Empire of Dragons

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  She took a look around as she tied her horse to a crib. The inner part of the enclosure was illuminated by a number of coloured lanterns that spread a warm light under the arches, over the baled merchandise, on the servants tending the animals and on the colourful characters who came from every part of the world, wearing costumes of every sort, conversing in a multitude of languages and getting ready to sit down for their dinner after concluding deals with the other merchants who frequented the place.

  The girl realized that she was still wearing the red ribbon on her arm and she slipped it off as soon as she heard voices behind her. She tucked it under her belt and turned her head away, to avoid meeting anyone’s eye.

  ‘Easy on that crate! It’s fragile, I said, damn you!’ croaked the voice with a strong foreign accent.

  The girl moved a little to let them by and a corpulent, dark-skinned merchant passed alongside her, accompanied by two servants who were dragging a wooden crate on a wobbly cart.

  A Chinese scullery boy approached the man. ‘Very honourable Daruma,’ he said, ‘your most honourable colleague Wu He awaits you for dinner.’

  ‘I’ll be there straight away, my boy,’ replied Daruma, and he moved his bulky frame towards the entrance to the tavern at the end of the caravanserai.

  Behind him, the girl reached out her hand and deftly snatched a swatch of cloth resting on top of a bale of raw wool. She draped it over her shoulders to hide her grey tunic and entered the tavern herself. She went to sit down at the end of the smoky room just like any other regular customer, in a dimly lit corner near the table where Daruma and the Chinese merchant were sitting.

  A group of Mongolian musicians sitting under an archway were playing string instruments, producing low-pitched sounds that they accompanied with voices just as resonant. The soloist had a voice so deep that the girl could feel it vibrate inside her.

  ‘It has been a terrible year . . .’ started up the Chinese merchant.

  ‘. . . production was down, parasites nearly wiped out the silk worms . . .’ Daruma finished his words with a knowing air. ‘I’ve heard this story before, Wu He. You’re looking for an increase of 10 to 20 per cent. There has never been a good year since I’ve known you and your prices are always going up.’

  ‘Ah! You mustn’t complain!’ retorted Wu He. ‘Who knows how much those Westerners earn when they sell our silk to the foreign devils. Oh, by the way, do you know that some of them showed up in the city just a short time ago? Strange-looking characters with bizarre clothing. They were with the convoy of the eunuch Wei, may the gods preserve him, and they seemed to be prisoners.’

  The girl overheard his words and unobtrusively slipped along the bench to get as close as possible to the two merchants, who were seemingly intent on their conversation.

  Daruma noticed her move but didn’t react and continued speaking with Wu He. ‘Foreigners, you say? What did they look like?’

  ‘Round eyes, beards as thick and dark as a boar’s bristles, hair on their arms and legs like monkeys . . . wearing metal bracelets at their wrists. That’s how a servant of mine described them to me. And then there was another prisoner, Chinese it seemed, to judge from his clothing, whose head was covered by a hood.’

  The girl could not hold back. ‘I could not help but hear your words, honourable gentlemen,’ she said, ‘and I would be very curious to see these foreigners, because I have never seen one in my whole life. They say they are truly horrible . . . Do you know where they’ve been taken?’

  Wu He considered her in surprise, while Daruma shot her an enquiring look: that sudden remark from a stranger who had been listening in on their conversation seemed quite out of place.

  Wu He began to speak nonetheless: ‘As far as I know, it seems they were taking them to . . .’

  He hadn’t finished what he was saying when a group of imperial army soldiers entered the tavern. The girl immediately lowered her gaze and turned her head towards the wall, and that didn’t escape Daruma’s attention either. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her close to speak to her so that the others could not hear. ‘Too slight a wrist to be a man’s, but very strong nonetheless,’ he thought. Aloud, he said, ‘And now, if you don’t tell me why you’re interested in those foreigners, I’ll tell those soldiers to search under your belt, where they just might find a pretty red ribbon . . .’

  The girl’s free hand slipped under her tunic, seeking the haft of her dagger, but Daruma’s next words stopped her.

  ‘There may be some friends of mine among those foreign devils, friends I care about deeply.’

  The girl’s hand slid off the dagger’s hilt. ‘Friends?’ she repeated.

  ‘Friends,’ confirmed Daruma. ‘Can we talk about it?’

  ‘We can talk about it,’ replied the girl.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘I can’t tell you for the moment.’

  ‘Why can’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because it’s not the right time and because I don’t know you well enough. You’re a foreigner, after all.’

  ‘All right, but now you’ll do as I say. Go and wait at the caravanserai near the arch by the fountain.’

  The girl nodded.

  Daruma raised his voice and, pointing to a large jug in front of him, said loudly, ‘Offer some pomegranate wine to these valiant soldiers! They will be tired and thirsty. Landlord! I’m paying!’

  The girl obeyed and went to pour some wine from the big jug, helped by the tavern keeper. She handed it out to the soldiers, who tossed it down without giving her a second glance. When she had handed them their mugs, she slipped casually out of the tavern towards the caravanserai. The soldiers left shortly afterwards, mounting their horses and riding off at a gallop through the deserted city streets.

  Daruma’s bulk filled in the space of the open door. He was still accompanied by his colleague, who had taken up his litany again: ‘As I was saying, honourable friend, the year was a very bad one, many mulberry trees dried up in the drought and . . .’

  ‘All right,’ replied Daruma. ‘All right, I said. How much do you want for the whole lot?’

  ‘Seven thousand five hundred dariens,’ replied Wu He swiftly.

  Daruma considered him with an appalled expression, then said, ‘You are a thief and a bloodsucker. This is highway robbery, but I have no alternative.’

  ‘No, don’t say that, honourable friend! I’m certain that you’ll be able to pass on this small increase to your clients, who will be calling you thief and bloodsucker before long. It’s the law of our trade.’

  ‘Fine, all right, but you really must excuse me now. I’m very tired and I would like to retire early this evening.’

  Wu He bowed respectfully and left through a side door. The girl stole a look at him, then walked over to her horse as if to untie the reins, but Daruma’s voice sounded as if in her ear: ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’

  Yun Shan turned and was amazed to see that Daruma was still on the other side of the caravanserai, at a distance of at least thirty paces, and seemed to be meditating, his head leaning against the tavern wall.

  His voice echoed even closer, in a completely natural tone: ‘You heard what I said. There’s something we still have to talk about, isn’t there?’

  The girl dropped the horse’s reins and walked towards him, crossing the courtyard. ‘How did you do that?’ she asked.

  ‘A little trick. You see, if you speak into this little niche in the door jamb you can be heard on the other side of the portico.’

  ‘Interesting. What is it that we have to talk about?’ asked Yun Shan.

  ‘Why did you ask about those foreigners? And what are you doing here?’

  ‘Why do you want to know? I don’t know you.’

  ‘It’s very simple. Wu He’s description leads me to believe that the prisoners he was speaking of are none other than Prince Dan Qing and his guard: men who come from the distant kingdom of Taqin Guo, the furthest to the west. When I heard you asking
about them, I could not help but wonder whether both of us were interested in the same people. You are a girl dressed as a man, you wear the bracelet of the Red Lotus and you were running from the imperial guards.’

  ‘Supposing that were the case,’ she replied, ‘who tells me that you’re not a spy?’

  ‘The fact that I didn’t report you to the soldiers. You would have had no way out and I would have earned myself a pretty sum of money – enough to cover at least a part of the increase that Wu He has demanded on the consignment of silk I’m buying from him.’

  Yun Shan looked askance at him without saying a word. She seemed to be studying him, and he was free to observe her freely as well now. The girl had thin but beautifully shaped lips, eyes that were bigger than usual and a little wrinkle between her forehead and nose.

  ‘You’re still not convinced?’ asked Daruma.

  ‘My master always told me that there is no better way to deceive a person than by winning his trust.’

  ‘He’s right. And you certainly have your wits about you. What can I do to make you believe me?’

  ‘You won’t have long to convince me. I’m about to leave.’

  ‘You greatly resemble your brother, Prince Dan Qing,’ Daruma said then. ‘I’m the man who brought him back home from Persia.’

  ‘Give me proof of what you are saying.’

  ‘Only your brother can prove it to you, but first we must find him. We were supposed to meet in this tavern, but many days have gone by and he hasn’t shown up, and what Wu He said makes me think that he may very well be the hooded prisoner. There’s no doubt that the foreigners with the round eyes and bristly beards are his bodyguard. I recruited them myself in Persia. There are ten of them, but they’re worth a hundred men. Formidable combatants: without them your brother would have never made it back, Princess Yun Shan.’

  Yun Shan seemed to accept the evidence. ‘He is their prisoner. I was there when Wei captured him. What I was trying to learn from Wu He was their destination . . . How did you know I was his sister?’

  ‘I didn’t know. It was a guess, based on how much you resemble him. Shall we go and sit over there?’ he said, motioning towards a couple of woollen cushions and a carpet beneath an arch in the corner of the caravanserai. He blew out the lamp, so that the enclosure was lit only by the light of the moon and they could continue their conversation safely in the darkness.

  Daruma drew a long sigh. ‘How did it happen?’ he asked.

  ‘Wei seized the Monastery of Whispering Waters. He killed Master Wangzi.’

  Daruma bowed his head, bringing a hand to his forehead.

  ‘Did you know him?’ asked Yun Shan.

  ‘It was with him that I organized your brother’s escape from Persia. Dan Qing and I separated at the foot of the climb that leads up to Whispering Waters. My caravan could never have passed the bridge over the chasm. But I left him in good hands: he had his guard, and the hospitality of Master Wangzi . . . So you were there as well.’

  ‘Yes, I was there.’

  ‘And now you belong to the Red Lotus. For how long?’

  ‘A month. I had no one I could count upon and one of the monks at Whispering Waters told me to go to them.’

  ‘Why were those soldiers after you?’

  ‘We tried to free my brother.’

  ‘And you failed.’

  ‘We nearly succeeded. Did you learn anything more from your friend the merchant?’

  ‘No. But we can try to get more information. How long ago did the attack take place?’

  ‘Two dan after sunset.’

  ‘And you were able to escape immediately?’

  ‘We were forced to withdraw: the enemy forces overwhelmed us. They had a group of Flying Foxes with them. I’m not ready to fight them yet.’

  ‘So if Wu He has learned about it, it means that his informer must have seen them not too far from here. And no longer than half a dan ago. The only place they could have been taking them, in an area so close to the caravanserai, is the Palace of the Bronze Tripods.’

  ‘That’s possible,’ replied Yun Shan. ‘That is a reasonable deduction.’

  ‘It’s more than possible,’ countered Daruma. ‘The Palace of the Bronze Tripods, as you know, is an ancient structure built in the era of Emperor Wudi that your father had restored, replacing most of the mud-brick enclosure walls with squared stone, but it still has a weak point. The problem will be how to inform the prince that we are preparing to free him, so that he’ll be ready when the time comes.’

  ‘I think I can find a way. The Red Lotus has many informers, even in the most inaccessible places.’

  ‘Tell me what happened to his escort. They are remarkable men and must be saved as well, at any cost. I owe them, and I’ve made a promise I mean to keep. Were they all alive when you last saw them?’

  ‘I didn’t count them. But there seemed to be about ten of them.’

  ‘Their commander is a man of exceptional character, and he’s succeeded in winning your brother’s trust, and perhaps his esteem as well. He’s a tall man, quite muscular, with dark hair and amber-coloured eyes that look right through you . . . Did you see him among them? I mean, did you see a man who looked like that . . . alive?’

  ‘Yes, I saw him. I think so . . .’

  Daruma let out a long breath. ‘I hope you’re not wrong.’

  Yun Shan hesitated. ‘One of them looked at me . . .’ she said.

  ‘Please the Heavens, I hope Xiong Ying is alive. He’s a famous warrior in his country, but he’s also a man who has greatly suffered. He has seen the people he loved die without ever losing heart. A man who is true to his word, should it cost him his life. He doesn’t deserve to finish his days racked by torture, nor do his men.’

  Yun Shan thought of those deep, amber eyes which had fixed hers with the penetrating intensity of an eagle’s gaze. The eyes of Xiong Ying . . . ‘Why does he have a Chinese name?’

  ‘Your brother gave him that name after he’d saved the prince from the Flying Foxes. You couldn’t even pronounce his real name.’

  ‘How do you intend to free him?’ asked Yun Shan.

  ‘We’ll have to gather as much information as possible, as fast as we can. Every passing instant may be his last. This will be my headquarters. You can send me messages here when you like.’

  Yun Shan stood to leave.

  ‘Just a moment,’ said Daruma.

  The girl stopped.

  ‘Is there any truth in the story that’s circulating about you and Wei?’

  Yun Shan tried to speak but her voice died in her throat and her eyes filled with tears. She rushed back to her horse and took shelter in the silence of the shadows.

  Daruma remained alone. ‘It’s true, then,’ he murmured to himself. ‘It’s all true.’

  26

  YUN SHAN MOVED FORWARD cautiously until she could see that there was no one on the road. She covered her face and flew off at a gallop. She raced like a ghost through the silent streets of Luoyang, bathed in moonlight. Her horse’s hoofs seemed to barely touch the earth, as if it bore no weight at all on its back, as if the rider were one with its flashing legs and contracting muscles. It soared through deserted squares, leapt over enclosure walls, streaked past hidden gardens and shadowy courtyards, under sculpted porticoes, along avenues lined with big tripods, amid the dimming flames of pale lanterns.

  She raced to escape her own thoughts, the painful memories of the past and the anguish of the present. To free herself of the shades of the dead, ghosts who galloped as swiftly as she did, veiling the light of the moon.

  A shadow.

  The shadow of a horseman at the end of the road.

  She pulled up short, yanking the reins to one side, and spurred her horse on in the opposite direction, no longer recognizing the places she passed, not knowing where the wild galloping of her mount would take her.

  A shadow, again.

  A horseman, immobile under an arch, blocking the road that led out of the
city.

  Yun Shan spun around, certain she’d find the roads barricaded by bands of imperial soldiers, but she found them empty.

  That horseman summoned her to a solitary challenge. And she would accept.

  She pulled on the horse’s reins and felt, behind her saddle, for the sheath that enclosed Tip of Ice, the sword forged three centuries earlier for her ancestor Xung Zhou, by a master from Yue. She leapt to the ground and unsheathed the weapon, which glinted blue in the light of the moon.

  The horseman dismounted as well and drew his sword. He was dressed all in black, a deep blue silk scarf covering his face.

  Step after step they drew close, until they were near enough for a lunge to transfix one or the other. Their blades cast iridescent reflections, gave off azure flashes, sliced through the air, at first with soft whispers. Their bodies moved in a dance in which their limbs sought perfect equilibrium, the concentration of strength from which death would spring.

  Then the blades collided furiously in an argentine blaze, in a ringing out of clean, pure, increasingly rapid strokes. The lethal edges of the swords glided over steel and grazed human flesh, swooped down towards their eyes, or their brows, or their hearts, only to be deflected by a sudden flash of the other’s mind, of the other’s hand, of the other’s blade.

  All at once, both of them stopped, tips pointed forward, to prepare a new, meditated attack.

  Yun Shan could tell that the force of her adversary was intact, while her own had been cracked by the breathless chase, by too many emotions, by the fear of her enemy’s growing energy. She had to overcome the feeling that was weakening her: she had to spring forward with an eagle’s shriek, a tiger’s pounce. She would vault through the air to strike him from above like lightning, with a clean blow between his shoulder blades, reaching his heart from on high.