A young woman bowed as she entered the lotus garden. She was in her early twenties, with vague oriental features, yet she was not Chinese. Formerly one of a vast number of slaves that Cho-zen Li had purloined over the years, this woman had elevated herself above manual duties within the mine. One night, when the guards had attempted to force themselves upon her she fought back, killing them all without mercy. That feat had impressed the master of the mountain, and earned her a place at his side as his personal bodyguard. As lissom as a panther, she was dressed in a figure-hugging black dress from her neck to her ankles. Long black hair cascaded down her back to the base of her spine. Contrasting such elegance, a pair of golden daggers hung from a broad belt slung low on her hips. The young woman waited until bidden by her master to speak, and when she did, each word was considered in its tone, equalling (if not quite surpassing) the elegance of her physical appearance.
‘Good afternoon, Master, I trust that you feel suitably refreshed?’ she said.
‘I feel fifty years younger, my dear Li-Dao… and something tells me that I will need to be,’ said the garrulous Chinaman. ‘News of your battle yesterday evening has already reached my ears. Makoi’s band has been keeping you busy lately.’
‘His raids upon the mine are becoming more frequent. I believe that his intention last night was merely to test our perimeter defences, but we must be cautious, Master. Support for him is growing in the outer provinces.’
‘Do not fear, my child. Makoi’s flame will be snuffed out long before he becomes a credible threat. If all goes accordingly, soon I shall tear off that golden mask of his and name him. Once he is proven to be mortal, he will cease to be a symbol of hope… and it is then that I shall personally take great delight in stripping the flesh from his bones.’
‘And I shall take great delight in watching you, Master.’
‘I hope that his men did not give you too much trouble?’ asked Cho-zen Li.
‘No, Master… no trouble at all.’
The warlord guffawed bawdily. ‘I wish I could have seen the look on Makoi’s face when the survivors returned to their camp telling how they were defeated by a girl!’
‘Survivors, Master?’ Li-Dao’s eyes flicked up slightly, and then quickly back to the floor. ‘I am afraid that it happened again. I… I could not control myself. There was so much blood. I am sorry. I know that you wished merely to send Makoi a message.’
‘How many men did his raiding party number?’ asked Cho-zen Li.
‘Fourteen,’ Li-Dao replied.
‘And how many did you leave alive?’
‘Master, please understand, not all of the kills were by my own hand, I had a platoon of our best troops with me, and I—’
‘How many, Li-Dao?’
‘Only two, Master.’
‘Two?’ Cho-zen Li hissed.
‘Well… one and a half.’
‘Then it seems I have sent Makoi a message, all right!’ said Cho-zen Li, reaching forward to pat Li-Dao’s head like a faithful spaniel. ‘Whatever am I going to do with you, child? At least there will be fewer of his men to cause any trouble this evening. How goes the planning for the main event?’
‘It is all in hand, Master,’ Li-Dao said, with a sharp nod of her head. ‘I have ordered several messengers to distribute the notations as you requested. The message will filter through to Makoi, of that I am certain. We may not know his name, nor where his den might be, but we know that he keeps a close ear to the ground.’
‘Excellent, Li-Dao, most excellent,’ commended Cho-zen Li. ‘And how are we going to ensure that Makoi does not escape our little trap? After all, we are going to a lot of trouble on his account. I would hate to see it go to waste.’
‘We will have platoons located at intervals along the eastern and western roads. In the past, Makoi has tended to favour the east, but whether he stays true to form or changes his tactics, we will still snare him between our ranks. He shall be captured by nightfall and dead by dawn, I give you my word.’
‘This shall be a day long remembered, my dear child.’ Cho-zen Li’s massive bulk quivered as he clapped his hands. ‘Soon, I will be able to scratch Makoi off my list of enemies. Although, he has been the only real challenge to test me in such a long time. Once he is dead, I might just have to find a new opponent… but where would I find someone with the necessary qualifications?’
Chapter XVII
The Road Untrue
Some time later, the late afternoon sunshine peeked through the gaps in the trees. Every now and then, the breeze sent white blossom tumbling through the late afternoon air like confetti at a wedding, drifting amongst the insects flitting around the banks of grasses. The winding pathway was just about wide enough for the cart, but if any oncoming rider approached, the pass would be difficult. Cornelius Quaint and his company had been travelling for several hours since leaving Xia X’ian, and it was almost dusk. They had stopped briefly for a bite to eat (some fruit and bread that Han-Lo had kindly provided) but Quaint was in a hurry to get to Q’in Mountain. Not only to reach Cho-zen Li’s territory before nightfall, but to hear word of Yin and Yang.
Riding as an uncomfortable passenger next to Prometheus, Quaint took the rough map that the blacksmith had drawn and held it up in front of his eyes, tracing his finger across it. He squinted, span it three hundred and sixty degrees and then scowled.
‘Prom, are you sure we’re going the right way? I thought Han-Lo said to follow the path to the west?’
Prometheus scowled back. ‘Are you trying to say I don’t know how to read a bloody map? West is dead ahead.’
Butter leaned forwards and tapped Prometheus on the shoulder. ‘If now we travel to the west, why are shadows wrong? Time of day means to travel west then shadows falling behind us, yes? Yet they are not. Henceforth, we do not travel west. We go to the wrong way.’
Quaint looked at Prometheus. ‘See?’
‘I was following the bloody map!’ protested the strongman. ‘There’s only one bleeding road, it’s not as if I could take a wrong turn!’
‘And somehow you still managed to get us lost!’ clipped Quaint.
‘We are not lost,’ insisted Prometheus. ‘We’ve got a map!’
Butter raised his hand. ‘Um, boss?’
‘A map that seems to have taken us in the wrong direction,’ said Quaint.
‘But, boss!’ said Butter again.
‘Look, there’s a lake up ahead, which has got to be this one here,’ Prometheus said, jabbing his finger into the map.
‘Are we really lost?’ asked Ruby, joining the fray. ‘How can we have a map and still be lost?’
‘That’s what I just said!’ chimed Quaint.
‘How many more times?’ yelled Prometheus. ‘We… are… not…lost!’
‘Um, chaps? What’s that?’ said Ruby, pointing above the tree line.
The silhouette of a vast, towering mound of rock darkened the sky before them.
‘Q’in Mountain!’ said Quaint. ‘It was right there all along. We were too busy following the damn road… we should have just looked up!’
‘Mister Quaint please!’ yelled Butter. ‘I must speak!’
The conjuror jolted in his seat. ‘What is it, Butter?’
The Inuit was panting as if he had just run a mile.
‘Spit it out, man, we don’t have all day!’
‘But, boss, I try to spit. There are sounds that come this way.’
‘Sounds?’ asked Quaint. ‘What sort of sounds?’
‘Horses. They are many, and clinking too. Armoured, I think.’
Quaint frowned. ‘The horses?’
‘No, boss… the lots of soldiers riding them.’
‘Soldiers?’ said Quaint. ‘Prom, get us off this road!’
The Irishman yanked the horse’s reins and it whinnied frantically as the cart exited the road, mounting a ditch into the long grass.
‘This is far enough,’ Quaint said, once they were off the road. ‘They shouldn’t be able to
see the cart now. Let’s double back and take a look.’
Crawling on their stomachs through the high grass, the troupe watched as a brigade of soldiers pull their horses to a stop, at least twenty men in all. Some on horseback and some riding in small one-man chariots. The soldiers were all clad in bronzed armour, fashioned into lamellar cuirasses, patterned with golden swirls not unlike a tortoise’s shell. The soldiers wore hardened hide peaked helmets on their heads, with broad leather straps fastened underneath their chins, not dissimilar to Roman centurions. Painted images of snakes, dragons and tigers adorned their armour, and the workmanship on their ornamentation was intricate; these men took pride in their warfare. Quaint’s keen eyes consumed all that detail in an instant, but what grabbed his attention most of all was the fearsome array of weaponry on display. Each man was armed with a brutal weapon – a spear, broadsword, crossbow or mace. The soldiers were prepared for all sorts of combat, both long range and close quarter.
‘What we do, boss?’ whispered Butter.
‘Something that goes against the grain of every fibre of my being, my Inuit friend.’
‘Surrender?’ asked Butter, aghast.
‘Hardly,’ said Quaint. ‘Hide.’
The four members of the circus troupe became human statues as they waited anxious minutes within the tall grass for the brigade to pass. The soldiers tightened the saddles on their steeds and performed menial checks of their weaponry, and then one of them – a broad-necked man with feathers draped from epaulettes upon his wide shoulders – broke ranks and began walking down the line of soldiers, inspecting each one closely.
‘Remember your orders, men. We are to await the signal before proceeding,’ the lead soldier’s voice carried upon the wind. ‘We need only ensure Makoi’s band do not escape. This road leads directly to Q’in Mountain, and we have a secondary unit ready to encroach from the opposite side. Once Mistress Li-Dao’s plan is in motion, we must be ready to give Makoi some breathing space. When we receive the signal, we move into position. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, Captain Hienko,’ his soldiers responded.
Quaint’s ears pricked up at the mention of Makoi’s name. ‘Folks,’ he said, gathering his troupe’s attention. ‘Don’t be alarmed, but I’ve just had an idea ...’
Chapter XVIII
The Words of Wisdom
Not far from Q’in Mountain on its opposite side, another secretive band was ensconced within the shadows of the vast forest. The sunset smeared gorgeous amber and purple washes across the sky, painting the underbellies of the gathered clouds in violet. Spears of persistent sunlight spiked down into the undergrowth of the jungle, but still no light penetrated the valley, shadowed beneath an enveloping canopy of lush trees and vegetation. Located by the side of a rushing waterfall was a small encampment. There was no road or well-worn trail that led to the camp – a fact that the leader of the band of men was keen to exploit. The only folk that knew of the camp’s location were its inhabitants, and they had good reason for keeping it a secret, for they valued their anonymity.
As a lone Chinese man navigated through the bushes, the sound of birdcall signalled his approach. This in turn triggered a succession of similar chirps and caws from various points around the man’s position. His progress through the forest had been carefully tracked. He arrived at a large boulder barring his way along the streama red-coloured handprint was painted upon its craggy surface. Matching the pose, the man placed his hand flat against the rock. The trees seemed to shift apart as many men dressed from head to toe in black detached themselves from the forest.
‘Next time make less noise, Qiang!’ said Makoi, the gruff-voiced leader of the outlaw band. ‘We heard you coming half a mile away.’
Makoi was broad-shouldered and lean; his features hidden behind a golden mask fashioned into the face of a snarling dragon. To all intents and purposes, Makoi was but a mortal man, yet it was the symbol of what he represented that painted him with a godlike brush. His skirmishes with Cho-zen Li’s forces were repeated in hushed tones across the lands, and even though the resistance was small, it was growing with every passing month.
Makoi offered his hand to Qiang, wrenching him to his feet.
‘You look tired,’ he told the younger man. ‘How long have you been travelling?’
Qiang doubled over to catch his breath. ‘More than… two… hours, Makoi,’ he replied, clutching at his ribs. ‘Since Pui-Shian village on the far side of the mountain.’
‘Pui-Shian? That is quite a distance.’ Makoi snapped his fingers, signalling to his band of men. ‘Take him to my tent. And give him food and water, he looks half starved.’
The outlaws carried Qiang deeper into the darkness of the trees, and soon they arrived at the centre of a collection of deer-hide tents.. As the fire in the centre of the tents crackled away, its smoke floating into the canopy of trees above, groups of similarly dark-clad men gathered around awaiting Makoi’s arrival.
‘What word is so important that you have come so far, Qiang?’ asked Makoi. ‘And in such a hurry, too.’
‘It is Cho-zen Li’s hellcat!’ gasped Qiang. ‘She is gathering all the slaves at the foot of the mine. Once darkness falls, she has promised to slaughter one prisoner every minute until you surrender! Makoi… what are you going to do?’
‘Whatever I must.’ Makoi was thankful that he wore a mask, for he hid his uncertain expression behind it. How much longer would Cho-zen Li’s shadow darken the lands? It seemed more and more likely that if the demon was to be exorcised, it would fall on his own shoulders, on his own conscience. ‘I must consult the oracle. His counsel has always guided true before, and it shall guide me true tonight.’
Wisps of incense curled into the air as Makoi pulled back the entrance to the deer-hide tent and stepped inside, removing his mask. The All-Knowing One was the only soul on earth who was aware of Makoi’s true face, and as his old eyes saw the man’s features again, his wrinkles splayed out like cracked plaster, seeping from the corners of his narrow eyes into the furrows of his bald head. Sat cross-legged on a cushion, he looked just about as old as any living being could possibly look and still be considered alive. His flesh was as delicate as rice paper, as pale as chalk, and from above his taut lips, a long, white moustache draped down onto his silken robes. He coaxed some incense to his nose with his hand and took a deep inhalation, rocking back with a satisfied ‘Ahhh.’
‘All-Knowing One, I seek your counsel,’ said Makoi. ‘I bring dire news.’
‘Yes… I know,’ the All-Knowing One replied. ‘There is little on this earth that escapes my sight. But the end to Cho-zen Li’s reign is almost upon us, for he has arrived amongst us at last.’
‘He?’ asked Makoi.
‘You know of whom I speak. You have met him.’
‘Are… are you certain that he is the one?’ asked Makoi. ‘You told me that only Cho-zen Li’s equal would be able to destroy him. How can a magician possibly have the power to defeat a warlord?’
‘Power is not measured in the physical world alone, Makoi,’ said the All-Knowing One. ‘It goes far beyond muscle, bone, armour and even steel. The magician is Cho-zen Li’s mirror, just as I have predicted. I have seen his arrival, I have seen his victory… and I have witnessed the pain that he will endure as a result, both to his physical body… and to his spirit.’
‘All-Knowing One, with all due respect,’ Makoi began, ‘you know that I do not understand your ability to see the future. You are always passing on hints and riddles about what is to come… yet this time you are most lucid. You are that certain of your predictions?’
‘Far more certain than you, it seems,’ said the old Chinaman. ‘His coming here has changed everything. It is though since he has arrived, the future is not quite so assured. You see, mortal man’s position amongst the stars is fixed, always a constant point of focus, with a beginning and an end… a life, if you will… but there is something special about this one. For some reason his position is fluctuati
ng everywhere and nowhere at once. He is a slave to time yet also its master.’
‘I have no idea what that means,’ admitted Makoi. ‘And so… I am to go to Q’in Mountain then? Even though it is quite obviously a trap?’
‘Yes, my boy… and quickly too, for the magician’s thread is woven into the fabric of future events and soon it will begin to unravel. The first footstep on the path to his destiny has been taken… but the road he travels on will be long and arduous… and not all his companions will reach the destination.’
Chapter XIX
The Forced Hand
‘Cornelius, I’m no stranger to your twisted sense of humour, but this takes the biscuit, so it does!’ scoffed Prometheus. ‘You want us to just hand ourselves in to these soldiers?’
‘Those guards want Makoi, not us,’ Quaint replied. ‘If we plead ignorance maybe we can get out of this unscathed. After all, what would they want with a gang of travelling circus performers?’
‘And then what?’ asked Prometheus.
‘Once we’re in the clear we can circle back and keep an eye out for Makoi, of course!’ said Quaint, with a grin. ‘I can understand most of what those soldiers are saying, and they’ve set a trap for Makoi… which I can’t allow, because he happens to be someone that I’m most anxious to meet.’
Shadows fell over the troupe and, one by one, they looked up to see a group of soldiers surrounding them.
‘Much too late for surrender, I think,’ chirped Butter.
One of the guards lunged for Ruby, snatching her up by her ponytail. Ruby scratched at the soldier’s face, dragging her nails into his flesh. He cried out in pain and swiped the back of his hand across her cheek. Ruby went flying, crashing into the branches of a tree. Prometheus was on his feet, roaring with anger. There was an audible gasp from the brigade of soldiers as they took in the full size of the gargantuan strongman.
Quaint and Butter stood by Prometheus’s side, bracing for impact. The soldiers were on them in seconds. Quaint threw as many punches in as many directions as he could, but the soldiers were heavily armed and strongly armoured, and every punch was like hitting a brick wall. He barely managed to gasp before he was grabbed around the throat.
The Lazarus Curse Page 11