by Jeff Wheeler
Bingmei smelled confusion and concern. The spidery man was distrustful. “My master Jiukeshu bid us to guard the pass. He was ordered by Echion to do so on peril of death.”
“I am Muxidi, master of my own band. And I have orders from Echion commanding me to bring down your prisoners on pain of death! How could Jiukeshu have left such an idiot to stay behind?”
Bingmei could tell that Jiaohua was purposefully inflaming the spidery man’s emotions with his choice of words. And she realized, through his guile, he was trying to rescue them. He was only acting the part of a Qiangdao. She felt a little spark of hope in her heart begin to flame.
“You are not in charge here; I am!” shouted the spidery man.
“Lord Echion is here, you idiot!” said Jiaohua. “The city will fall before night comes. I have my orders. I must bring the prisoners down.”
“They are my prisoners.”
“Send some guards down with us. I don’t care. We must go down at once.” His voiced dropped dangerously. “This cursed fog might not kill us, but I’ve seen Echion kill a man just by looking at him!”
The stench of the lie was overpowering, and Bingmei almost coughed in surprise. Jiaohua truly was a profligate liar.
The scent of unease began to overpower the spidery man’s confidence. Hints of confusion and fear and offense battled for dominance. He was rattled, knowing he had to make a decision and knowing that a wrong decision could cost him his life. No doubt Jiaohua was gambling on that.
“There are five of us,” said Jiaohua restlessly. “Send ten or twenty to accompany my people. The rest must stay up here and guard the pass. I don’t care how many you send. Just choose quickly!”
“Twenty,” said the spidery man in a shaking voice.
“Which ones? Hurry, man!”
The spidery man quickly counted off people and ordered them to go down with Jiaohua and the prisoners. Bingmei wanted to smile, she was so relieved, but she kept her expression dejected. She sidled up closer to Damanhur, who also kept a bland look on his face. But his command of his appearance was equally as good as his master’s—she could smell his satisfaction and honeyed hope.
Surrounded by Qiangdao, they began the march down the trail. But Bingmei still sensed the Phoenix Blade coming toward them. The real enemy was on the way. Did Jiaohua know this? Was there any way to tell him without being overheard?
“Wait,” said Jiaohua after they’d left the sight of the others. “The trail is steep. If their hands are tied behind their backs, they’ll fall and kill themselves. Bind their wrists in the front instead.”
The other guards did not speak his language. They looked at each other in confusion.
Jiaohua sighed and shook his head. “You’re idiots too.” He said something in a different dialect, one that sounded like theirs, then walked up to Bingmei, pretending not to recognize her, and untied the ropes behind her back.
“Like this,” he said again, tying her hands in front of her instead. She watched him work and saw that he left the knot deliberately loose. He tugged on a firmer part of the rope to pretend it was tight.
The escort understood then, and soon all the members of Damanhur’s ensign were bound with hands in front. Jiaohua looked her in the eye, frowning, then smacked her in the face. The stinging blow startled her, rocking her head back. He growled at her in another language, grabbing her by the arm and shaking her. The others backed away for a moment, surprised by his violence.
“Don’t be insolent!” he snarled at her, then shook his finger at her.
Some of the Qiangdao chuckled, looking at each other in confusion. She wiped her burning cheek with her raw knuckles and glowered at him, wondering why he’d done it.
They proceeded to march down the narrow trail. Mosquitoes buzzed in the air around them. The trail offered a view of the massive ships, which were unloading soldiers on the edge of the city. Why were they coming back down the mountain toward Echion’s army? Toward the evil Qiangdao with the Phoenix Blade? There was no way to ask her questions, but the sensation that they were approaching danger was enough to make her heart beat worriedly.
Climbing down the mountain took far less time than climbing up had. Soon they reached the edge of the wood of massive spruce and hemlock trees that grew lower down the slopes. The treetops obscured the view of the city below. She thought she heard the noise of fighting down below, the clash of arms that came and faded with the breeze.
“Faster,” Jiaohua said angrily. “The battle is underway!”
They started to jog down the mountain, and worry bloomed in Bingmei like wildflowers. They reached a turn in the trail that was thick with boulders. She remembered the spot from the previous day’s climb. Her sense of smell told her others were hidden behind the boulders. This was not the murderous stench of Qiangdao, but the smell of fighters, warriors. The scent had a distinctly fishy edge to it that she knew at once was Quion. She couldn’t help but smile as they came around the corner.
The man next to her was struck in the neck by a poisoned dart. He hissed in pain, clutched at the area, and fell down. Chaos ensued. Bingmei pulled against her bonds, and the ropes sloughed off instantly. She was free. Cries of pain and shouts of alarm filled the air as warriors attacked the Qiangdao. Jiaohua had stationed men at this point on the trail and led them into the ambush on purpose.
She joined the fight, striking at the nearest Qiangdao. She disarmed him, throwing him face-first into a rough hemlock tree, and stole his battered saber. She freed Damanhur from his bonds. Once the rest of Damanhur’s ensign was freed, they took their revenge and struck down the men who had been their captors. Huqu’s scarred face twisted in triumph as he struck down one of his foes. The fight was over moments later.
Quion appeared from behind the boulders, and he hurried up to her, grinning with relief. His scent shifted, taking on hints of anger and concern, as he came closer and noticed her injuries.
“You’re safe,” he breathed with relief.
“Of course she’s safe,” Jiaohua said, coming up next. He gave her a scolding look and shook his head. “I told you we’d rescue her. Not that she deserves it. You shouldn’t have left!”
Damanhur approached as well and joined them.
She smelled the conflict inside Jiaohua, but she didn’t have time to argue or plead for forgiveness. “Where’s Rowen?” she said, looking at him fiercely.
“Captured,” said Jiaohua resentfully. “My orders from Prince Juexin were to rescue you first, then his brother. We don’t have much time. I only brought ten Jingcha with me to rescue you, and the rest I sent trailing that giant of a man—what’s his name? Jiukeshu?”
“Yes,” said Damanhur. “He’s bigger than an ox.”
“A bear more like,” said Jiaohua. “He passed us in the night. One of my men caught a glimpse of Prince Rowen. I sent three men to trail them, but they’re down in the city right now. We have to go. Search the bodies and then conceal them in the rocks! Hurry!”
He was about to leave her, but Bingmei grabbed his arm.
“The Qiangdao with the real Phoenix Blade is coming up the trail.”
He whirled, his eyes widening with fear. “How do you know this?”
“He and I are both connected to that sword,” she explained. “He knows I’ve been captured, so he’s coming up the mountain to get me.”
Jiaohua’s smell turned to worry. “He and the two Qiangdao who travel with him have been killing my men since they arrived in Sajinau. They have more magic than just the Phoenix Blade, as you know.” He looked worriedly at his men. “I don’t think we have the ability to kill them.”
A searing pain shot through Bingmei’s skull, and she felt a throb of warning. He was much closer, and he could sense her just as she could sense him.
“What’s wrong, Bingmei?” Quion asked worriedly.
She looked frantically at Jiaohua. “Is there another way off the mountain? Another trail?”
Jiaohua shook his head no. “There are cliffs
on either side of this trail. We can hide in the woods, but that won’t help.”
“We can’t go back up,” Damanhur said. “Those other Qiangdao are still blocking the pass.” He shot a worried glance down the trail. “How far away are they?”
“I don’t know,” Bingmei said. She felt the throb of warning again, the urge to flee. “We have to go.”
“Where?” Jiaohua demanded. “Even if we conceal ourselves, they’ll still find you.”
“It’s me they want,” Bingmei said, backing away from them. “I’ll go alone. Bring them after me.”
“No!” Quion said, shaking his head. “I’m coming with you.”
“You can’t,” Bingmei said. “I won’t let you die because of me. I’ll go another way, make him chase me.”
“You won’t survive three nights in these mountains,” Jiaohua said. “You’ll starve to death, a bear will kill you, or you’ll drink bad water and get sick. I’ve been charged by the prince of Sajinau to keep you safe! You aren’t leaving my sight.”
“What if you can’t catch me?” Bingmei said, reaching her hand into her pocket.
Jiaohua grabbed her forearm, his eyes glittering with menace.
“Wait! I have an idea,” Quion said firmly. “I’ve a lot of rope in my pack. We can climb down part of the mountain. They won’t be able to follow us unless they have rope too.”
Jiaohua looked at Quion in disbelief. “You have rope?”
“I have lots of rope,” Quion said with a grin.
Bingmei’s heart surged. “Let’s go! We must get off the trail. Now!”
Jiaohua nodded firmly and released Bingmei’s arm. As his men dragged the bodies off the trail into the brush, he barked out commands. Five of the men would accompany them, along with Damanhur’s ensign, and the rest would conceal themselves and remain behind to warn others of the danger waiting in the pass.
“This way,” said Jiaohua. “Be careful. Sometimes there’s a cliff concealed by the brush. One wrong step could be your last.”
They didn’t bother to conceal their trail. Branches of hemlock clawed at them, and dense moss covered the fallen limbs as well as healthy ones. Yellow skunk cabbage grew amidst the shaggy boulders and crisscrossed limbs. Small streams trickled down the mountains. As they clambered down boulders, Bingmei kept looking back over her shoulder. She felt the thrum of the blade’s magic seeking her. It was behind her, behind and above. Muxidi was hunting her in the woods.
Someone cried out in warning from down below, and everyone halted.
A huge black bear and two cubs were foraging in the woods beneath them. The Jingcha’s warning worked against them—the mother bear rushed toward them. There was hardly time to prepare before it slammed into the first man, one of the Jingcha, and slashed him with its knife-sharp claws. He cried out in pain and terror.
“This way!” Jiaohua said, pointing. She followed as fast as she could, trying not to fall and break her arm. The bear roared and attacked another man, who tried to jab at it with a short spear. A claw deflected the attack, and the bear knocked him over as easily as if he were a child, sinking its teeth into the man’s shoulder.
Bingmei shuddered with dread and followed Jiaohua. They came abruptly to the edge of a cliff, and he pinwheeled his arms to keep from falling. Quion grabbed his jacket and pulled him back.
“Here’s the edge,” Jiaohua said, gasping. He looked back through the gorse, hearing his man’s cries of pain. His face wrinkled with displeasure. “These mountains can kill. Get out your ropes, fisherman.”
Quion was already pulling off his stuffed pack. He brought out a coil of rope and let it fall. The end only went partway down the cliffside. Clamping the end in his armpit, he pulled out another. He quickly tied the two ropes together with a sturdy knot and let the end fall. Leaning over the edge, Bingmei saw the end coil on the ledge down below. Quion nodded quickly, then looked around for something to secure the rope. The bear continued to huff and thrash nearby. Groans and cries came from the fallen.
Quion chose a tree with sturdy roots and threw the end of the rope around it. “Who first?”
“The girl,” said Jiaohua, nodding to Bingmei.
Quion wrapped the end of the rope around her waist and then, with a quick twist and tug, secured it with a knot. She tested it, and it held strong.
“We’ll lower you down,” Quion said. “Just hold on.”
She nodded. Quion set his back against the rope and then created some slack in it. He looked at her. “Just step backward. Your feet toward the mountain. The rope will hold you. Be ready to push off when I let the slack go.”
“I’ll fall,” she said worriedly.
“No you won’t. Trust me.” He smiled at her, and she nodded. She did feel safe in his hands, but when she looked back down the cliff, her stomach lurched.
“It’ll hold you. Just lean back and push off against the rocks. Ready?”
She nodded.
“Jump,” he said.
She gripped the rope with both hands, leaning back into the open air. She felt the wind rustle the wig. Her neck was slick with sweat. A little bubble in her stomach told her the idea was madness, that she should quit and run off by herself, but with all the men staring at her, she couldn’t show fear. So she muscled down her terror and nodded at Quion.
“Now!” he said.
She jumped off the cliff as Quion let loose the slack.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Traitor’s Fate
The sensation of falling made her stomach lurch, her head grow dizzy, and then the rope went taut. She had just enough time to bring her legs forward and catch herself against the wall of the cliff before smashing into it. Pushing off the wall, she was suddenly falling again, the rope like water as she rushed down. The stop came faster this time, and it was easier to brace herself. The rope bit into her back painfully, but it was a solid support.
Looking up, she saw several faces staring down at her from above. Then she fell again, this time so far and fast her heart nearly came out of her throat. The fall stopped abruptly, the rope jerking against her ribs, and she gasped in pain. She dangled in the air, twisting slowly, and then the rope slowly descended until the scrub-covered ground rose to meet her feet. Once she was on firm ground again, she slipped out of the rope.
Jiaohua’s voice called down to her. “Are you down?”
“Yes!” she cried back. The rope then whipped back up, stranding her on the ledge. There wasn’t a trail, but the ground was traversable. There weren’t as many trees obstructing the view from this vantage point. She peered down into the valley and saw fighting in the streets of Sajinau. Echion’s ships were disgorging more fighters into the fray. Ribbons of smoke rose from the outermost houses, and she could see at least one burning roof.
Small rocks pattered down on her. She stepped back, looking up and shielding her eyes. Jiaohua was being sent down. He grunted as the rope went slack and then suddenly taut, and her own ribs smarted for him in remembrance. The instinct that connected her with the Phoenix Blade thrummed as the weapon came closer. Its nearness made her anxiety grow more intense, her pulse pound. So many of them were still up there, including Quion. She would despair if anything happened to him.
The final plunge brought Jiaohua slamming into the ground. He nearly pitched over and fell, but Bingmei grabbed his arm and steadied him. Blinking and dazed, he wobbled a bit and then quickly pulled the rope loose.
“Up!” he shouted. The rope was whisked away.
Bingmei gazed up and waited in patient agony as the men from the ensign were lowered down. Several men had started working the rope, and the work became much faster. Yet in her mind, she could almost see Muxidi hunting her in the woods, eager to claim her and the reward he would earn by bringing the phoenix-chosen back to Echion. He was as intent on catching her as she was on escaping.
“Start heading down,” Jiaohua ordered the others. “Scout ahead to see if more cliffs block the way.”
“Yes, sir,�
�� replied one of the Jingcha. They began scrabbling down the mountainside.
Another came down. Then another. Anticipation churned inside Bingmei. How many were left?
After the next man landed, he said, “Two more. Just the master and the fisherman. The boy’s hands are bleeding.”
Bingmei gritted her teeth, looking up worriedly.
Then Damanhur poked his head over the edge. “We’re both coming down together! Hold the rope!” It came sailing back down in a mass and struck Jiaohua on the head. He muttered a curse and then motioned for another man to help him. They wrapped the rope around their wrists and pulled against it.
Bingmei, stepping back a little, watched as they both climbed down, hand over hand. Damanhur slid down the rope quickly, wincing in pain, but he soon landed on the outcropping. Quion was much slower, and his huge pack tottered on his back. She heard some of the pots clanging like gongs.
Bingmei felt the Phoenix Blade right above her.
“Quion!” she warned. He was only halfway down.
He looked up just as a face appeared over the edge.
Bingmei bit her lip, staring up in suspense as Quion reached for the rocky cliffside, trying to find a handhold. The grim-faced Qiangdao leader gazed down at her with hate in his eyes. He’d murdered her parents. He’d killed her grandfather. She wished she had a bow and could have sent an arrow into his skull. Then, holding her gaze, he lifted the Phoenix Blade and sliced through the rope in one slash.
“Quion!” she yelled.
He didn’t fall.
He managed to hold his grip on the rocks, dangling from them. The rope fell, whapping him as it did. He managed to grab the end before it raced by, but she felt sure he was going to fall.
Bingmei stared up at the Qiangdao, her heart flaming like a raging fire. Still Quion hung precariously, the tendons in his arm bulging.
“Drop the pack, boy!” Jiaohua shouted up at him.
Quion ignored him. He raised the rope and bit into it, then grabbed the wall with his other hand, sharing the weight.
“What? Can’t you fly?” Jiaohua taunted the Qiangdao leader. “Come down here, brigand. If you dare.”