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

by Clare Smith

  He’d stayed at the temple, helping to prepare Li Ang’s body for burning, and then spent two days chanting prayers for the dead. He’d no idea what Li Ang believed in, if anything, but he did what he could to ease the boy’s way on the wheel of rebirth just in case. It had been peaceful there, and despite having been told he would have to work for his keep, they had left him to mourn. He’d done more than that though; he’d used the space they had given him to think and to plan.

  Now his time had come to keep his promise, and whilst he knew that he was likely to die fulfilling it, he felt remarkably calm. That would change once the adrenalin gave him extra speed and agility, but for now he was content to remain where he was, going over what he intended to do once more. He’d kept his plan as simple as he could, having learnt that the more complicated he made things, the more likely he was to fail, but even so his chances of success were quite small.

  Unlike his incursion into the Ban Long compound where he’d taken a roundabout route to the Master’s pagoda, he’d decided to take the most direct path to his enemy’s door. This would reduce his exposure and keep him high enough above the ground so that, with any luck, his brothers wouldn’t think to look for him there. It was a good strategy and would certainly have the approval of The Master of the Blade in the Dark, but the problem with it was the wall in front of him was impossible to climb.

  For a start it was three times the height of a man and had no discernible top, but melded into the steeply sloping roof of the large practice hall and the place where executions were carried out. Not only was the wall impossibly high, but the outside had been faced with ceramic tiles which were so smooth it was impossible to get a grip. Over the years the brotherhood’s enemies had tried to chip them away to create some hand-holds, but the sounds of hammer and chisel against the wall had always brought the patrolling guards running.

  That didn’t bother him though, he had no intention of climbing the wall; he was going to fly. The thought made him chuckle to himself. To leap such a distance was considered impossible, and if he failed he would end up splattered on the cobbles below. However, there was something inside of him which told him he could make the leap and live.

  That feeling of confidence was why he’d waited in the shadows of this particular building for the last hour. He’d been watching the wall and the roofs of the compound for any unusual movement, but he’d also been watching the building against which he lent. It must have been one of those built when Chang’an was little more than a riverside settlement, and had stood opposite the wall of the compound for so long that it had almost been forgotten.

  At one time it had been a low building built of river stone and held together with rough mortar. Over the years two other stories had been added; the first made of sturdy timbers and the second from odd bits of wood, bamboo, reeds and hessian. The result was an unstable construction which looked like the slightest breeze would send it tumbling to the ground. Despite that, six families lived in the hovel and a street whore had her bed in the roof space.

  It was the whore he was interested in, and not because she would open her legs for two copper coins, but the roof above her head was thin and sagging. One of the dozen or so children who lived in the hovel had told him she had a visitor, and he’d watched and waited for the man to leave so she would be alone. That had been ten minutes ago and true to form for a woman of her profession, she had just left to either seek out another customer, or spend her earnings on the grey powder which would give her a few hours respite from her dreary life.

  Whichever it was, her departure had been the sign he’d been waiting for to move. He slipped down the side of the building and pulled open the creaking door on its worn, leather hinges. The family which occupied the side of the room into which the door opened looked up, noticed it was a single man, and returned to their pot of rice, assuming he was the whore’s next customer. He didn’t bother giving them a glance but climbed up the narrow, rickety stairs where the process was repeated.

  On the third storey, there was no curtain to separate the two families and they sat huddled together over an empty cooking pot looking at him with hungry eyes. He had a small silver coin with him that he was going to give to the whore as recompense for pulling down the roof on top of her bed, but decided the families’ needs were greater than hers. When he handed them the coin, they all bowed their heads to the floor in gratitude, except for the eldest boy who scuttled out of the room with the coin clutched in his hand before anyone else could move.

  Twistirian climbed up the ladder, hoping it wouldn’t collapse beneath his weight, and pulled himself into the low roof space, gagging at the smell which was far worse than in the plague room in the temple. A straw pallet covered in a lice-ridden blanket lay on the floor, and a chipped pot full of stinking yellow liquid stood in one corner. There were a few rags scattered over a wooden box which could have been spare clothing, but apart from that, the roof space was empty.

  He looked up to where the remains of a tiled roof hung precariously to a few rotting beams, and noted that the holes left by the missing tiles were stuffed with a mixture of reeds and rice stalks. Miraculously the whole thing hung together without collapsing, although there were stains on the floor where the rain had come in. It reminded him of some of the places he’d lived in as a child and now, as then, he thought that the best thing which could happen to the place was for it to fall down and force the inhabitants to find somewhere better to live.

  What he was about to do would go a long way to achieving that, as he doubted if the roof would be repairable after he’d finished with it. Quickly he pushed the old clothing off the box and dragged it across to where the roof had been repaired and looked the weakest. Standing on the box he took the heavy knife he’d stolen from a meat seller’s stall in the market, and began hacking away at the reed and stalk stuffing, ducking out of the way as the roof came away in mouldering lumps.

  It took only moments to make a hole big enough for him to climb through, so he took off his stolen cloak, dropped his knife on top of it and climbed up onto the roof tiles. The tiles groaned precariously and for a moment he froze, listening for any reaction, either from below or the building opposite. When he was certain that no one had heard him, he studied the chasm that separated the crumbling building from the compound wall and roofs beyond.

  He was right; the leap was impossible, which was why, of course, the building had been allowed to stand where it was for all these years. Even if it could be done, there was nowhere to land on the other side except the steeply sloping roof. Anyone who attempted such a jump and made it across the gap, would either just roll back down the steep roof or hit it so hard they would bounce back and fall to their death.

  However, if someone managed to find a grip on the roof tiles the moment they landed, it might be possible to hang on long enough to arrest their momentum. It was unlikely though. He’d been up on the roof once when a typhoon had ripped a tile away, and knew that the clay tiles overlay each other in such a way that there were no hand holds.

  That just left the ridge tiles which were decorated with a continuous line of stylised, metal dragons that had been placed there, not for decoration, but to prevent anyone using the ridge as a walkway. It was those which were going to provide him with an anchor point, but for them to come into play, he needed to land high up on the roof. That made the jump even more difficult, or nigh on impossible.

  To stand any chance of making it across and surviving, he needed to build up speed, but that wasn’t going to be easy with the flimsy construction under his feet. Carefully he stepped backwards along the edge of the roof where the strongest timbers had been placed to form a frame. He tested every step as he went, feeling out those areas which would take his weight and those which would collapse under the slightest strain.

  Where the roof beams were supported by wooden posts they were stable enough, but the spaces in between shook beneath his feet, and one place groaned ominously where the wood had rotted through
. If he avoided that place the rest should support his run without collapsing, but it would still give him a distance which was woefully short of what he needed to build up sufficient momentum. It couldn’t be helped though; this was the only way into the compound without being discovered, and if he was to fulfil his promise to Li Ang, then he would have to take his chance.

  He unwound the short rope the monks had given him from around his waist and slipped the loop at the end over his wrist. In his other hand he placed the grappling hook he’d made from a statuette of a six armed goddess which he’d borrowed from the temple. He’d been taught how to throw a grappling line, but that had been from a stationary position and with something less cumbersome than he held now. Still, if luck was with him, it would do. He was either going to make it across or die in the attempt.

  Balancing on the furthest edge of the timber roof he closed his eyes and concentrated on the danger and the fear of what he was going to attempt. Rapidly his heart rate increased and he could feel the adrenalin pump into his muscles until they quivered with the need to move. There was only one thing more he could do to give him a chance of surviving, so he reached down inside of him to where the Ban Long’s spirit lay, and let it fill him with the exhilaration of flight. The response was instantaneous and his feet were pounding across the roof before he knew what he was doing.

  He’d measured his run exactly so that his last stride launched him into the air, powering upwards and outwards over the chasm. As he sprinted along, the roof behind him sagged and collapsed, but he was oblivious to everything except for the absolute freedom as he flew through the air. For a moment the spirit inside of him took control, fighting to be free of the body which constrained it, but he pushed it back within him as the green roof tiles rushed up to meet him.

  Almost too late he flung the heavy weight of the make-do grappling hook out in front of him and an instant later crashed into the tiles. The impact knocked the air from his lungs and his body bounced back into the air out of control. He tried to gasp a breath and stop his fall but, for a moment, he just hung in the air until the rope looped around his wrist snapped tight, tearing the muscles of his shoulder and slapping him down hard onto the roof tiles.

  What little air that was left inside of him was knocked out in a painful whoosh, whilst his body quivered with the shock of the impact. His plan had been to move immediately before anyone could get into a position where they could see what had hit the roof with such force, but it was impossible. It took more than a minute to force air back into his body and assess his injuries.

  The collision with the roof had bruised his chest and thighs, and his chin was bleeding where it had scraped against the rough tiles. When he moved, a pain lanced through his chest, so he guessed that at least one rib was broken. More serious though was his torn shoulder muscle which stabbed at him every time he moved his arm.

  On the other hand he supposed he’d been lucky. The loop of rope around his wrist could have snapped the bone as easily as a rice stalk instead of just scraping the skin off. Even worse, the grappling hook could have missed the ridge completely in which case he would be dead by now. That thought spurred him on, and using his toes for leverage, he pushed himself upwards relieving the strain on his shoulder.

  Once he’d released his wrist from the loop it took only seconds to pull himself up to the line of dragons which ran along the buildings ridge. Despite being weather beaten the spikes along the backs of the dragons were still sharp enough to cut through flesh, but that wasn’t going to stop him; he had no intention of standing on them. Instead he straddled them and bracing his feet on the sloping tiles on either side shuffled his way along the roof.

  It wasn’t an elegant journey and, if he’d slipped, he would more than likely have emasculated himself on the sharp spikes, but it worked well enough. When he reached the end the roof joined another which ran at right angles to it. This was slightly lower and had a plain, unadorned ridge, so it was a simple matter to drop down onto the rounded tiles and run across its length. At the far end it came to an abrupt halt, but below it was one of the four walls that enclosed the training yard.

  He’d intended to let himself down using the grappling hook and rope which he once again had wrapped around his body, but now he was up close he could see there was nowhere to secure the hook, unless he could remove a ridge tile. That would take too long and would make too much noise, so he climbed over the edge, held on with his finger tips and dropped onto the wall, trusting his natural balance to stop him falling off. The wall was narrow and flat, so he managed it with only a slight wobble, and then ran along its length until he reached the end.

  Below him the training yard was dark and empty, and he thanked the gods for whatever it was that had called the masters and their students away from the training, which went on day and night. Crouching in the darkness he considered what he should do next, whilst listening to the distant sounds of the city. It surprised him that it could be heard so clearly from up there, but supposed that the compound’s thick walls usually muffled the noise.

  He could hear carts rumbling and the clatter of horses’ hooves and voices raised in anger, although he couldn’t hear what they were saying. The noise was a distraction he didn’t need, so he turned his attention back to his current situation. From here he could see the Master’s pagoda clearly, and the balconies which jutted out on the upper floors. It had been his intention to climb up onto the first floor balcony, as he had done when he was a boy, but with his injured shoulder he didn’t think that was going to be possible.

  That just left the option of entering through the front door, which he guessed would be heavily guarded and suicidal. He was still trying to come up with an alternative when he realised that the sound of arguing, which he’d heard earlier, was coming closer. In fact it was so close that he barely had enough time to drop flat and stretch out along the top of the wall, before flaming torchlight lit up the open area in front of the pagoda.

  Clearly something of importance was going on as four men, who he recognised as the senior masters of the sect, detached themselves from the crowd and entered the pagoda, whilst behind them the torch bearers formed two lines. For several minutes nothing happened and then, from within the pagoda, a figure dressed in ceremonial robes emerged flanked by the four masters who had summoned him. There was no doubt who the man in the ceremonial robes was, and for a moment he had to resist the urge to jump down from his hiding place and challenge him where he stood.

  It would have been a pointless sacrifice, so he stayed where he was and watched as Cheum addressed the two lines of torch bearers who he now recognised as his brothers. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but eventually an agreement was reached, as one of the masters hurried away and a minute or so later a gong sounded, echoing around the compound. He knew that sound meant there would be a meeting of the Brotherhood to discuss a matter of the utmost importance, and felt a pang of regret that he could not be part of it.

  A meeting of all the brothers was a rare occasion, and the last time it had happened, he’d still been an apprentice and had been excluded from the gathering. Despite that he knew that when the gong sounded again, all the brothers would be gathered together in one place. Until then everyone there would know their part in the ceremony and what they had to do. Whilst the brothers gathered around the Master and sorted themselves out by seniority, the apprentices hurried off to assemble chairs and mats in the practice hall where the meeting would take place.

  From all around the compound, dark figures emerged from where they had been standing in the shadows keeping guard, and quickly made their way to the building with the line of dragons on the roof which he’d so recently crossed. If anyone had looked up they might have seen him, but a meeting of the Brotherhood in the middle of the night was a serious affair, and no one had time for looking at the stars. When the last of the brothers were in position the torch lit procession set off with the Master, bedecked in his ornamental headdress and layers of embro
idered robes, leading the way.

  Twistirian waited until they were out of sight and then dropped silently from the wall, crouching in its shadow until he was certain that the movement had not been seen or heard. When he was satisfied that he was undetected, he ran fast and low across the open ground to where the Pagoda stood with its high doors wide open. If the Master had been inside, the doors would have been closed and guarded, but by tradition the doors were left open when he was away to symbolise the brothers trust in each other.

  He’d often questioned the brotherhood’s traditions, which had annoyed the masters no end. Now he couldn’t help feeling that this tradition, along with most of the others which had ordered and constrained his life, were not just pointless but dangerous as well. Still, it gave him access to where he wanted to be, and for that he was grateful.

  Keeping low and pressing back into the shadows, he made his way along the front of the pagoda and peered inside. He knew that none of the brothers would be within, but that didn’t mean that some of the senior apprentices hadn’t been left behind on the pretence of cleaning or caring for the Master’s possessions. As far as he could see though the huge entrance hall, which took up most of the ground floor, was deserted, so he ran quickly across it, making for the wooden stairs which led up to the Master’s private rooms.

  Half way across, a slight noise alerted him to his danger, and he threw himself forward into a roll allowing the throwing knife, which had been aimed at his heart, to pass harmlessly over his head. He was on his feet in an instant and already returning the throw with his own knife in the direction he thought his assailant had been standing. A solid thud and a gasp of pain told him he’d been right, and by the time he’d crossed to the corner of the hallway where a large, lacquered cupboard stood, the apprentice who had been hiding within was dead and bleeding out onto the floor.