The Red Plains (The Forbidden List Book 3) (5 page)

Here the troops were being marshalled under the watchful eyes of Gang, Liu and other Empire officers. Every man was handed a pack that contained a water bottle, a sleeping roll and enough food to last a few days. The army was going to travel light from here on. There were few horses. Almost every beast had been pressed into service, pulling a wagon full of wounded or refugees south, away from the wall and to safety.

Gathered into their different groups, each one commanded by an officer, it seemed to Haung that perhaps they had quit the Wall too soon. With this many soldiers, he was sure he could hold it forever. But, as he came closer, he noted the wounds, the bloodied bandages, the men lying on the floor tended by medics, and exhaustion in each man’s eyes.

“Haung.” Liu waved to him. “By my count we have just over a thousand men still capable of fighting.”

“Is that all?” He looked about. There seemed to be many more than that gathered on the plain.

“Looks more, doesn’t it? It is not.” Liu shook his head. “We have a further three hundred walking wounded and two hundred who won’t be going anywhere.”

“We will not leave any man behind,” Haung said.

“We don’t have a choice,” Liu said and there was soft edge to his voice. “If we move some of them, they’ll die. The others will die within a day or two on the road and they’ll slow us down.”

“We will not leave anyone behind,” Haung said again.

“Haung...” The sentence faltered in the face of Haung’s resolute expression and Liu turned away, heading back to his command.

“Gongliang, let’s get everyone moving. We haven’t got time to rest. We need to be as far from the Wall as we can be before they find a way over.” Haung started to move forward. “I want the rested scouts out ahead of the army and some behind. We can’t afford to be taken by surprise.”

“Where are we heading to?”

“The capital,” Haung said. “We’ll stop at the towns along the way, drop off any wounded we can and see if we can find soldiers to bolster our numbers.”

“Don’t be stupid, Haung,” Xióngmāo said and the general stopped.

“What?”

“Let the dying men die. I know it seems cruel, and it is, but they will slow us down and if we are caught out in the open this little army will be wiped out. My friends can buy us a day, maybe two, and you will need to use every moment to get as far away as you can,” the lady said.

“I will not leave men to die,” Haung said.

“They are already dead, Haung. Are you prepared to sacrifice everyone else’s life just to grant them another day of agonising, painful, fear-filled life?”

“They are my men,” he said. “It is my job to protect them, keep them alive.”

“And to send them to their deaths. You did that on the Wall, what is so different now?” she said.

“That was battle, this is abandoning them, this is letting them die. It is not right, not honourable.”

“Haung,” and he saw her take a deep breath, “there is a potion which will ease their passing. It will be painless. I promise.”

“No,” Haung shouted and then glanced around, meeting the eye of everyone who had turned before he continued in a quieter voice. “No. I will not have these men poisoned. I will not order my own men murdered.”

“So you will have everyone else die instead? What military decision is that, Haung? You are the general now, tough decisions are yours to make, but let me be clear with you. If the Mongols find any alive, they will torture them for information and for fun. If the Mongols catch us on the road because we have moved too slowly, they will kill you all. The choice is simple, save two hundred for one more day and you condemn over a thousand to death. Let them die and there is a chance to save that thousand. Choose wisely, General, if you ever want to see your wife and child again,” Xióngmāo said.

“She’s right, Haung,” Enlai said, the
Taiji
seeming to have taken up a permanent role as the lady’s bodyguard.

Haung looked at them both, neither seemed happy with the choice they had laid in front of him. They were, he was forced to admit, right. It was his decision, but condemning his own men to death by poison was a step too far. He could not do it.

“Haung,” Xióngmāo reached out a hand and rested it on his shoulder, “take your army south. I will look after the men left behind. I will tend their wounds until they pass.”

“No,” Enlai said. “I cannot allow you. The danger is too great.”

“I am not going south with you. Zhou is still alive and I will be setting about the task of rescuing him. Don’t forget, I have lived amongst the Mongols before. I can pass myself off as one of them.” She turned to Haung. “Lead your men south. The Emperor knows you are coming. Don’t stop moving and help will be there for you.

“I will stay with you,” Enlai said to her.

Haung watched Xióngmāo shake her head before she said, “It has been good to see you, my friend. Let’s make it fewer years before we meet again. Haung, your decision?”

He took a deep breath and said, “Do it, and thank you for your help on the wall. Thank your friends too. I hope they can give us that day.”

“They will, our new ally is interesting,” she said.

Haung put a hand on Enlai’s shoulder. “Come on. The lady has made her decision and let’s not make her angry. Someone once told me, never make her angry.”

There was a commotion outside the tent walls. Thick as the fabric was, it did not muffle all sound and though he could not leave, he could piece together the snippets he heard. It was a puzzle, relied on supposition and a lot of guesswork, but building a mental picture of the world outside gave Zhou a sense of place and time.

Place was the easiest by far. He was still near the wall. The sounds of battle were distant but discernible. Far enough away to be out of range of any Empire weapons and the only voices he heard spoke a language he did not understand. The noises closer by were all of preparation, shouts from commanders, of leaders massing their troops, extolling them to great feats and the cheers of the thousands. Apart from the horses, it did not sound so different from the preparations on the Wall. The exact feats, the exact threats and commands the leaders used were indecipherable but the tone was clear.

It had been strange, on the Wall, to see each man combat their personal fear. The time in between the attacks had been the most difficult. Each man’s imagination conjuring up the worst fate that could befall them in the battle. Some groups joked and laughed with each other, but the jokes were poor and the laughter brittle. At any moment, it could snap and men would descend into tears.

Some men were silent. They sat, spears, swords, crossbows resting on the stone work next to them, staring into space, unmoving, lost in their own thoughts. Only their fingers tapped or twitched, unconscious spasms of fear and dread.

The lucky men had jobs to do. Collecting bolts, resupplying the wall, carrying the wounded away, getting food and water, clearing the wall of debris, counting swords, every single job was something to take their minds of the next attack.

Underlying it all were the bonds they had forged. He had watched in confusion and awe as Xióngmāo went amongst the men. In the vision of the spirit, he had seen her bolster the ties, strengthen them, add power to them. Even those men who sat on their own had their own personal visits. As she moved on, their spirit grew brighter and the number of filaments that connected them to the others had grown two or threefold. Without her, Zhou was sure the Wall would have broken days ago.

When battle came those bonds brightened. Each Empire soldier was connected to those around him. They fought better, were harder to kill, each man protecting the one next to him. They were no longer single soldiers fighting their own personal battles, they were a unit, a group, a family that would do everything they could for one another. Xióngmāo had likened the effect to that of ants or bees, each man was but a part of the whole colony or hive. They shared information, sights and sounds, feelings and thoughts without realising it.

The losses on the Wall had still been great. No man is immortal and they fell in droves, but those left behind just fought all the harder. The Wall held. Even without the
Fang-shi
and the Wall’s magical defences, it held. By the faint sounds of battle it was holding still, and Zhou did not know whether to laugh or cry.

Time was more difficult. No sight of the sun or moon. His prison admitted no light or gave clues to darkness. By reckoning the likely times of battle, the increased noise and chatter in the camp, the times of quiet, he had an estimate. Whether it was right or wrong, and by how much, was just another guess.  

# # #

Zhou was sat on the rug, trying to meditate, when he felt it.

The vibrations ran through the ground, through his buttocks and crossed legs, up through his arms that rested on his knees and up through his stomach and chest, to meet in his skull. It felt as though he was silently humming, the reverberations felt and heard in the hollow space of his ears, mouth and jaw.

Then the sound came. A sharp, echoing retort, a crack of thunder. It came all at once and passed by as quickly as it had come, leaving only the memory of the noise.

He scrambled to his feet, all desire for meditation and calm gone. The rumbling had faded away, but he knew the sound. On the Wall, he had heard it before. The powder weapons were being used again. Gongliang had said they had run out, that must mean reinforcements or resupply. Perhaps the Wall would hold them back forever, the thought brought hope. Maybe they now had a
Fang-shi
who could activate the defences. The Mongols have lost, the Empire is safe. But what becomes of me?

That stopped him for a moment. With no way of knowing, there was little point dwelling on it. Zhou moved to the wall of his prison, straining to hear the sounds and make sense of them. There were the shouts, and he was still no closer to understanding them, the pounding of horses hooves, sounds of soldiers moving and weapons clanking. It lasted an age, before calm and quiet settled on the camp. Were they retreating or readying for another assault?

Zhou pressed one ear to the material, put a hand over the other, closed his eyes and focused on the sounds filtering through. There was clink of metal, the muffled sound of feet and voices, nothing distinct.

The tap on his shoulder was utterly unexpected and he jumped, heart hammering in his chest.

“You heard the explosion I take it,” Yángwū said in that soft, almost pleading voice of his.

“I did. What was it?” Zhou moved away from the other man, gaining space and time to slow his heart, to think.

“The last, desperate attempt of the Empire to drive back the Mongols. It will not work. Once the air clears of their poisonous fog, the army will ride back in and attack. The Wall will fall today.”
Yángwū wore a slight sad frown upon his face.

“That is what you wanted. The Wall to fall and your entrance into the Empire to be complete. You want to destroy it, steal everything, kill everyone, or put yourself in charge. You and the Mongols, you don’t want to build, you just want to conquer.”

The shorter man looked up at Zhou. “Again, you mistake me. I have no intention of entering the Empire, I have somewhere else to be.”

“I don’t believe you,” Zhou said. “No one gathers an army and attacks a city or country without the motive of invading and taking over.”

“And I tell you honestly, I will not cross into the Empire. It holds nothing I want or need at the moment. I lived a lifetime there, I have seen all that it has to offer and it holds no appeal for me.” Yángwū found a spot on the floor and sat down, crossing his legs in the manner that Zhou had short time ago. “Sit, we have some time. Let me tell you what I know. I can see that trying to force you to comply was a mistake. I accept that and apologise. We will talk, as equals. If you listen you might come to understand.”

“Give me back my access to the Spirit and I will consider us equals. At present, I am your prisoner and have no reason to believe and trust you.” Zhou stood tall and looked down upon his seated captor.

“I understand, and I sympathise, Zhou,” Yángwū said. “However, I cannot grant you access to the Spirit. It was not I that took it away. I can suppress your access, make it more difficult for you to attain entrance, but if you are determined I cannot stop you. The spirit is as much a part of you as the blood pumping through your veins. “

“I don’t believe you,” Zhou said.

“I understand, but I have no reason to lie. Let me try honesty, if you will permit?” Yángwū said and again indicated that Zhou should sit. “Neither of us is going anywhere for a while, it will not hurt to listen.”

Zhou took a pace backward, unwilling to sit. The short man offered no physical threat, magical yes, but he had made no actions, spoken no words that hinted he might do anything. He offered information, the first time that Zhou had heard anything but implied threats and cajoling imprecations. They were at an impasse. Yángwū could not break him and Zhou could not escape. Indecision drove a million tiny thorns into his brain, twisting his thoughts left and right, yes and no, maybe and perhaps, expectation and outcome, knowledge versus ignorance. All the while the seated man did nothing but sit, waiting.

In the end, Zhou decided, it was better to have some information than have none. Anything that could be turned to his advantage or become a weapon later on could be useful. Someone was coming for him, he had been told that and he took comfort from that hope. Zhou sat down opposite Yángwū. “What do you have to say?”

Yángwū smiled. “I am glad you decided to listen. It cannot have been an easy decision. Let me first tell you what I want of you, then I will tell you a story, my story.”

“What is it you want of me?” Zhou said.

“I want access to the Spirit plane,” came the answer. “Listen to my story.”

# # #

“I was a doctor, a travelling herbalist. I moved from village to village, town to town, plying my trade. Those who needed healing I would treat and be paid. On my journeys I collected the herbs I needed. I wasn’t rich, but I had enough to get by and to live a life I found fulfilling. Helping people, curing them, made me happy. I was satisfied.

I was moving through the mountain villages when the bandits took me. At first, I thought they wanted my money, but they would have been sorely disappointed. A few meagre coins is all I ever carried. The villagers were not rich and a hot meal, a bed and some breakfast was all I needed. Coins were welcome and useful in the towns to buy supplies, but I never had many.

They dragged me to their cave where one of their number lay injured. An arrow had pierced his body and driven itself deep into his chest. They wanted me to cure him, to save him, but the wound was bad. It had been left a day or two, the bandits being unwilling to pull the arrow out and seemingly not knowing enough to cleanse the wound. My examination showed that the area around the wound was already discoloured and turning poisonous.

The arrow had not gone all the way through, that would have made the job a lot easier. Snap off the fletching, and draw the arrow out the other side. The damage would have already been done, nothing I did there would make it worse. I told them this, and it did not make them happy. The man was their chief, he had been hurt by the farmer they were robbing at the time. The man had been a soldier once and still had his sword and bow. A lucky shot had caught the chief and, in revenge, they had made sure the farmer and his family could never resist again. The way they said this, with a sick grin upon their faces, rotten and blackened teeth peeking through their lips, made me shudder. I guessed they had killed the family and, unless I saved their chief, I was next,” Yángwū said.

“When was this?” Zhou said.

“A long time ago, when I was a young man. Let me continue. I brewed some herbs to draw the poison out of the wound though it was clear the skin around it had already died. Packing the herbs around the arrow shaft, I hoped and prayed they would work. I did not want to die.

Whilst the herbs were given a chance to work, I built up the fire and laid out my instruments. Sharp knives, pincers and pliers, small spoon shaped tools, hooks and clips, I had everything I needed for almost any injury or illness. A herbalist does not perform surgery, the real reason I was a travelling herbalist. My order had not agreed with my learning. A herbalist does not cut, everything can be cured with the right herbs. A nonsense and I told them so. They asked me to leave.

I had a word with the bandit in charge, explaining what I needed to do. I must tell you, Zhou, he was not happy, but I could see no other way. The arrow had been barbed, the bandits had stolen the farmer’s bow and arrows. They showed me one. Pulling the arrow out meant doing more damage to the chief’s insides and judging by the entrance wound the arrow head was close to his lung. In one regard the chief had been lucky, the arrow had passed between his ribs without breaking them. On the other hand, to draw the arrow out now, after it had twisted in the man’s innards would probably mean twisting it further to bring it out through the unbroken ribs. More twisting meant more chance of death.

The arrow had to pass through him and out the other side. On my side, and the chief’s, was the location of the arrow. Just to the right of his breastbone and between the first and second of his ribs. It had gone through his lung but missed his heart and the major blood vessels. It also meant there was no need to manipulate the chief’s arm to get the shoulder blade out of the way.

The chief was out, unconscious and so there was no point trying to make him sleep. Any herbs I could use for that would put strain on his heart and might kill him. The trick was to make it quick and then do something about the wound. I had one of the bandits, the one with the sharpest knife, cut the fletching and shaft from the arrow as far down as he could. The chief barely stirred, which was not a good sign.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Zhou said. “It has no bearing on what you want with me or what is going on outside.”

“Bear with me, it will become clear soon,” Yángwū replied. “As soon as I had my instruments ready, cleaned with water and heated over the fire, I told the bandits to hold the chief still and explained what I was about to do. At that point, the one in charge almost gutted me with his own knife. I had to calm him down and explain it was the only way, also that every moment he argued brought his chief closer to death. He gave me the ultimatum again, the chief dies and I die. The chief lives and I live. A simple bargain.

Holding the chief secure, I raised a large flat stone over my head and sighted on the cut shaft of the arrow. There was no point pushing the arrow through slowly, it would just delay the treatment, so I struck fast and true. The shaft disappeared into the man’s chest and new scream burst from his mouth, accompanied by a spray of blood. The bandits, to give them credit, did as I asked and rolled the chief over so I could pull the arrow free from the wound. The sucking and bubbling blood welled up from the wound and started spreading across the chief’s back.