Never Die

by Rob J. Hayes

  "I can't," said Ein. "His body is too badly damaged."

  "And now my prince is dead," the masked woman said. "And we have no other options left to us. The rebellion must survive. The Steel Prince must survive."

  "Of course," Zhihao said. "But he's dead."

  The masked woman shook her head. "The armour might fit, but there is no way he can play the part."

  Itami moved next to Zhihao and looked at him like a farmer might at a prize bull. "His hair is a little shorter, but close to the correct colour. Some ink could make his face look scarred, at least from a distance. And it would be up to you to make certain that little contact with the prince is required. You are the strategist behind this entire rebellion. All you need to do is hold the army together for a few days until we reach Wu. All he has to do is the wear the armour, sit a horse, and lead the charge when the time is right."

  "Wait… What? Lead the charge?" Zhihao asked. "What charge?"

  Ein stood from beside the body and walked over to the armour stand. He had to stand on his toes to reach the helmet, but he managed to pull it free. It was made of the same ceramic plating, painted silver to a shine and marred by blood dried to brown. It had a raven design on the forehead and would cover almost every bit of a man's face except for his eyes.

  "If this doesn't work, the troops will disband," the masked woman said. "The rebellion will fall apart, but they will almost certainly kill us first."

  "Then make it work," Itami said. "I see no other way of keeping the hope alive."

  The masked woman nodded slowly then looked right at Zhihao.

  "I don't like the way this conversation is going," Zhihao said. "I can't do this."

  "You have to," Ein said. He approached slowly, holding up the silver helmet in his hands. His eyes were pale as fresh snow and just as cold. "Because you're the Steel Prince."

  Chapter 33

  Guang Qing - the Steel Prince

  Unyielding as the ancient earth, unflinching as the tide, unstoppable as a forest fire.

  The Steel Prince was born from tragedy to be Hosa's last hope.

  "This is a terrible idea," Zhihao said as Itami and Daiyu encased him in the prince's ceramic armour. The chest piece was new, pilfered from another set of armour, and didn't match the rest. It was red and drab, lacking ornament, while the shoulder pieces each had a flock of screeching ravens bursting forth. The right greave, the only one of the leg plates to survive the oni attack, had a wonderfully detailed carving of birds along all its edges. His left leg was bare. Zhihao looked more like a patchwork prince than a steel prince.

  "Yet it is the only one we have," said Ein, sounding young and petulant. "His hair is too short." The boy was right. Even brushed out, Zhihao's hair was shorter than the prince's had been.

  "We could tie it into a braid?" Itami said.

  Daiyu shook her head, her expression invisible beneath the mask. "We will need the hair left down to obscure his face as much as possible. Here." She handed Zhihao a small knife and a mirror.

  "For stabbing you?" Zhihao said, a smug smile on his lips.

  "For shaving off your moustache," Daiyu said as she opened up a chest and pulled out some brushes.

  Roi Astara stood to the side of the tent and watched it all with his pale eye. He neither moved, nor said anything, and his silent presence grated against Zhihao, as though the leper were judging him.

  "Perhaps you should go and quietly inform Bingwei Ma and Chen Lu of this," Itami told him.

  "Soon," replied Roi Astara. "For now I will wait and see the final ruse."

  "The leper just wants to see me humiliated," Zhihao said, grimacing as he scraped away the hairs on his lip.

  "That is not how the prince talks," Daiyu said.

  "I'm not the prince." Zhihao gestured to the corpse in the corner. "Hero." Then he patted his own chest. "Bandit." Again towards the corpse. "Leader." And once more to himself. "Man hiding at the back with a bottle of wine, waiting to see which way the wind blows."

  "Prince Qing treats others with the respect they are due," Daiyu continue as if Zhihao hadn't even spoken. "Where possible he always uses names or titles. He stands straight. No slouching. His voice is slightly deeper than yours, and his accent lighter. Perhaps you could affect a slight growl, put some gravel in your voice."

  "Would you like to fetch some stones for me to swallow?" Zhihao said, lowering his voice to a painful rasp.

  "That is better." Daiyu waited until Zhihao had finished shaving then approached him with the brushes and several of pots of ink. "I will attempt to mimic the prince's scars. Do not rub at your face or the ink will smudge. I will need to replace the ink each morning."

  "What if I have an itch?"

  Itami sighed. "Zhihao, please."

  Zhihao tore his face away from Daiyu's hands to stare at Itami. "I'm doing this for you. The least you can do is allow me to be grouchy about it."

  "Grouchy in private," Daiyu said as she turned Zhihao's face back towards her mask. "Terse in public. The less you say the better. Most orders will come from me and you should simply nod once to signal you agree. Do you understand?"

  Zhihao nodded once.

  "Good. Now let your face go slack while I scar you." She set about painting his face. Even so close Zhihao could not see anything of the woman's face, only her eyes behind her mask. They were a sparkling emerald. His favourite colour.

  By the time Daiyu was done Zhihao had a convincing set of scars that looked passably similar to the prince's. Under close inspection there was no way Zhihao could be mistaken for Prince Qing, but it would be up to Daiyu to make certain there was no close inspection.

  "Stand behind the desk," Roi Astara said once Daiyu was finished. Zhihao let out a weary sigh and did as he was told. "Face away from us. Now turn just your head to the left. Look at us over your shoulder."

  Zhihao followed the instructions, not letting his annoyance show. With his face scarred and his hair brushed, and standing there in most of the prince's armour, Zhihao felt almost regal. Ein had gone back to kneeling by the body of the real prince, but he stood again and joined the others. He did not look pleased.

  "You have a plan of attack?" the boy said.

  "I do," said Daiyu.

  "Then we should leave soon. Before anyone realises Zhihao is a fake. We will leave the tent and the body here."

  Daiyu's mask turned towards Ein and for just a moment it looked as though the strategist was shaking. Itami stepped between them. "We have done a good job, the best we can. The prince's death will not be in vain. This rebellion will serve its purpose to free Hosa from the emperor."

  Daiyu nodded, her face still a mystery behind the mask.

  "Perhaps I should send in one of your captains," Roi Astara said. "It would be wise if someone sees the prince before rumours of him vanishing spread too far."

  By the time one of the prince's soldiers stepped in through the tent, Zhihao was perched on the desk, drumming his fingers against the wood. Daiyu let out a little cough and Zhihao stood and glanced over his left shoulder. The strategist whispered words only he could hear.

  "Good. Captain Feng." Zhihao repeated Daiyu word for word.

  "You're healthy, my prince."

  Zhihao smiled. "Minor injuries only."

  Daiyu let out a hiss and Zhihao dropped the smile.

  "Strike the camp, Captain. We march on Wu in the morning."

  "Tomorrow morning, my prince?" Daiyu said.

  "Of course. Not today. Tomorrow."

  The captain frowned and opened his mouth but Daiyu strode forward towards the man. "I will see preparations are made. The time has finally come, Captain Feng, to free Hosa." She led the captain out of the tent.

  Zhihao slouched down on the desk. "How far is it to Wu?"

  "Three days to Wu," Itami said. "And another one to Jieshu." She slipped around the desk and perched next to Zhihao. "Five if you count the assault itself."

  "I have to keep this up for five days?" Zhihao said. "What if
we try to squeeze Iron Gut into the armour instead. I'm sure he'd make an excellent Steel Prince if he can remember which name to shout."

  Itami laughed. "Your face will be covered most of the time. All you'll have to do is ride and look stern and regal. And Daiyu will be by your side to give out the orders." She leaned a little closer. "If we tried it with Chen Lu, all he'd ever do is order more wine."

  "Wonderful."

  "Besides," Itami smiled at him. "It's only four days march. The fifth day all you'll have to do is lead this army into battle."

  Chapter 34

  Long before the sunrise of the fifth day, the army reached Jieshu. The city was built into the side of a mountain, utilising steep rock faces on either side and an impossible climb at its back. It was built in three tiers. The outermost was a sprawling mess of haphazard single-storey buildings and sloping roofs that led right into the gutter of the street. The poorest of the city's citizens lived in that outer tier, those unable to afford to live behind the walls. Daiyu, never far from Zhihao's side these past five days, explained it was a bustling shanty town ever since the emperor had come to power and the imperial tax had risen to unmanageable levels. The people there moved like sullen ghouls, stalking to their work and scowling at each other as they went. They fled the rebellion's soldiers as they arrived, like mist retreating from the light of day, slinking away into alleys and hovels.

  The night covered the army's advance into Jieshu, but torches were soon lit on the wall ahead, and shouts drifted through the darkness, warnings that a hostile force were in the city.

  The acrid smell of smoke grew strong in the air. Fires blossomed ahead and it soon became clear the soldiers of Wu had turned the buildings closest to the wall into a blaze. Daiyu claimed it was a sound strategy, but one that could easily turn the entire outer tier to ash. It lessened the cover the rebels could play with, made them easier targets for archers. The people of Jieshu did little to stop the blaze, retreating farther from the flames as the fire spread from building to building. At the Steel Prince's order, the soldiers of the rebellion spent their first night in the city putting out fires started by those whose responsibility it was to protect the people, not harm them.

  As the light of morning rose above the mountains, bathing the palace and wall in a burning light, the last of the fires was finally quenched. The soldiers of the rebellion were weary after the long night of toil and smoke, exhausted both from the march and the hard work. It was an inauspicious start, but Daiyu insisted they could not wait. They had neither the numbers nor the supplies for a lengthy siege. So the Steel Prince gave the order and the soldiers formed up, ready to crash against the walls. Ready to fight for their prince, and die for their prince. Ready to fight to free Hosa. Ready to buy the time they needed for Ein and the others to find and kill the emperor.

  "I don't like all this ordering men to their deaths," Zhihao said. He spoke quietly, but Daiyu's mask still snapped around to face him. She was wearing a light suit of scale armour over her robes, and carrying a large satchel at her hip. Zhihao had stolen a quick look inside it and found it contained chess pieces. Little statues of soldiers and monsters. He was starting to think the woman was quite crazy, yet it was her plan they were following.

  "My prince," Daiyu said, her head bowing a little. No doubt she wore an expression of extreme disappointment behind her mask, and Zhihao found himself more than a little glad he couldn't see it. "You are not ordering them to their deaths, but leading them to victory and freedom. You should also sit straighter on your horse."

  "You try sitting straight with this damned sword attached to your back." It had been decided that the Steel Prince should not change his weapon of choice so close to the final battle, so Zhihao had left his twin hooked swords behind in favour of a huge dadao, almost as long as he was tall. The haft was fully half the length of the weapon, and the blade had a single curved edge. There were nine rings hooked through little holes on the flat side of the blade, which Zhihao considered ultimately pointless except for announcing his presence with every step or swing. The bulky sword was the symbol of the Steel Prince. Luckily, the strategist had allowed him to carry a couple of small knives on his belt and Zhihao wagered he would do more killing with those than with the weight of expectation he carried on his back.

  Chen Lu strolled up through the line of soldiers, stopping next to Zhihao and hefting his mace from his shoulder. The Steel Prince's horse side stepped away as the mace hit the ground, and Zhihao clutched at the reins. He had never been a particularly good horseman, but the prince was supposed to be as deadly in a saddle as he was without.

  "A hot day for it," Chen Lu said, angling his parasol towards the sun, and shifting his keg into his free hand. "What I wouldn't give for some clouds."

  "Why do you hate the sun so, fat… uh… Chen Lu?" Zhihao asked. Staying in character was becoming more difficult the longer the ruse went on. He missed his casual friendship with Chen Lu and Itami. He had barely spoken to either of them since leaving the great forest of Qing. He had barely spoken to anyone but Daiyu, and most of those words had been complaints.

  "I have fair skin. It burns easily." Iron Gut grinned.

  Zhihao suppressed a laugh. "Is that so?"

  Iron Gut frowned. "I do not like this Steel Prince. But The Emerald Wind… there is a man I would call a friend. He was the one man who would laugh with me."

  "You sound like you've never had a friend before, Chen Lu."

  Iron Gut shrugged. "I had a monkey once."

  Zhihao looked down at Iron Gut. "Whatever did happen to that monkey?"

  Iron Gut shrugged. "Perhaps I ate him."

  Zhihao snorted out a laugh and quickly covered it up with a cough. He didn't think it likely the Steel Prince would be seen laughing before the battle.

  They stood in companionable silence for a while, and when Iron Gut spoke again it was in a sombre tone and a quiet voice. "Does it not bother you, Zhihao, that these people will never know who truly leads them? They will never call your name."

  Zhihao glanced about to make sure no one else was close enough to hear him. "The only time people like this ever call out a bandit's name is at their execution. It's better this way."

  Iron Gut took a last, huge gulp from his keg, then tossed it away. "Good luck… Steel Prince," he said with a smile.

  Zhihao smiled back. "And to you… fat man."

  Zhihao heard the crunch of wooden wheels on the earth and turned in his saddle to see the covered battering ram working its way up the street behind them. It was a monstrosity, requiring twelve men to pull it back for each swing, a wooden awning above covered in tar to protect it from arrows and oil.

  "We are ready to begin the assault, my prince," said Daiyu. "All we require is your order."

  Zhihao kicked his horse forward a few steps then wheeled it around to face the Steel Prince's army. He had meant to say something inspiring, something heroic, something that would convince the men they would win the day. But any words that he intended died in his throat as he looked out upon all those faces. Thousands of soldiers from all Hosa. Men with wives and children, parents and siblings, farms and holdings. Men ready to give their lives for an imposter. Zhihao swallowed down the lump in his throat and nodded to Daiyu, and the strategist stood in her stirrups and shouted orders that were relayed down the line. Within moments the vanguard was moving forwards, the steady thump of feet marching in unison, and the sound of wheels grinding against stone.

  Chen Lu paced ahead of the main force and stopped only for a moment beside Zhihao, slapping him on the leg. "Magnificent speech, Prince Green Breeze." The fat man laughed at his own jest and dropped his parasol. He hefted his mace up onto his shoulder and marched towards the gate of Jieshu.

  "Stay close," Cho whispered to Ein. She could feel the boy holding onto her hakama underneath her borrowed armour, jostling against her as soldiers bumped into him. Many of them thought it strange they were escorting a boy in the vanguard; Cho had heard them whispering and
seen the questioning looks sent her way. They didn't know the full plan. They couldn't know that the boy and those escorting him were the only chance the rebellion had of winning the war against the emperor.

  Bingwei Ma was close behind Cho and Ein. They each wore a set of ceramic soldier's armour, grey and devoid of ornamentation or design. They were to appear as common soldiers and no more, at least until the gate was breached. Both of them carried a shield also, little more than sturdy planks of wood lashed together with leather, but they would serve to catch a few arrows at least. There was no armour that could fit Ein and he was too small and weak to hold a shield, so he trusted in Cho to protect him and stayed so close she could feel the strange numbing fear pulsing from him. At least they had found him a helmet, though it wobbled loosely on his little head.

  The shouts of soldiers mixed with the trumpets and drums from behind to create a cacophony that rattled Cho's senses. It was the way of war: noise and pain and death. Ein's little hands dug deeper into Cho's clothing and found her left hand, holding on, as it always did, to her saya. She felt her arm go numb, that strange chilling sensation like pins and needles spreading out from his touch. Emptiness and loneliness and the inevitability of death, that was what the boy's touch on her arm felt like. Cho wanted nothing so much as to shake Ein loose, but she dare not for the fear of losing him in the press of soldiers.

  Chen Lu raced forward at the head of the vanguard. It looked like madness, a lone man of his size wearing no armour and outpacing the army at his back. It was meant to look like madness. As he passed the last of the blackened ruins that had so recently been homes, the first volley of arrows rose into the sky, darkening the sun, and rained down upon him. No doubt the archers on the wall had meant to feather him so completely that there would be not an inch of skin un-pierced, but all they did was slow down the man. The arrows deflected from his skin, hafts bursting apart as though they struck rock. All around Chen Lu the ground was littered with arrows that had missed and those that had hit. He staggered at the impacts, dropping to a knee, but quickly rose back to his feet and continued on.