The Red Plains (The Forbidden List Book 3)

by G R Matthews

  And was rewarded. One of the Mongols stood from the fire and walked out of the circle of light to relieve himself away from the camp. Zhou prowled around on silent feet, calling on the panther, using the great cat’s hunting instincts and knowledge to keep his presence hidden. His heart beat slow, his pulse was regular, the target clear in his vision. He could smell the man, an acrid scent of urine on the air.

  The Mongol stood, legs a little more than shoulder-width apart, both hands in front of his body, one holding his clothes out of the way, the other directing the urine towards the ground. The man was mumbling to himself as he relieved the pressure in his bladder.

  Zhou crept up behind him, between the aura of light from the camp and the Mongol, sticking to the shadowed area between the two. He let the strength of the cat flow into his arms and legs as he rose from a crouch, biting down the growl that threatened to well up from his chest. This is what hunters do, he thought, they seek their prey, sneak up upon them, lay in ambush, and then strike at the opportune moment.

  His left hand reached around the Mongols neck at the same moment his right hand grabbed the man’s hair. Zhou pulled, squeezed and twisted, lifting the warrior’s feet from the ground and cutting off the ability to scream or speak. There was dry snap and the Mongol’s body went limp. Hands that had been scrabbling at Zhou’s arms stopped and fell away. Feet that had been kicking at the air stilled.

  The only sound to escape the murder was that of the Mongol’s neck snapping. A noise not dissimilar to that of piece of wood in a hot fire. Within their circle of safety, the pool of light, the Mongols carried on eating and sleeping.

  Zhou dragged the body away from the camp. The little spark of spirit, usually held in at the centre of the body, had been extinguished. Necessary, he thought. The unknown fear, a man that does not come back? It was not enough and soon his friends would start to call and then to search for him. A broken neck could be put down to a fall in the darkness. It needed some more, something to increase the fear, to create the worry.

  He took a deep breath and forced his dispassionate, cold, human side to come to the fore. Young cats played with their food before eating it, learning to hunt and what to do with their prey. Adult cats, hunters, killed and ate their fill. The idea of eating a human filled him with revulsion and he had no intention of doing that, but making the others think an animal had attacked, in silence, and killed their friend might be enough.

  The sharp knife slipped free of its scabbard on the dead Mongol’s belt and Zhou set to work. It would not take long, slices here and there to suggest claws, ragged cuts to suggest bites and chunks of flesh missing, each edge jagged and untidy might suggest consumption. It was bloody work carried out quickly and he was left with, after cleaning and sheathing the knife, a small pile of flesh to carry away.

  Movement and calls from the camp were his clue to slip away and he did, arms full and clothes covered in the fluids of an eviscerated corpse.

  An unknown animal, a fear from the deepest part of their imagination.

  Chapter 20

  Dawn fell like a hammer onto the anvil of Haung’s sleep deprived head. Thorns of light stabbed into eyes and brain.

  “They are not coming back,” Liu said, the tall man’s soft voice slipping between the pain that throbbed through Haung on each heartbeat. “Go and sleep. Two days is too long to be awake. We’ve all taken our turn to rest, now you take yours.”

  “I will sleep when the Emperor’s army arrives.”

  “And you’ll embarrass yourself by falling at his feet and snoring,” Enlai said, his voice loud in the dawn quiet.

  Haung winced at the sound and pinched the bridge of his nose. “They are still there.”

  “Of course they are,” Enlai said. “There is a large lake between us and them, not to mention the city wall. The empire army is expected sometime this afternoon. Very soon, the Mongols will be staring at a host of fit, fresh and well-armed soldiers who will be staring right back at them. Neither army able to get to the other. Go and sleep, Haung. Sleep when you can, eat when you can, fight when you have to.”

  “It is good advice,” Liu said.

  “They might try something, a last attempt.” Haung moved to the edge of the wall, resting his hands on the stonework and looked across the lake. To his right, the sun rose over the hills and its light dipped into the valley.

  “Haung,” Liu stepped up beside him, “go to sleep. It wasn’t your fault, you know. Gongliang died doing his job, defending the wall.”

  “But they didn’t just kill him did they? They turned him into something else, something we had to kill all over again.”

  “It is war, Haung. Get over yourself and realise that nothing in war is pretty, honourable or good. The enemy will do whatever it can, use whomever it can to win,” Enlai spoke without a trace of sympathy in his voice. “And you know what, so will we. All we can hope is that we win and that most of us will survive. You were involved in the destruction of Wubei. You know the truth about war, about killing. Gongliang is dead, but he did his job well.”

  The words felt as sharp as a blade, as painful as the first ray of light into his tired eyes.

  “Take your hand off your sword and go get some sleep, Haung,” Enlai said.

  Haung looked down to find his hand wrapped around the grip of his sword. It was puzzling. He fought to remember the moment he had sent the command to his hand to grab the sword. There was no memory of it, and now, with conscious thought, he forced his fingers to relax and pulled his hand away from the sword. Raising his eyes, he met Enlai’s and read the concern in them.

  “You’ll wake me if anything happens?”

  “Yes,” Liu and Enlai spoke at the same moment.

  “I’ll get some sleep.” Haung nodded to them both and stepped away from the wall.

  # # #

  The banging on the door woke him.

  “Come in,” he tried to call, only to find his throat dry and the words coming out in a croak. He worked his jaws, bringing some moisture into his mouth and tried again. This time the words were clearer and the door opened.

  “They are here,” Gang said. “You’d best make yourself presentable.”

  Haung ran his fingers through his hair, broken nails catching on knots and dry crusts of blood, and looked through his bleary eyes at the big man stood in his doorway. There was a shadow behind the warrior, the ever present Fang-shi, he thought.

  “How long?”

  “How long what?” Gang answered. “How long have you been asleep? How long till the army gets here?”

  “Both.” Haung swung his legs over the side of the bed and only then realised he was still wearing his armour.

  “It is mid-afternoon, so you can work that out, and the army will be here in about two hours, just before dusk.” Gang paused. “You look awful, did you know that?”

  “Thanks,” Haung said and was overcome with the impossible to resist desire to yawn.

  “There is a bathhouse a couple of streets away.” Gang walked over to Haung and slipped a hand underneath the Taiji’s arm, lifting him onto his feet. “Come on, I’ll take you. It is time for my yearly bath anyway.”

  “Clothes,” Haung managed to stammer out as he felt himself dragged towards the door, his feet barely keeping up with his forward motion.

  “Gan Ji,” Gang said to his shadow, “find the general some clothes and drop them off at the bathhouse.”

  The large warrior half-dragged, half-guided him through the streets of the city to a narrow lane lined with painted signs over closed doors. Choosing one, Gang stomped up to it and began knocking. He didn’t stop until the door was opened.

  “Yes, boss,” said a short man dressed in a robe that looked as though it had been white at some point in the past but would never be again.

  “Two to bathe,” Gang said.

  “Of course,” said the man. “Please, come in.”

  The door swung open, a waft of warm air passed over Haung and out into the afternoon s
un. Gang waved Haung forward and they stepped into the bathhouse. The room they entered was larger than Haung had expected and contained some tables and chairs. To his right, a small kitchen area where the attendant was boiling something over the fire and ahead, another door.

  “Please, sit,” said the man who had shown them in.

  Haung edged over to a table and sat in one of the wooden chairs. Gang sat opposite, the chair creaking under his weight.

  “Do we have time for this?” Haung said.

  “It’ll be good for you,” Gang replied. “Wash the concerns, and blood, out of your hair. It will also get rid of the smell of battle, the mix of sweat, guts, fluids and sodden leather. You’ll be in a good state to meet the Emperor when he arrives.”

  “Tea, boss,” the small man said, putting two cups of aromatic green tea down on the table. “Towels.”

  The small towels, hot to the touch and giving off the faint scent of jasmine, were placed in their hands. Haung brought it to his face, letting the warmth soak into his skin for a moment, enjoying the luxury, before rubbing the damp towel over the rest of his face and hands, cleaning off the dirt he had slept in.

  The tea was welcome too. It was hot, delicate with a hint of sweetness. Haung forced himself to sip the tea and not throw his head back and drink it down in one go.

  “Food, boss?”

  “Congee and youtiao,” Haung said.

  “Bit late for breakfast, boss.”

  “Not for me it isn’t.” Haung took another sip of the green tea as Gang ordered his to come with pork.

  Soon after, two bowls were placed in front of the men. Haung picked up a fried bread sticks and dipped it into the white rice porridge, raising to his mouth and biting down. The bread had been lightly salted and, mixed with the creamy congee, it reminded Haung of breakfasts in the barracks when he was young. Gang used the clay fired, glazed spoon to shovel his dish into his mouth.

  Halfway through the meal, Gan Ji arrived with two servants to deliver Haung’s clothes. Invited to join them, the timid Fang-shi shook his head and departed in a flurry of hands and rapid steps.

  “Boss, ready to bathe?”

  Their dishes were cleared away and they stood from the table. The servant opened the door to the bathhouse proper and indicated they should step through.

  The new room was warm, heated by a large fire at the far end and stalls lined both walls. Above the wooden screens that separated the stalls from each other were small platforms that Haung saw being winched up by one of servants. On the platform was another guest’s clothing.

  “Protects them from being robbed,” Gang said. “Get changed and let’s get properly warmed up.”

  As the large man headed into one of the stalls and began to strip off his robes, Haung looked around. The air was misty, more so towards the ceiling, and it masked the other patron’s faces. He would need to be a lot closer to be able to recognise them. There were four pools, each large enough for five or six men to use without feeling crowded, and, between those and the fireplace, two rows of wooden slatted beds. The floor was tiled and, Haung noted with some surprise, so were the walls and ceiling.

  He found an empty stall and started to peel his armour off. The toggles and straps were easy to undo, but the smell rising from his body when he removed the tunic was anything but pleasant. Without wanting to be in his own presence much longer, Haung rushed the rest of his disrobing, accepted another warm towel, a larger one, from a servant and hurried to one of the barrels at the end of the stalls.

  The dipper, a long handled, large bucketed one, went into the water and he poured it over his head. The water was cold and the sudden drop in temperature caused a shiver to run down his spine. However, it was choice between temporary freezing or continuing to smell. That and the embarrassment of slipping into the warm baths and a thick layer of scum sliding off his body as he did so. Three more ladles full of water went over his head before he was satisfied that he had done enough to minimise his embarrassment.

  Wrapping the long towel around his cold body he walked across the wet, slippery floor with as much care as possible and stepped into the pool. The towel soaked up the hot water, holding it next to his skin, warming him, as he let himself sink further and further into the depths. A contented sigh escaped his lips without conscious thought or effort.

  “It’s nice, but once a year is really enough for any man,” Gang said as he too sank into the pool. The water level rose and slopped over the side, before settling back to a level.

  They had chosen an empty pool, indeed there were few other patrons in, and Haung was glad of the quiet. A chance to put aside the worries and sadness. A time to think about Jiao and the baby, to remember he had a family to care for and one which cared for him. Gongliang had family or had had a family, he corrected himself. No, the family were still his and Haung knew he would have to visit them, talk to them, tell the children of their father’s bravery, his intelligence and his service to the Empire. It wouldn’t soften the blow or the shock, but in the years to come Gongliang’s bravery would count for something.

  Mist rose from the pool, covering the tears.

  Chapter 21

  “They are not going to give up,” Zhou said.

  “And our horses cannot keep this pace up much longer,” Xióngmāo agreed.

  “After the third night, I thought they would be too scared and turn back.”

  “Whatever is behind them scares them more,” she said

  Zhou checked the trail behind. Their passage was clearly marked by the trampled grass and there, not half-a-day distant, were the six remaining Mongol warriors. They had moved slower since the first night, the first death. A more cautious pace, checking the land around them, taking care and being aware. It had helped Zhou and Xióngmāo maintain some distance, but only by pushing the horses hard and they were running out of strength.

  “What about the others? The larger search party?”

  “They cannot be more than a day behind the small group. I’d say that the six behind us can see the large group on their horizon. It will have given them strength and courage. They won’t stop now.” Xióngmāo brushed her long dark hair out of her face.

  “Then we do not have much of a choice,” Zhou said. “We need to lose our pursuit before we reach the trade route and the desert. They will not need to track us there. It is one road all the way. There will be nowhere to hide.”

  “I don’t like unnecessary deaths, Zhou.” She held up her hand to stop his words before they left his mouth. “However, I agree. We need to be clear of the Mongols and we need to confuse the trail if possible. They will probably have a good guess where we are heading, at least as far as the trade route.”

  “We have to do it today. The larger party will be a day behind and that gives us a chance to get some distance. The question is where and when today?” Zhou gazed around at the plains of grass, the lack of places to stage an ambush was clear.

  “There is a place not too far away. We will have to change our course a little, but I think we can reach it within a few hours,” Xióngmāo said and with a tug on the reins turned her horse to the south.

  # # #

  Her directions brought them to a river just as the sun reached its highest point in the sky. The horses saw the water first and, with a renewed burst of energy, ignored their rider’s commands and galloped down the slope towards it. Zhou stopped trying to control his horse and just concentrated on hanging on, clamping his legs against the saddle to prevent being thrown to the ground. The horses stopped as soon as their forelegs touched the water, and dipped their heads to drink from the fast flowing water.

  Zhou swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the floor. His thighs ached, but each day the pain had lessened and it took less time for feeling to return. From his saddlebags, he took his water gourd, hulu, and drank deeply. With a river this close there was no need to save or ration the water so he drank as much as he could. He dipped the gourd into the river and let it refill. />
  Placing his refreshed supply of water back into his saddlebags, he took his first look around. The river valley was wide and shallow. On his side of the river the slope was steeper and closer to the water’s edge, but on the southern side the valley continued on for some distance before the land rose again. The soil beneath his feet consisted mostly of pebbles and rocks. Bending down, he picked up a handful and inspected them, running his fingers over their semi-polished sides and noting the collection of sharp and round angles. They sounded like rain drops hitting the ground as he let them fall through his fingers.

  The river itself did not follow one channel, rather it was a collection of streams that twisted and turned, much like the braiding in a young girl’s hair, through the valley. The braid directly in front was quite shallow and the rocks on its bed were easy to see, even in the dim light filtering through the clouds.

  To the east, the river continued its meandering flow through the valley and out of sight over the horizon. The west, the direction the river flowed from, there was a stranger sight. Between two braids a hill of grey rock stood proud. The streams flowed around its base without disturbing its shape and curves.

  “That is where we are going to draw the Mongols to,” Xióngmāo said, coming to stand next to him while her horse drank its fill of water.

  “Why there?”

  “This river, this land and especially that hill are sacred to the Mongols.”

  “Why? It is just a hill,” Zhou said.

  “This area is called the Forbidden Zone. To all Mongols, all tribes, this land is not to be traversed. They only come here on a pilgrimage, the rest of the time they stay away.”

  “Will that stop the ones chasing us?” Zhou asked.

  “It might, but I doubt it. They should have stopped already. The three men you killed should have been warning enough to stay away, but they ignored it. Something is driving them onwards. They won’t stop, so we will have to stop them,” she said. “The hill is a tomb, the entrance is on the western side, facing the setting sun.”