by Fred Yu
Two more scouts appeared only for a second when one of the first two scouts turned his horse around and disappeared. He was reporting back to the Zhuge Nu command.
Ming’s men climbed into the carriage, squeezing themselves against the front of the cabin to make room for others. Three injured men were being carried.
One scout in the distance drew a whistle and emitted two sharp bursts.
“Quickly!” Feng shouted.
The scream of the arrows pierced the air.
The last of Ming’s men were approaching the carriage, and she reached through the back door to yank them inside.
“Go!” she shouted to the driver in front. She jumped out the back, grabbed the last man limping toward her, and threw him into the cabin.
The carriage inched forward with all four horses struggling under the extra weight. Ming stood on the roof with her silver whip in hand, waiting for the onslaught. The shrieks of the incoming arrows were deafening. Ming’s whip lifted into full flight, spinning above her and shielding the horses and the driver from the storm. Thousands of arrows pounded the world around them.
The horses snorted, lurching against the driver’s frantic whip, and the carriage built momentum. In a moment the first wave of arrows was behind them.
The three scouts flew behind them in pursuit, their light horses coming closer and closer. Iron Spider kicked open the back door of the carriage and launched a wave of needles. They were too far away, and the needles fell harmlessly to the dirt road.
One scout lifted a fire signal tube and launched a stream of black smoke into the sky. Their horses slowed. They were communicating their position to the Zhuge Nu. In the distance the second wave of arrows shrieked into the air.
Iron Spider pulled the doors shut. Ming resumed spinning her defensive ring above the horses as the incoming wave again pummeled the earth. The back of the carriage and the rear wheels endured numerous arrows. As soon as the second wave passed, the scouts charged toward them again. They were chasing, holding close enough to relay the position of the carriage to the distant regiment of archers but never close enough to engage.
“What a nuisance!” Iron Spider kicked open the back door of the carriage again and released wave after wave of smoke explosives onto the road. The scouts could not stop in time. They charged their mounts right into the poison smoke. A few more steps and the horses became unstable. The riders collapsed and fell unconscious onto the road.
Ming leaped in from the roof, drew a smoke bomb from her own pocket, and released it inside the carriage. A burst of blinding white heat filled the cabin. Feng flinched, his hands shielding his face. What was happening?
The poison fumes reached his lungs in a moment, and he began to swoon.
A soft hand covered his mouth, and a pill was pushed into his lips. “Swallow,” he heard Ming say from behind. All around him were the sounds of men knocking onto the wooden floor. He opened his eyes, stabilized himself, and noticed that everyone except Ming and Iron Spider was unconscious. He alone was given the antidote.
The driver had fallen over as well. It seemed only the leader of the Venom Sect and the elders were immune to the poison.
“What are you doing?” Feng asked. “Aren’t they your own men?”
“Stop screaming like a neutered dog and get up there to drive!” Iron Spider shouted.
No more scouts charged them from behind, and without their smoke signals the Zhuge Nu had stopped firing. Feng climbed beside the driver, shoved him aside to grab the harness, and whipped the horses to urge them forward.
Ming climbed to the front of the carriage and sat next to him, staring into the distance without a word. Iron Spider checked on the unconscious men.
The road ahead of them was straight and well paved. The horses trotted at a steady pace, and eventually Feng relaxed his grip on the reins. “Why did you throw smoke inside the cabin?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“There’s a traitor among us,” Ming said. “He may still be able to signal the archers.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“Of course I know.”
“Then why didn’t you kill him?”
“Amateur,” Iron Spider said from inside the cabin.
Ming turned to him with a crafty smile. “Why kill someone your enemy trusts?”
Feng took a second to understand, then released a tired sigh. Yes, amateur.
“I bet you don’t know who it is,” Ming said, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
“The one who limped to the carriage earlier,” Feng said. “He didn’t run as hard as he could, despite the injury.”
“Amateur,” Iron Spider said, laughing.
Ming shook her head. “Not the injured one.”
Feng looked at the unconscious men in the carriage, aware that the Venom Sect elder—and, of course, the leader—could kill every one of them to eliminate the traitor. Yet, Ming waited to find out who the traitor was so she could use him to spread rumors.
“I see,” he said, his voice quiet. “One of your men could’ve carried him, and he could’ve gotten to the carriage faster. Someone was helping him walk instead.”
Ming smiled. “Naïve but not stupid. You’d make an exceptional poison user.”
“I wouldn’t stoop so low.”
“Of course, you’re a Tiger General’s son,” Iron Spider said from behind. She was already sitting on top of the cabin, immediately behind the driver’s seat. “We’re too low for you. But poison users are masters of deceit. And you, young man, are a natural.”
Feng turned to Iron Spider. “Last night in the abandoned temple, you said your smoke explosives could reach any distance outside. Not true, was it?”
Iron Spider laughed. “Not true at all. In fact, I didn’t waste a single bomb on those amateurs. The master killed them off while you slept like a dead dog.”
One of the horses snorted, and all three turned to the road. A small man, his arms wrapped around himself, limped toward them in the distance. He had a sword in one hand, and his hair was disheveled. His eyes were focused on the approaching carriage.
“Slow,” Ming whispered.
Feng pulled the reins and brought the horses to a walk. The approaching man held his sword in front of him.
“Let a traveler pass!” he shouted.
Ming stood on the driver’s seat to reveal herself. “Who are you?”
The man lowered his sword and stumbled another two steps before dropping to his knees. “Master.” He dropped his weapon, which struck the ground with a resounding clang, and held his head in his hands. He curled himself into a ball, his body shaking and his forehead pressed against the road. “Master,” he repeated in a broken voice.
Iron Spider leaped off the carriage and stood in front of him.
“Your unit?” she asked.
“Su Gui’s unit, elder.”
“Where are you coming from?”
“Elder.” The man bowed again. “There’s a mutiny on Mount Oleander. Second Master and all the elders have been captured. We—the few of us. We’re loyal to Second Master. But they beat us. They were going to kill us.”
“Who did that to you?” Iron Spider asked, pointing to a horrible gash on his neck.
“It—it was . . .” The man lowered his head and began to weep.
Feng brought the carriage to a full stop and dropped to the ground. There was an even trickle of blood from the side of the man’s neck, and large beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
“It was Elder Gong, master,” the man said. “Elder Gong imprisoned Second Master, and many men loyal to him are dead.”
Feng turned to her. “Who is Second Master?”
Ming ignored him, still standing in front of the driver’s seat on the carriage.
“The master’s fiancé,” Iron Spider replied.
Feng paused for one awkward second. “Mount Oleander?”
“That’s where we’re taking you,” Ming said. “I grew up there.”
“H
ow far is it?”
Ming stared deep into the injured man’s eyes. “Another half a day on foot.”
“Who started the mutiny?” Iron Spider asked.
Feng reached into the large pouch Iron Spider left on the driver’s bench and found a smoke explosive. There were many more in there. He pocketed a few, drew one, and threw it onto the ground in front of the man. The man gasped, his face flushed for a second, and he collapsed onto his side.
Iron Spider spun around and glared at Feng. “Who told you to do that?”
“He rehearsed his answers,” Feng said. “Why bother?”
“Are you suggesting,” Ming asked from behind him, “that we shouldn’t trust our own sect members?”
Feng glanced once at the unconscious men in the carriage, playing along with her innocent question, and shook his head with a laugh. “Amateurs.”
Iron Spider raised both hands to clap. “Let’s hear it from the Tiger General’s son. Why do you think this man is a fraud?”
“This man said he was beaten and injured on—” Feng paused, the name of the Venom Sect’s mountain at the tip of his tongue.
“Mount Oleander,” Ming finished for him. “Commander Mu doesn’t know his poison flowers.”
“You told me Mount Oleander is half a day away. But his injuries haven’t swollen yet. That means he was injured recently, maybe as recently as the moment we broke through the ambush.”
For a second there was silence. “The boy is right,” Iron Spider finally said.
Feng pointed to the motionless figure facedown on the dirt. “I’m willing to question him for you.”
A deep frown settled on Ming’s face. “If he’s lying, then my fiancé’s life is in danger. I need to get back to Mount Oleander.”
“Or,” Feng said, his voice low, “maybe your fiancé is part of the mutiny.”
Ming glared at him. She reached into Iron Spider’s robe for the white porcelain jar with the flesh dissolver. “Wake up the others.”
“Wait,” Feng said. His palms began to sweat at the thought of another man witnessing his own flesh burning away. “Ming, let me question him.”
“What do you hope to get out of this, Feng?”
“Don’t be a fool,” Feng replied. “Torturing him won’t work. He came prepared for your questions. Let me do it.”
“You’re my prisoner, Commander Mu. Who are you to question a member of the Venom Sect?”
Faint groans sounded from the carriage. Iron Spider was waking the men.
“Tie up the general’s son,” Ming said. “And keep him in the carriage. We’re going to Mount Oleander right away.”
“Yes, master,” someone responded.
Chapter 6
The sun was directly above them by the time Feng looked through the window again. The carriage flew down the road, heading southeast toward the heart of the empire. Despite bearing the weight of so many in the cabin, the four horses breezed through the barren path. Feng’s hands were tied behind his back, his ankles strapped by thick leather, his body propped against a corner of the carriage. He wasn’t gagged, but he was silent.
The same thoughts churned over and over again in his head, and he couldn’t make sense of them. There was a renegade force in the Middle Kingdom, yet his father left his fortress to confront a powerful enemy, unprovoked, while allowing his beloved daughter to die.
Feng twisted on the floor. His father was one of the greatest military strategists in the empire with a massive army at his disposal. He didn’t care enough about his own daughter to save her. In the end he didn’t care enough about his son either. His father sent him with the Zhuge Nu archers on his tail to hide behind the prime minister.
Memories of his childhood nagged him when he thought of his father. There was a lump in his throat when he thought of how the general disciplined him, every day reminding him of what he did wrong, what else he needed to do to earn his father’s respect. General Mu was harsher on his own son than anyone else in the military. When other soldiers had breaks, Feng was told to recite the military classics. When the entire family celebrated New Year’s for ten days, he was told to study governing and strategy. It was never fair.
Feng wanted to go home. But he couldn’t. His father had sent him away because his presence would put the household in danger.
Ming pointed to a dense area in the woods. “We’ll stop here. Mount Oleander is just to the south.”
The carriage came to a halt, and Ming jumped to the roof. “We’ll leave the general’s son in the forest,” she said, surveying her surroundings. “I changed my mind. He’s too valuable to bring home in the middle of a mutiny.”
Two men lifted Feng and carried him out of the carriage. Ming pointed into the dense forest. “Hide him in there. Zhu, I want you to stay behind and watch him. Make sure he doesn’t escape.”
“Yes, master!”
They should kill me, Feng thought. If they don’t, I will come back with ten thousand pike men and annihilate their entire sect.
The thought of hurting Ming brought a strange anguish to his heart. He thought of her beautiful eyes, her full lips, her innocent smile, aware that she was also the one who would torment him and use him as bait. His throat felt tight, and he struggled to breathe. He couldn’t possibly hurt her, no matter how she treated him.
He almost laughed. His hands were tied behind his back. What was he thinking?
In a moment he was thrown onto the hard ground. The tall man named Zhu hovered over him with a sarcastic smile.
“Go!” Ming said, her voice soft yet powerful. The horses whinnied, then snorted at the crack of the whip, and the carriage disappeared down the road.
Zhu was a tall man with a bird perched on his shoulder. He produced a small ink stone, spat on it, and rubbed it. He drew a small brush from deep within his pockets and saturated it with ink.
The pigeon was a messenger bird. He was the traitor. He was sending a message. Ming knew who the traitor was. Why did she leave him behind?
Zhu wrote two lines on a small slip of paper, blew on it so it would dry faster, then rolled it and tied it to the bird’s foot. He held the pigeon in both hands, steadying it for a moment, and released it into the air. The bird opened its wings to fly.
A bright red figure leaped out of nowhere and swiped the bird from midair. She clutched the bird by the neck, stripped the letter from its feet, and flung it to the ground.
Zhu dropped to his knees. “Master!”
Ming was cold and malicious. Iron Spider approached behind her with the small porcelain jar in her hand.
“No!” Zhu cried. “No, please, master! I had no choice. He forced me!”
Iron Spider pulled the cork.
“Master, please! They weren’t supposed to fire upon us so many times. We were supposed to be captured alive. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Please!”
“Who?” Ming asked.
Zhu whimpered, his mouth crooked and trembling, saliva streaming down his chin. “Please, master. He’ll kill me.”
Ming’s jaw stiffened. “I see. So it really is him.”
Zhu held his head in his hands, curled into a ball, and wept. “Please, master. Please spare me. I don’t want to die a horrible death.”
Ming turned to Feng, and he felt his heart stop. Her gaze, her bright eyes so full of longing as if she were left alone in the world, spoke to him in an eerie silence. Ming’s fiancé had turned against her. It had to be him. There was no one else.
Feng didn’t know whether to be happy or concerned for her. Her eyes spoke to him. She didn’t feel any sadness. Was it his imagination, or did he see relief on her face?
Ming turned back to Zhu, and without a word she fired the blackened blade at the end of her whip directly into his forehead. The tip of the blade protruded from the back of his head for a second. She jerked her weapon back, and Zhu toppled over without a sound.
Ming spun around and walked away.
Feng opened his mouth, wanting to call after
her, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know what to say anyway.
The forest was silent. Feng stared at the thin bushes Ming and Iron Spider disappeared into and longed for the bright red figure to return if only for another glimpse of her. She had left him on the forest floor, his ankles strapped together, his hands tied behind his back, with no food or water. She would never come back for him. She may not even overcome the mutiny.
Ming had the element of surprise on her side. She must have given orders to take the prisoner up the mountain so Zhu would relay information via the messenger bird. After Zhu sent word, Ming changed plans and prevented him from sending a new message. So, her fiancé was still expecting the arrival of the Red Crest.
Zhu’s messenger bird, sitting on the ground, twitched and fluttered its wings. Somehow, Ming failed to kill the bird.
A strange thought surfaced in Feng’s mind, an idea so improbable yet so wonderful that it could not be true. He couldn’t pull his mind from it. She left the bird behind for him. The messenger bird would help him find her.
He could do nothing with the bird with his hands tied behind his back.
The dagger! She never confiscated the dagger she had given him; it was still hidden in his boots.
Feng twitched into a kneeling position and leaned to his right side so his hands could touch his boots. He stretched a little further, and his fingers closed around the handle of the dagger. In a moment the ropes around his wrists were severed. He slashed the ankle restraints and jumped to his feet.
There was nowhere to go. He didn’t want to go home. His father never bothered to save his sister, and he didn’t want to see the old man again.
Feng took a step toward the road, eager to start moving, and paused. Why didn’t Ming confiscate his dagger? Maybe she wanted him to follow her, to help her. Feng dug his heel into the ground. Maybe she simply wanted to see him again. The thought brought a rare smile to his face, a smile he himself would not have recognized.
Feng headed south with the sun as his guide. She did say Mount Oleander was just to the south. Surely the other members of her sect knew where they were, so these words must have been meant for him.