“No? Then maybe you’ve just proven my point, Little Archer. My brothers would tell you soon enough that my heart is not as royal as it should be.”
“If they say that, then they are wrong,” I answered confidently.
“I believe you would do whatever it took to make China safe, even if it went against your own heart’s desire. Surely that is what it means to be truly royal.”
“Do you have no fear of what tomorrow may bring, then?” Prince Jian asked.
“Of course I do,” I replied. “I have as much fear as any of your soldiers on this night, but my fear will not save China.” Prince Jian put a hand on his neck, to where the tunic that he wore parted to expose his throat. He made a motion I did not immediately comprehend. Then, as I watched, he lifted something from around his neck and extended it toward me. From his outstretched fingers hung an length of fine gold chain. At its end dangled a medallion.
“Take this,” Prince Jian said.
“Highness,” I protested, “I cannot. You do me too much honor.”
“Take it,” Prince Jian repeated. “Do not make me command you.”
Slowly I reached for the chain, the tips of my fingers just barely brushing Prince Jian’s. I held the medallion up so that it could catch the faint firelight. There was a raised symbol on the medallion’s smooth round surface.
“Can you see what is there?” asked Prince Jian.
I nodded. “It is a dragonfly.”
“And what does the dragonfly symbolize?”
“Courage,” I said.
“Courage,” Prince Jian echoed. “Let me see you put it on.” I slipped the chain over my head, letting both chain and medallion slide down to hide beneath my tunic, just as the prince had worn it.
“That medallion was given to me many years ago,” the prince said quietly. “When I was just a boy. It was a gift from Hua Wei, who was once my father’s greatest general. He presented it to me when he returned me to my father, after rescuing me from the Huns.
General Hua said that if ever I feared my courage might fail, I should remember our ancient symbol. I should remember the courage embodied by the strength of the fragile wings of the dragonfly.
“He sounds like a wise man,: I said, battling with a fierce and sudden impulse to cry. I could almost hear my father speak the words, as if he stood beside me.
“My father’s greatest general,” Prince Jian had said.
“I believe he is a wise man,” Prince Jian answered softly. “He helped me to remember that hose who seem invincible are sometimes not so very strong. While those who seem small and fragile may carry great things inside them. Think of this tomorrow, Gong-shi, when you face the Huns.”
“Sire, I will,” I promised. And now I did kneel down, and Prince Jian did not stop me. “I have no gift of gold to give you in return, but I swear that I will give you all the courage bin my heart. When that is spent, I will find the way to give you more.”
“In that case,” Prince Jian replied, “your gift is more valuable than gold. Whatever the future brings, I will always honor the strength of your heart. It reminds me to stay true to what I hold in mine.
“Now stand up, and don’t think I didn’t notice that you knelt down after all.”
“Indeed it as true as they say,” I said as I stood. “Prince Jian has keen eyes.”
“And his archers are impudent,” the prince replied. “And now I will say good night. Think of me when you face the Huns, and fight well, Little Archer.”
“I will,” I promised.
Without another word he turned and was gone.
SIXTEEN
Our company departed at daybreak, though we could not see the sun.
Dark clouds lowered in the sky, and the wind had the raw sting to it that always meant snow. Li Po called the archers together; General Yuwen assembled the foot soldiers. Those of us on horseback would ride ahead, and half a day’s swift march would bring us all to the second pass.
Once there we would await the Huns.
All three princes came to speed us on our way. Prince Guang’s handsome face was impassive. If he was unhappy to have been overruled by his brothers. He did not show it in public.
“Take this,” Prince Jian said, suddenly materializing at my side as I sat upon my horse awaiting orders. In his outstretched hands he held a war horn made of polished bone.
“This horn has been in my family for countless generations,” the prince said. “It is said that its voice is that of China. Though the throats of a million enemies cry out for blood, the voice of this horn will always be heard above them. If your need becomes dire and all else fails, sound the horn and I will come.”
“My lord,” I said, reaching down and taking the war horn. “I will do so.”
The horn felt cool beneath my fingers. Its surface was elaborately carved its mouthpiece, gold. As I tucked it beneath my shirt, I felt a moment of dizziness, as if I could feel the earth turning beneath my horse’s feet as the prophecies about this prince began to come full circle.
Though, as Li Po gave the signal and our company began to move out, it seemed to me suddenly that the fate of China no longer lay in Prince Jian’s hands or even in his heart. Now China’s fate lay in mine.
We were cold and tired by the time we reached the small pass that was our destination, for the way was rocky and the riding hard.
Though a fire and a hot meal would have been most welcome, we had neither. Even the best-tended fire will smoke a little, and we would risk nothing that might give away our location to the Huns.
After we had rested and eaten a cold meal, Li Po took a group of archers to reconnoiter the cliffs on the right side of the pass, while I led a second group to explore the left one. At the same time, Li Po sent scouts through the pass itself, that we might learn more of its terrain and determine if any additional information could be gathered about the whereabouts of the Huns.
“There is much in our favor,” Li Po said late that afternoon, after we had finished our reconnaissance. We were having our own small council session, just the two of us. The rest of the men were checking their equipment. The scouts had not yet returned, but we had posted a guard at the head of the pass. Our force might be small, but we would not be caught unawares.
“The cliffs are steep and rocky. They will provide us with good cover,” Li Po continued.
“Now if only I knew whether to hope that Prince Jian is right about what the Hun leader intends, or that he is wrong,” I replied.
“Try hoping that we are strong enough to meet whatever challenge comes our way,” Li Po suggested.
“Captain!” I heard a voice call.
Quickly Li Po got to his feet. “Keep your voice down!”
“Apologies, Captain,” the soldier, a man whose name I did not know, said in a quieter voice. “The scouts have returned. They have sighted the Huns.”
“You are sure it was the Hun commander that you saw?” Li Po asked several moments later.
The scout leader stood bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. The news he and his comrades carried back to camp was dire. A large Hun force was headed our way. It was commanded by the Hun leader himself.
“As sure as I can be,” our scout leader said. He pulled in one more deep breath and then straightened up. “I saw their standard with my own eyes. A great horse, galloping.”
“Perhaps it is a ruse,” another scout suggested. “Meant to trick us.”
“They have no need to do that,” I said. “They believe the pass is unguarded.”
“How large is their force?” Li Po asked. “Could you tell?”
“So large that we could not see them at all,” the scout leader replied. “We stayed as long as we dared, but we left before we could be seen, lest we give all of us away.”
“You did well,” Li Po answered at once. “You made the right choice. Go get some rest and what you can to eat. The rest of you, return to your posts. Gong-shi and I will confer about what to do next.”<
br />
“We will never be able to hold them.” Li Po said in a tense voice after the others had departed. “Even a small force would have tested our strength, but to face the Huns in such numbers…” He eyes the war horn I wore slung around my neck. “Perhaps it is time to hear the voice of the war horn.”
“No,” I said decisively. “Not yet. That will only bring them on.
They’ll overwhelm us before we even have the chance to fight.”
“You are up to something,” Li Po said. “I can always tell. What is in your mind?”
“Give your fastest rider my father’s horse,” I said. “And have him ride for reinforcements. We have but two things in our favor: the narrowness of the pass and the element of surprise. Let us put them both to work for us.”
“If only there were some way to block the pass completely,” Li Po cried.
“I have been thinking about that,” I said. “First send the messenger to Prince Jian. Then come with me. I have seen a place where we might attempt such a thing.”
By the time the sun plunged behind the mountain, our plans were set.
In addition to the man on horseback, Li Po had also sent his two swiftest runners to Prince Jian. No more horses could be spared, but it did not seem prudent to trust our information, or our fate, to just one man.
Shortly after sundown Li Po and I led the archers up into the cliffs. There, as silently as we could, we worked feverishly on the plan we hoped would ensure both our survival and China’s.
Though the pass was never wide enough for more than two men to ride abreast, there was one spot where the passage grew so narrow that the legs of the riders seemed sure to brush against the sheer stone walls as the men rode side by side. This was the narrowest point of all, and it was here that Li Po and I hoped to create a rock slide. A rock slide big enough to block the passage so that no men could come through the gap afterward. Even if we didn’t close the pass completely, we hoped to slow down the Hun army long enough for our own reinforcements to arrive.
It was exhausting work, cruel to the hands we would need later to ply our bows. We labored through the night. At least the work took such concentration that none of us had much room to spare for thoughts about what would happen once the sun rose. We could only hope our plan would work and that word of the Huns’ true intentions had reached the princes’ camp.
We could only hope that some if us would survive.
Li Po called a halt several hours before daylight, sending the men back down the mountain for food and what sleep could be managed before dawn. After much discussion the two of us decided that we must allow a great enough number of Hun soldiers to come through the pass to maintain the illusion that they remained undetected, that their plan was succeeding and they would catch the Chinese army by surprise. And here, at last, something about what the Huns were planning worked in our favor, for our scouts had reported that the Hun leader rode at the head of his column of soldiers.
Once we trigged the rock slide, the Hun leader would be cut off.
He would be unable to turn back, and the main body of his forces would be rendered incapable of moving forward to join him. This would leave the Hun leader and his smaller group of soldiers with just one choice: to move forward, into China. There they would be confronted first with our force and then, if all went well, with reinforcements from the main Chinese army.
And the signal to trigger the avalanche, to set the whole plan in motion, would be one last warning to our own troops: the sounding of the war horn.
The first of the Hun soldiers entered the pass just as the sun rose in an angry, sullen sky. The wind had more bite to it than it had the day before. Now it was too cold to snow. I kept the fingers of my right hand, the one I would use to pull the bowstring, tucked into my armpit in an attempt to keep them warm. We could hear the Huns long before we could see them. The narrow gorge seemed to push the sound of the horses’ hooves ahead of the animals themselves.
As had been the case for our reconnaissance the day before, I took my archers into the cliffs on the left of the pass while Li Po led his into the right. The pass was so narrow that I could actually see Li Po from where I crouched. I felt the dragonfly medallion the prince had given me, warm against my skin.
Courage, Mulan, I thought.
The sound of the Hun horses echoed against the stone walls, so loud that it seemed impossible that we could not see the horses and the riders themselves. The sound seemed to rise to a fever pitch. As I watched from the far side of the pass, Li Po rose from his crouch. At this signal all our archers set the arrows to their bows, but they did not fire. Li Po held up one hand, palm facing outward.
Hold.
Now, finally, the first group of men and horses began to pass beneath us in a relentless, endless tide. My arms and shoulders ached with the effort it took to hold the bow steady, and still Li Po did not give the order to fire. I saw the archer closest to me pull his lips back from his teeth in a grimace of determination and pain. Still, Li Po’s hand never wavered.
Hold. Do not fire.
And then, suddenly, I saw it: a rider bearing a banner with the figure of a galloping horse, the standard of the Huns. Beside him rode a soldier with a great round shield. And just behind them was a single rider, alone. His horse was the most magnificent I had ever seen, his coat like burnished copper. The soldier’s long, black hair was not tied back but streamed freely over his shoulders.
Surely this had to be the leader of the Huns.
Even from a distance it seemed to me that I could feel this man’s restless energy, the determination that possessed him, propelling him forward. And I understood why others would follow such a man, even into these impossible conditions. There was something about his confidence and assurance that made the impossible seem possible.
I could feel my shoulders start to tremble with the strain of holding the bow taut. More than anything in the world I longed to let my arrow fly. Now the dragonfly medallion felt like a burning brand against my skin.
Lend me your strength and determination, I thought. Help me find the courage to hold on, to do what I must.
The Hun leader and his standard-bearer were directly beneath us now. And finally, with one swift decisive move, Li Po brought his hand down, giving the signal to fire. The air around me sang with the sound of bowstrings being released, the hiss of arrows as they sought their targets. The sound of men crying out in surprise and pain and the almost human screams of the horses rose up as if to surround us.
The Hun leader urged his troops forward, only to encounter the resistance of our own soldiers. The narrow pass seemed to roil like boiling water as men and horses jockeyed for position. Hun archers began to return our fire. The Hun standard-bearer lifted his face toward the cliffs as he screamed out his defiance. At that moment Li Po rose to his full height and sent an arrow straight toward him.
As the arrow hurtled downward, the standard-bearer sat hard in the saddle, trying to force his horse forward. But there was no room for him to maneuver. The way ahead was blocked by soldiers. Li Po’s arrow pierced the standard-bearer’s shoulder. Screaming in fury and pain, the bearer released the standard. It tumbled to the ground and was trampled by the feet of the horses.
Now the Hun leader rose in his stirrups, calling out to his soldiers in a great and terrible voice. He set an arrow to the string of his own bow, turned his horse to one side, and fired upward. I felt my heart leap into my throat. In his determination to see the Hun standard fall, Li Po had forgotten to take cover. He was still standing, and because he was visible, he made the perfect target.
“Li Po!” I cried.
But even as I shouted, I knew it was too late. As if guided by an evil demon, the Hun leader’s arrow found its mark. As Li Po toppled backward, I rose to my own feet and fired.
This was the shot that I had missed not three days before, through the neck, from side to side. As if he heard my cry of pain and despair over every other voice around him, the Hun leader swiveled
his head in my direction.
My arrow caught him beneath the chin, piercing his throat clean through from one side to the other. With tears that threatened to blind my eyes, I dropped to my knees, letting go of my bow and reaching for the war horn. I put it to my lips, drew in a single breath, and sent forth its call. Into it I poured all the pain and courage that lay within my heart.
I made the war horn sing with the voice of China.
At once, the Chinese soldiers below me began to retreat down the pass, drawing a portion of the Hun troops after them. I waited as long as I dared, praying that as many of our men as possible were clear.
I put the horn to my lips again and made it bellow. This was the signal the archers had been waiting for. On both sides of the pass, they dropped their weapons and put their shoulders to the rocks we had labored so long and hard to loosen the night before. The very air seemed to quake and shudder as, with a great groan, the rocks gave way and the walls of the pass began to tumble downward toward the Hun soldiers below. A cloud of dust rose, thick and choking. For the third and final time, I blew into the war horn’s mouth.
Once Upon A Time (7) Wild Orchid Page 13