administrator hurried over, padding on silent, slipper clad feet, to place a scroll into it.  Between forefinger and thumb, taking care to keep his long nails away, the ruler of the empire unrolled the scroll and checked the contents. Nodding to himself, he returned the scroll to the administrator whose job it was to re-roll the thick paper.

“There is a person coming, an important person. I want you to meet this person from their ship and escort them here. Take Gang and Liu with you. I am told the ship will dock in Zhigu on tomorrow evening’s tide or the morning after. Two day’s travel there and two day’s back, Colonel. I will send my apologies to your wife and child, however this is as important as defending the Wall. Within a week, I expect the Mongol army to be at our very door and we have a lot to do before they get here.”

“They are coming here?”

“Of course, Colonel. They know where the power of this Empire lies and if they capture the city they will have crippled us. The Dragon Gates afford us some mobility and a chance to strike at them on their way here, but all reports suggest that they cleared the mountains yesterday and are heading straight for us.”

“My Lord,” Haung began, “we should...”

“Should what, Colonel? Think about what you know of the Mongols and then let me tell you that behind walls is the safest place to be. It neutralises their main strength of mobility. Believe me, we have more than enough troops here to defend the city and the Empire. However, I need you to be back here, with your escort, within five days.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Haung bowed.

“Gang and Liu will meet at the
Zou’anmen
gate in an hour. Requisition any horses or equipment you need.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Haung bowed and then backed away from the Emperor, slow step by careful slow step until he was the prescribed distance away and could turn his back on the throne. No time to rest, just enough to tell Jiao and see if Shifu was all right.

“There is no point chasing them,” Xióngmāo said, “they will be heading for the others.”

Of the two Mongols who had remained outside there was only the faint sound of hoof beats on the wind and the crumpled grass that marked their path. With the cloud covering the moon and stars, it was hard to see any great distance across the plains.

“Where now?” Zhou asked.

“Where we were heading anyway, to the inn for supplies, across the desert and into the mountains.” She sheathed her daggers and turned back to the tomb. “Get the horses, Zhou. I have a few things to do here.”

“I’ll help,” he said.

“No.” Xióngmāo shook her head, not looking at him. “This is something I have to do on my own.” She paused and sighed. “You can help. Drag the Mongols out of the tomb.”

“Do you want me to bury them?” He asked, unsure of the answer. They were his enemies and seeing their bodies rot, be eaten by wild animals, was an eventuality he could live with. However, she was, in effect, their queen and that was a strange realisation. Did they have queens? They did not recognise her and their great leader, whose tomb this was, died hundreds of years ago. No reason for the Mongols to think that anyone from that time still lived and yet here she was. A spy sent into the Mongol camps to discover a way to stop them from invading the Empire who ended up as one of the leader’s wives.

“No,” she said, walking back up the steps, “it would take too long and if they need burying their own people can look after that.”

The process of dragging the dead outside was unpleasant. Despite the battle at Wubei, the fight on the Wall, and all the conflicts since, the number of dead bodies Zhou had handled was low. That he had killed a lot of people was not in doubt. Killing was one thing. A slice, a gouge, a twist, a stab, and life was gone, move on to the next, but handling the harvest of battle? That was different.

The smell was one thing. The urine, faeces, blood and other bodily fluids all combined to raise a stink that invaded his nostrils and travelled down his throat into his stomach. He choked down the bile that threatened to rise.

Eyes were another. The Mongols had not died peacefully, in their sleep. It had been sudden, unexpected and their eyes remained open, unseeing. It was disquieting, to look into the eyes of a man whose life you had taken. The bright spark of personality was missing. The memory of a fish market rose in his mind. Hundreds of fish, laid out on wooden tables, eyes open and dark pupils almost wider than the eye itself.

And weight. The bodies were as heavy as they had been life, but now there was no resistance or assistance. They neither fought him, moved with or against him, they just lay there. The constant movement of muscles beneath the skin was entirely absent and their frames lacked the energy of life. Flesh had sunk on their faces, throwing bones into the sharp contrast between shadow and flickering flame.

At the bottom of the steps, he arranged the bodies so that they at least looked comfortable and those whose eyes remained open, he closed. Grisly task complete, he waded out into the river and began to wash his hands, arms and face. He cupped cold water to his nostrils and breathed a little in, cleaning out the smell. Drinking, he swished it around his mouth and spat it back out.

Lastly, gathering the horses, he waited for Xióngmāo to finish, knowing that with each passing minute the two Mongols were getting closer to the larger group.

# # #

“Is that it?”

“Yes,” she said, turning in her saddle. “The Dragon Gate Inn. The last stop before the trade road and desert proper.”

“It doesn’t look very friendly,” Zhou said. His horse, head hanging down, plodded along the road towards the inn. The grass of the steppes had thinned over the past few days of riding. First, the lush green had faded to a tired brown, then the blades had narrowed and the ground coverage had decreased until bare earth was the norm. The earth itself changed from dark to light, from dirt to sand. The weather was kind, to a point, the further west they rode the less it rained, but the colder it became. Now, ahead of him, their destination.

The Inn was squat and square. Two rows of small windows ran around the building and the lack of a swept or peaked roof made the whole thing look unfinished. Only one door was visible and that was set, recessed, into the wall facing them. As they rode closer, rising up the hill, the depth of that recess became clearer as did the presence of other buildings, less square, less permanent, that had been built behind the inn.

“I don’t think I’ve seen a building quite like that before,” Zhou said.

“Yes, you have,” Xióngmāo answered. “Think of the towers on the Wall, but take away the top levels.”

Zhou squinted at the inn, letting his imagination build one of those towers and then cutting off the upper levels. She was correct, he thought, the wide base and thick walls were reminiscent of the towers on the Wall.

“Why?”

“Why did they build a wall tower out here?” she answered. “I couldn’t tell you, though I would doubt there was ever any intention to build the Wall long enough to reach all the way out here. It would be pointless. The Mongols do not range this far generally. The grass is too thin and their herds would not do well. The only people who use the road, and it is well used, are the traders and their caravans. We’ve approached from the wrong side, but in the morning you’ll see. My best guess, they wanted a way station, a place to police the borders and ensure tax was paid. The Empire never throws away a good idea, or invents a new one. They just used the plans for towers.”

“But the walls?”

“I know. It is only as you enter that you really get a feel for how thick they are. The architects didn’t bother altering any of the plans.” She shook her head.

“How did it become an inn?”

“The tax collectors are still here. Don’t make that mistake. The Empire still has agents out here. It is not, as you’d expect, an assignment that any seek, so do not think we will find much help. The inn is anything but safe. We stay the night, buy supplies, and move on in the morning. Let’s try and keep to ourselves. I haven’t been here in more years than I would care to remember, but we should try not to get into any trouble or have folks remember our passing too much.” Xióngmāo reined in her horse and dismounted. “We’ll walk the horses in. There is a stable.”

Zhou swung his leg over the saddle and slipped to the dusty ground. “We are going to stay then?”

“We need supplies and a night’s sleep, in a bed, off the ground, in relative safety, and out of the weather will be good for us. Plus, they can heat enough water for a bath. A chance to be clean again, if only for a little while, shouldn’t be wasted.” She paused for a moment. “Get one room.”

“Me. One room.”

“You’ll have to do the talking in there. Though the Empire is a little more enlightened than the Mongols, the margins are smaller than you think. One room, because a woman travelling alone with another man is either his sister, his wife, his servant or his whore. Bearing in mind we stink, look a state, are riding Mongol horses and have blood on our clothes, I think there are going to be a lot questions we don’t want to answer. So get one room, have food and a bath sent up and let’s keep ourselves to ourselves.”

The boy at the door took up their reins and led the horses towards the stables. Zhou watched the stolen Mongol horses until they turned the corner. The bricks that made the inn’s wall were large, the length of four hands, at least three high and the same thickness. Each one was the exact same size, there was no deviation, and they were held together by the same white mortar that Zhou had seen at the Wall. From the base of the wall, it was three strides into the recess before he reached the iron studded wooden door.

It opened into the inn proper, a large room with a ceiling wreathed in smoke, grey snakes of sweet tobacco coiling into clouds. Zhou coughed as he entered. No one turned in their direction. To the right, a large, wide stone staircase led upstairs and, to the left, the bar and kitchens. The rest of the room was taken up with tables and people. There were crowds around each of the tables. People with skin darker than his own and dressed in long white robes with material wrapped tight around their heads, concealing their hair. Strange folk, pink, almost pale skin, wearing fur capes and clad in tunics that appeared to be made from metal threads all twisted together, clustered around another. The more he looked, the more differences he saw. A melting pot of people from other countries, other places outside the Empire. And the languages being spoken were a mess of notes, cadence and rhythm. A discordant, unintelligible noise.

“Stop staring and get us a room,” Xióngmāo whispered from behind him.

He forced his attention towards the bar and directed his feet to move. The sheer number of people meant it was not a simple, straight path to his destination and he had the strange desire to lay about himself with the staff he held tightly in one hand. All that time on the steppes, seeing no one but Xióngmāo and the horses. The open space, vision that went on, unobstructed to the horizon, the wind on his face, the rain, and the sense of freedom. He had enjoyed it all, even though they were being pursued, he realised.

Spotting a space open up at the bar, he wedged himself in and beckoned the inn keeper over. The man, shorter than Zhou, did not rush to serve him and Zhou was forced to wait. When the server finally deigned to acknowledge Zhou’s presence it was not with a smile, but a frown.

“What?”

“I need a room,” Zhou said, forced to raise his voice over the level of conversation in the large room.

“Busy tonight.”

“I still need a room. Do you have one?”

“You got money?” the server replied.

The simple question set Zhou back a moment. He did not have any money. The escape from the Mongol camp had not left time to retrieve any of his belongings and he had only what Xióngmāo had prepared. He opened his mouth to speak and felt something pressed into his open hand. He closed his fist around it, feeling a bag of soft, supple leather full of coins.

“We have money. The room?” Zhou said.

The server named the price which was twice that of some high class inns that Zhou had known of in Wubei. Zhou halved the price in his head and the haggling allowed them to eventually settle on a price around three quarters of the original sum. Not the best deal and still expensive. Adding food, bath and stabling brought the price back up and Zhou handed the money across. There was, he noted in surprise, still a fair amount left in the leather purse.

The innkeeper handed over the key with the promise that the stable boy would bring their packs up in moment. Food would be a little time after and the water would need heating for the bath, but a servant would deliver the actual bath to the room alongside the food. Zhou led Xióngmāo back through the crowds to the staircase.

“Why did you haggle? I gave you enough to cover the cost,” she asked.

“Everyone haggles, it would have seemed strange not to. He might have remembered us more if I had not,” Zhou defended himself.

Xióngmāo gave him an appraising glance at the bottom of the stairs. “Maybe you are learning after all.”

# # #

Zhou spent an uncomfortable hour downstairs in the bar whilst Xióngmāo bathed. There was little room to sit unless he wished to join strangers at a table and that would mean interacting, facing questions and having no good answers. He ordered a jug of wine, grabbed the rough clay cup, and sidled over to a spot by the door. There he leaned, and waited in the thin shadow between two torches.

Three times he was approached by a guest trying to spark up a conversation. They were loners like him, looking for a place to stand, someone to talk to, scared of the large tables and raucous laughter or dangerous scowls. Each time he stayed silent, sipping at his wine, the sharp, acidic, throat burning liquid scalding its way down to his belly. The ignored talkers would give up and walk away, seeking someone a little more forthcoming.

The door was forever in motion, opening and closing, admitting more guests and disgorging very few into the darkness beyond. Once you entered the inn, it seemed, you stayed. It made a certain sense, Zhou thought, there was nowhere else to go. The inn was set on a slight hill and, apart from a few homes, a few buildings, the stable and some stores, there was nothing else around. It did not mean that a day away, or even half, there was not something, some other inn, waystation, or farm. To the west, towards the Empire, that was more likely, but to the east, Xióngmāo had assured him, there was little. The desert, the road and the traders.

Great caravans travelled the route. Those that could afford it, hired guards. Some of the large trading companies had their own small, private armies that travelled with their caravans. Smaller companies hired on mercenaries and, judging by the looks of the people who sat at the tables, a fair number were ready to be employed. A few of the tables had given him measuring stares, was he competition or looking to join a band? Zhou did his best to avoid the looks, to keep his head down.

The jug was half-empty when he judged enough time had passed and she would be finished with her bath.

# # #

The door was standard military, thick wood, bronze studded and hurt his knuckles. The muted sound of the locking bar being lifted was followed by the door opening and Xióngmāo standing there, dressed, and waving him in.