Dragon Call (The Throne of the Dragon Queen Book 2)

by Clare Smith

  Up ahead he could hear the sound of running water and hoped that it was the same stream which he’d crossed earlier. It was only a dozen paces across, but if the enemy were on his trail, the sound of splashing would instantly tell them where he was. He needed to make sure that no one was about, so he crouched low, listening for the slightest sound and thought he heard something move to his right. Carefully he moved away from it and then froze as something just in front of him moved through the grass.

  Slowly he pulled the knife from his belt and only just stopped himself from sighing with relief when a lizard, twice the size of his hand scuttled past. The lizard made enough noise to cover any sound he made, but he still stayed where he was, knowing that lizards didn’t move at night unless they had been disturbed. Then he heard the grating of steel close behind him and guessed that they knew he was there.

  He could run and hope they didn’t catch him, or he could stay and fight. Neither option was good, but with his daggers still strapped to his body and inaccessible, running had to be the best choice. He hunched his legs beneath him and then powered forwards into a zigzagging run. When he reached the stream he was moving fast and didn’t bother removing his boots but tore across it sending water flying in every direction. Half way across he skidded on a slimy pebble making his ankle give way and he crashed to his knees, but he was up and away again in seconds.

  The fall slowed him down and had cost him valuable ground, so that now he was in range of his enemies’ weapons. The temptation to look behind him to see how close they were was almost overwhelming, but he knew that would be the death of him. Continuing to zigzag, when the Ban Long assassins were spreading out behind him and cutting off his escape, would be fatal too. All he could do was run fast and straight to where the wall was starting to appear out of the gloom.

  At this speed he would be able to make the top in one leap, but then he had to fling himself sideways as the whine of a shuriken alerted him to his danger. His leap was fast but the spinning blade was faster and caught him in the side. There was a clang of metal and a bruising thump into his ribs, and then the shuriken fell away, having only scored a line across one of the blades still strapped to his body. He rolled back onto his feet and within seconds was running flat out again hoping he could regain enough momentum to leap up and reach the top of the wall.

  At four paces out he sprang upwards, reaching out with his finger tips and grabbed the top of the wall. It was a tenuous grip and he had to waste a precious second whilst he found a toe hold to boost himself up, but he was out of time. Before he could pull himself upwards, a searing pain beneath his left shoulder blade made him cry out and he lost his grip. He started to slither backwards with his feet scrabbling against the stone wall trying to get some purchase, but another searing pain, this time in his right calf, made him scream and he knew he wasn’t going to make it.

  Slowly he began to slip and he waited for the moment when his good hand would give way and he would fall at the feet of the enemy, but that moment never came. Instead two small but surprisingly strong hands grabbed hold of his wrists and dragged him upwards. Once again he scrabbled with his feet to find some leverage and managed to push himself up onto the top of the wall just as a dozen knives clattered into the space where his body had hung.

  Not waiting for the assassins to climb up after him, he rolled over the top of the wall, and half slithering down the rope he’d left there and half falling, he landed in a heap on the other side. He just wanted to stay there whilst the pain from his two knife wounds subsided, but his rescuer was already tugging at his hands. More urgently than that, he could hear shouting from the other side of the wall, and knew it would only be a matter of seconds before the Ban Long brothers were following him over it.

  The knife in his shoulder had come free as he was scrambling up the wall, but the one in his calf had come over the wall with him and now lay on the ground close by. He grabbed it as he staggered to his feet and then threw it as the first of the assassins came over the top of the wall. It wasn’t the best throw he’d ever made, but it caught the assassin in the shoulder and was enough to send him toppling over backwards and out of sight.

  His own knife followed the first, hitting a second assassin in the chest and making his knees crumple and fall forwards off the wall. If he’d had the time he would have stopped to take the dead man’s blades, but more assassins were climbing onto the top of the wall, so he did the only thing he could do and ran. After a couple of steps his run turned into a hop, and if it hadn’t been for his rescuer he would have fallen, and that would be the end of him.

  As it was, the boy who had helped him escape propped up his injured side and, together, they managed a shambling run into the darkness. It was never going to be fast enough to outpace the assassins who were pouring over the wall though. The boy must have realised that too because instead of running in a straight line away from the wall, he shot down a narrow pathway dragging Twistirian with him.

  After a dozen paces he turned down another pathway and then another until Twistirian had lost all sense of direction. He thought he knew the Silk District, but there were places here he’d never seen before, and just hoped the Ban Long brothers who were following him were equally as lost. It wasn’t until they crossed an intersection and caught a glimpse of the Silk Gate, that he realised where they were.

  They had been moving east, parallel with the two territories, but no closer to the safety of his own compound. To make things worse, he was starting to feel light headed through losing so much blood, and sick with the constant pain. As he turned a corner into yet another alleyway he staggered to a stop and propped himself up against the wall.

  “I can’t go on,” he gasped between ragged breaths.

  “Yer gotter, the Ban’s are right behind us.”

  “I can’t, I’m leaking too much blood.”

  “I knows it, yer splashin’ it behind like a bloody great big trail, but yer gotter, if they catch us we’re both dead.”

  The boy was right of course, but he didn’t think he could go any further. “You go on by yourself. You’re small and fast and will be able to evade them on your own.”

  “Nah, they’ve seen me an’ will ‘unt me down fer ‘elpin’ yer.”

  “Don’t you have somewhere to hide?”

  The boy looked at him with a deep frown on his face and then broke into a broad grin. “Yeh, I do, I know just the place an’ my friend Xuanzang will ‘elp us.”

  He grabbed Twistirian by the arm and dragged him along without giving him the chance to protest. They ran down another two narrow streets and then stopped at a dead end which was blocked by a wall. The wall wasn’t as high as the one which surrounded the Ban Long compound, but in his state he wasn’t going to be able to climb it. He was about to say that when the boy started scrabbling at a pile of stones at the base of the wall where it joined one of the buildings at an angle.

  When he’d scraped away a sizeable mound he started to squirm through the hole which burrowed beneath the wall. Twistirian watched him disappear from sight, his anxiety growing at being trapped against the wall with no way out. He wanted to run whilst the way was still clear, but after a few moments the boy wriggled his way out covered in dust and spider’s webs and with stone chips in his hair.

  “Come on, It’s open at t’other end and I’ve got friends waitin’ ter ‘elp.”

  Twistirian shook his head; he hated confined places. “I can’t, the hole’s too small and I’ll get stuck.”

  “No yer won’t, my friends will pull yer through.”

  He still hesitated but he could hear the sound of running men getting closer and knew that he was almost out of time. “You go first and whatever you do don’t leave me trapped in there.”

  The boy grinned and shot down the hole like a rabbit down its burrow. He was still reluctant to go but he had no other option, so he took a deep breath and followed the boy through. He’d done his best to make himself as thin as possible by stretching his
arms out in front of him and squeezing his legs together, but he’d been right; the hole was far too small. He squirmed forwards as far as he could with the stone scraping painfully down his body and then became stuck.

  He could feel the stone pressing down on him from all sides, as if it was trying to squeeze the life from his body, and took a panicked breath to fill his cramped lungs. That was a mistake as the stone dust scoured the back of his throat making him cough and choke. He thought he was going to die there, but then strong hands took hold of his wrists and pulled him forwards. That was even more painful than just lying there, as with every heave, his knives, which were still strapped to his chest, gouged out lumps of flesh.

  The thought occurred to him that, if his feet were still sticking out the other side of the wall and the Ban Long brothers had hold of them, he was likely to be pulled in half, but it was only a fleeting thought. He could see light ahead and he was moving faster, his passage lubricated by his own blood. Then he was through to the other side, lying on his back and staring up into the dawn sky and a circle of laughing men in saffron robes.

  They pulled him to his feet, and someone hurried forwards to wrap him up in a spare robe that covered him from head to toe. Then they hustled him across the huge square where hundreds of monks knelt before the serene image of the Buddha and made a space for him somewhere in the middle. He just had time to take in the towering pagoda to one side, when the chanting of the monks changed and they all bowed forwards in prayer, pressing their foreheads to the ground.

  Now he knew where he was now. The Wild Goose temple was the largest in Chang’an and he would be safe amongst the hundreds of monks who lived, worked and prayed there. Of course, if the Ban Long brothers were permitted to inspect the monks, his unshaven head and his bloodstained robe would quickly give him away. That was a possibility as the temple was in the south district and within the Ban Long’s territory.

  He had no idea if they were affiliated with the brotherhood, although he was about to find out, as the bell for those who sought admittance was ringing from the Mahavira Gate. Behind him, he could hear footsteps hurrying across the square and doors opening and closing, and he desperately wanted to look up, but dare not move. Even if there was no affiliation and his enemy was only allowed to stand at the gate and observe the praying monks, they would spot him if he lifted his head, and they wouldn’t hesitate a moment to kill every monk there to reach him.

  The chanting seemed to go on forever until his back ached and his head swam, reminding him of why he’d never wanted to become a monk, even though it would have saved him from a childhood of fear and hunger. He knew that many of the monks praying in the square would have once lived off the streets, and wondered if they ever regretted their decision to take the easy way out. That made him laugh to himself; the way his knees felt, there was nothing easy about being a monk.

  He was still chuckling when someone put a hand on his shoulder, which made him instinctively go for the knife which wasn’t there. The monk, an elderly man with deep wrinkles and a serene smile, jumped back in alarm and then admonished him with a wagging finger before beckoning him forwards. With difficulty he pulled himself onto his feet, swaying precariously as if he was about to topple over, so that the monk had to take him by the arm to steady him.

  For all he knew the monk could be taking him to where the Ban Long brothers waited, but he was so bone weary and sore that he really didn’t care anymore. They walked across the square, leaving the monks to their prayers, and entered the lowest level of the towering temple where the light from hundreds of candles reflected off the golden statues of the Buddha held in alcoves along the four walls. He thought it had to be the hall of enlightenment, as there were benches placed around the room for the monk’s contemplations.

  It would have been a good place to stop and rest, but his guide hurried him on up a flight of stairs to the next level. This was a much more sombre affair with walls lined with shelves holding mounds of parchments, and row upon row of desks. He’d heard that Xuanzang had persuaded the Emperor to build the temple in order to house the treasures he’d brought back with him from India, but this looked more like a store room for old and mouldering parchments than a treasure house.

  When his guide hurried him on up the stairs to the next level, which looked no different than the one before, he almost groaned and had to stop and rest because his legs were about to collapse beneath him. The old monk put his hand on his shoulder and smiled in encouragement, but then spoiled the image of a caring grandfather by pointing upwards. Now he did groan, but still managed to pull himself up the stairs to the fourth level.

  This room was different than the others and looked to be half finished, as he could see the bare brick from which the temple was built, and the only contents of the room were a few buckets, several hammers and three wooden benches. The old monk helped him to one of the benches, patted him on the shoulder like a small child, and then disappeared up the flight of stairs. It was peaceful sitting there with the breeze through the four, square openings carrying the sound of the monks’ chanting and the piping of two birds flying high above the temple’s roof.

  If it wasn’t for the fact that he was being pursued by assassins who wanted him dead, he could have sat there enjoying the peace until the end of time. As it was, he closed his eyes and tried to put his exhaustion and the pain from his wounds from his mind, so that he would have the strength to fight his way out if he needed to. The Master of the Still Mind had taught him how to clear his mind to conserve energy and prepare for what was to come, but his lessons didn’t seem to be working at all well.

  Instead of nothing, he could still see the image of the four openings built into each side of the Wild Goose Temple, except that they weren’t quite right. These were arched instead of square, and he had the strangest feeling that if he leaped out of one, he could fly away. It would be a wonderful feeling to have the wind under his wings and to soar in the sky, free of the earth’s pull, but that just wasn’t possible.

  His teacher had often scolded him for his lack of concentration, so he tried hard to clear his mind of the image, but all that happened was the archways turned into a cave, with a shadowy figure looking back at him. The figure was looking straight at him and was saying something to him which he couldn’t quite hear. He must have sat there trying to hear what the man was saying for a long time, because when he opened his eyes again, another monk was sitting on the bench opposite him.

  The monk was short, but well built with weather beaten features and shrewd eyes. He guessed that he had to be someone important by the fine weave of his robe and the golden image of the Buddha he wore on a chain around his neck, so he had to be Xuanzang, the great scholar and traveller. The man smiled at him, but it did nothing to put him at his ease despite holding his life in his hands.

  “The Ban Long brothers said that an assassin and thief sneaked into their compound, killed their master and stole something of great value. Is that true?”

  Twistirian thought about lying, but guessed the monk would know a lie when he heard one. “My master gave me the assignment to kill the Ban Long master, which I did, but I never stole anything.”

  The monk frowned as if he didn’t believe him. “Why would your master send you to do such a thing? He is a man of intelligence and foresight, and would understand the consequences of his counterpart’s death.”

  Twistirian shook his head; he’d wondered the very same thing. “I don’t know why, it was the senior brother of my set who gave me my instructions and he didn’t say why.”

  That made the monk raise his eyebrows in surprise. “And did this person instruct you in how to steal the Ban Long master’s spirit too?”

  Now he was really confused. “I told you, I took nothing, I’m an assassin not a thief.”

  “Doesn’t taking another man’s life make you a thief?”

  He’d never thought about it like that and somehow the thought made him feel uncomfortable. “I suppose it does.�
� He hesitated for a moment before asking the question he really wanted answered. “Are you going to hand me over to the Ban Long brothers?”

  The monk sighed as if it was a difficult decision, and then stood and walked across the room to look out of one of the openings in the wall. “It is said that over a million people live in Chang’an and are as numerous as the ants beneath our feet. You would think that with so many, taking the life of one would be of no significance. However, in all my travels, and in all the sutra’s I have gathered and have brought back here, not one condones the death of even the smallest insect that crawls along the ground.”

  He turned away from the opening and walked back to where Twistirian sat. “The Buddha teaches us that every life is precious, so how could I condemn you to death at the hands of the Ban Long brothers?”

  Twistirian breathed a sigh of relief. “You will let me go then?”

  “No, I’m bound by my faith to do more than that. Your wounds will be tended and you will be escorted to the safety of your own brothers where you will confess to your master what you have done and what it is you have taken.”

  “I don’t understand. My master already knows what I’ve done, he was the one who sent me to kill the Ban Long master.”

  The monk smiled. “That may be so, but confession is necessary so that your master can understand what you have become, and can decide on what is to be done.”

  Twistirian frowned, that didn’t make sense to him but supposed that his master would understand what Xuanzang was talking about.

  “There is one other thing you must do to compensate for the life you have taken. The boy, Li Ang, who brought you here has a wild spirit, and will never settle on being one of us, but because of his kindness to you, he will not survive long on the streets. I therefore ask you to take him to your master and beg for him to be admitted to your brotherhood. He is quick and clever, and I regret to say with training he will make a good thief and assassin. Will you do that for me?”