Jeff Stone_Five Ancestors 05

by Eagle

  However, now that Tonglong had betrayed him and he was officially an escaped prisoner, Ying's face was a burden. He could no longer show it. Leave it to Tonglong to twist Ying's successes at Cangzhen and the bandit stronghold so that the Emperor would lock him in prison. Apparently, fear was not the only tool a person could use to accomplish his objectives. Tonglong had used strategy. Tonglong's plans had unfolded so slowly, Ying had been oblivious to them. Ying would never fall for such subtle trickery again.

  Ying took another deep breath of putrid air beneath the wet blanket and popped his knuckles, one at a time. He had already taken care of Grandmaster. Next on his list was Tonglong.

  Ying spent most of the following day beneath the wet, tattered blanket, only lifting one corner a few times to drink from the heavy rain that continued to fall. He was soaked to the bone and hungry, but there was little he could do about it. He had shown his face and men would be looking for him, especially in the daylight.

  The clouds broke just before sunset, the rain softening to a fine mist. Not ideal conditions, but they would have to do. It was time for the hunted to become the hunter.

  Ying peeled back the rotting blanket and squeezed dirty rainwater from his short black hair. The foul liquid coursed through the grooves in his carved cheeks, dripping down onto his Pit Cleaner's uniform. He made a mental note to get new clothes soon.

  Ying tore a section of the blanket loose and tied it around his head and face, like a leper, leaving only his eyes showing. The cloth reeked of mold. He stifled a cough and looked at the qiangs beside him.

  Foreigners’ weapons, Ying thought. Weapons for the weak.

  All five qiangs were slightly different in appearance but worked the same way. Ying had learned about them while serving the Emperor. The user pulled a metal hammer back with his thumb until the hammer locked in place. The hammer was fitted with a small piece of fire stone, and when a trigger beneath the qiang was pulled, the hammer released, causing the fire stone to swing forward and strike a metal plate. The fire stone would release a spray of sparks. Most times, one of the sparks would drop through a small hole into a pan that contained explosive black powder. The powder would ignite, in turn igniting a larger quantity of black powder that had been loaded directly into the qiang barrel behind a ball of lead. The resulting explosion would propel the lead ball out of the qiangs barrel at amazing speed.

  Ying knew that Chinese had invented black powder hundreds of years earlier, but it was mostly used for fireworks at celebrations. It was foreigners who had taken black powder and developed these weapons.

  Foreign qiangs came in many shapes and sizes, from the size of a person's hand to huge “cannons” that shot iron balls the size of a man's head. Ying knew this firsthand, as it was only through the power of qiangs that he was able to destroy Cangzhen Temple with his army of young, unseasoned soldiers. It was a test of the qiangs’ capabilities, the Emperor had said, and the results were undeniable. The qiangs had done the job better than Ying or anyone else could ever have imagined. Ying had even used a short qiang hidden up his sleeve to take care of Grandmaster.

  Even so, Ying disliked qiangs. Using one took little skill and even less honor. Any monkey could fire a qiang. He saw them only as a weapon of last resort, nothing at all like the chain whip he wore around his waist. The chain whip was intimate. Using it required you to be close enough to look your opponent in the eye. It was his favorite. However, what he needed to do now required distance.

  Ying ran his hand over each qiang, selecting three that had covers to protect their firing mechanisms from the weather. He would leave the other two behind.

  Ying wrung out the blanket, wrapped up the three choice qiangs, and headed out of the alley.

  Tonglong stood in the waning daylight, surveying the remains of the Jinan Fight Club. He was surprised by how quickly it had been reduced to rubble.

  The building had collapsed upon itself during the fire, leaving little more than a tiered ring of stone walls around the deep pit arena. Fortunately for the city of Jinan, only a few sections of the surrounding buildings had burned, thanks to the heavy rains. Now that the rain had finally stopped, twenty men were in the pit, methodically sifting through charred roof timbers and other rain-soaked debris. Fifty more men combed the fight club's vast network of tunnels, searching for clues to where the children and Ying might have fled.

  Tonglong adjusted his long ponytail braid over his shoulder and watched the recovery operation. In all, he had roughly one hundred soldiers in his charge, plus a handful of individuals who had worked as employees of the fight club. The men varied in age, but most of his soldiers were young, age sixteen or seventeen. This was typical. At twenty-nine, Tonglong was considered an old-timer. His men looked up to him, which was a far cry from how they had felt about their former leader, Ying.

  Foolish, arrogant boy, Tonglong thought with a smile. Ying had been in a unique position. He had entered the fight clubs at age fifteen and been crowned champion before he'd turned sixteen. Also, Ying was from this region and therefore eligible to serve the Emperor by leading a small army.

  Tonglong was nearly twice as old as Ying, and he was a former Fight Club Grand Champion, too. However, Tonglong had never been allowed to lead a large force. He was from a region in the south of China, and the Emperor, a northerner, considered him a foreigner.

  Tonglong yearned to become a general, and he had realized that if he could get close to Ying, he might have a chance at realizing his goal. If he could position himself as Ying's right-hand man and then arrange a situation in which Ying would fail the Emperor, the Emperor might just give Tonglong Ying's troops. And that's exactly what happened.

  The men now under Tonglong's charge weren't very skilled, but they were loyal. Tonglong was doing what he could to whip them into shape quickly, and they seemed to embrace his rigorous training. To them, anything was better than Ying's constant selfish demands. Ying was clever, but he was too consumed with revenge to see beyond his immediate target. He would have sacrificed every one of his soldiers to accomplish his goals, and his men knew it. They hated Ying for it.

  What a waste of talent, Tonglong thought. Ying was now an enemy, and he would not live to see his seventeenth birthday. Tonglong would see to that personally.

  In the meantime, Tonglong would continue with the next phase of his plan—getting close to the Emperor. This was coming along nicely, thanks to his mother's charms. There was also the matter of the dragon scroll map that the children from Cangzhen possessed. If the legends were true, its secret would allow Tonglong to rise to power far sooner than he could ever have imagined. In many ways, finding the children was more critical than finding Ying.

  Tonglong frowned. In the past, he had made the mistake of allowing the children to gain possession of several dragon kung fu training scrolls. He had done this to keep the scrolls out of Ying's hands. Unfortunately, Tonglong had incorrectly assumed that he could find the children and take the scrolls back at a moment's notice. He would never underestimate those children again.

  Tonglong wiped his sweaty brow and scanned the soldiers in the pit arena below. They needed to find something soon, before the trail grew too cold. He glanced over at the remnants of the large wooden door that had separated the pit arena from the main tunnel. This was the last place he'd seen Ying and the children. All that was left was a gaping black hole in the pit-arena wall. Soldiers should be coming back out of it anytime now with updated intelligence.

  “General Tonglong!” a voice called from the pit. “Over here, sir, if you please.”

  Tonglong stared down his nose at one of the fight-club employees, a young man called GumLong, or Golden Dragon in Cantonese. Golden Dragon was the fight club owner's number one assistant, and he was making quite a name for himself fighting in the pit arenas. Not since Ying had someone caused such a commotion. Rumor had it that he was only fifteen years old, as Ying had been.

  “What is it, Golden Dragon?” Tonglong asked.

&n
bsp; “I've found something, sir,” Golden Dragon replied. “I believe it is the remains of LaoShu, the fight club owner.”

  Tonglong noted the boy's steady voice. He didn't seem the least bit shaken by what he was looking at. Most people would be horrified if they'd uncovered any sort of human remains, let alone their boss's.

  Tonglong leaned over the pit, eyeing Golden Dragon carefully. Regardless of the boy's age, he acted like a grown man. He was mature, wise, and well mannered. He reminded Tonglong of himself.

  Golden Dragon swept aside a layer of wet soot and lifted something from the muck. Tonglong saw a charred human hand. A gaudy gold ring was fused to one finger, and atop the ring sat a large jade rat. The ring was so large, Tonglong could easily see it from where he stood.

  Tonglong nodded. “LaoShu, indeed. Well done.”

  Golden Dragon nodded back, then turned to the pit entrance tunnel.

  Tonglong looked down at the huge doorway and saw one of his soldiers step through it, along with one of the fight club employees. Between them was a prisoner. The prisoner's wrists and ankles were bound with short lengths of rope, but it was obvious they weren't necessary. The man could barely hold himself up. His face and robes were black with soot, and his sallow skin hung from his cheeks like dry parchment. He moaned, “Water, please … ”

  “Where did you find him?” Tonglong asked.

  “In the farthest tunnel reserved for fight club participants,” the soldier replied.

  Tonglong paused. “Isn't that the tunnel where the round eye was being held?”

  “Yes, sir,” the fight club employee replied. “After he was apprehended at the bettors’ table, we placed the round eye in one of the cells there. We should have him out momentarily.”

  “Nice work, men,” Tonglong said. He turned back to Golden Dragon, who was staring up out of the pit, into the distance.

  Tonglong raised his eyes to the numerous three-and four-story buildings surrounding them. Most were apartment buildings with shops on the ground floor. There was also the city's main temple, immediately to the west. This was the direction in which Golden Dragon was looking.

  Tonglong turned toward the temple and stared into the setting sun. At first, he saw nothing but glare, but then three figures stepped out of the temple, into the street. One person was quite small, one was of average size, and one was gigantic. Golden Dragon had sensed them somehow.

  Tonglong gripped the hilt of his straight sword, then relaxed as the figures came nearer. The giant was Xie, or Scorpion, the Emperor's personal bodyguard, while the medium-sized figure was the Emperor himself.

  Tonglong had to stifle a grin when he saw the small person. It was a beautiful middle-aged woman with long, luxurious hair. One of her arms was coiled around the Emperor's arm in an affectionate embrace. It was Tonglong's mother, AnGangseh.

  Tonglong bowed low when the trio approached. “Greetings, Your Highness,” he said.

  The Emperor sniffed. “What do you have to report?”

  Tonglong straightened. “We've found LaoShu's remains,” he replied proudly.

  “Are you certain it is him?” the Emperor asked.

  “Positive.”

  The Emperor scratched his nose. “I see.” He glanced into the pit at Golden Dragon, who was kneeling, his forehead poised just above the muck.

  “You look familiar, boy,” the Emperor said. “Have we met?”

  Golden Dragon shook his head. “No, Your Highness. I have not had the honor.”

  “I am sure I've seen you before …,” the Emperor muttered. He turned and ran his fingers through An-Gangseh's thick black hair.

  “His name is Golden Dragon,” AnGangseh purred.

  “Of course!” the Emperor said. “I am pleased to see that you survived the fire, young man. I've seen your handiwork in the ring. Most impressive. If you keep this up, you'll be in my ranks before you know it.”

  “That is my dream,” Golden Dragon said, still looking down. “Thank you for the kind words, Your Highness.”

  “You are most welcome,” the Emperor replied. “Now, stand up. I don't like seeing one of my most promising young men kneeling in filth.”

  Golden Dragon stood and raised his head. Tong-long noticed that the boy looked slightly nervous. Strangely, the nervousness did not appear to come from the Emperor's presence. Golden Dragon seemed to be looking right through the Emperor, in the direction of the temple.

  Xie, the Scorpion, cleared his throat and looked at Tonglong. Tonglong met his critical gaze.

  “If LaoShu is dead,” Xie said, “then our only remaining lead is the foreign boy. Do you have any news of him?”

  “We expect an update momentarily,” Tonglong replied.

  Xie nodded, folding his enormous arms. “Then we will wait here with you.”

  Tonglong grated his teeth and turned away. Fortunately they didn't have to wait long. A moment later, Tonglong heard muffled shouts from the pit entrance tunnel. All eyes turned to the large doorway in the pit.

  A breathless young guard appeared, waving his arms frantically. “He's gone! He's gone!”

  “Who is gone?” Tonglong asked.

  “The round eye,” the guard said. “His cell door is open and the soldiers who were guarding him are dead.”

  “Dead?” Tonglong said. “Were you able to identify them?”

  “Yes, sir,” the guard replied. “The fire never made it that far. Their bodies are in perfect condition.”

  “How were they killed?” Tonglong asked. “The foreigner was known to carry two short qiangs beneath his robe—”

  “Don't be ridiculous,” Xie interrupted. “LaoShu's men took his qiangs when they arrested him. He was unarmed.”

  “That's right,” the guard said from the pit. “I disarmed the foreign boy myself before we locked him up. Besides, they were not shot.”

  “How did they die, then?” Tonglong asked. “Smoke?”

  “They appeared to have been crushed to death, sir,” the guard said. “The strange thing is, there is no evidence of what they were crushed with.”

  Tonglong paused. There was only one person he knew of who could accomplish such a feat. He looked over at his mother, and she mouthed the same name that had come to his mind—HaMo.

  Tonglong turned to say something to the Emperor, and a glint of sunlight flickered in the distance. Tonglong glanced back at Golden Dragon and saw that he was still staring at the temple.

  Tonglong squinted into the setting sun and scanned the temple's ornate roof. A pair of angry dragons scowled back at him from the roof's steep, upturned corners. Behind one of the statues, something flickered again, like wet, polished metal reflecting the day's final rays.

  “Take cover, Your Highness!” Tonglong shouted. He grabbed the Emperor by the arm and began to run toward a line of nearby buildings. As he ran, Tonglong glanced back into the pit.

  Golden Dragon was gone.

  Ying sat hunkered down behind an ornate stone dragon on a corner of the temple rooftop. He had a clear line of sight, three loaded qiangs, and a burning desire to exact revenge.

  Standing in the open before him were Tonglong, AnGangseh, Xie, the Emperor, and his former brother, Long, now called Golden Dragon.

  Who should fall first?Ying mused.

  He raised a qiang to his shoulder, resting the long metal barrel on the head of the stone dragon. He'd only had limited training with these foreign weapons, and the current conditions were far from ideal. He had the sun to his back, which was a good thing, but the wind was blowing hard from left to right. Qiang ball accuracy was questionable enough at close distances. At this range, it was almost complete guesswork, especially with a strong crosswind. He knew the chances of hitting three or even two targets were remarkably slim.

  Ying lowered his head and stared along the length of the qiang's barrel, considering his options. All five targets were appealing, but there really was no question about who deserved to fall first.

  Ying lined up the end of the qiang b
arrel with the center of Tonglong's chest, then carefully adjusted it up and left to account for the projectile's inevitable drift and drop. He took a deep breath, exhaled evenly, and began to squeeze the trigger.

  And then Tonglong grabbed the Emperor and began to run.

  Ying cursed as Tonglong, AnGangseh, the Emperor, and Xie headed for cover.

  Ying knew he would never be able to hit a moving target at this distance. He let them go.

  This was all Long's fault. Long had been staring at him for quite some time, and Tonglong had glanced back at Long before breaking into a run. Ying wished he knew how to mask his chi.

  Dragons like Long possessed unusually large amounts of chi, or life energy, and they had an uncanny ability to sense other dragons’ chi over great distances. Ying had always guessed that his own chi was strong. Now he was sure of it.

  Ying turned his qiang toward the pit to take a shot at Long, but Long was no longer there. He was probably hiding behind one of the huge roof timbers inside the pit. Ying leaned over the edge of the rooftop to get a better angle of sight into the pit arena, and Tonglong suddenly shouted from the distance, “Straight over your heads, men!”

  Two armed soldiers sprang to life below Ying from inside the temple's front door. Ying jumped to his feet and shoved the qiang in his hands into the tattered blanket alongside the other two weapons. The qiangs would be useless while he was on the move.

  “There he is!” one of the soldiers shouted from below.

  Click … fizz … BANG!

  A qiang ball smashed into a clay roof tile between Ying's feet. He hoisted the qiangs over his shoulder and began to run due west along the steep rooftop.