Chasing the Phoenix (8 page)

For a time, it looked as if the battle would be settled then and there, for the smoke from the forest fires flowed down into the pass and was carried by the wind straight at the defensive wall, making it possible for the Abundant Kingdom's forces to advance on it in obscurity. But then sortie gates at either end of the wall opened and troops of cavalry emerged. The famed mountain horses raced up the slopes with an agility no normal steeds could match. Riding behind each cavalryman was a sapper, and these were dropped off some distance before the advancing flames to chop down trees and build firebreaks. Then, riders crouched low, the mountain horses sped fearlessly through the burning trees as no ordinary mount would even have attempted. Once through, the cavalry hunted down and killed all the Abundant Kingdom soldiers they could find, whether arsonists or otherwise.

In their wake, meanwhile, the sharpshooters were returning to the mountainsides to resume sniping from slopes the fire had passed by. At the same time, a steady blind pounding from the Mountain Horses artillery forced Ceo Powerful Locomotive to turn back his men rather than lose them altogether. They retreated to the earthen ramparts their own sappers had thrown up just beyond the range of effective gunfire.

“It is as I have always heard,” Surplus said. “War is indeed a stirring spectacle and a rousing entertainment.”

“From this vantage, it could scarcely be improved upon,” Darger agreed. “Though I imagine it feels otherwise to the poor chaps actually caught up in it.”

“That is why I try to avoid field hospitals, prisoner of war compounds, mass graves, and all such locations, which I am certain I would find distressing were I to expose myself to them.”

“That is quite wise of you. It is of paramount importance to keep up one's morale.” Turning his back on the pageantry with obvious reluctance, Darger said, “I must return to my mathematical studies.”

“And I,” Surplus said, “to the business of making myself a living legend.”

*   *   *

THE CAMP
was a lively and varied place. Many of the soldiers, especially the younger officers, stood at its fringe to watch the progress of battle, as Surplus himself had just been doing. But most went about the everyday business of any military encampment: polishing brass and leather, cleaning weapons, grooming horses, butchering aurochs and stewing their meat, writing up requisitions for new supplies, operating stills they hid from their superiors, gambling away their pay chits on dice games or rat fights, and so on. Surplus made his way directly to the flogging post, where he was amiably greeted by the officer on duty, a stocky woman of cheerful disposition.

“Welcome back, sir. Still looking for recruits?”

“Indeed, I am. The Hidden King has said I may have as many as twenty soldiers, though I confess that finding those with the special talents I require is proving more difficult than I expected.”

“You've got quite a set of miscreants to choose from today, sir. That rascal up there, for example”—the officer gestured at a wretch who had just received the last of what had clearly been a large number of strokes from a hard rubber club; untied, he slumped loosely to the platform floor and was carried away—“got into an argument with a whore and gouged out one of her eyes. Which, in addition to the obvious injury done her, reduces the amount she can charge for her services in the future. If it weren't for us being at war and his worthless carcass thus required to be available for a meaningful and heroic death, he'd have been cashiered and left to the mercy of her peers.”

“Yes, well, intemperance is not one of the virtues I'm looking for.” Surplus scanned the apprehensive line of miscreants awaiting punishment. To a man—save one—they bore expressions of dejection, despair, or hangdog resignation. The exception was an ogre of a man with shoulders so broad they made his head look tiny. With narrowed eyes, he was looking everywhere but at the punishment stock, like a merchant seeking an opportunity for profit or a prisoner inspecting the prison walls for an undiscovered weakness. Clearly, he was still searching for even the slightest chance of escaping his imminent punishment. “The fellow with the sly expression—what did he do?”

“That's an interesting case, sir. He brought in one of the enemy's fabled mountain horses.”

“That sounds more worthy of commendation than punishment.”

“Ah, but the army has advertised a generous award for anyone who brings us a mountain horse. So when he turned the horse in, he tried to claim money for it.”

“I'm still at a loss.”

“Well, you see, sir, for a civilian that would have been fine. But he being a soldier, once he captured the horse it became the property of the army. So when he didn't simply hand it over, he was stealing what properly belonged to the Hidden King. In consequence of which, he was convicted of theft and attempting to sell stolen property.”

“That sounds like just the sort of enterprising individual I need.” Surplus strolled up to the man in question. “You know fisticuffs, I presume?”

Those shrewd eyes studied Surplus carefully. Then the man nodded.

“Step out of line.” Those soldiers who had gathered out of boredom to watch their peers being punished formed a loose circle about the two. Some of them quietly began to place bets. “The rules are simple. If you knock me down three times, you walk free. If I knock you down three times, I have the option of either transferring you to my command or returning you to your just punishment, depending on how impressed I am by your performance. Trickery and unfair blows are encouraged. You may signify your understanding and agreement to these terms by attacking me.”

Up close, the man was enormous. He was a good head taller than Surplus and considerably broader. He nodded his head shaggily, as if mulling over what had been said. Then, without warning, he crashed down on his knees before Surplus. “There is no need to defeat me, sir. I have seen your fighting prowess in action and know that the experience would be for me an unhappy one.”

Murmurs of disappointment arose from the bystanders. Surplus turned to the officer on duty and said, “When did this man see me fight?”

“Never, sir, for he has been in the stockade these past five days.”

“Why do you lie to me, soldier?” Surplus asked the miscreant.

The man stood and, a touch embarrassedly, slapped the dirt from his knees. “Well, sir, you can't blame me for trying. But, you see, being big as I am, I've been sought out by gangs all my life. Now, the leader of a gang doesn't want a bruiser like me thinking I can maybe take over control of his operation. So the first thing he does is pick a fight and thrash me good and proper, to show who's the boss. In all my life, I've never won one of those fights because the gang leader is always the toughest and dirtiest scrapper in the batch. I was simply hoping to skip the painful part of the interview.” He put up his fists. “But I suppose I'll have to go through with it now.”

Surplus barely managed to suppress a laugh. “There is no need for that. I can see that you have the qualities I'm looking for. What is your name, soldier?”

“Vicious Brute, sir.”

“Surely that was not your given name.”

“No, sir, all respects sir, but it was. My mother saw I was going to grow up big and thought it would give me a leg up in my profession.”

“That is the second time I have heard such a story,” Surplus marveled. “Clearly, China is a land of remarkable and foresighted mothers. You seem to be a prudent man, Vicious Brute, in spite of your name, and I do not imagine you ambushing a cavalryman and taking his mount by violence. The odds would be too uncertain.”

Vicious Brute looked abashed. “Sir, I was acting as … an agent, you might say.”

“Ahhh. Then perhaps we should continue this conversation in private.”

A look of profound relief spread itself over Vicious Brute's face. “I knew you was a smart one, sir. First moment I saw you, I said to myself, there's a thinker.”

“Obsequiousness is, in an inferior, a fine thing,” Surplus replied. “But let's not lather it on too thickly.”

*   *   *

BECAUSE DARGER'S
negotiation of an alliance with Southern Gate had won both rogues the Hidden King's trust, Surplus was easily able to requisition two good horses, a sturdy pack mule, and as many provisions as the mule could carry. Because that trust was far from absolute, he could not obtain the silver that would have made his mission infinitely easier. So that afternoon, after sending a terse note to Darger explaining his absence and reporting to Ceo Powerful Locomotive, who gave him a curt warning that his friend's life was forfeit if he did not return, Surplus saddled up and departed in the company of his new recruit.

Following paths so overgrown that they frequently had to dismount and lead their horses, they made their way through forests of fir and birch and thick stands of bamboo, occasionally crossing one of the small stony streams that leapt and skipped down the mountainside. Vicious Brute led.

As the shadows lengthened and daylight bled from the sky, Surplus began seeing shadowy figures in the undergrowth, gone at a glance but reappearing later to watch them from a distance. “Oh, those are just the guardian apes that our ancestors created to protect the pandas from molestation,” Vicious Brute said when he remarked upon them. “So long as you don't get too close to one of their charges, you're perfectly safe.”

“They look to be carrying spears.”

“Spears!” Vicious Brute scoffed. “Those are little more than pointed sticks. The guardian apes are very dim creatures indeed. Do not give them a second thought.” He reined in his horse and dismounted. “We must go afoot from this point on.”

Pushing aside a leafy bough, Vicious Brute led them into a ravine. It was darker inside, and cooler, too. Trees and brush all but crowded out the sky. Alongside a scurrying stream was a path just wide enough for them to lead their horses and donkey along it, provided they went slowly. “Be careful where you step, sir, for there are slivers of Utopian ceramics that will pierce you right through your boots, thick though they may be. Very painful. Also, keep in mind that some of what look to be harmless loops of vines are actually ancient cables. A cousin of mine ran into one and almost strangled himself.”

Cautiously, Surplus pushed onward. Brickbats and crumbled concrete turned underfoot. An occasional slanting shaft of dusty gold sunlight, piercing the canopy, sparkled on shattered glass. Now that his eyes had adjusted, he saw that the forest was interpenetrated with fragmentary walls, canted stairways leading into black chasms, and broken cubes of masonry. These were the ruins of buildings and their cellars through which the stream had, over the centuries, carved a V-shaped gash. A melancholy sense of past failures quite alien to his nature settled over Surplus.

Doing his best to shake it off, he remarked, “You seem to know this route well.”

“I should! I go up and down it two or three times a day.”

“Surely your duties as a soldier preclude—”

“Sir, until very recently, I was a civilian. It turns out that your army has a policy that all men fit to be soldiers are immediately impressed into its service. Unless they are enemies, of course, and then they are killed. Or rich, in which case they pay a bribe to be released. Being neither rich nor hostile, when I tried to claim my reward for turning in a mountain horse, why, slam! bang! I'm in the army and a thief to boot for trying to get the money they promised.” Vicious Brute laughed ruefully. “It was my own fault for letting down my guard in the presence of the virtuous.”

“Being aware of their own righteousness, such men naturally need never think twice about the morality of their actions,” Surplus agreed. “Tell me. How did you become a brigand in the first place?”

“I would never have turned to banditry had it not been for the war. My clan are honest smugglers by profession. A little arson now and then. Some counterfeiting when we could get the equipment. A touch of extortion when the chance presented itself. But no thuggery—never! Alas, our village was overrun by cavalry, who took everything worth owning and set fire to the rest. So we had no choice but to send our children and elderly to live with relatives in a distant village. The rest of us retreated to the hills, there to survive as best we could. Then, when twenty mountain horses came our way, I was sent down with a sample of what we had for sale. The rest of my tale you know.”

Surplus was about to ask how the mountain horses had come into the possession of Vicious Brute and his kin when something sparked underfoot.

He leaped back. “What was
that
?”

“That's just spirit lights, sir. Happens now and then. Nobody knows why. Sometimes there are voices and visions as well, from the Utopian demons lingering in the cable. Their power wanes, however, so even the most boastful are utterly without strength. But they keep away the superstitious. That's one reason why we—”

In that instant, sparks came spitting out from every corner and niche of the ravine. They snapped and leaped into the air, tracing bright arcs of light in the gloom, and burnt when they touched exposed skin, leaving an ozone sting behind.

Surplus staggered, slipped, and grabbed a nearby loop of vine to keep from falling.

The world went black.

In the inky spaceless space before him floated a spectral woman. Her face was beautiful and preternaturally calm, but an aura of menace emanated from her. Her white robes and scarves floated restlessly about her, though there was no wind. In a voice like no human being ever had, for it was composed partially of surflike noises, was punctuated by pops and small erratic silences, and was shot through with lesser voices that Surplus could not quite decode, she said:

dieingreatpainsufferingagony

IS THAT YOU, SIR