by Brian Thomas
Mading already knew of the lieutenant’s skill and courage. He was not surprised he stood alone to face the priest and he was hit hard at Zhi’s use of the past tense. “He lost?”
Zhi looked down. “He fought until he could barely stand but the priest is a demon and did not seem to tire. The lieutenant threw himself in frenzy at the priest but the priest beat him down with his staff.”
Mading frowned. “So where is his body? If you came back for me you would have got the lieutenant, what have you done with it?”
Zhi pulled back his shoulders. “Those of us who were watching from the trees decided to crawl to you after the fight, to take you with us if you were still alive. The villagers were talking and no one seemed to be paying attention but as we got close the priest pointed his staff at us and drew down more lightning. It blasted a tree only yards from us, even though we were well concealed from him. We ran and stayed away until morning. We have come back now for you and the lieutenant, to bury you and tell the Spirits of your brave deeds. But we could only find your body.” Zhi looked a bit sheepish, before continuing quickly, “There is no sign of the villagers or the lieutenant.” Zhi sat back with an expression which implied some special significance.
Mading struggled against his pounding headache and queried impatiently. “So they buried the lieutenant, he lives and follows them, what?”
Zhi shrugged again. “We did not see what happened after the second lightning bolt but he did not fall like a man who lived.” Zhi nodded toward their scout. “We checked the camp site but there is no sign of them, or of a grave. The lieutenant has vanished.”
Mading looked at them as they all nodded in confirmation. What to do now? The priest had escaped and he would be hard pressed to get these men to pursue him any further. Damn it, he wasn’t too keen on the prospect either. But the lieutenant had been killed, killed while these men had run to save their souls from the demons which possessed the priest.
If they were to return to the barracks it would be in shame. They would bring great dishonour to their House and a huge loss of prestige for their master. Master Li Yeu would have them all executed as an example to the others and probably in fear the emperor would find out Li Yeu’s men had got so close to their quarry, only to run at the vital moment. Stories about lightning and demons would hold no water, their duty was to succeed or die trying.
He saw their expectant faces watching him. They all knew their fate if they returned. And now he was back, very nearly from the grave, they expected him to come up with some magic solution. Mading cursed as he looked at them all, each sheepishly returning his glance with hesitant hope. In more normal circumstances they were competent and would make a good account of themselves but they had let their superstitious fear of the priest rob them of their manhood.
Mading, conscious of his aching body and sore wounds, wondered if they might not be right after all. Their quarry was a Temple priest while he and his men were just simple soldiers. To return back to their barracks was to give up their lives to execution, like goats to the slaughter. Something he didn’t look forward to either. Cursing again he shouted at Zhi. “Boil some water and clean these wounds! Here, help me take this armour off and then I need to rest, your babbling has given me a headache.”
Zhi leapt to obey and helped lift off the heavy leather apron with its over-lapping bronze discs, being careful not to drag the skirts across the fresh burns on Mading’s face. “And then Sergeant?”
Mading struggled out of the heavy gear, realising their master would prefer they never return rather than turn up to report an embarrassing failure. “And then we become men without a House, men without honour and we shall run as far as we can. But we will still be alive.” At least until we are caught, he thought to himself. “Zhi, have all the House insignia collected and burned or buried. If we are lucky we will get far enough away no one will recognise us and we can sign up as sellswords. Now I need sleep.”
Zhi looked up triumphantly at the others, who all showed their relief at not returning to an immediate and shameful execution. Though, the relief was tempered with a realisation that the days ahead were going to be hard and probably numbered anyway.
Zhi gently covered the sleeping frame of his big sergeant with a blanket, looking at the burnt flesh on the side of his face and hand. The eye was probably going to be alright but there was no escaping the already homely features of his sergeant were going to look a lot worse with these burns. Despite his intimidating looks and sharp tongue, they all felt better with him back amongst them. Zhi patted Mading’s shoulder as he slept and murmured. “You’ll be OK Sergeant.”
Zhi flinched slightly before retreating with a smile as Mading replied without opening his eyes. “Of course I will, unless some of you numbskulls try and bury me while I sleep. Now piss off and leave me in peace!”
He struggled to open his eyes. They were gummed up and a searing pain in his head almost convinced him he should not bother. As he lay still, trying to gather thoughts past the pain, he became aware he was not alone. Someone was moving quietly to one side of him. Something between curiosity and an instinct for self-preservation made him force his eyes open, though the pain that came with the light when he did almost caused him to close them again.
As the pain subsided to a dull throb, he realised he was in a shallow tent and the bright light was in fact a small candle in a paper lantern. The person beside him was a young girl. No, he revised his opinion. She was a young woman. Pretty in an elfin sort of way. He watched as she wrung out a cloth in a bowl of water beside him and then opened it up, turning to place it on his head. Seeing his eyes were open as she was about to place the cloth, she stifled a gasp and snatched her arms away.
They stared at each other without speaking and he decided she had beautiful eyes, coupled with strength of character that showed in her features. He frowned slightly at a teasing recollection of having seen her before but the throbbing in his head made it difficult to think. So he let the tantalising memory go and just looked instead, drinking in the sight of her without any other thoughts intruding on the moment. He wondered vaguely who she was. For that matter, who was he…?
After a while the woman continued to place the damp cloth over his forehead, making him feel instantly more comfortable. Turning, the woman picked up a bowl of water. “You must drink if you want to live.” She used one arm to help support his head and shoulders as she held the bowl to his lips. He took a swallow, then realising how thirsty he was began gulping what was left, spilling some across his bared chest.
The water provided relief from the pain in his head and he nodded when she offered him more. Leaning back against his pillow he could feel oblivion beckoning again and he fixed on the image of the woman who had helped him, locking it in his mind as a substitute for the fiery images of twirling demons and bolts of lightning he could not seem to displace. As he slipped ever deeper it suddenly became important to know who the woman was. Was she real or just another image conjured up by his battered mind. As he struggled to voice the question, she placed her ear close to his lips to hear him better and he was able to detect the faintest warmth from her skin and the mildest waft of her scent, which was somehow deeply feminine and intimate. He could see the fine line of her ear and had an urge to brush his lips on the side of her neck. He was disappointed when she pulled back but she must have heard, for she told him her name. He would fix her image in his mind all the better for having her name. If she had a name, then surely she must be real, rather than imagined.
Shushan watched the injured lieutenant lose consciousness, murmuring his thanks before repeating her name over and over; using it as a mantra or a talisman. Finally he lay still. His features were more relaxed causing him to lose some of, what she assumed, was a habitual scowl. Watching him like this, his most peaceful state since they had taken him in, Shushan decided he was younger than she had first thought. Perhaps that was why he scowled so much, to appear older than he looked.
She knew w
hat it was like when people looked at you and saw the body of a child rather than the mind of an adult. Unconsciously, she touched her breasts. She had matured later than most, her body only lately taking on the curves of a woman; she had friends of her own age who already had their first child. Dropping her hand away angrily she began collecting the empty bowl and lantern. She was in no hurry to become some man’s brood mare. Shushan had much greater ambitions. Li Chin had opened her eyes to what was possible, had shown her the way. She would become a champion for her people, defending them against the depredations of the masters and their lackeys. Such as the man beside her she thought, frowning angrily down at his still form.
She was still angry as she climbed from the back of the cart, especially at the young man in the tent, though she did not know why. She along with all of the villagers had been awed by his sword craft and courage as he battled against Li Chin, making her despair of ever becoming remotely as proficient as the wounded lieutenant. Nevertheless, she must remember he was most likely to prove their enemy, despite what Li Chin had said.
Shushan walked across to her mother who was stirring a communal cooking pot over an open fire. They exchanged smiles. “He woke briefly, to take some water. Though I think he is delirious and does not remember anything, even that he was in our tent.” Shushan volunteered.
“Oh?” queried her mother, as she stirred the pot.
“He smiled at me and wanted to know my name.” Shushan had intended the comment to be offhand but it sounded self-conscious, even to her own ears and she could feel herself blushing furiously as her mother glanced across the pot at her.
Stifling a smile, her mother continued stirring. “Ah.”
Shushan looked at her mother sharply, furious all over again before catching her eye, at which they both laughed together.
Laulun continued her stirring, growing more serious. “It has been three days and Li Chin said if he did not wake by today then he would probably not wake at all. Now that he has woken and has the wit to ask a pretty girl her name, he will probably recover.” Glancing at her daughter she continued. “We must prepare for that and expect him to have no great joy that he is with us. Li Chin warned if he survived the wound to his body he may not survive the wound to his soul, because of his injured pride.”
Shushan looked at her mother in puzzlement. “I do not understand how these warriors can be so courageous in battle and yet give up their lives so easily without a fight.”
Laulun continued stirring slowly and when she spoke the warning in her tone was clear. “They think differently to how we do. I have seen a warrior return to his master after he failed to win a sword tournament. He was ashamed of his failure, devastated by it, and only his great courage drove him to face his master afterwards. The warrior’s master was...disappointed, and instructed the warrior to take his own life as a consequence. The warrior did so, there and then. He had tears in his eyes, not for the life he was giving up but for the shame he felt at his own failure and the resulting loss of face for his House. Li Chin touched on this before he left. He described a warrior’s self-confidence, an absolute belief in their superiority, as being like his armour. When this self-belief is stripped away they feel incredibly isolated and betrayed by their own beliefs, making them vulnerable. Knowing they are less than they had believed is a shock and most would prefer to die rather than continue as a pigmy, when they had believed themselves giants. Their will is broken and they lose all purpose. Li Chin said he knows the feelings well, because he has experienced them himself.”
Shushan considered this and frowned. “Li Chin is still young and shows none of this internal conflict, he looks so at peace. Surely, if he survived something so traumatic and recovered when still so young it cannot be that difficult to overcome?”
Laulun was frowning in thought as she replied, still stirring methodically. “Li Chin is a Temple priest and has skills and knowledge that we could only dream about. When I asked him something similar he looked at me with eyes which were older than my dead grandmother’s. It sends shivers down my spine just to remember the look in them.”
Laulun paused in her stirring to look across at Shushan. “He told me that it had taken two life times for him to realise the error of his earlier beliefs. He said that even then, the pain of rejection by his peers was devastating. He claims he is a man just like any other but when I looked into his eyes it opened a window to a place I had no wish to go or see. Despite his denials, I am sure he knows something of the shaman arts.”
Looking at her daughter with concern, Laulun finally said. “When a wolf is injured and dying it is likely to bite all who come within reach. Take care that our young wolf does not bite you, Shushan.”
Chapter 18
Rounding a bend in the dusty road Lieutenant Peng saw a small farmstead set back from the road come into view. Farmstead was an exaggeration, as it looked more like a collection of derelict wooden shacks leaning against each other for mutual support. But it was shaded by trees and appeared to have a well out the front. There was a small cultivated vegetable patch to one side and the location was picturesque, though Peng cared nothing for its rustic appeal. His interest was in the shade offered by the trees and the prospect of some cool fresh water from the well.
His squad was part of an advance force despatched by General Aidi ahead of the main army. Using the village where the emperor’s nephew had been murdered as an epicentre their force had searched for the fled villagers, dividing at each junction along the way until Lieutenant Peng’s force now comprised of only ten men and Master Li Yeu’s captain, Captain Kanto, who remained as his guide.
Lieutenant Peng turned to his reluctant companion, Captain Kanto. “We will rest in the shade for a few hours until it cools a little, before moving on.” Peng was a young lieutenant and theoretically should be subordinate to the Captain. Peng, however, was a lieutenant in the Scorpion battalion, one of the emperor’s own elite battalions. Whereas the captain along with what remained of Master Li Yeu’s soldiers had been shared amongst the advance forces to act as guides and ambassadors for the emperor’s forces within Master Li Yeu’s territories. More like scribes keeping account of the resources they took from Li Yeu’s estate for recompense against the Imperial Treasury later, Lieutenant Peng sneered to himself, enjoying the discomfort his authority caused the old captain.
They approached the ramshackle buildings, Lieutenant Peng thinking again of the captain’s son and force of forty men, forty-one if you included their sergeant who was formidable in his own right by all accounts. The massacre at the village had taken place months ago and Lieutenant Zun had been in pursuit of the priest within a few days. Peng had received numerous reports of Zun’s men as they travelled further from the deserted village but then the sightings had suddenly stopped and there were no recent reports of the captain’s son or his men. The old captain had been full of praise for his son’s prowess as a swordsman of distinction, certain he would bring the rogue priest down before they got to him.
Peng had taken a sadistic satisfaction in the captain’s barely concealed concern as the reports had come to an abrupt end, the frequency of the captain’s assurances the priest would be found diminishing to a preoccupied silence, which Peng far preferred. What did rural bumpkins know about genuine sword skills, let alone those of a swordmaster? The finest academies and instructors were in the great city surrounding the Sun Palace. Anyone of ambition and ability was naturally siphoned off to the emperor’s own forces, as he had been. Peng would have happily matched any of his own men against the missing lieutenant and been surprised if his own man lost.
Lieutenant Peng’s men marched gratefully off the road making directly for the well. As the brimming bucket was drawn up he brushed his men aside, reaching for the bucket of cool water so he could take his fill before they soiled it with their own inferior lips. He then made his way to the shade offered by the trees, removing his lacquer helmet while he sat on the ground. Spirits! How he hated being away from the
sophistication of the great city and palace life. Spending his time with the small minds and crass manners of bumpkins in the provinces was a complete waste of someone with his intelligence and abilities.
He watched sullenly as Captain Kanto bowed respectfully to an old woman who had emerged from the collapsing excuse for a farmstead, before coming to sit beside Peng. “Why bow to the old crone Captain, surely it should be she who bows to her master’s soldiers?”
The older man looked sideways at Peng before answering cautiously. “She has our master’s protection, a tithe to be paid for use of her well and respect from those who visit.”
Lieutenant Peng laughed derisively. “I hope you do not expect the emperor to reimburse your House for the use of water drawn freely from the ground or for the rest of us to grovel before every old crone we meet along the way.”
Captain Kanto grimaced, keeping a tight reign on the sharp words that wanted to leap off his tongue. “Old Leckey is gifted by the Spirits and did our master a service in the past. The tithe for the well is given with goodwill, considered a fair trade by our master. Our House will gladly gift the expense for you and your men to use Old Leckey’s well, Commander.” Kanto deliberately continued to use the common courtesies with this arrogant puppy, despite his own discourteous behaviour to Kanto. “Courtesy costs nothing and is only prudent with one who wields the mystic arts.”
Lieutenant Peng looked curiously over at the old woman. She looked very old, her spine bent with age and she used a cane, her hair a tired looking grey, while she was dressed in little more than old rags. She returned his gaze boldly from her open doorway, as though she had assessed him from afar and thought him of little worth. She looked nothing like the exotic mystics he had seen at the Sun Palace, richly rewarded by the palace and the other Great Houses for their art. Peng couldn’t believe anyone with real powers would choose to live in such a hovel, when genuine ability would guarantee riches and a privileged life.