The Pirate Empress

by Deborah Cannon

  “Master Yun, Master Yun!” Tao tore up the hill breathless, gathering his robes in a double-fisted grip to increase his stride. “Riders to the north.”

  “How many?” Quan demanded, leaping to his feet.

  “They’re too far away to count, but they’re coming fast.”

  He Zhu appeared over the hill with an armload of wood.

  “No need for that anymore, Zhu,” Master Yun said. “We can’t spend the night here. Gather your things and prepare to ride.”

  Quan squinted into the distance, counted twenty men, no more than that. “If we flee now, they will simply pursue us. They are armed with one-hundred-pound C-bows. On the open plain we’ll be moving targets, easier to sight than a herd of goats. We will never escape in time.”

  “You’re right. We must stay and fight, then wait for our chance.”

  Quan fingered the Scimitar at his hip, stared at the intruders again, frowning. “I don’t think they are Emperor’s men. His Majesty would have sent a bigger troop than that.”

  Master Yun agreed, and seized a stick from the ground. “Everyone get behind me. We can’t fight, nor can we wait to be killed. Grab the horses and try to keep them from running.”

  He ploughed a line in the dry earth with the stick, scored three more until a square emerged, then he crossed the square a further three times first horizontally, then vertically. He completed the Magic Square and started to fill it with the symbols of his companions. This would raise a Geomantic Shield. The shield would scatter the Chi—the life force—of each individual to be protected. The altered configuration of their energy would confuse the enemy, while the two strongest warriors, either himself, Chi Quan or He Zhu, maintained an X-link inside the Square.

  Glancing up from his concentration he saw a familiar figure rise over the hill.

  “It’s Esen!” Li screamed. “He’s not dead!”

  The horsemen were almost upon them. He had already filled in the boxes of the Magic Square with the characters of Li’s, Quan’s, and Tao’s names. The problem was that five required protection and only multiples of two could be protected. He decided to leave himself out and added Zhu’s name.

  Behind him the horses bucked in terror and whinnied. Quan and Zhu wound the reins to their fists to control them. Tao leaped forward, shouting, “Master Yun, look out!”

  Just as he was about to seal the Square with the final character an arrow whizzed past his ear, and he ducked. He turned in time to see the projectile pierce Tao through the heart. The warlord had aimed his C-bow at the maker of the Magic Square, but missed.

  The wounded eunuch lay on his back with the shaft of a Mongol arrow jutting upward from his chest as Li crawled over and wailed, “Taoooo!”

  Master Yun hauled her from the dead man and thrust her into Quan’s arms.

  “It’s how he would have wanted it,” Quan said as Li tried to struggle out of his grasp. “He felt bad for betraying you. Now he has died for you. His soul will rest in peace.”

  Master Yun dropped down to the Magic Square and quickly switched Tao’s name for his own, and the shield shot up.

  Ink dark clouds thickened, a fork of lightning whitened the sky. If the squall picked up any stronger it would blow the Square away. A tempest of arrows assailed them from the Mongol horsemen, but the windslash created by the shield staved them off.

  “Now’s your chance. The shield will protect you until you leave the mound. Mount your steeds and ride. You only have a few minutes before the steppe riders catch on. They are skilled marksmen. Unless you put due speed between you, the archers will not miss. I’ll meet you on the cliffs above the jungle path to the Waterworld. Leave me the Scimitar.”

  Quan handed the ancient blade to Master Yun who shoved it into his sash under his robes. Quan and Zhu wanted to stay to fight, but Master Yun ordered them away. One of the horses almost escaped as an arrow nicked its ear. Zhu seized the horse by the bit and brought its head under control.

  “Hurry,” Master Yun hollered. “The shield will not last.”

  Quan hoisted Li onto his horse and clamoured on behind her. He flicked the reins and the stallion wheeled and galloped south. Zhu leaped onto his steed, and sent an iron bolt from his crossbow into one of the barbarians, before circling to follow suit. Master Yun slapped Tao’s horse on the rump and sent it flying after the others. It could go with them or find safety elsewhere, but he was not leaving it to be a trophy for Esen’s bandits.

  Among the horses only his remained, and Master Yun spoke reassuringly, “We will leave soon, Xingbar.”

  As the horsed princess and her rescuers vaulted down the hill on the other side of the mound, Esen’s horsemen arrived.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Master Yun’s Secret

  Ball lightning. An electric sphere of light spun out of the sky. Master Yun couldn’t have conjured up anything better himself. Nature’s power was supreme. Flames shot up in a circle. Thunder exploded, rocking the earth. The Magic Square was all but wiped out by the wind—and now, by the fire. Xingbar reared, bucked in fright as the dried thicket and branches of dead shrubs were consumed.

  “Steady there,” he whispered to the spooked horse.

  Esen’s horses neighed and whinnied, threatening to buck off their blinded riders, sending the archers’ aims off-course while an odd arrow pierced the fiery wall, not near enough for concern. Xingbar was calm now, and Master Yun removed the barbarian’s arrow from Tao’s chest. By some miracle, most of the blood had coagulated, and he heaved Tao’s body over the upper back of the horse before mounting behind.

  The flames spit high, lightning and thunder continued to rage. The sounds of Esen’s angry men and terrified horses penetrated the burning shield. There was still a gap behind him as yet untouched, and he spun his horse in that direction and flew over the mound and down the opposite slope. Xingbar was fast, but Esen’s bandits were not only superior archers, they were expert horsemen. They were not called murderous steppe riders for nothing.

  A ball of lightning followed by a thunderous crash finally brought the rain; it wouldn’t take long for the downpour to douse out the fire, and he must be out of sight by then. Master Yun circled the mound and headed for Xian. Hopefully, Esen would follow his trail and ignore the tracks of Li and her entourage. He looked back once and saw, atop First Emperor’s tomb, a crown of thick orange flames and the black figures of the barbarians wildly struggling to control their horses. At the feet of one of the Mongol’s steeds, he noted a flash of gold. Clearly, Huli Jing had broken free of his magic and escaped to warn of Li’s rescue. That was how they were found, for the nose of the golden fox was better than any trail they might have left. Rain pelted down, and Master Yun turned back to navigate the muddy road ahead. Soon, the fiery crown would shrivel to a cap of blackened litter and smouldering smoke; First Emperor would not be pleased.

  He entered the village of Xian before nightfall with the storm safely behind him. He had just placed his hand on the Scimitar to mask his identity from the townsfolk, when a young boy feeding some chickens looked up.

  “That’s a fine sword, sir,” he said as Master Yun stopped to get his bearings. “One day I hope to be a warrior like you.” The boy’s eyes enlarged as he noticed the slumped, soaked body astride the horse. “Is there trouble?”

  Master Yun rubbed a residual raindrop out of his eye and glanced down at the dead eunuch. “No, only an accident. Now leave me. This is work for men, not boys.” The lad scowled and returned to scattering feed.

  The streets of Xian were familiar to Master Yun from his days serving First Emperor. He went to the Taoist temple where the eunuch had been educated, tethered Xingbar to a tree and carried the limp body of Tao indoors. The shrine was empty except for a painted carving on the back wall where Lei Shen, the thunder god, loomed in all his fearsome drama, a glorious muscled creature clad in a loincloth, who menaced with razor-sharp claws, serrated fully-spread bat wings, and a scowling blue face with a bird’s beak. Master Yun shuddered a
s a crash rolled across the sky outside. Had Lei Shen banged his mallet on his drum, threatening to punish mortals for their earthly crimes? He dragged Tao before the deity, tracking mud in his wake.

  A shadow stepped out from behind him and Master Yun turned sharply.

  “Your most honourable Eng Tong,” he said, bowing deeply.

  The Taoist monk bowed low.

  Master Yun raised his head, trying to keep from dripping further onto the unpolished marble at his feet.

  Wearing the simplest of white robes trimmed only with black, Eng Tong said, “The rain has stopped?” He asked as though it were everyday that a lifeless body was brought to the temple. The old monk looked more ancient than Master Yun; his eyebrows and beard were frost white and his head had only a few straggling grey hairs left atop the leathery, smooth pate.

  He apologized for his dripping and tattered appearance, and watched Eng Tong study the body where it sprawled face-up, like a drowned animal retrieved from a river. Explanations were unnecessary, for the look in the monk’s eyes betrayed his thoughts; he had seen the flames from the temple and the savage attack, and now glanced outside the open door to the flooded flagstones from whence the muddy footprints led.

  In the quiet, Master Yun could hear the rasping sound of his own breathing. He was silent a few moments longer, before he said, “Master Tong, I once promised that I would return Tao to you. But I did not think it would be like this.”

  The old monk drew his eyes upward. The sect had criticized him for his audacity at naming an orphan boy after a revered religion. Tao’s parentage was unknown, but Master Yun had his suspicions. Eng Tong had raised the young student like his own son. The boy was special, the monk had said, and yet, Master Yun was never privileged with a glimpse of Tao’s future in the Moonstone. If this was what it was—his death to save a princess—then there was nothing he could have done to prevent it.

  “Tao was a gifted student,” Eng Tong said. “Such a waste.”

  On the floor, water pooled below the hem of Master Yun’s robe, and to avoid the sadness in the man’s eyes, he stared at his own reflection in the puddle. “Tao fulfilled his destiny. That is never a waste.”

  He raised his head to see that the old one’s face was carefully devoid of emotion. Eng Tong replied, “I will bury him with the respect and honour he deserves. Where will you go now?”

  “I must go to the Land of the Walking Bones and bring back the fifth rib of Dilong, but first I must see that my charge is safe.”

  “Where is Lotus Lily?” Eng Tong asked.

  Master Yun’s brow narrowed suspiciously, and the ancient monk’s cool gaze returned to the dead eunuch before he nodded. “I see. You cannot divulge her whereabouts. Then I will bury her beloved tutor without knowing.”

  Tao’s body remained with his old teacher when Master Yun fitted the hilt of the Scimitar into his hand and mounted Xingbar. Lucky for him the horse had no identifying marks; the animal was red-brown like any other steppe horse, and Master Yun would pass as an unknown traveller, dressed in a military uniform of old, riding a horse of the tundra.

  All was quiet as businesses and markets shut down for the night, and he clopped by the townsfolk who were returning home for their suppers. He veered onto the road leading out of Xian and saw Esen and his horsemen at the town gate. That wasn’t the worst of what he saw. The sight that unravelled his nerve was the vision of a golden fox frolicking by the warlord’s side. One hand on the reins, Master Yun cautiously guided his mount through mud-puddles, applying even pressure with his knees, while in his other hand he gripped the hilt of the Scimitar. Xingbar whinnied, reared at the sight of the fox, and Master Yun reined in, causing the bronze blade to ping against the metal buckle of a saddle strap. Xingbar righted his gait; a slip right now could be lethal. Would the magic of Yongfang’s blade work on the fox faerie? Master Yun released his breath uneasily and stopped at the Mongol’s request.

  “I am looking for an old man—a warlock—and a young girl. Have you seen them?” the warlord asked. The Mongols were red-faced and blackened by their skirmish with the fire, and sodden from the storm. Fully girded for battle, they had recovered most of their arrows and carried their C-bows slung over their shoulders. The distinctive curve of their bow ends betrayed their lineage, and yet no town sentry arrived to oppose them as they cavalierly blocked the gate.

  Master Yun shook his head at Esen’s query, avoiding the temptation to observe the fox. “No. I haven’t seen them.”

  The fox flitted its tail, and the black nose of the graceful animal sniffed Master Yun’s boot before she skittered away. The warlord scratched his sooty chin, unfurled his greasy brow, and motioned to his men. For an instant, Master Yun hesitated, and then crushed the urge to return and warn the village folk of the intruders. Esen would not raid with so few men in his party; he hadn’t come to pillage or to rape.

  Turning his horse east, Master Yun rushed toward the jungles beyond the plain, and although the fox stared after him, she did not follow. So, the magic of Yongfang’s scimitar worked on the fox as well. Satisfied that they would not be trailed, he crushed the desire to look back and prodded his steed. Distance must be put between him and the fox’s superior sense of smell. When First Emperor’s burning mound was but a mere speck in his vision, he would head south for the Waterworld—and there must be no trail of any kind to lead Huli Jing to Lotus Lily.

  %%%

  A warm wind swept through the trees and tousled Li’s hair. The air was heavy here, sweet and moist. All around, emerald-hued foliage shaded her from the sun. The leaves and branches knit a web so thick they blocked the sky. Li sat on the damp ground, marvelling at the healing of her feet. She had felt no pain for days. The bruises were practically gone. Master Yun continued to astound her; he truly was a warlock. If only there had been time to save Tao. Perhaps there was? But no, they would be lucky to see Master Yun again. Li shut her eyes and felt a tear funnel down her cheek. She must pull herself together. A rustle of leaves came from above, and she looked up.

  “He is coming!” He Zhu shouted from the treetop where he had climbed to serve as watchman over the forest canopy.

  Quan returned, and Li smiled and told him the news of Zhu’s sighting. Master Yun had survived the clash with Esen’s bandits and was spotted entering the jungle path. Quan had just refilled the drinking bladders with river water, and now offered her a drink. After refreshing herself, he slung the water skins over the saddles and waved Zhu down.

  “Are you rested?” he asked. “We’ll meet Master Yun in the clearing on that hill just ahead. That’s where he meant for us to wait.”

  She allowed Quan to help her onto his horse, but she didn’t really need his help any longer. Once the splints were removed, she knew she’d be able to walk.

  “Quan.” Her sadness at the loss of Tao still hurt. She reached down from the horse to hug him around the neck. “Thank you.”

  She had been in so much pain for so long, had been so grief-ridden by Tao’s murder, that she had forgotten to thank her rescuers. She wanted to get off the horse and hug Zhu as well. He smiled, seeing her intention and motioned for her to stay saddled. Quan adjusted his mantle over her shoulders to keep the mosquitoes at bay before he mounted behind her. It took several hours to scale the steep path to the top. From the brow the sea was visible to the east, and westward rolled the plains beyond the rainforest. The river meandered into the jungle, swallowed by thick foliage, and for as far as eye could see, only scattered farms and settlements met their search. Esen’s riders had been deceived.

  Below the forest canopy, a horsed rider approached alone. Quan and Zhu set up camp. A few minutes later Master Yun, astride Xingbar, emerged into sunshine.

  “Master Yun,” Li cried out. She managed to stand without falling on her stiff, splinted feet.

  He passed the reins of his horse to He Zhu who tethered the beast to a tree before the three gathered around Master Yun to learn the events that followed their escape from First Em
peror’s mound. “We must move fast,” he said. “The Scimitar has shielded me from the fox faerie so far, but there’s no telling when she’ll discover where we are. Yongfang’s magic can only mask one person at a time. We must get Lotus Lily far from here before then.”

  Li stared at Zhu wondering what he made of all this. Was he truly freed of Jasmine’s power? Master Yun never used her name in front of the lieutenant. Wasn’t he sure of his loyalty?

  “Li, come with me,” Master Yun said, breaking into her thoughts.

  He led her to a quiet, shady spot where they could talk, helped her to sit on the ground beneath a flowering rhododendron, and squatted at her feet. Then he removed the bandages and the sticks of wood that had kept her toes in place, while the men built a fire to prepare the evening meal. “No more pain?” he asked, testing one of Li’s feet by the heel.

  She shook her head gleefully as he examined her toes and tendons. The bones had knit well. The flesh had healed. All swelling and discolouration had vanished. Except for a little dirt, her feet were smooth and lily white again. He lowered her heel and settled her foot on the ground. “All right then. I can’t stay long, so we must talk.”

  All of Li’s ecstasy at having her feet whole again evaporated. She grabbed at his sleeve. “You can’t go. You just got here. And I need you.”

  Master Yun’s hard eyes softened and he glanced up to meet both Quan and Zhu’s curious expressions. He motioned them to turn away, and they busied themselves fueling the fire.

  “Stop squirming, Lotus Lily,” he ordered. “You are no longer a child. Neither do you need me as much as you think.”