The Red Plains (The Forbidden List Book 3) (2 page)

Zhou felt lost, alone. For over a year it had been part of him. He had not always recognised it, but now felt empty without it. The thread was there, he could still see it, but it was out of reach. That first step onto the plain had been so painful, physically and mentally. A pain that had driven molten spikes into his soul, that tore at his memories and emotions. A brave or stubborn man would have tried again.

He tried three more times. The pain did not change. Burning, stabbing, itching, freezing, bitter, grating, sour, scouring, jagged, exquisite, raw. It was all of every type of pain at once and Zhou could not make it past that first step. Each time, the voice was there at the end recommending he not try again. The voice was not commanding him to stop. It did not order him to cease his efforts, nor did it threaten. The soft tones advised, counselled and reminded him.

After the third try, Zhou decided to listen. He was, he knew, not going to be able to reach the power he needed to escape. The mere fact of his continued existence, his being alive, was small comfort. It meant that the owner of the voice, or the voice’s commander, wanted something from him. Once they got it, they would, he was sure, kill him.

With nothing to see and no ability to move, Zhou slept.

# # #

“Would you like something to eat?” The voice woke him.

“Water?” Zhou croaked, his throat dry and the passing thought that he could not actually remember when he last had a drink.

“Water, what?” The voice said in soft, calm tones.

“Just water,” Zhou said.

“You can have water, little cat. You just have to ask properly,” the voice chided him.

The appellation chilled him. The last person to call him by that term was the one who had thrown him over the parapet of the Wall. The owner of the staff whose bolt of force had caught him mid-leap.

“You can’t be here,” Zhou said, his throat tight and a queasy sensation in his stomach. He was falling off the Wall again.

“And yet, I am,” the soft tone said. “Now, would you like some water? Ask properly.”

Zhou remained silent, stubborn.

“It will do you little good to be stubborn. Your power is beyond your grasp. You are blindfolded and tied down. If you want to improve your position and find out more about why you are here, you will need to talk and you will speak politely.” Again, the voice did not order or demand. The soft, calm tones were those of a parent speaking to a child.

“I would like some water, please,” Zhou said after a few moments pause.

“There. That was easy. Would you like to be untied, to sit up and drink your water?”

“Yes, please.” Zhou had to choke the words out, knowing he was giving ground in the battle of wills, but having no choice.

“I am pleased that you have found your voice and can ask nicely. We will get along just fine,” the voice said.

Zhou heard movement, the quiet whisper of cloth, the light tread of feet. Then there were tugs on the bindings around his wrist and ankles, a loosening and the recovery of movement. There was a chance.

“I know what you are thinking, little cat. You are thinking now is the chance to strike and make a bid for freedom. I should warn you, you will not get far. Even if you could access the spirit realm, there are far too many for you to fight.” The voice paused, as did the tugs on his bindings. “I would hate anything unfortunate to happen to you. We have a lot to talk about.”

Zhou stayed still. The desire to take action was strong, even without the aid of his spirit, but the voice was right. His duty now was to survive, to find the source of the red tide that had destroyed the mountain and now threatened the Empire and then, only then, to risk his life in action. He let the tension ease from his muscles.

“That is better,” the voice said. “I can see you are a man who thinks before he acts.”

“Not always,” Zhou growled back.

“I would recommend that you always think carefully, little cat. To do otherwise could see you dead. That would be a shame.”

The manipulation of his bonds continued, but Zhou forced himself to remain calm. His muscles stayed relaxed and he forbade even the twitch of his fingers. There could be no excuse for the voice, or those it commanded, to take hasty action. This was the closest he had come to finding the ultimate cause for the deaths of his wife and son.

“You can take off your blindfold now. You’ll find food and water on the table behind you. Don’t try to leave. The guards have orders to be less than gentle should you try to escape.”

Zhou sat up. A slow movement, his back protesting as muscles were made to do their job after a period of relaxation. When no one told him not to move, or ordered him to stay still, he slipped the blindfold off and looked around.

He was alone.

# # #

With no sight of the sun it was impossible to know or mark the time. The sounds of battle, muffled by the walls of his prison and distance, gave hints. The noise increased during, Zhou assumed, the day and then lulled at night. Using this basic measure of time, he concluded that he had seen no one for two days. The food had run out last night, there was a little water left in the jar, and the night pot was starting to make the small room smell.

Twice more Zhou had tried to reach the spirit and both times he had failed. There was nothing to do, nothing to see and no one to talk to. All he could do was investigate the room and listen through the walls. Pushing aside some of the drapes that covered the walls he discovered a lattice work of thin wooden slats. He traced the simple criss-cross pattern with his fingertips. The wood was smooth, warm and polished by age and use. Lifting a thick, decorated drape and holding it up, he stepped back to appreciate the workmanship. It was clear that the lattice work was designed to fold down, little wooden pegs provided points of rotation at the joins. More than that, each section of cross-crossed lattice joined the one next to it through the basic expedient of tied cord. Peering more closely at the cords, Zhou realised they were made from thick coarse hair twisted and wound together.

A cold breeze, the first he had felt, brushed against his face. He gazed around, seeking the gap that had let the cold wind in. It took a moment of confusion before he concluded that the thick drapes themselves had provided a layer of insulation from the late autumn chills. Poking a finger through the wooden slats he could feel the soft felt of the room’s wall. The only exit, a wooden door that was locked from the outside, a quick rattle and push had ascertained that earlier on.

Two poles pushed the roof up from the underside. There was a wood burning heater in the centre from which a chimney rose and vanished through a small hole in the fabric crown. Stretching out from the highest point, a ring of wooden spokes supported the roof, themselves tied to the lattice work behind the drapes. The design was simple, elegant and told Zhou he was in a tent.

Escaping a tent could not be a difficult task, he thought. Remove the lattice work, slice through the felt and run. A sound plan except for the small detail that he had nothing with which to slice the felt walls. And, removing the lattice work would be a long, tedious process that was likely to result in the tent collapsing around him. The door, sturdy as it was, provided the only entrance and exit from the tent.

“Ah, you are up and about.”

Zhou turned from a study of a drape, an embroidered picture that seemed to depict a cavalry battle on a great grass plain. The man facing him, the owner of the only voice he had heard since his fall from the Wall, was shorter than he had expected.

“I think it is time that we had a talk,” the man said.

“The first set of refugees are away,” Gongliang said.

The group had gathered on the Wall to gaze at the vast Mongol army that they had held back for longer than they had any right to expect. Enemy pennants fluttered in the early morning breeze and the camp was stirring. The night watches were pulling back and the army itself was waking, readying itself for another day of throwing itself at the Wall.

The Wall, the Great Wall, the best defence against the Mongol army. The Wall, laced with magic that could destroy the invaders in seconds. If, and here Haung knew the problem lay, they could get the magic to work. However, the magicians on the Wall were dead, killed by the Empire soldiers in, it had to be admitted, self-defence. The new magicians, those who had come in with the reinforcements last night, had been clear. They could not activate the Wall’s magic. Each section was tied to the unique power of one
Fang-shi
and Haung could recall the claw like gashes across that man’s throat.

“When will the second group be on the way?” Haung asked.

“I’m sending them out in one hour steps,” Gongliang said. “The refugees are being escorted by enough troops to discourage any bandits and they have orders to take different directions.”

“Why?”

“It gives them the maximum chance to make it away from the Mongols when they finally breach the Wall. Also, wherever they end up, the cities will be able to house and feed them. Not too much stress on each place,” Gongliang explained.

“A good idea.” Xióngmāo spoke up from her place by the parapet.

“The Mongols are likely to chase them down?” Haung asked.

“No, they’ll come after us,” she responded.

“Why?” It was Gongliang who spoke.

“Because we are the greatest threat. They’ll send their best riders to keep us moving. If we stop, they’ll sweep in with their bows, picking off whoever they can. We’ll keep moving just to stay safe, just so they don’t attack us.”

“We could stop and fight,” Enlai said.

“No. If we stop, they’ll encircle us and we’ll have no way back to safety. We have to keep moving,” Haung answered before Xióngmāo could speak. “Our best bet is to draw them with us, keep the refugees safe by making sure they focus on us. Gongliang, we will need some outriders of our own. Find men who can fight on horseback and get them equipped. They are going to be our shield on the journey.”

“You can’t outride them,” Xióngmāo said.

“They will bring us information, warnings and time to prepare. If we are going to be the focus of their attacks, I want to be ready,” Haung said. “We are marching for the capital.”

“Why not pull back to the nearest town and defend from there?” Gang asked.

“Because if we can’t hold them on a wall built for the very specific purpose of keeping them out of the Empire then another, smaller wall is not going to stop them. No, their target must be the capital and the Emperor. If they take that, the Empire is weakened. The armies will not have the command and control they need. They will chase us to the capital. We will drag them if necessary. Attack them if we can, defend if we cannot, but they must be focused on us. The bulk of their force must be forced to follow us.” Haung adjusted the hang of the sword on his belt and took a step forward, to the edge of the Wall, gazing out over the field of death before it and the army beyond.

# # #

The thunder of horses’ hooves reverberated through the wall, a rhythm of life and death. There were great shouts from the attacking horde accompanied by the neigh of horses and the clash of metal on metal.

“To the wall,” Gongliang shouted.

“Archers, loose when ready,” Haung called the order. “Shields to the wall, guard the crossbowmen.”

“Another day, another battle, Liu,” Gang shouted.

“Keep your hammer up then,” Liu called back.

“That’s never been an problem in the past,” Gang laughed.

“Don't get killed today, Haung,” Enlai said in a soft whisper.

“That's not my intention,” Haung replied.

“It is never anyone’s intention,” Xióngmāo said. Today she carried only Zhou's staff into battle though she was still dressed in the leather armour she had been given upon her arrival.

The first volley of arrows struck the wall of shields and the stones below. There were grunts from the soldiers and the hollow sound of wood being pierced by the sharp metal points. Better wood than flesh, Haung thought. The Empire crossbowmen returned the arrows with a volley of bolts. Firing from height gave them greater range than was normal for a crossbow and Gongliang had deployed the repeating bows too. These were inaccurate, lacked the power of the wound crossbows, but more than made up for that in their ability to loose bolt after bolt. It was also the case that the bolts could be made more easily, little more than sharpened, fire-hardened wood. The metal tips were saved for their more powerful cousins.

After all these days of battle it was clear that the Mongols either did not care about life and death, throwing away soldier after soldier against the Wall, or had limitless numbers. Each day, the battle was tougher than the last. And now, Haung was sending his tired troops, his battle weary but practiced troops, away with the refugees. There were enough experienced men amongst the ranks of reinforcements on the Wall to keep them steady. He hoped.

“Tonight, we clear the Wall and the town, Gongliang,” he said.

“That is not a lot of time,” his second in command replied.

“I think that’s all the time we are going to get. Can you set traps on the wall and in the town?” Haung asked.

“The town, yes. I've begun that process already. My engineers are weakening buildings, disguising pits in the roads and leaving a few more surprises wherever we can. The main road is open though. Once the bulk of the refugees are away, the engineers will move in and lay traps. The Mongols will pay a heavy price for the town,” Gongliang said.

“The Wall?”

“That's more difficult. Not a great deal we can do with the stones, but the gate we will reinforce and barricade. It won`t stop them forever, but it will hold them up,” Gongliang replied.

“Do you really think this is time for planning an evacuation?” Xióngmāo snapped at them. “We have a day’s fighting ahead. Your troops already have their orders, trust them to carry them out. If we lose today, all those plans are worth nothing.”

Before Haung could draw breath and respond, the shout of ladders rushed along the wall followed by the first sound of swords striking flesh and bouncing off armour accompanied by the screams of wounded Empire soldiers.

Haung drew his sword, settled into the quiet place, building the image before his eyes, and let the battle take him. A Mongol, fur-lined helmet bobbing as he climbed over the parapet was the first he killed, a graceful pass of the sword across his throat. He left Gang and Liu to command this section and moved west along the wall, bolstering the defenses, encouraging the men to greater feats of bravery. His troops and the enemy soldiers seemed to move slowly to his eyes and senses.

Swords, hatchets and axes reached towards him, but it was no effort to slide away, to parry their attacks and strike back. Where their weapons found only air, his took life with every swing. In the quiet, there was no joy to be found, no swelling of courage overcoming the fear, no sense of victory, only the bitterness of life and death.

# # #

“All the refugees are gone, Haung.”

“Then let’s start moving out as soon as it becomes dark,” Haung replied to Gongliang.

“They will notice us pulling the men from the wall,” Xióngmāo said. “Though they do not fight at night, it is too much of a risk for their horses, it is not unknown. They will have men watching the wall.”

“The scouts,” Enlai said.

“We can try to kill them before they report back?” Gang said.

“Not theirs, ours,” Enlai answered. “Our scouts are trained to avoid the enemy. If we place them on the walls, use a lot of torches and, perhaps, some volunteers, we should be able to convince them the wall is still manned.”

“Gongliang, go and organise the scouts. Liu, can you and Gang find some volunteers from the troops you have been training? If we pair them with a scout they’ll stand more of a chance. They need to be off the Wall before dawn. The direction they go is up to them. Issue them all with passes, we don't want them worried about being hung as deserters.”

“I'm not going with you,” Xióngmāo said.

“Why?” Haung said before pausing and shaking his head. “You can't rescue him. You don't even know if he is alive.”

“You don't know what I am capable of and he is alive,” she replied.

“You can't know that.”

“Listen,
Jiin-Wei
,
Taiji
, I do not ask you what you can do or tell you what you cannot. Do not presume you know the same about me. I have lived more years than you can imagine and seen more of the world than you have ever read about on a map. He is alive. Whoever corrupted your tame magicians wanted him, or me, as a prize.” Xióngmāo turned away from him.

“And you know who that person was or why they wanted one of you?`

“No,” she replied without turning back to him.

“I think you suspect,” Haung chanced. “There is no other reason that you would think he is alive. You don’t know for certain, do you? But something has given you hope, and something scares you. What was said on the Wall? What did the
Fang-shi
say?”

“The
Fang-shi
said nothing.” Xióngmāo started to move away and Haung reached out a hand to stop her. Under his fingers, the muscles in her arms were tense.

“What do you know? The Emperor will need all the information he can. You cannot hold anything back. Tell me,” he pleaded.

“The Emperor knows his enemy. He may have always known,” she said and pulled her arm free.