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

by Clare Smith

  He could see the younger man shuffle uncomfortably and disappear from view which gave him some hope, but then a stream of warm liquid splattered down through the grid onto his upturned face. It took him a moment or two to realise that Zangwu was urinating on him, and he hastily covered his head with his arms to give himself what protection he could. When Zangwu had finished he walked away without saying a word and Twistirian closed his eyes and lapsed back into despair.

  It began raining again, washing away some of the stink from his head and his arms. Through the hissing of the rain, he thought he heard the sound of raised voices close by and the clang of metal, but it only lasted for seconds, and then it was quiet again. Remembering what the Master of the Still Mind had attempted to teach him about inner peace, he tried to clear his mind. It was hopeless though, and instead a half forgotten incident from when he’d been younger leaped into his mind.

  He couldn’t remember who it was who was chasing him, but he’d escaped being captured by running along the roof ridge of a temple and making an astounding leap onto the city wall and flinging himself off the other side. At the time he knew he must have been terrified, but the only thing he could recall now was the exhilarating feeling of flying through the air. Looking back it felt so natural, as if he’d been born to fly, although he was sure the leap had nearly cost him his life.

  For a moment he imagined himself flying free of his prison and powering up to where the stars shone and the air was fresh and clean. He shook his head trying to dispel the thought, which didn’t seem to belong to him, but it didn’t help much as he could still feel his wings lifting him higher into the night sky. It was a glorious feeling, but when the grid above him rattled and was pulled open, the reality of his situation came rushing back and the cold, stone walls closed in around him reminding him of where he was.

  During his training he’d been taught how to hide in the smallest of places for hour after hour, and then spring into action ignoring cramped muscles. Despite that he still groaned as he pushed himself up from his crouching position and stumbled when strong hands pulled him free of the hole. He expected there to be guards surrounding him, but instead there was just Kingquin and Zangwu who glared angrily at him.

  Automatically he bowed to the senior brother, but when he looked up, Kingquin had already turned and walked away, and it was Zangwu who prodded him in the back to make him follow behind. Still hobbling he followed the retreating figure into one of the largest training rooms, expecting this to be the place of his execution, but when he reached there the room was empty, and Kingquin waived Zangwu away. With a deep frown on his face, the man who should have been the Master’s natural successor looked him up and down.

  “The answer to your question, Twistirian, is that there can be no justice when a man is denied the right to defend himself, so speak.”

  Twistirian bowed and franticly tried to get his thoughts together. “I didn’t kill the Master. It was he who gave me my life and who I loved like a father.”

  “Yet your knife was found in his heart, and Cheum saw you sneak out of the compound.”

  “That’s not true! I gave two of my knives to Cheum for safe keeping, and it was he who escorted me out of the compound after giving me instructions on how to carry out an assignment the Master had given me.”

  Kingquin’s frown deepened. “What was this assignment?”

  “I was to gain entry to the Ban Long compound and create a diversion so that my brothers could kill the Ban Long master.”

  “What! That’s impossible! The Master would never sanction such an action which would result in open warfare between the two brotherhoods. I am surprised at you, Twistirian, I thought that you of all people would have come up with a more believable tale than that if you wanted to save your skin.”

  Kingquin went to turn away but Twistirian stopped him. “It’s the truth, I swear it. I entered the Ban Long compound and when none of my brothers turned up, I killed the Ban Long master. I escaped over the wall with the enemy right behind me and hid in the Wild Goose temple where Xuanzang arranged for me to be brought back here.”

  For a moment Kingquin said nothing and then shook his head. “If you killed the Ban Long master, what was it you took from him?”

  It was the question Xuanzang had asked and like then he still had no answer. “I took nothing except his life.”

  “You lie, Twistirian. If you truly killed the Ban Long master, you would know what it is that you took from him.” He waived Zangwu forwards. “Return the prisoner to his cell to await his execution.”

  “No!” Twistirian shouted, leaping forward and grabbing hold of Kingquin’s arm before Zangwu had a chance to pull his sword.

  Kingquin acted immediately, twisting around to break his attacker’s grip and whipping him off his feet. Twistirian crashed to the floor and Kingquin followed through with a blow to the throat which was meant to kill, but it never landed. A fraction before his hand connected and ended Twistirian’s life, he stopped dead and the colour drained from his face. He staggered back allowing Twistirian to scramble to his feet and take a defensive position, whilst Zangwu looked from one to the other unsure what to do next.

  “Zangwu, fetch the Master of the Secret Way here at once.”

  Zangwu looked confused, but his vows of obedience wouldn’t allow him to question the senior brother’s orders. He bowed and hurried away, leaving the two men just looking at each other. Slowly Kingquin backed away, almost as if he was afraid to face his opponent, and then stood by the wall with his arms folded and his hands hidden in the wide sleeves of his robe. It was a pose of warning which Twistirian knew well, so he stood with his head slightly bowed and waited for the Master of the Secret Way to answer Kingquin’s summons.

  The Master of the Secret Way was short and round and always looked as if he was half asleep, but had a mind as sharp as a knife and a memory which encompassed all the laws and traditions of the Brotherhood. The man had once been a monk until the Master had recruited him, and now he was one of the most feared men in Chang’an. He hurried across to where Kingquin waited, but stopped suddenly in front of Twistirian, glanced briefly at him and gasped with shock.

  Kingquin moved to his side. “You feel it too?”

  The Master of the Secret Way nodded. “Yes, but I don’t understand how.”

  “Our brother says that he has killed the Ban Long master and it was our lord who gave him that task.”

  “That is impossible, the consequences would be too horrendous to contemplate.”

  “I agree,” said Kingquin, “but there can be no doubt that the Ban Long master is dead at Twistirian’s hand and someone had to give the command.”

  “Cheum.” The Master of the Secret Way said emphatically. “Only he is that ambitious and would be ignorant of the consequences. He must have set Twistirian up, and then blamed him for the Master’s murder in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be coming back from the Ban Long compound.”

  “It would explain why he ordered Twistirian’s execution without a trial.”

  “You believe I am innocent then?” interrupted Twistirian.

  Both men glared at him. “It’s not a matter of guilt or innocence, but what the Ban Long will do to regain what you have taken from them.”

  He went to protest that he’d taken nothing but Kingquin cut him off. “They will come here in force to reclaim it, and we will retaliate.”

  “Neither side will be strong enough to defeat the other, so the Emperor will be forced to step in and destroy the brotherhoods, as he’s always threatened to do if our activities disturbed the peace of the empire.”

  “If we are to survive, he must be given to the Ban Long to die at their hands.”

  “But I’m innocent,” protested Twistirian again.

  “I agree,” said the Master of the Secret Way, ignoring Twistirian as if he wasn’t there, “but it would be a wasted opportunity. If Twistirian dies the Ban Long spirit transfers to another and our position remains the same as it w
as before the Masters’ died. However, if he leaves here, we can deny any knowledge of his actions, and with luck they will never catch him, so that in time the Ban Long will just fade away to nothing.”

  Kingquin nodded thoughtfully. “It could work, especially if the Ban Long spies who watch our gates were to see him leave. It would make it more difficult for him to hide from their assassins, but even if he was caught by them, we would only be back to where we were before the Ban Long master was killed.”

  “Just so,” said the Master of the Secret Way with some satisfaction.

  “Now just wait a minute,” interrupted Twistirian. What you are suggesting is likely to get me killed when you know that I am innocent, and what about Cheum? He must have killed the Master with my knife.”

  The Master of the Secret Way shrugged. “It is not unknown for the position of Master to change under such circumstances. In any case, Cheum carries the spirit of the Brotherhood now and is our Master, until there is one who is strong enough to take his place, whilst you are the least of our brothers and expendable.

  “You have a choice, Twistirian,” put in Kingquin. “You can run and live by your wits, or stay and be given to the Ban Long to die like a dog.”

  It wasn’t any sort of choice and they knew it, but he’d lived off the streets once and he could do it again. “I will go, but on the condition that the boy who came here with me, Li Ang, is taken into the Brotherhood.”

  The Master of the Secret Way looked at Kingquin who nodded briefly. “He will be taken care of, but you must leave now whilst the streets are still dark and we have time to avoid a disaster.”

  Kingquin didn’t wait for an answer, but ushered him out of a side door into the enclosed courtyard where he’d spent so many years training with his brothers. He would have liked to have said farewell to Li Ang and told him that he’d kept his promise, but Kingquin impatiently beckoned him on until they stood at the main gates of the compound. They were guarded as usual, but at a word from Kingquin, the guards stepped aside and he slipped out of the small gate set into the tall, wooden doors just as the first birds of dawn began to call.

  *

  He’d made the mistake of not leaving the city before the sun had risen over Chang’an’s walls. Now word had reached the streets of the death of the Ban Long’s Master, and a price had been put on the head of the renegade assassin who was on the run. Foolishly he’d thought that old friends would help him, but most of those were dead, and the few that were still alive would have sold him for a couple of coppers or just to curry favour with either of the brotherhoods.

  Now he was hiding in the burnt out remains of a temple, which was meant to be haunted by the holy men who had died there when a rival sect had set it alight. It wasn’t a place that he would normally enter, but for now he feared the ghosts less than the three Ban Long brothers who had been following him. He’d lost two when he’d run through the maze of a spice market, but the third had circled around and intercepted him. He was dead now, but it wouldn’t take long for the others to find his body and know in which direction he’d run.

  The continuous pressure of being on the run and the short, vicious fight with the Ban Long brother had taken its toll in him. Then there were the knife wounds he had received whilst escaping from the Ban Long compound, which had slowed him down and had left him weak. He had to find a place where he could rest and heal and where someone would feed and clothe him until he had recovered and could escape from Chang’an.

  The monks at the Wild Goose temple would give him aid, but the place was likely to be watched and his presence there would put them in danger. Apart from that, the temple was on the other side of the city, and he thought his chances of making it there were far from good. Closer at hand was the Temple of the Golden Dragon, but since the day of his testing, when he’d killed the Emperor’s unfaithful concubine in its sanctuary, he hadn’t been welcome there.

  That left the Torrian temple, where those who were too poor to pay for a funeral were sent for disposal, along with executed criminals and those without a name or religion. It was a grim place, reluctantly funded from the Emperor’s purse and manned by monks who had lost favour with their superiors. The monks weren’t known for their hospitality, but they were always in need of strong hands to help them with their work, so at least they wouldn’t turn him away.

  Wearily he squeezed between two charred beams which had fallen across each other creating the space in which he’d hidden. Outside it was almost dark, which would make it easier for him to move without being seen, but had the disadvantage of hiding his enemies. He couldn’t stay there though, so he ran as fast as he could, keeping low to the ground and zigzagging to avoid getting a knife in his back.

  Twice he stopped in the shadows when he thought he heard the sound of pursuit, but quickly moved on when he could hear nothing out of the ordinary, and eventually reached the precincts of the temple without being challenged. Despite the darkness of the unlit streets he knew when he was close to the temple by the heavy smell of incense, and something else which was less pleasant. The monks always disposed of the bodies which were brought to them as quickly as they could, but if there had been sickness or fever in the poor quarter there would be a backlog.

  By the smell of it today was one of those days, so he covered his mouth and his nose with his hand and cursed his bad luck. For a moment he hesitated and wondered if this was really such a good idea, but as he could think of no other place to go he pulled the bell rope at the outer door. If his enemies were going to pounce on him this would be the moment, but the door suddenly opened and a monk in grey robes, partly covered by a bloodstained sheet, beckoned him forward.

  If he thought the smell was bad outside it was ten times worse inside, and he wondered how anyone could stand it. The monk didn’t seem bothered by the smell though, and led him through the outer courtyard into the main temple where the smell of incense was so heavy he could almost taste it. Inside the temple there were rows of monks chanting prayers where one looked up, quickly stood and hurried over.

  “I’m sorry, you’re too late, we’re not taking any more bodies today so you must come back in the morning.”

  “I don’t have a body,” replied Twistirian, “or at least not a dead one.”

  The monk looked confused and then slightly annoyed. “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I am destitute and need somewhere to stay, and in return I offer you my labour.”

  The monk looked him up and down suspiciously, certain there was a lie there, and then shook his head. “This is a sanctuary for the dead, not the living. You need to go to one of the other temples and plead for succour there.”

  “I can’t,” said Twistirian urgently. He was desperate enough now to chance the truth. “I have men after me and I need to hide until I can leave the city.” As if to confirm the point the bell at the outer gate rang loudly.

  “You have brought the Emperor’s men down on us?” questioned the monk angrily.

  The bell rang again, even more urgently this time. “No, it’s not them.” He hesitated, reluctant to tell them everything, but he had no alternative. “I’m sorry, but it’s the Ban Long brotherhood who are after me and want me dead.”

  The look of anger slipped from the monk’s face and was replaced by one of concern. “The Ban Long brotherhood are no friends of this temple, but I have nowhere to hide you where they will not find you, and then the wrath of their Master will fall on us.”

  Twistirian was about to comment that there was no Ban Long Master when the monk wearing the bloodstained sheet interrupted. “There is the plague room; no one would go in there to look for him.”

  The monk thought about it for a moment and then nodded his agreement. Before Twistirian could say he didn’t want to go into the plague room either, the monk who had made the suggestion was pulling him down the length of the temple to the door at the far end. He knew enough about temples to guess that this would be the place where the monks lived, and would
be well away from where the dead bodies were kept.

  He gave a sigh of relief, but when the door was opened and he was dragged through he realised his mistake. There should have been rows of beds where the monks slept, but instead there were a dozen wooden tables stained with blood and other fluids. They lined the long room which smelled of death and decay. Clearly the Torrian Temple was very different than other temples he’d been in, and he would have asked where they were going but didn’t have the chance, as he was hurried along to a door at the far end where his guide stopped.

  “This is where we put those who have died of one plague or another, and their bodies have to be handled with care before they are burnt. Fortunately for you there are none in there today, only three poor souls who died violently and are condemned to wander the shadow world until their deaths are avenged.”

  “Won’t the Ban Long brothers search here too?”

  “No, would you willingly go into a room where plague victims are unless you absolutely had to? Now get in there and don’t make a sound until I come to fetch you.”

  The monk opened the door and Twistirian stepped through, full of apprehension. He needn’t have worried as the room was little different than the one he’d just left except it was smaller and three shrouded bodies occupied the tables at the end of the room. He’d seen enough dead bodies for their presence not to bother him, but he didn’t altogether trust the monk to have told him the truth about the plague, so he crossed to the first body and pulled the shroud back.

  There was no doubt that the man had died violently as his head was detached from his neck. He pulled the shroud over the grisly sight and moved onto the next one, but as the shroud was soaked in blood he didn’t bother pulling it back. The final corpse was shorter than the others and he guessed that it must have been cut in half. He pulled the shroud back expecting an unpleasant sight, but was frozen to the spot in horror as Li Ang’s sightless eyes looked back at him, his face contorted in death.