When the entourage had finally withdrawn, Rowen continued to stare at the meiwood threshold. She felt the seething conflict within him, the resentment and guilt, the ambition. Even so, his exterior remained completely calm. This was something that had always troubled her about him. Juexin had no guile—the younger brother had inherited it all.
“I wish I didn’t know about your power,” Rowen said, turning to give her a slightly reproachful look. “It isn’t fair.”
“Sometimes it feels like a curse,” Bingmei admitted.
“If we climb hard, we’ll reach the top of the mountain before sunset. We’ll be far away before the city falls.”
“Then why are we waiting?” Damanhur asked with impatience.
Rowen turned to her. “Come with us.”
“Even after what your brother said?” Bingmei asked.
“He’s already expecting me to disappoint him,” he replied darkly. “Why stop now? It’s as I’ve told you—I fear they’ll lose this battle. And if they do, I don’t trust that you’ll be safe here. Let’s get away and plot our next move from a position of safety. There are other kings we can enlist to help. We should go. Now.”
“I need my pack,” Quion said.
Rowen looked annoyed. “We’ve already arranged for supplies.”
Damanhur nodded. “My ensign has been gathering them since we arrived. I even had them get a new straight sword for you, Bingmei.” He winked at her. “My men are slipping through the garden ahead of us. Let’s go.”
“I need my pack,” Quion said forcefully, his voice breaking.
“Whatever you carried in that thing can be replaced,” Rowen said. “If you are coming, then come now!”
But from the tortured look that crossed his face, Bingmei knew the prince was wrong. There was something sentimental in there, something he did not wish to leave behind.
“Delaying a few minutes won’t hurt,” Bingmei said. “And I promised I wouldn’t go anywhere without him.”
“He’ll attract unwanted attention carrying that huge pack through the palace,” Rowen said. “Come or stay. It’s up to you, but we go now.”
“I can’t leave it,” Quion said, giving Bingmei a pleading look. His smell of misery made her suffer with him.
Rowen seethed with impatience. “Come or stay,” he repeated.
Quion’s brow wilted. “I’ll be quick.”
Gongs sounded ominously from within the palace. Damanhur muttered a curse. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll lose the chance.”
“We won’t wait long for you,” Rowen said to Quion, exasperated. “I just don’t trust Jiaohua not to notice you, but the chaos in the palace might provide enough of a distraction. Catch up if you can. That’s the best I can offer.”
Quion nodded eagerly, looking at Bingmei for approval. She felt that Rowen was legitimately trying to be accommodating to her friend.
“Be quick,” she told him, nodding.
He started running away from them.
“Quion!” she shouted.
He spun around, looking confused.
“Hurry . . . but be careful!”
He nodded in realization and then began walking vigorously back to the palace.
“Now can we go?” Damanhur said.
“Lead the way,” Rowen answered.
The hanging trees were no less beautiful than they’d been when she first entered the garden, but Bingmei’s heart shivered with dread. She kept glancing back on the path to see if they were being followed, but it was too soon for that. Too soon, also, for Quion to return. The trees provided a natural cover that hindered visibility. They passed little creeks and ponds and marble benches shaped like lions, as noisy birds called from the trees overhead, fluttering from branch to branch.
The gentle breeze rustled the branches, giving the garden an idyllic look that conflicted with the sound of another gong reverberating from the palace.
“Are the gongs warnings, then?” Bingmei asked.
“Yes,” Rowen answered. “They warn the people to seek shelter. The soldiers will also gather in the courtyard to receive their orders. The fjords are the first line of defense. My brother’s men are probably hoping they have days to prepare before the city is even breached. But I still don’t think so.” He looked backward as well, joining in her nervous habit. He had a sour smell, like bitter herbs, which she interpreted as self-loathing. The bitterness seemed to be familiar with him, but he marched on resolutely. “From what I have learned about the ancients, Echion has incredible powers. And access to magic that we simply can’t match.”
Bingmei caught the scent of another man up ahead, whose nervous energy radiated off him in waves of ginger, and Damanhur greeted one of the members of his ensign.
“Ah, Huqu,” he said. Bingmei had traveled with him to the glacier and back, so he looked familiar, but she had never learned his name.
“The gongs have sounded,” Huqu answered, gazing past them nervously. “Is that because of you, Master?”
“No, the Dragon of Night is coming,” Rowen answered. “Do you have the supplies?”
“Yes, Master,” Huqu said and retrieved a pack from its concealment in the bushes. Several more were hidden with it, and he tossed one to Rowen, one to Damanhur, and then found one for Bingmei.
“Where’s the fisherman?” Huqu asked, grabbing a fourth bag.
“Coming up the trail behind us,” Rowen said. He glanced back, leaning from side to side. “Hopefully.”
There was a sword strapped to Bingmei’s pack, a beautifully crafted saber with a meiwood handle. Her pack also carried clothes, a bedroll, and various other supplies.
Rowen pulled on a jacket over his silk shirt and quickly fastened the rope loops to close it. The rest of them changed, too, concealing the clothes they’d last been seen in. In a few moments, they were all garbed for the journey.
“What do we do with this one?” Huqu said, gesturing to the final pack.
“Leave it,” Rowen said. “Let’s go.”
“Can’t we wait here?” Bingmei asked, feeling anxious. She’d thought Quion would have joined them already.
Rowen shook his head no and touched her arm in a tender gesture. “He’ll find us. I’m sure of it.” He wasn’t being intentionally deceptive, but she did smell his urgency.
The garden had been sloping upward, the foliage becoming progressively denser. Damanhur led the way, followed by Huqu. They were trailed by Rowen and Bingmei, and the steepness of the climb soon made it impossible for them to do anything but breathe fast and sweat. While she was wearied by the climb, it invigorated her spirits and helped occupy her mind. The trail was easy to follow, though narrow, and she knew that Quion would be able to pick his way up after them.
Another member of the ensign waited for them along the trail. He offered each a flask of cold water, which he’d filled from a tiny rivulet running down the mountain. It tasted delicious, but her thoughts strayed back to Quion. She stared back down the trail, listening for the sounds of her friend. If only she’d thought to give him her cricket . . .
Higher they climbed, straining as the trail grew even steeper. The trees grew larger and more wild as they climbed, and the flowers growing along the trail looked and smelled beautiful. She mopped her forehead on her sleeve, keeping pace with the men without difficulty. It reminded her a little of the trail from Kunmia’s quonsuun to the top of the mountain where she’d first practiced with the Phoenix Blade. The memory brought another pang of guilt for abandoning her master in the face of an enemy. She’d broken Kunmia’s trust in her—and she feared she’d never have the chance to make amends.
They reached the top of the mountain ridge before sunset. The air was colder up there, but it felt good after the long hike. Looking down, she could see the city of Sajinau nestled below, glimmering in the fading sun. The burning watchtowers inside the fjord were light stars against the dark wall of the cliffs. The city had siege crossbows and weapons for hurling stone down against the invading jun
ks.
It still wouldn’t be enough.
“Where are Batong and the others?” Damanhur asked, panting, hands on hips.
Huqu looked around, also winded. “They were supposed to wait for us up here.”
And that was when Bingmei first noticed the insidious smell, which had been concealed by the abundance of wildflowers growing in the scrub on the ridge. The smell of death. The smell of murder.
The smell of Qiangdao lying in wait for their prey.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Jiukeshu
They had ventured up the mountain into a trap. The other members of the ensign had already been captured.
“Stop!” Bingmei cried out.
Damanhur turned to look at her with worried eyes. “What is it?”
“Qiangdao.”
A blur from the sky hurtled toward them, and a weighted net slammed Damanhur to the ground. The rocks and scrub sprang to life as Qiangdao charged toward them, screaming in challenge.
Bingmei gaped when she saw their numbers, but she didn’t hesitate. She drew her saber and reached into her pocket for the cricket. A net came flying at her, but she sprang free. As she soared through the air, she caught sight of the others. Huqu and Rowen drew their blades and were immediately surrounded, while Damanhur struggled against the weights of the net.
Bingmei landed abruptly in front of an enemy and sliced through his jacket and animal-hide armor. She kicked him down, only to find herself facing another Qiangdao who’d jumped over him. She ducked, spun around, and deflected his weapon. Another man was already grabbing for her arm. Her heart galloped in her chest as she spun, kicking him in the face, and knocked him down. Even with her blade whipping death, the enemy tried to swarm her. Summoning the cricket’s power just in time, she leaped straight into the air and watched them collide beneath her. She came back down, landing on backs and heads, and deftly walked down their bodies to escape.
She darted a glance at Rowen, who was sawing at the ropes of Damanhur’s net with his short blade. A Qiangdao tackled him from behind before he could finish. Frowning, she rushed toward them, dodging two men who tried to stop her, cutting at their legs and calves with her sword. The Qiangdao shoved Rowen’s face into the dirt, then jumped to standing to meet her attack. She leaped at him, feet forward, and kicked him in the chest and then the face in a snapping motion, rocking his head and body back.
She landed near Rowen, grabbing his arm to help him stand. Someone tackled her from behind. Huge arms wrapped around her body, squeezing so hard she feared her ribs would break. She arched her head back to break the man’s nose, but he was taller than she’d expected, and her head only struck his chest. With all her strength, she tried to squirm out of his hold, but his strength defied her.
Rowen plunged his blade into the man’s thick leg. A grunt of pain, and then the man kicked the prince in the face, dropping him instantly. Blood dribbled from Rowen’s nose as he slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Huqu was down, and several of the Qiangdao were stomping on him as he writhed in pain. Bingmei’s heart shuddered with dread. Then she saw Damanhur rise from the nest of ropes, sword in hand, his eyes full of fury and the thirst for vengeance.
The Qiangdao holding her threw her down, and a huge rock caught her fall, knocking the wind out of her.
Damanhur rushed the man who’d attacked her and injured the prince, yelling in challenge. The huge Qiangdao pulled a chui from his belt. It had a meiwood handle, and the round iron orb attached to the end was engraved with sigils. The leader sneered at Damanhur, barking something in a language she didn’t recognize.
Damanhur swung at him, and the chui was brought up to deflect the attack. The man was huge and quick and slammed his weapon into Damanhur’s chest. Bingmei thought she heard the snap of a bone. Damanhur grimaced, but did not relent.
Bingmei struggled to her feet and saw several men rushing toward her. She still couldn’t fill her lungs, and her arms were sore from being clamped by the giant man. The coppery taste of blood was in her mouth. Dizziness washed over her, but she was determined to fight on. She lunged forward, stabbing one enemy in the stomach with the point of her sword and then reversing the blow so the pommel hit another. She was about to mount another attack when someone grabbed her sword arm and wrenched it. Her fingers bent painfully. Bingmei struck out with her fist, knocking the man down, and then the blade tumbled from her hand and clattered against the rocks. Someone kicked her in the side. Pain blurred her vision. Another punch to her back made her stagger and cry out in agony.
Blinking the sweat from her eyes, she saw Rowen trying to lift his head, his eyes unfocused. Had he heard her cry out?
Another man kicked at the side of her knee, and she stumbled, planting her palm on the ground, her other arm torqued at a painful angle. Her chest screamed for air.
Confused, tortured by pain, she twisted her neck to see who’d attacked her. Instead, a sickly green glow caught her eye. The chui wielded by the giant Qiangdao was magic. Damanhur swung at him relentlessly, but the chui seemed to jerk of its own accord to deflect the blows. A primal sneer on the Qiangdao’s face showed he knew the power he was wielding.
The men restraining Bingmei wrenched her arms harder. She cried out in pain and warning as the first tendrils of fog crept toward them, coming up from behind Damanhur. They came like snakes smelling rodents for food, hungry and greedy. As the fog touched the Qiangdao, she watched the mist shrink away from their legs, going around them to find the victims it desired. The Qiangdao were immune to it, just like Muxidi had been in her vision. Her heart skittered in panic.
She looked back, behind the Qiangdao subduing her, and saw more of the fog encroaching from that side. Panic filled her. There was no way to escape it.
Rowen was still trying to rise when a man kicked him hard in the ribs. He fell back down, groaning.
Blows from Damanhur’s sword rained down on the massive Qiangdao, but the big man had no sense of urgency. So sure were they of the outcome, none of the other Qiangdao came to assist him in the fight. The other rogues were grinning at their victory, walking through the tendrils of fog. It seemed like a dream. No, a nightmare.
“Damanhur!” Bingmei screamed. “The fog!”
The swordsman heard her words and halted his attack. He glanced around quickly, seeing the thick, deadly mist converging on the chui gripped in the huge man’s fist.
She saw the warring conflict on his face, the urge to kill and defeat his enemy. But he could not win. And if he kept fighting, the fog would kill Rowen, Huqu, and Bingmei. And then Damanhur himself. That was why the Qiangdao looked so smug. They knew there could only be one outcome.
She pleaded with him with her eyes as she knelt in the dirt and rocks, body aching, sweat and blood dripping from her face.
The look of conflict on Damanhur’s face was terrible. He whirled around, taking in the full scene. The fog was nearly to Huqu, who lay unconscious. Almost as if the fog had already killed him. When Damanhur turned back to the giant Qiangdao, a look of revenge in his eyes, he did the only thing he could. He threw down his blade. It rang like a bell when it struck a stone.
The giant grunted with victory, grinning, and lowered the chui. The green haze around it subsided. The gathering fog became aimless, roiling in a frenzy as it lost strength and purpose. Bingmei watched it seep into the rocks and dirt and vanish.
Someone wrapped a rope around Bingmei’s body, binding her arms to her sides. She felt a noose fix around her neck. She did not attempt to struggle. She tried to stand but wobbled and fell back down.
Damanhur held up his wrists to be bound, a symbol of submission. The Qiangdao grunted again, shaking his head. Then he gestured for him to follow on foot. She watched Rowen get tied up and Huqu as well. They were both carried while Bingmei was led by the noose after them.
She’d never been captured before. Always before, she’d found a way to escape. Dread filled her stomach, making it queasy. Her only hope was that these
Qiangdao had no idea whom they’d captured.
They were taken, bound as they were—save Damanhur—to a cleft on the other side of the mountain. The rest of Damanhur’s ensign had been taken there. The horrible stench of the Qiangdao made Bingmei want to gag. The boulders formed the walls, and they were penned in like goats by a herdsman. The giant Qiangdao came with them but stood by the entrance, smiling at them in a way that made Bingmei sick.
“I’m sorry, Master,” one of the prisoners said, bowing his head in shame. “They overpowered us.”
“It’s not your fault, Batong,” Damanhur said bitterly. He turned around and looked at them all. Huqu was laid out, unconscious, though alive. Rowen was awake, but his eyes were wells of misery.
The giant said some unintelligible words, and a wiry man approached the opening of the cave, wearing beaver skin and a furred cap that flared open at his ears. He had stringy hair and a cunning look.
The wiry man bowed to the giant and then came into the little den made of stone and rubble. “Greetings,” he said. “You have been captured by the mighty Jiukeshu, fiercest of the Qiangdao.”
Damanhur scowled but inclined his head. That their lives had been spared at all surprised Bingmei. By reputation and her own experience, the Qiangdao relished plunder and murder, and these men smelled like they’d participated in both.
The wiry man nodded in acknowledgment. “My master bids me speak to you. I am his humble translator. I once lived in the city of Sajinau. I was captured, but I have made peace with the Qiangdao and am now one of them. The great emperor is coming to reclaim his realm. He will appoint those loyal to him to be his rulers. Now, my master bids me offer you all—”
He dipped his head at each one of them in turn, until he reached Rowen. His eyes widened with recognition. Bingmei smelled his sudden change in mood, and the dread in her heart deepened. He knew. The wiry man turned and began speaking quickly to Jiukeshu.
The giant stepped forward, his face twisting with confusion, then a broad, pleased smile brightened his face.
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