Jilong raised his hand. “Don’t kill her yet. Tie her up. I will devise a slower and more painful death for her after I have attended to my uncle.”
He kneeled at Shi Le’s side, making no effort to staunch the flow of blood. “Fetch someone who knows how to care for wounds.”
Fo Tu Deng finally came to life. He tore a strip from the ancient robes wrapped around Shi Le and told the soldiers to bind the wound while he looked for someone with healing skills.
Pema’s eyes met Tao’s as the nomad soldiers led her away. He had expected her to be triumphant, now that she had finally fulfilled the long-held desire for vengeance, which had been festering inside her for most of her life. Instead she looked stunned, frightened. Tao wondered if in her countless imaginings of this day, she had ever thought past the deed, to what would happen afterwards.
Why had he stood by and watched? He should have rushed to Pema and snatched the knife from her before she could stab Shi Le. It would have made no difference. The crime of attempted assassination of the Chanyu would warrant the same punishment as mortally wounding him. Even if Tao had broken his vows, attacked the nomads who held Pema and tried to free her, he was not a fighter. He couldn’t have fought off one nomad, let alone so many. Then he too would have been dragged away and imprisoned. He stood there, unmoving; no one took any notice of him. This is what I’m good at, Tao thought bitterly, being insignificant and invisible.
Fo Tu Deng returned with one of the monks who had cooked the piglet. He was the temple’s herbalist.
“I found him hiding in the infirmary,” Fo Tu Deng said.
The herbalist applied what looked to Tao like staunchweed to the wound. By the time the bleeding had stopped, Shi Le had lost consciousness. It took six nomads to lift their Chanyu’s body and take him to the abbot’s quarters.
A roar from the stables roused Tao. It was the yellow dragon. She wasn’t making the miserable jangling noise now. The tigers’ blood had revived her and she was in full battle frenzy again. Kai had told him that she had been a kind soul before her mate had abandoned her. A healer, he had said, someone who had cared for the other dragons. She had left the haven in a state of misery and mourning. Jilong had somehow captured this gentle creature and with his evil concoction turned her into a murderous monster, a weapon to use in battle.
Tao had seen the jar that contained the tigers’ blood in his vision. But he had not seen the whole jar, just broken fragments of it. Now it made sense to him. He roused himself. There was one thing he could do that would save lives, which would stop him feeling useless. He wouldn’t have to hurt anyone, but he did need a weapon. He looked around the now empty courtyard. Shi Le’s standard hung limply from the lance staff outside his tent. Tao strode over, ripped off the standard and pulled the lance out of the ground. It fitted comfortably into his hands, but was taller than he was. The blade glinted in the sunlight. He went to where someone had been chopping wood, laid the lance on the woodblock, picked up an axe and neatly chopped off the top. The blade fell to the ground. He now had a sturdy staff about four feet long.
Tao went back to the stables. The yellow dragon’s cinnabar eyes glared at him. She pulled at her chains and roared. He walked over to the ceramic jar that contained the tigers’ blood brew. The dragon’s roar changed to a low growl. She flicked her tail like an angry cat, watching him, uncertain what he was about to do. No words formed in his head. He couldn’t understand this dragon’s voice.
“You won’t like what I’m about to do, Sha,” he said, “but it is for the best.”
Tao grasped the staff with both hands and struck the jar as hard as he could. It shattered to pieces. He stepped back as the noxious black liquid soaked into the earth, ignoring the awful smell. It was the most satisfying thing he had ever done.
The dragon let out a screech that hurt his ears. Her red eyes bored into him with pure hatred. She yanked at her chains, flinging herself furiously back and forth and howling with rage. Tao had never heard a sound like it. The tigers’ blood gave her unnatural strength. He would return to free her when the effects had worn off – if she hadn’t broken the chains before then.
Breaking the jar had given Tao courage, enough to attempt another task. He tucked his staff under his arm and left the stables. He wasn’t sure how, but he was going to free Pema or die in the attempt.
Tao searched the temple again, not for the sutras this time, but for Pema. He didn’t know how long he had, perhaps only minutes, until Jilong returned from his uncle’s side and ordered her execution. He ran from room to room, building to building. He turned a corner and found himself facing a woman dressed in an elegant gown with swallow-tail panels and ribbons floating in the breeze, her hair neatly knotted on top of her head. She was the last person Tao had expected to see.
“Mother,” Tao said. “What are you doing here?”
Mrs Huan didn’t recognise her son at first. He remembered that he was dressed in nomad clothes, his face hidden by a hood. Then he saw recognition in her eyes, and she swept past him without a word.
Mrs Huan went over to join a group of other Huaxia leaders, men from other fortified villages where people had huddled together for safety. She was soon busy ordering them around, telling them to let her do the talking.
Jilong came out of the abbot’s quarters to meet the delegation. He stood with his arms folded, waiting for them to bow down to him. Tao was surprised that Jilong was taking the time to meet with them. He thought that his first action would be to kill Pema. The other delegates fell to their knees. Mrs Huan made a shallow bow. It was the first time Tao had seen her bow before anyone.
“I speak on behalf of the representatives of the rural communities,” she said. They were generally known as the fortresses, but Mrs Huan could be diplomatic when required. “We would like to express our allegiance to you and your esteemed uncle.”
Sha started howling again, thrashing around in the stables trying to break free. Mrs Huan was briefly confused by the sound, but Jilong made no attempt to explain it, so she resumed.
“We are most pleased that the Zhao have lifted the yoke of oppression that was the New Han occupation of Luoyang. We look forward to cordial relations with the Zhao as you rebuild the city and make it your capital. We offer you these gifts in the hope that this is the beginning of a long dynasty. May the Zhao rule forever.”
She gestured to the other delegates who brought their offerings forward – sacks of grain and taro, several crates of chickens.
Jilong would have certainly known that she, or some other representative of the remaining Huaxia, had said much the same to the New Han leader when he had taken the city, but he obviously enjoyed seeing the Huaxia subservient to him.
“You missed our victory celebrations yesterday,” Jilong said. Tao saw his mother’s grim expression soften when she heard Jilong’s well-spoken, unaccented Huaxia. “You must stay and watch a small ceremony that I am staging today.”
“Thank you for your kind offer, General,” Mrs Huan said, arranging her mouth in an unfamiliar smile. “We would be happy and honoured to watch your ceremony.”
The delegates all bowed again. After Jilong had departed, Mrs Huan’s smile faded. She was anything but happy.
She moved towards the gate, where the other Huaxia leaders couldn’t hear her. Tao followed.
“Why are you dressed like a beggar, Tao?” she said. “Have you joined the nomads?”
“No, Mother. I … I am in disguise. I was imprisoned by the nomads, but I escaped.”
“Then I don’t want to be seen talking to you,” she said, bending down and pretending to adjust a shoe. “If we recognise the Zhao as our new rulers, they won’t raid our community.” There was even more anger in her voice than usual. “If they last more than a year or two, I’ll be surprised. In the meantime, we must bow down before them and give them tribute from our limited food stores. That young general kept us waiting for hours.”
Tao was about to explain why Jilong was preoccup
ied, but didn’t bother.
“Now we have to stay and watch one of their barbaric rituals. I hope it doesn’t last long. I don’t want to be on the road after dark.”
Outside the gate, on the site of the previous night’s competitions, Jilong was shouting orders at his men. Nomads with lances were mounting their horses, bowmen were checking their arrows; swordsmen practised their sword strokes. There were about twenty of them, and they were not the rough nomad soldiers who had competed before, they were Jilong’s personal guard. His best men.
Zhao soldiers and inhabitants of Luoyang, excited at the prospect of another entertainment so soon after the last, were starting to gather around the arena. Tao heard people speculating excitedly that the novelty of having a dragon had worn off. That Jilong was tired of the beast’s disobedience, angry it had humiliated him the night before and that these hand-picked soldiers were going to kill it.
“Why aren’t you with the other monks?” Mrs Huan demanded.
She pointed to where Fo Tu Deng was organising the two White Horse Temple monks to take part in another sham Buddhist ritual to please the nomads.
“I don’t want to have anything to do with Fo Tu Deng,” Tao said, and immediately wished he hadn’t.
His mother looked at the monk, and then back to her son. “That is the great monk? The holy man who can work miracles?”
Tao didn’t answer.
“Why haven’t you offered your services to him? Why didn’t you send word so that I could bring Wei to see him?”
“He can’t help Wei, Mother. He’s a fraud!”
“You are a wicked boy. If you are not going to become a monk, I insist that you come home with me. There is plenty of work for you in the compound.”
Tao was about to defend himself, when he saw the boy from the kitchens. Still wearing the sack, he was searching the faces in the crowd, looking for the person who had stolen his clothes. Without another word to his mother, Tao ducked out of sight behind her carriage. Mrs Huan’s attention was now on Fo Tu Deng. She marched over to him. The monk waved her away, but, of course, she would not be dismissed.
Tao couldn’t stay to find out what came of this meeting. He had to get as far away as possible from the only other person who could recognise him in his disguise.
Jilong was now taking his place on the dais, which hadn’t been dismantled from the night before. He had a different young woman in a fine gown at his side. Though Mrs Huan was in the middle of talking to him, Fo Tu Deng turned away from her and scrambled to sit on the other side of Jilong. Mrs Huan lifted the hem of her gown, climbed up on the dais and sat herself next to the monk.
A trumpet blast turned everyone’s attention to the arena. The entertainment was about to begin. The growing crowd was craning expectantly towards the temple gate, waiting for the dragon to emerge. A disappointed murmur passed through the crowd. There was no dragon. Instead, six nomad warriors in full armour led a single prisoner out of the temple gates. The condemned criminal was small and didn’t seem to warrant such a heavy guard. It was Pema.
Jilong stood up and addressed the contestants.
“There has been an attempt to kill our Chanyu.” He paused while a ripple of shock swept through the gathered nomads. “He lies now fighting to survive. Yesterday we gathered here and our brave men took part in contests to celebrate the Zhao’s victory over the New Han. Today there will be another contest, but this one is not a celebration, it is a sentence. This criminal may look harmless,” he said. All eyes were on Pema. “But she is the one who attempted to murder our Chanyu. Any one of my warriors could kill this murderer in an instant, but I want her to suffer before she dies.” Cheers broke out.
“The aim is to inflict one hundred wounds, but they must not be lethal. They must all be shallow cuts, well spread over the criminal’s body. Then I will leave her out on the plain to bleed to death slowly as carrion birds pick at her wounds. I hope it will take several days for her to die.”
The cheers grew louder. Men beat their swords and lances on their shields. “Contestants must inflict the wounds as they ride or run. Points will be given to those whose weapons are well aimed. Points will be deducted for deep wounds. It is important that every contestant has his turn. Any man who impedes a fellow contestant will be disqualified and will become another target. The man to inflict the most wounds will win this prize.”
A stablehand led a beautiful black horse into the arena; it was almost as beautiful as Jilong’s own horse. The crowd gasped at the generous prize.
One of the nomads hammered a post into the ground at the other end of the arena and bound two saplings to it like crossed swords.
Tao watched, helpless. Pema was no longer wearing a silk gown. She was dressed like Tao himself, in a rough vest and trousers to make it easier for the nomads to splay her limbs and tie her to the saplings with leather thongs. Tao was too far away to see her face even if her tangled hair hadn’t hidden it. Her body hung limply from the crossed saplings. Despair filled his heart.
Chapter Twenty-Five
ONE HUNDRED WOUNDS
Tao had spent a lot of time since he’d left Yinmi feeling useless. But this was the worst. He remembered all the times he had refused to take action, telling himself it was because he didn’t want to break the precepts when he had been secretly glad that he didn’t have to put himself at risk. But he couldn’t stand back and watch the nomads torture Pema. This time he wasn’t going to run away. He would try to save her, even if it meant sacrificing his own life. He was ready for that.
The crowd had grown. Tao was standing halfway between Pema and her torturers, whose horses jostled impatiently at the starting line. Those with swords practised their strokes. The lancers flexed their arms and tested the heft of their weapons. The bowmen were checking their bowstrings, packing their arrows loosely into their quivers so they could be pulled out and loaded as quickly as possible.
Tao noticed someone near the temple gate pointing in his direction. It was the man who had given the yellow dragon the tigers’ blood. He was pointing out Tao to other nomads. They started to move towards him. Then Tao saw another group of nomads advancing in his direction. The kitchen boy was leading them. He had also managed to pick out Tao in the crowd.
Jilong stood up, ready to start the contest. If his uncle died, he would lead the Zhao, and he was about to demonstrate what would happen to anyone who dared to cross him. The crowd began chanting, eager to see blood spilled. The two parties of nomads were closing in on Tao. If they didn’t kill him themselves, Tao knew that Jilong would devise an ingenious way to work his death into the day’s entertainment. There was no decision to make. One way or another he was going to die at the hands of the nomads, and he preferred to die trying to save Pema. He still had the staff that he had made. He gripped it with both hands. He was ready.
The contestants were keen to impress Jilong with their skills and to punish this girl who had stabbed their Chanyu. Jilong shouted a command. The horses and the men on foot leaped away from the starting line. Tao started to run as well. He raced towards Pema as fast as he had ever run in his life. The crowd jeered, thinking he was a contestant who was cheating by getting a head start on the others. He reached Pema and she closed her eyes, ready for the first blow. Up close, he could see her dirty and bruised face through her tangled hair. He reached out and touched her cheek where tears had made their way through the grime. His heart was pounding, and he knew it wasn’t entirely out of fear.
She opened her eyes. At first she didn’t recognise him in his hood and rough clothes.
“It’s me, Pema.”
“Tao!” she said at last. “You can’t save me.”
“I know, but I can’t stand by and watch them torture you.”
“Where’s Kai?”
“He’s gone.”
“There’s still time for you to escape,” Pema said. “You don’t have to die for my sake.”
“Yes, I do.”
The thud of horse hooves grew
louder. Tao turned to face the onslaught and held his staff in front of him to ward off blows. Though he was forbidden to harm any living creature, he couldn’t remember anything in the Vinaya about using a weapon for defence. The first arrows rained down on them. The bowmen had strung their bows loosely so that the flight of their arrows was slower and not deadly. Tao wielded his staff, batting the arrows away. The horsemen reached them, lashing out with their swords and jabbing with their lances, trying to make as many cuts as possible. The contestants were still aiming their blows lightly, thinking Tao was a contestant who had broken the rule not to impede another, and that he too would be left out on the plain to die a slow death. Tao’s own speed and strength amazed him. He knocked arrows out of the air, he deflected swords and lances, but he couldn’t stop every weapon. He heard Pema cry out as an arrow struck her. He felt swords slice his own arms. Jilong was shouting angrily from the other end of the arena, but no one could hear what he was saying over the noise.
Tao’s staff flew back and forth as he blocked weapons, sometimes one handed, sometimes two handed. The leather vest helped protect him, but he was still wounded many times by swords and jabbed with lances. Blood ran down his arms and dripped from his hands. An arrow cut through his upper arm. Though he managed to prevent more arrows reaching Pema, he couldn’t stop the horsemen from riding around him and attacking her from the side and from behind. Tao’s bravery was leaking away with his lifeblood.
A terrible sound drowned out the cheering of the crowd and the thumping of the horses’ hooves. It sounded like someone banging enormous copper bowls together. Tao looked in the direction of the noise. The nomads who were clustered around him also turned to see what was happening. Suddenly their horses were rearing up and galloping from the arena. Tao could see shimmering patches of earth and then a huge snake, at least three chang long and as thick as a tree trunk, materialised in their midst. In the few moments it took the nomads to collect their wits and attack the snake, the slithering thing vanished and a beautiful nomad woman appeared. The men held back their lance arms and checked their sword strokes, staring in amazement. Several reached out to guide the woman away from the field, but as soon as they touched her, they collapsed to the ground and lay there unconscious.
Dragonkeeper 4: Blood Brothers Page 17