The Stone Road (3 page)

“I would be honoured to accept, Commander,” Haung said.

“I was sure you would,
Jiin
Haung. Your training will begin the moment you leave this room. Your first assignment will follow quickly. These are interesting times in our war with Wubei, interesting times. Marbu has your orders and assigned teacher downstairs. He also has your new
Jian
sword and black cloth. Follow his orders, as you would mine.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“Don’t thank me
Jiin-Wei
Haung. You haven’t even begun to understand the true implications of your choice yet.”

CHAPTER 3

It was still raining.

Zhou looked up to see shades of grey cloud covering the sky. From horizon to horizon there was nothing but the constant fall of rain. Even the birds had decided that it was too wet to fly. All around the horses plodded on down the mountain paths away from the city and towards the great plain. The other diplomat rode in some comfort, he supposed, inside the covered wagon. Being just a Junior Diplomat he was reduced to riding a horse, exposed to the weather. Behind the wagon, soldiers and baggage servants walked, as was right and proper. He wiped the rain from his forehead for the thousandth time and took a renewed grip on the clammy leather reins.

For five days and nights the rain continued as they made a way through mountain passes and narrow valleys. Along rock strewn and pot-holed tracks, down and out of the mountains onto the plains. Soggy nights in damp tents, freezing cold mornings with food half-warmed over smoky fires. Days of increasingly sore thighs and buttocks from sitting in the saddle. Zhou was not happy. However, he contented himself with thoughts of the upcoming negotiations. There was a chance for peace and he intended to be the one to grasp it. Promotion would be quick in coming once the treaty was signed.

“Zhou.” The weedy voice carried through the rain, dodging the droplets, before whispering in his ear. “I need you, come to the wagon immediately.”

Zhou knew the voice of Hsin, the Senior Diplomat, by now. He brought his horse to a halt and waited for the wagon to catch up. Then, tying the horse to the wagon he dismounted and climbed the stairs into the large wooden wagon. The small door closed behind him and the warm, humid environment wrapped around him. Almost at once, steam began to rise from his wet clothes.  The wagon was not small, a full twenty paces long it was high enough to walk along with just a slight hunch of the shoulders and neck. There were two beds, one for the Senior Diplomat and the other for the Captain in charge of the troops. The latter spent most of his day outside with the soldiers returning only to dry out and sleep. Zhou hadn’t spoken to him much but he seemed to be a reasonable fellow.

The Senior Diplomat was sat at the rear of the wagon interior at a small writing table. Zhou took a deep, controlling, breath and made his way towards him. Even stood at his full height, Hsin would not reach far above five feet. The woollen cap covered a bald head and beneath that a face creased by the wrinkles of age. Hsin’s ears stuck out below the cap giving him the appearance of a tiny wizened monkey.

“Ah, Zhou, I’m glad you could make it.” Zhou met the beady eyes of the Senior Diplomat and gave a small, just the right side of polite, bow. “Don’t drip on the paper-work.”

“Venerable Hsin, how can I assist you?” Zhou asked.

“Read these reports for me, and then give me a summary. Some fool has written these in a barely legible hand and I can’t be bothered to give myself a headache trying to decipher it.”

Zhou took the papers from Hsin’s hands and moved a comfortable distance away to sit on the cushion covered floor. He sorted through the papers as fast as possible. Every one turned out to be routine, reports of food consumption, water rations, and scouting reports of the terrain ahead. Nothing of much interest and, despite Hsin’s claim, they had been written in a neat, tidy hand. Zhou gave Hsin a sidelong glance, suspecting that the old man’s eyes were failing. Still, at least inside it was warm and out of the rain. Perhaps he would have just enough time to dry out before going back outside to get wet all over again.

Half an hour later, Zhou approached the Senior Diplomat and waited to be acknowledged so that he could deliver his report. The wagon creaked and bumped over the rough track but Hsin did not acknowledge his presence. Zhou gave a small polite cough which also met with no response. Zhou bent down to look into the diplomat’s face.

‘If the old fool is dead then I will be in charge of the negotiations,’ he thought to himself.

Hsin’s eyes were closed and he wasn’t moving. Zhou reached out a slow and careful hand to check for a pulse.

“I’m not dead.” The weedy voice snapped and one eye opened, swivelled in its socket to fix Zhou with a scowl, “I’m thinking.”

“My apologies, Venerable Hsin.” Zhou offered. “I have read the reports and I’m ready to give you the summaries.”

“Yes, yes.” Hsin waved an uncaring hand in permission to speak.

For a few minutes, Zhou spoke of each report and gave Hsin the run down on the facts and opinions contained within it. The old man appeared to be focused elsewhere the whole time, however, at the end, he was ready with questions that forced Zhou to re-check his facts. At last, the interview was over and Zhou let the tension out of his shoulders.

“What do you think of this peace mission, Junior Diplomat Zhou?” Hsin asked.

“It is a great opportunity to end the years of war,” Zhou answered.

“Humph,” Hsin responded. “You think so do you?”

“Of course, Venerable Hsin, why else would we be assigned to this duty? Why else would the Duke of Yaart seek a peace treaty?”

“Those questions had also occurred to me, but unlike you, I am not a simpleton to believe whatever I am told.”

“Senior Diplomat?” Zhou frowned, unaccustomed to such insults.

“For over thirty years we have been fighting. Three previous missions like this during that time and no peace found. What makes this one different? Did you never think of this, Zhou?”

“It is rare for one negotiation to resolve a conflict, Sir.”

“Pah. One negotiation or ten, it wouldn’t matter.” Hsin waggled a finger in front of Zhou’s face, “The poisonous Duke of Yaart can never be trusted. Mark my words, this is a wasted trip.” Hsin threw the paper he was reading down onto the table. “Yaart would not sue for peace unless they stood to gain from it.”

“We all gain from peace, Senior Hsin,” Zhou said.

“Oh, you’ll gain alright. If we secure a peace, your name will be on the treaty alongside mine for all time. You’ll be famous. I would hazard a guess that, after my death, you will become known as the driving force behind the treaty. I might warrant a foot-note in the history books. Your father-in-law, may boils erupt on his buttocks, worked hard to have you assigned to this mission.”

“He did?” Zhou’s voice cracked on the last word.

“Don’t play the naive youngster with me. You’ve been in the diplomat service long enough, though you were just a teacher, to do better than that. Your esteemed Father pulled in every favour and made free with every threat he had. His currency is much diminished by his efforts but should we succeed in securing this peace, his stock will rise again. Our own beloved Duke will have no choice but to listen to his counsel above others, even mine.”

“I had not expected him to do so much,” Zhou said.

“Then you are more of a fool than I gave you credit for.” Hsin spat a gobbet of phlegm into a small cup. “You married his only daughter over his better wishes no doubt, but daughters will always wrap fathers round their little fingers.”

“The marriage was arranged and contract signed before I was five years of age,” Zhou explained.

“Pah, contracts can be lost, changed or annulled. Your own father fell from favour before the marriage, enough reason for him to seek a better match for his daughter. Now he must make the most of the situation. A great risk he takes here, not for you but for himself. I wonder if it will be worth it.” Hsin spoke the last slowly and his brow furrowed.

“Whatever the reasons, we are here to achieve peace.” Zhou tried to keep his voice level and calm though his mind was in confusion.

“That word again, peace. Yaart has attacked our villages, killed our soldiers, raped our wives and daughters for the past generation and you want peace.” Hsin’s whisper came out harsh.

“We cannot always look backwards, the future is the forever ahead of us. To that we must look, to the generations to come.” A picture of his baby son formed in his mind as he spoke. “A peace for them is what we seek.”

“Philosophical drivel, Zhou. We are Wubei and our blood has been spilled. Some of it must be reclaimed if we are to remain strong.” Zhou found it difficult to decipher the expression on Hsin’s face. “Now, make me my tea and then you are dismissed.”

For two more weeks they travelled the plain’s road. The lead soldier and wagon flying the flag of peace. They never stopped in the villages. The battle lines in the war had always been unclear and the villagers changed sides so often that it was impossible to know which side they were on, Wubei, Yaart or their own. There were three tense meetings with Yaart patrols who examined the flag and documents of travel. Each time it was Zhou, and a soldier, who had had to ride away from the protection of the main troop to meet with the enemy soldiers. Thankfully, each time the flag and papers were enough. Should there be a problem the twelve soldiers who accompanied the wagon would not be enough to offer much resistance or defence. The wind and rain of the first week gave way to regular sunshine and dry days. The change in weather lifted Zhou’s spirits and those of the soldiers. Hsin remained a constant; irritable, picky and demanding.

At the end of the third week, a dark smudge appeared through the developing heat haze on the horizon, the city of Yaart. As they came closer to their destination it was possible to pick out more detail. A vast wall encircled the city and tall towers, spaced at regular intervals around it, watched the surrounding land. Rooftops poked up above the wall and pillars of smoke rose even further into the sky.

It wasn’t long before, at the base of the wall, Zhou could make out a collection of tents. Then, before he’d had a chance to work out why they were here, he was amongst them. Far from the pristine white they had seemed from a distance, the tents were dirty and grey. Many had holes in the fabric and some attempts had been made to patch or stitch these up, evidence that the inhabitants were determined to stay.

But it was the smell that Zhou found hardest to deal with. Unwashed bodies, rotting food and faeces, all baked in the warm sun. Zhou raised a handkerchief to his face and tried to take shallow breaths. A few drops from his small store of perfume had little impact on the pervading stench.

The faces of women and children poked out from the entrances of some tents. They darted back under cover when they saw the soldiers and wagons. Zhou felt a tug on his leg and, looking down, saw a small child. So ragged and dirty was the urchin that it was impossible to guess whether it was a boy or girl.

“Food, Master,” said the child. “Any food, Master, please.”

“Get away.” Zhou shook his leg clear and shoved the grubby child.

From up ahead there was the clatter of hooves and all the tent flaps snapped closed, every face vanishing from them.

“Hold.” The command was loud and officious.

Zhou rode forward through the soldiers to see who had issued the command. Blocking the road was a troop of Yaart soldiers each riding a white horse and wearing full armour. Zhou looked around for the Captain and beckoned for him to follow.

“Diplomat Zhou, responding to the Duke of Yaart’s request,” Zhou said to the Captain of the Yaart soldiers. He presented the documents to substantiate the claim.

“Captain Ylem,” the soldier said by way of introduction. “You are expected. Have your troop fall in and follow us. Do not deviate from the path or get left behind.”

With that the soldier turned his horse and rode away. Zhou nodded to his own Captain who issued the orders to follow.

CHAPTER 4

Haung nodded as he watched the large wagon and troop of tired looking soldiers enter through the city gates. The late summer sun was beginning to dip and the drawn out evening was just beginning. He looked over the battlements of the city wall and below those the slum of tent-town. The odour crawled up the walls like an invading army and assaulted his nostrils.

He gagged, spat out the sour taste the smell had left in his mouth and turned away from the beauty of the sunset and the ugliness of poverty. Tonight he had a mission to accomplish for the Commander and it would not pay to fail. He had prepared a ruse in the lodgings set aside for the diplomats and soldiers from Wubei. They had not been permitted to stay inside the castle. It was not prudent to let trained enemy soldiers inside your defenses. However, it was the diplomats who were the true concern. Like civil servants the empire over, diplomats had had martial training and would be a match for most of the soldiers. Physical prowess was not their most dangerous weapons, that honour went to their brains and observant eyes. Those weapons though, could be turned against them with the right strategy.

Huang climbed down the steps from the walls to the streets below and took off at a brisk pace in the opposite direction to the Wubei troop. They would take a longer, slower route to their destination and that would give him enough time to get there ahead of them. He wanted to observe their entrance into the city to determine who was in charge and get an impression of their demeanour. The Yaart soldiers had not insisted the inhabitant of the wagon come out and avoided the diplomatic trap laid out for them. The file on Hsin the Commander had directed him to read contained a lot of detail, but seeing the man’s face would have told him more.

As he dodged through the late-afternoon crowds, Haung considered his options. He had several roles in mind, and the costumes to go along with them. One way in was to play the part of a servant but he dismissed it in short order. Servants in their own country would be ignored. Folk would talk around them as if they did not exist, but in a foreign country, a country you were at war with, servants would be, as matter of routine, assumed to be spies or informers. No, he needed a role that the soldiers were comfortable with and could ignore whilst they talked. Hostler, blacksmith, beggar, waiter, tradesman, he had considered and dismissed them all.

‘I know just the part to play,’ he thought.

Haung avoided the main door of the tavern and slipped, instead, in through the servants’ door. Hanging on the pegs, next to the door, was the costume he wanted. He changed from quality silks into a shabby cloth tunic, held in at the waist with a soft rope belt, and rough trousers. The silks he placed in the sacks along with his shoes. He pulled on the weather beaten, cracked and patched leather boots wincing as he crammed his toes into the too small. The last touch, pour a little cheap ale over his hands and run these through his dark hair. No longer the short crop of a trainee but now grown out thick and straight. The beer wash made it appear greasy and unkempt with the added bonus of creating the perfume he needed for the role. Slapping ale wetted hands over his new clothes added another layer to the illusion. He would need a good wash before he carried out part two of tonight’s tasks.

Rolling and staggering into the bar, he spied an empty table with a good view of the taproom and slumped into one of the wooden chairs. The waiter brought over a cup of cheap wine which Haung sipped and swished around his mouth before swallowing. He slopped half of the remaining wine on the floor next to him. He let his eyes relax and lose focus, settling into his role and the chair for the evening.

Before too long, the soldiers from Wubei came in via the back door and ordered drinks. They were staying in the inn’s outer building. The diplomats and the Captain would have much richer rooms upstairs. The soldiers took their drinks to a table on the opposite side of the room. There was no chance of Haung hearing their discussions from his seat, but moving closer might make them suspicious.

After a slow glance around the room to make sure he was not being observed, Haung dipped a finger into the wine and traced a small symbol on the wooden table. The writing flared briefly as he whispered a small chant and a tiny wisp of steam rose from the surface. Now he could hear every word that the soldiers were saying. Much of it was usual barrack room talk; what they would do with a girl if they saw one, how much they could drink, how much they missed their wife or did not miss them. He took another sip of wine and waited, biding his time.

“That Hsin, he’s a miserable git,” Haung heard one of the soldiers say.

“Yeah, never leaves that wagon. You see inside it? Bloody palace on wheels. Comfy bed, little fire, cushioned floor. What do we get? Sleep on the cold ground and freeze the night through,” said another.

“Don’t think the Captain likes him much either. He spent all his time on horseback out in the open with us,” responded the first.

“Don’t think his assistant Zhou is much better. You see the way he kicked that little beggar child outside the city?” chimed in a third voice.

“Only a bloody beggar,” the first again.

“No call to kick a kid though, eh?” the second soldier re-joined the conversation. “Zhou always gives me that look. You know the one, like a ‘who are you to even think you can look at me’ kinda look. Thinks he’s better than us,” said the third soldier.

“He’s better than you, for sure,” laughed the first and they all joined in.

Soon the conversation returned to alcohol, girls and how hard life was for a soldier. Haung waited as long as he could for the three ranking Wubei to make an appearance. He had a good idea who the Captain was, and could remember the face of Zhou, easy to pick out by his lack of soldier’s uniform, but he still wanted to see Hsin. They still had not come down from their rooms when he decided he could not wait any longer and still be on time for his next meeting. Haung lurched upright and stumbled his way out of the front door, round the side of the inn and picked up the sack containing his original clothes.

Once he had turned a few street corners, still in the guise of a worker who had spent all his day’s wages on alcohol, Haung turned the stagger into a fast run through the dark streets back to the castle. In his own rooms he stripped and washed the disguise off of his skin and out of his hair. He pulled on his
Jiin-Wei
uniform of dark grey and black silk tunic and trousers, belted a dagger to his waist and picked up the scabbarded sword. It felt right in his hands, much better quality than his old sword and the balance was perfect.

He opened the door to his small room and placed the stinking disguise into the laundry pile. Servants would come along later and move it, either to wash or destroy depending on its condition. Bloody clothes were always destroyed, burnt to ash and thrown to the winds. Haung settled the dagger into a more comfortable position on his hip and made his way through dim corridors towards his second appointment.

“Haung?” it was a girl’s voice. He stopped and turned.

“Do I know you?” He asked of the young, small, serving girl who had been walking along the corridor in the opposite direction to him.

“You should do, you knocked the jar out of my hands last time I saw you. Cost me a day’s wages because the cook said it was my fault.” The girl stepped into the glow of one of the few lanterns in the corridor, put her hands on her hips and gave him a stern stare, “And before that, you’d promised to take me walking one night.”

“Jiao? Is that you?” Haung asked.

“Of course it is, you great ox. How come you don’t come and visit the kitchen anymore? Why don’t you... oh.” She caught her breath when he stepped forward into better light. “My apologies,
Jiin-Wei
. Please forgive my questions.” She bowed low, then turned and fled along the corridor.

“Jiao,” Haung called as she bolted away from him, and then shook his head a little before resuming his own journey.

After a few more twists and turns he reached his goal, a thick wooden door with symbols carved into it. His hand tightened around the scabbard, stretching and whitening the skin of his knuckles and he forced himself to relax and remain calm. He traced two of the symbols which glowed faintly as the fingertip passed over. The door swung open on silent hinges and he stepped through.

The staircase beyond was cut from solid rock and descended as far as he could see. Regular spaced small nooks in the wall housed the glowing orange orbs that lit the way. Behind him, the door closed as silently as it opened and he began to descend, step by step, into the earth. The further down, the hotter it became. At the top, the staircase was wide enough for three broad-shouldered men to walk side by side but it narrowed soon after. The rock walls and ceiling were getting closer and sweat began to drip down his brow.

An eternity later and the stairs ended, opening out into a circular room with three further exits. Choosing one, he continued walking. Faint at first, then increasing in volume, Haung began to discern the pattern of a regular chant. The echoes in the corridor confused the words but drove and enhanced the rhythm. It surged and ebbed like the tide against his mind. He passed doorways that opened out into rooms, some small and others large but none were the source of the chanting. That was still washing down the corridor in front of him. A few moments later, Haung could see the corridor’s end, an archway and beyond that, in the red glow and flickering light was the source of the chant.

There was a multitude of sudden shrieks and sword half-drawn by instinct, Haung crouched, balanced, tense. His quivering sword arm wanted to complete the draw but his mind, shocked by the pain, anguish and utter fear contained in those screams, had frozen. The high-pitched cries continued for an age and then, at last, faded away. Haung took a shaky breath, still crouched and still ready to fight. A shadow filled the open arch, growing larger and larger. It flowed along the floor towards the terrified
Jiin-Wei
.

“Ah, Haung,” said the shadow, “you are on time. Good. Put that sword away, it will do you no good here.” The shadow chuckled, a hollow, rattling, empty sound. “Come with me, your lessons continue and you have much to learn.”

Haung took a deep breath which whistled out between tight, pursed lips. He pushed the sword back into the scabbard with a cleansing click and followed the
Fang-shi
sorcerer.

“Can you cope with more noise, Haung?” said the sorcerer. “We still have much more work to do on our grand plan. You cannot be weak to this. Magic comes from an understanding of the universe and it is cold, dark, and unforgiving. Fear will only get you killed, young Haung. Let it go, accept the darkness and cold of the universe into your heart. Harden it to the screams of others, they are nothing to the universe. It does not care for us or our plans and struggles.” The
Fang-shi
stopped and stabbed Haung with a penetrating stare from his shimmering golden eyes. “Accept, understand and use that knowledge. Become like the universe, Haung, do not care for the screams of others.”