The Stone Road

by G R Matthews

  Hsin twitched, “Zhou? Is that you? Don’t come another step.”

  “This is your fault. You made a deal with the Qiongdi devils. You brought us to this. You killed my wife and son with your greed. It is time for you to die,” Zhou growled. A bestial, guttural sound.

  The crossbow twanged and Zhou saw the red snake leap from it, flying toward him. He flicked his sword and swayed to one side. With a metallic clink the bolt, and snake, were diverted past him into the plaster wall behind.

  “No, Zhou, no, please,” Hsin pleaded as he dropped the crossbow and raised his hands in supplication.

  Zhou raised his sword, tip pointing directly at Hsin’s throat, “If I’d done this in Yaart, they would still be alive. Your fault.”

  A slight backward lift of his sword arm and then it stuck downwards in a killing blow. It never reached Hsin's throat. A second sword, outlined in white, struck Zhou’s and he turned on this new threat. It could not be allowed to prevent him from completing his purpose, killing Hsin.”

  “I need him alive,” said the black and white silhouette that had joined them in the room.

  “He is mine, he will die.” Zhou sprang at the newcomer whilst Hsin cowered on the floor.

  Their swords met with a shower of sparks. Thrusts, slashes and parries moved like liquid lightning between the two. Zhou driven by rage and purpose, the stranger flowing through each attack and parry with calm determination. The red snakes refused to find a place on the swordsman’s body and Zhou was striking blind, demanding power and speed from his muscles. He ignored the small cuts on his arms and kept pumping the attacks in, each one deflected and returned.

  “We don’t have to do this,” panted the enemy figure. “I can promise you he will die, more painfully than a single sword strike.”

  Zhou backed off, sword and dagger weaving in front of him, as he growled, “He is mine.”

  “Diplomat Zhou,” the stranger spoke his name with clarity and knowledge, “we are not in control of our destinies, our fates. We act on the will of others, we follow orders, we do as we are told, and we don’t like it. Let him come to me. I promise you his death has been ordained but before that he will be tortured. He will suffer as you have.”

  “He. Is. Mine.” Zhou renewed the attack, sword and dagger driving and diving at the still pristinely white figure, with no thought of defence.

  Round and round, they twisted and turned. Even with the fuel of his rage, Zhou could feel his arms getting heavier and slower, whilst the swordsman did not seem to be tiring. More and more little nicks and cuts appeared on Zhou’s arms. The white in his vision was fading and black was swallowing his sight. Zhou dragged more air into his lungs, legs turning from feather light to iron heavy.

  “I am sorry, Zhou,” the fuzzy looking figure said quietly. “War is not what I had thought. There is no honour to be earned or won. Only the blood of innocents. I am sorry.”

  Zhou felt his sword arm pushed out wide and the swordsman's empty hand struck him in the chest. Then, as Zhou stumbled back, the pommel of the sword descended towards his skull. He tried to get his own sword up to parry but his arm would not move fast enough.

  The last of the white shattered in a blizzard of falling flakes and the darkness melted them away.

  Chapter 20

  Haung sheathed his sword and looked down on the fallen Wubei man. The stress, fear and anger had faded from the unconscious man's face and it was replaced by a look of serenity. Haung glanced to the side, checking on the old man who was still cowering by the wall with his head in his hands. He rubbed his arms, kneading at muscles aching from the fight. The blows that stuck his sword had been incredibly strong and quick, much more so than he had expected from the bureaucrat.

  “I could have let him kill you,” Haung directed the words at Hsin. “You deserve to die. You sold your country for a few ensorcelled cows and the promise of gold. He is right, you caused all this.”

  Haung walked over to Hsin and knelt down, “We had a file on you, you know. We knew you were coming and we knew your weakness. We used you, manipulated you, and you never worked it out, never noticed. Zhou did, and you didn’t listen. We knew you wouldn't.”

  He reached out and grabbed Hsin’s head and forcing the old man to look into his eyes, “I am going to take you to my Commander. You will be tortured, you will face pain and agony, and you will tell us everything we need to know. Do you know why?”

  Hsin's weak struggles, attempts to tear his eyes away from Haung’s were fruitless and a childish whimper emanated from the old man.

  “Do you know why?” Haung asked again, “Because you caused this and the only way you can escape your guilt is to talk quickly and honestly. Do that and I promise you a quick death.”

  A sweetly acrid smell reached Haung's nostrils and he looked down. There was a wet, spreading stain on the front of Hsin’s robes. Haung stepped back and his lips curled in disgust as he gazed at the wreck of a man. Moving over to Zhou, he took his own Captain’s insignia and hooked it onto Zhou’s armour. It was not much of a disguise for the comatose Wubei man but it was a chance.

  “You’ll live. I'm not sure you’ll thank me for that but I’ve seen enough death the past days and weeks to last me a lifetime.” Haung bent down and checked the man’s pulse, it was regular and strong. “You stood up for yourself when others would have towed the line. You fought bravely on the walls and the streets. We used you and you still fought on the walls.” Haung turned back to quivering mess that was Hsin, “Get up, you’re coming with me. One way or the other.”

  Haung, without a care for age, dragged the stinking old man to his feet and pulled him out of the room, “Walk, old man, and see the streets and lives you destroyed.”

  Hsin staggered from the building and down the fire illuminated streets of the once great city of Wubei. Haung followed just a few steps behind, guiding with sharp words and constant threats. Yaart soldiers still filled the streets and chaos reigned. Smoke caressed the faces of the living whilst ash rested on those of the dead. Hsin whimpered with every step.

  Pushing past the guards on the perimeter of the Commander’s compound, Haung approached the seconded home that served as the base of operations for the command team. Marbu, the secretary to the Commander, met him at the door.

  “Ah, Jiin-Wei,” Marbu smiled, white teeth reflecting ember orange in the flickering light, “the Commander will be pleased. I’ll tell him you have completed your mission. Put Hsin in the temporary cells at the rear of this house, the guards will look after him. Then go and get yourself some food and sleep. Morning will be here before you know it and the Commander may have need of you.”

  Haung did as ordered. On the way to his own sleeping pallet he stopped by the medical area and spoke to two orderlies, directing them to Hsin’s home.

  “On the top floor, you'll find one of our Captains. Poor sod, took a blow to his head and is probably concussed. I know he wasn't making one damn bit of sense when I found him. See if you can pick him up and get him to a hospital area for treatment. He’s been babbling a lot about Wubei. I had to knock him out again just to get a bit of peace and quiet. He’s still alive though. Warn the medics when you hand him over.” That’s it Zhou, you’re on your own.

  # # #

  Haung could only assume it was around dawn when he struggled awake. Smoke still covered the sky, a dark cloud of destruction, making any view of the sun impossible. Others were up and moving, so he pulled his armour back on, shook the fine layer of ash off of his sleeping blanket and rolled it up. He dipped a cup into the barrel of water in the corner of the shared room and swished the water around his parched mouth. He poured another cup over his head, rubbing it through his hair and across his face. His hands came away caked and smeared with clumps of dirty black ash. A third cup was used to clean his hands. Thankfully, there was no mirror in which to check his appearance.

  Suitably, at least as much as the situation allowed, washed and dressed for the assault on the duke’s quart
er of the city he joined the rest of the army for a quick, and dry, breakfast of trail biscuits. There was some scavenged food from the Wubei houses and the biscuits were enhanced by scraps of meat, cheese, and cold rice.

  The army captains pulled the soldiers into shape and the commander ordered the short march to the duke’s gates. Engineers went ahead of the main army, carrying sturdy lengths of wood and other building equipment.

  The march ended at the duke's walls, just out of bow shot. The engineers had been busy, digging up the centre of the road and erecting one of the sturdy tree trunks. It stood before the army which spread out in a large semi-circle in the clearing before the walls.

  At least the duke had been bright and strong enough not to build houses right up to the walls of his last line of defence, Haung thought as he watched the scene unfold.

  The commander came forward, Marbu slightly behind and Fang-shi Long next to him. “Duke of Wubei, it is at an end. Surrender yourselves, and save the lives of your soldiers and citizens. Yaart has need of them, to farm the fields and work the foundries of its new province. They will be spared from torture or death. You have my word on that.”

  Commander Weyl waited and Haung scanned the walls. There was obviously some movement on the battlements above the gates. Then a man shouted back.

  “Weyl, is that you?” The voice carried without effort and Haung opened the walls in his mind a little to detect a whisper of magic amongst the words. “Why should we trust your words, or those of your Duke? We had a treaty, sealed by the emperor himself, and you have broken it. Weyl, how could you do this to your own city?”

  Haung gave Weyl a sharp look, and wasn’t alone in the army as almost every head turned. Secretary Marbu and the Fang-shi did not react at all to this revelation.

  “Old history, Duke, I made my choice long ago. It has no meaning any more, no sharp dagger point to drive home. Time and distance has blunted it.” Weyl’s voice sounded loud to Haung’s ears, more magical amplification, more for the Wubei soldiers sake than the duke’s, he thought. “Surrender your city. The women and children can go free, the men folk will be allowed freedom shortly after. No one will be hurt. No more need be hurt. The war is over, let it be.”

  “Weyl, traitor, the war will never end whilst I or any of my men draw breath. It will cost you dearly to break these walls. You have no idea what is prepared for any enemy that gets this close. We are Wubei, we will fight to the end,” the duke’s voice rose above the great resounding cry of victory that came from the Wubei troops on the walls.

  Weyl waited for the cheers to die down. “I thought you might say that.”

  Haung watched as Weyl beckoned and Hsin was brought forward to stand beside the great post, “We know exactly what faces us. We know how to counter it and we know how to get in. Hsin, here, told us everything we wanted to know.”

  Haung saw the duke turn to the advisors on the battlements and judging by the waving of arms a heated discussion was going on.

  “Sorry, your Lordship, can you not see him from there? Is he too low, perhaps? Are your old eyes not sharp anymore?” Weyl waved a signal to his troops, “Let me help you. I want all of Wubei to be clear what will happen if you continue to fight on needlessly. Accept your defeat and live.”

  Hsin, moving in a stupor, was forced to lie down on the road and his arms were dragged out to either side along another piece of wood at right angles to the first.

  “Duke, you can watch your fate from there. If you don’t surrender, this is the punishment in store for you and every tenth man amongst you.” Weyl stepped forward to stand near the post. His voice carried to everyone on the walls, “Hsin, you can watch the last of your city be destroyed as you die, slowly.”

  The Yaart engineers took up great hammers and drove iron spikes through Hsin’s wrists and into the wood. The old man arched his back in agony and began to kick his legs uselessly against the stone road. Small trickles of blood seeped from the wounds. The engineers wrapped a thick rope two or three times around the spikes, Hsin’s arms and the wood. Then they stood him up, arms outstretched like a gliding seabird, and half-carried him to the post. More troops brought forward two ladders and, ensuring the bottoms would not slip on the stones, the engineers lifted Hsin up the erected post. Near the top was a pre-cut notch into which the engineers slotted Hsin's beam. Dropping back down to road, the engineers removed the ladders and then the soldiers supporting Hsin's weight from below let go.

  Hsin’s cry of agony, magically amplified, screamed out across the clearing to the walls of Wubei. The aged diplomat dragged in another breath and as his pierced wrists took the strain of his full weight, he screamed again. And then again and again. Each scream was weaker than the one before and Haung could see the old man struggle with the strain of sucking in more air.

  Weyl looked up at the slowly dying man, “You can end his suffering, Duke. Open the gates, this old man of yours won’t survive long up there.”

  The only answer from the walls was a few scattered arrows that reached towards the Yaart line but fell far short. Haung could not tell if they were aimed at the Commander or an act of mercy towards the old man.

  “So be it,” Weyl shook his head and he returned to the main force.

  Apprentices of Fang-shi Long ran forward, carrying a large table which they put down in front of their master. On it they placed two large candles, a wide wooden bowl, a long brush pen, a bowl of dark ink and a sheaf of papers. They all clustered around their master as he began to paint words on the paper and chant loudly. The apprentices’ voices joined in a disjointed cadence. Daubed paper was thrown into the bowl where it caught fire and smoke of different colours twisted into the sky to join the dark clouds.

  Haung could feel a pressure grow on the walls of his mind and across his whole body. It was pushing him from every direction, all at once. The air was being squeezed out of his lungs and a sweat broke out on his forehead. He stood as still as possible as it continued to grow. Then, suddenly it felt as if he was being pulled towards the Fang-shi though his feet had not moved.

  The large wooden bowl was rising from the table, smoke of blues, reds, greens and yellows swirling all around it. The master and apprentices had ceased to chant and instead were humming a deep, resonant tone which rose in volume. With a great cry from all the sorcerers, the pull on Haung ended and he almost fell backwards as the bowl, now encased in contorting filaments of coloured smoke flew faster than an arrow towards the Wubei gate. Lightning sprang from the ground to strike the bright missile but it still continued towards its target. Fire shot from the walls but the bowl of multi-coloured flame and smoke absorbed it all. Bolts of blinding light danced from the battlements at the instrument of Wubei's doom but it just glowed brighter.

  Then it struck the gates. The noise battered Haung’s ears, so loud that he cried out in pain. When the echoes reached him, so did the wave of pressure which drove him and the rest of the army to their knees. He forced himself back to his feet as the wind and dust died down. His first sight was of the Fang-shi calmly packing away his desk as if nothing was out of ordinary. The second sight was of the gaping hole where the gate, and a large section of stone wall, had once stood.

  Still stunned by the noise and light, he watched as the Yaart army rushed past him towards that great hole.

  # # #

  Three days later and the fires still burned.

  Haung and the rest of the victorious army had left the city proper. The jewel in Wubei’s crown, its capital, was now a glowing pile of timber and ash. Here and there, within the city walls, the husk of a building still stood and smouldered. The outer walls were marred by great rents and rips, the inner wall to the duke’s quarter was now a low pile of rubble.

  The surviving Wubei moved like sleep walkers between the ruined walls, avoiding the places where fires still burned. Haung watched them sifting through the ash, looking for anything of value or food to eat. As much as Yaart had a refugee crisis, now Wubei would too. The Duke’s plan
had been clever, shrewd and based on good intelligence but it was short-sighted, Haung felt. Even as desperate people flocked to Yaart from the north, now from the south they would come too.

  Haung pulled a silk map, inked by a careful hand, from his pack and traced a finger around the province of Wubei. It was more than its capital, but still mostly mountains. In the valleys and passes, there were the names of small villages, mostly mining outposts but a few had the symbol for a farm next to them. The people of the city would find acquiring food difficult from any of those. Of course, in the opposite direction were the plains of Yaart, the rich pastoral and crop lands that had been fought over these past thirty years. No, thought Haung, very soon these people will find their way to the plains and then to Yaart. Now Wubei is no more they are, by conquest, people of Yaart.

  The fight for land was over. The fight to survive, for many, was just beginning. Haung packed the map away and dragged on the reins of his horse, turning away from the smoke draped ruins of the conquered city and back towards the army, his army. He did not look back again.

  Part 3

  Chapter 21

  Zhou woke for the second time. His head was so heavy that he could not lift or turn it, and the fuzzy, blurred vision through his eyes was little help in determining where he was. Wherever it was, he was comfortable and warm.

  “Hello, Captain,” the words were hollow, tinny and echoed in his mind. “Good to see that you are still with us. That’s a nasty bump you took to your head, cracked the skull I'd wager. Still, seems you're made of tough stuff.”

  Zhou tried to speak but all that came out was a low moan. His mouth was dry and his tongue, thick and tasting of dust, refused to obey his commands. A moist cloth was pressed gently against his lips and a little cool water ran over his tongue. It was like the finest wine, the first sight of your newborn child, the waking morning breath of cold mountain air, and he savoured it like all of those things and more.