The Blue Mountain (The Forbidden List Book 2) (19 page)

Haung looked around for Gang and found him lying on the floor. The sound of his snoring drifted over the grass.

* * *

“Captain Haung,” the patrol leader called out, “the village is just over the next rise.”

“And this is the deserted one?” Haung pulled his horse up next the captain.

“Of course. Still, we will go in with caution.”

Haung nodded in agreement and trotted over to Gang and Liu. “We are going into the village in a few moments. Are you both coming?”

Liu nodded and slid of the horse to land lightly on his feet. The tall man took his axes from the horse and hooked them onto his belt. Gang grumbled for a moment and then followed suit. His landing, against all probability, was gentler than Liu’s and he dragged his large hammer off the horse and rested it on his shoulder. It seemed to Haung that Gang’s horse stood up a little straighter.

The patrol captain detailed two men to gather the reins of the horses whilst the others formed up. Three men were handed crossbows and made their way to the top of the rise where they laid down, peering over the brow and giving cover. The others gathered around the captain, checking their armour and weapons.

“Corporal, as before, keep your group ten paces behind mine and be ready. I’ll have Captain Haung with me, and Masters Gang and Liu. The village has been deserted for months, but that’s no reason to get sloppy with procedure and tactics.” The assembled men nodded and separated into their assigned groups.

Haung crested the rise and took his first look at the village. It was a bit of a disappointment and the captain’s descriptions of Mongol life came back to him. The village was small and linear, spread along the small valley floor between the two sets of hills. From his position on the hill, he could see the main building, the trading post, he guessed, in the centre. It was built of wood which must have been brought in from somewhere, perhaps the Empire itself, as they had passed few trees and certainly no forests on the way. Either side were large canvas tents. At least that is what they had been. None of them were still standing in any way that suggested they would be waterproof or fit for habitation. Unlike the square tents he had seen around Yaart, or the tents the soldiers used as temporary barracks, these were circular.

“We’ll go down first, Haung,” the captain said. “The corporal will follow. I don’t expect anything to happen, but it keeps the men ready. If the village were inhabited, we’d probably go down in three groups. Just to be safe. The Mongols aren’t always friendly to large armed groups.” He waved Haung and the two fighters forward.

“Captain, the tents. They look like permanent homes,” Haung said.

“You’d be surprised. A Mongol could drop that tent inside an hour, pack it away and onto a horse or three and be gone. I’ve heard it only takes them two hours to rebuild it. The construction is incredible. I’ll show you.”

The captain led his troop down the hill towards the closest tent. The door faced the south, the direction from which they were approaching, but the collapsed roof made it hard to see inside. The western side had fallen inwards but the curve on the eastern still stood and hinted at the true size of the tent.

“A whole family of eight, or so, will live in one of these. When folks lived here, the floor inside would be covered with rugs, furs and skins. You’d find similar hanging on the walls. Even in the dead of winter you’d go into one and be sweating before you’d had a chance to say hello. In fact, we had some engineers out here one year to take a look at the construction. Not sure that anything happened with that though.” The captain shrugged.

Haung pushed aside the torn fabric of the door and let in a little of the afternoon light. The smell of rotting cloth wafted up his nose, a sickly, damp odour. The centre of the tent had collapsed and he could not see across the whole width. The fire pit in the middle was barely visible under the fallen roof but to the right, where the roof rose up to meet the still upright walls he could see the rugs which covered the floor and a wooden chest. There was a thick wooden chair close to the chest, but little else of note. Whoever had owned the tent had clearly decided that the chair was no longer needed when they had cleaned out.

“How long has this village been empty?” Haung asked.

“About eight months or so, maybe nine,” the captain said. “Look at the inside walls.  You see the wooden mesh? That’s what makes these tents so special and quick to erect. The walls are in sections that fold and squeeze down to almost nothing. Better than that though, you can see how, because they are made of thin slats that rotate around the screws that join them, the sections bend round forming the curve. I’ve seen them build a tent before, takes two people to bend the section and tie it to an upright but the walls are strong because of it.”

“Interesting.” Haung ducked back out of the tent.

“It is too easy to think of the nomads as simple folk, but they have some technology we could learn from.” The captain pointed towards the main building. “Let’s go and look in there.”

“You sound like you admire them, Captain,” Haung said.

“In some ways, I do. Life on the plains can’t be easy, but they have adapted to it well and I’ve never seen a folk fight on horseback so well. Even we, for all our technology and martial skills prefer to dismount to fight. Our horse cavalry units are only useful in open battle and our chariots are only good on flat ground. When they used to raid the Empire towns and villages, it was always in small bands, hitting quickly and fading away. We could never catch them, hence the wall.”

“That sounds a lot like the attacks on the villages,” Haung said.

“It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that lots of Mongols had joined the enemy. They have no reason to love the Empire and lots of reasons to settle scores amongst the tribes.” The captain looked at the village and the surrounding land. “Corporal, deploy the men to the perimeter. Let’s make sure we are not surprised by anything.”

As the soldiers moved into position, the captain led Haung and the two masters over to the trading post. From the top of the hill it had looked a well-constructed, permanent building made of solid brick walls and a slate roof. Certainly, the upturned sweep of the roof was reminiscent of empire architecture. However, as they came closer, the truth became apparent.

The bricks were not the industrially made, uniform bricks of the Empire. Instead, they were clearly hand made from mud and rough cut straw. Each one different to the next, the courses were uneven and the only evidence of mortar was a thin smear of mud. The wooden door frame looked as though it had been made for a different building and the roof was not smooth slate but painted canvas.

“Mud is in plentiful supply round here,” the captain said.

“It is not what I expected,” Haung agreed.

“I think they used whatever they had to hand and easy to repair.” The captain stepped towards the doorway. “The family that owned this used to keep a stock of empire foods in, just for the patrols. Good people. I think they moved deeper into the Empire when they left. They certainly didn’t hang around.”

“Captain.” The shout came from one of the troopers on the hill. Haung turned to look. The soldier was pointing over the roof of the trading post. A quick glance around showed Haung that the other soldiers had seen the cause for alarm. They were setting shields on arms, drawing swords, and readying spears.

Haung ran towards the shouting trooper and, as he did so, heard the hollow sound of horses’ hooves pounding the ground. Gang and Liu moved as he did. The tall man drawing axes from his belt and Gang, hammer in both hands, moving to find enough space to swing. Ahead, the trooper sprouted feathered shafts and fell to the ground, crying out in agony.

“Form up, form up,” the captain shouted as he joined his troops.

Haung turned away from the dead trooper and followed the captain’s orders. The Empire troops were organising themselves in a line across the road, spears held out in front to dissuade a horse charge. Ahead of them, down the road, a large group of men on horse were doing just that. Haung drew his own sword and took position behind the spears.

The attackers did not race to meet the wall of spears. Instead they slowed their advance. It took Haung a moment of confusion to work out that it was not a fear of the spears. Each man raised a short recurved bow, drew arrows to the strings and released them.

“Down,” Haung shouted and threw himself to the side. There was a clatter as arrows struck the ground or bounced off helmets and armour. Interwoven were the sodden thumps of arrows finding flesh.

There was the lower pitched twang of crossbows being released and a squeal from one of the horses. Haung scrambled back to his feet and fled towards one of the buildings.

“Clear the street,” he shouted as he ran.

There was another volley of arrows from the men on horseback, but with the troops rushing towards cover none found their mark. Haung slammed his back against the brick wall and took a frantic glance around. There was one body in the middle of the road, an arrow sprouting from the poor man’s neck. It took a second look to be sure, but the dead man was the captain. All the others were hidden, like Haung, behind the walls of the few buildings in the town. Up on the ridge, the Empire men with crossbows were busy rewinding, but they were much slower than the short bows carried by the attackers.

In the centre of the street the attackers split into two groups, turned their horses and raced down the street, bows drawn back. As they passed each street, a volley of arrows winged their way towards the soldiers. One arrow stuck in the wooden board above Haung’s head and there was a cry from the soldiers hiding opposite.

“Spears,” Haung shouted as the attackers turned at the end of the street and began another gallop down the street. The soldiers with spears drew them back and threw as the horses passed. Most missed. The horse soldiers guided their mounts with their knees as they drew and loosed arrows in quick succession. One lucky throw took a horse between its front leg and the rider’s. The beast collapsed and the momentum threw the rider off. It tumbled once, crushing the stunned rider beneath its heavy body. The riders following forced their horses to leap their downed comrade or divert around to avoid becoming entangled in the mess. Not all succeeded.

The Empire troops didn’t need to be told what to do next. They rushed out, into the distracted enemy, and began slashing at horse and man. Up close, the short bows were rendered useless and the men on horseback drew swords and began to hack downwards at the Empire soldiers. Those few who had lost their horse were set upon and killed quickly.

Haung watched for a moment, feeling the flow of battle. He rested his free hand upon the necklace and took a deep, calming breath, seeking the quiet in his mind and giving his self over to it. Without thought, he stepped out of cover and towards the fight. Two steps later, he pivoted on his right foot, sword arm circling with him and cut an arrow from the air. The spin flowed from cut to thrust and he slid his sword into the ribs of a horse-soldier. As that body slipped off its horse, he ducked beneath the wild slash of another. Haung’s free hand caught the sword arm of his attacker, dragged him down and ran his own sword across the man’s neck.

A shout went up from the ridge where the horsemen had come from and those involved in the melee attempted to disengage. Two were killed as they kicked their horses into motion and another took a crossbow bolt in his back as he galloped away. He did not fall from his horse, but clung on around his mount’s neck.

Haung stood still and gazed up at the hill. Another man on horseback looked down on them. His clothing and armour was the same as those who had attacked. There was something about him, the way he sat his horse, the manner in which he inspected the battle and, just perhaps, the way in which he was studying Haung.

“Let’s get back to the horses.” Haung flicked the blood from his sword. “There are likely to be more on the way or close by.”

“The captain?” one of the soldiers said.

Haung looked down at the body of the troop captain. The second man to fall in the battle. Had that been luck or had he been singled out? Haung did not know and had no time to consider. Surviving and reporting back to the fort was the priority.

“We’ll have to leave him,” Haung said. “I’m sorry. We leave the dead and take the wounded.” He looked around at the troops. Fear painted every face with the reality of battle. The soldier’s faith in their own immortality was broken beyond repair. Clear instructions and a lack of thinking time were needed now.

“Get a move on,” he shouted at them all.

“We should have brought her with us,” Zhou said.

“Not again, Zhou,” Xióngmāo replied. “You know we could not. She will be better off in her own village, with her own people.”

“People who did nothing to protect her,” he said.

“They did everything they could.” She shook her head as she spoke. “They are farmers, Zhou, not warriors. Against armed bandits, ex-soldiers or folks who will kill without a qualm, what did you really expect them to do?”

“They should have done something,” he said.

“They did.” She stopped walking and turned to look him in the eye. “Zhou, they were surviving. That’s what they were doing. After everything, you still see things in black and white and still from your own exalted position.”

“Exalted?” His voice rose in pitch at the end, incredulous.

“Compared to the farmers, yes.” She described a semi-circle with her arms indicating the world around her. “Life is not learned in the classroom, in the castles, or over the diplomacy table. Life, to be learned, has to be lived. The experience of one lifetime does not give you an understanding of everyone’s life.”

“I’ve lost everything. I’ve learned that you have to fight to hold on to the things that are precious to you,” he said.

“There are many ways to fight, Zhou.” She started walking again. “The girl is better off with her family. They can protect her and we are heading towards danger. Would you put her back in harm’s way just because you judge her parents as weak?”

“We could have done more,” Zhou said.

“No, we could not.” Xióngmāo rested a hand on his shoulder briefly. “You cannot save everyone, Zhou. No matter how much you want to. It is hard, I know, and I wish the world was different as much as you do.”

Zhou walked on in silence. Step after step down the forest path, sunlight dappling through the leaves and little breeze between the tree trunks. The girl and the village were two weeks behind, but he could still feel a pull in that direction. There was no turning back. The best he had was the hope that the villagers would look after the girl. That thought kept him awake at night, twisting and turning on a bed of leaves or short grass. When he finally did fall asleep, he was plagued by dreams of his family. The memory of his wife’s face and the innocent, open smile on his son’s. The charred white bones of both sticking up through the dark ash that was the remains of their home. The evidence and the proof of his own failure to protect the people he held dear.

“How much further to the wall?” Zhou said, signalling an end to the argument.

“A few more weeks. We should reach a town in a few days where we can get supplies.”

“I haven’t got any money,” Zhou said.

“I have enough for us both,” Xióngmāo said. “I always carry a few gems that I can use if things get bad. One of the lessons of a long life, always be prepared.”

* * *

A few days ago they had finally left the forest tracks, mud paths, and back roads that criss-crossed the Empire and joined one of the major roads. This one, Xióngmāo assured him, led to the wall and, by the flow of traffic going both ways, he was inclined to agree. Zhou had no alternative but to trust her judgement. Heading north were carts full of supplies. Some of the haulers would sell the produce, at least that which was starting to turn, to Zhou and Xióngmāo. They would also impart news from the heart of the Empire though they knew little of the road ahead.

The people heading south were different. There were fewer carts, but they were not travelling empty. Each one was full of a people who were definitely not from the Empire. Their skin was different, their clothes different too. As Zhou approached the first of them, he was greeted with threatening words and waved fists. Unwilling to press the issue, he backed away.

“I don’t think they want to talk to you,” Xióngmāo said with a smile.

“I got that impression too,” he replied.

“You speak their language?”

“Not so much speak the language as understand the gestures and waving of knives.” Zhou looked at Xióngmāo. “Do you?”

She smiled at him. “A little. I expect we will be seeing more and more of them as we approach the wall.”

“Do you know of many more towns on the way?”

“You remember the people who lived in the tents around Yaart?” She waited for him to nod before carrying on. “Some of them came from the towns up near the wall and the land just this side of it. They had all been displaced by these people. Any towns we come across will be full of the
Nei Menggu
.”

“The who?”

“In their language that is how they refer to themselves. We call them Mongols, a corruption of their words. They were the people the wall was built to keep out. Now we let them through and into the Empire. Strange times, Zhou.”

“If the creatures we battled at the mountain are the same ones that drove the Mongols from their towns and cities then I can understand it. They may have a knife or two, but they didn’t seem to have much of anything else.”

“The cart drivers probably took most of their wealth as the price for transporting them further from the wall. The most worrying aspect of this is not the presence of the knives but the absence of horses,” Xióngmāo said.

“Horses?” Zhou spotted another cart coming over the low rise ahead. “The carts are being pulled by horses, surely.”

“The Mongols live their lives on horseback, Zhou. A Mongol without a horse is like a diplomat without words, an administrator without ink, a warrior without a weapon. It robs them of their being.” Xióngmāo took a drink from her water skin.

“The army probably confiscated them when they came through the wall,” Zhou said. A reasonable answer and explanation, he thought.

“Possibly,” Xióngmāo conceded, but there was a note of doubt in her voice that Zhou could not ignore.

“We will find out at the wall,” he said.

* * *

“Let’s find somewhere to stay,” Zhou said as they entered the town south of the wall.

“If we can,” Xióngmāo replied, looking down the wide paved street. Either side tall, wooden buildings rose from the earth and lined the road. There were signs above some doors that suggested rooms could be rented and food could be bought. Other signs hinted that clothes, weapons, and other items were for sale.

“A thriving town,” Zhou said. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find a place to stay.”

“Maybe,” Xióngmāo replied.

“This one?” Zhou indicated the door to the nearest inn. Xióngmāo nodded and they crossed the road, dodging the carts as they trundled over the stones. He opened the door and held it for Xióngmāo to enter first. She stopped and looked at him. A quizzical look that made his heart skip. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. “We’ll get two rooms.”

Her eyes flickered in amusement before she spoke. “Zhou, we are not on the mountain, but back in the Empire and, more than that, close to an army barracks. Women do not go ahead of men. You must enter first and it is probably best, for everyone, if we get just one room.”

“You’re sure?” His heart beat a little faster.

“We’ll pretend to be man and wife. A woman does not travel unaccompanied unless she is plying a certain type of trade. I’d rather not be thought of that way and, I suspect, it will save the men seeking a little comfort from making a rather painful mistake,” Xióngmāo spoke quietly. “See if you can get a room with a bath.”

Zhou paused as he sorted through her words. Out of them all, ‘pretend’ was the key he decided and the blood that had been warming his face rose in temperature. Embarrassed, he said, “A good plan.”

Two steps into the inn and his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He stopped and felt Xióngmāo do the same a moment later. The windows to the side of the building were draped with blankets, cutting out the daylight. The tables and chairs that would normally mark out the eating and drinking area of any inn were absent. And, there was no bustling inn keeper or server to greet them. Instead, staring up at Zhou and Xióngmāo were several groups of bewildered faces. Men, women and children. All sat in areas defined by their belongings. Beds covered the floor area. Every dark eye was focused upon them and no one spoke.

Zhou stared back, at a loss. Quite clearly the inn was full if folks had to sleep on the floor and, therefore, there would be no bed in this place for him and Xióngmāo. At the back, a baby started to cry.

“My apologies,” he said and bowed to them. He turned to leave, but Xióngmāo did not move from her spot in the doorway. “Let’s try somewhere else.”

“We can’t,” Xióngmāo said. He looked down at her small frame and saw that her eyes had taken on a focused yet distant look. She was looking straight through him as if his body was no obstacle to sight. “We have to stay here.”

“What?” Zhou glanced back over his shoulder at the Mongol people behind him. “There isn’t room.”

She ducked around him and started picking her way through the people towards the family at the back of the room. “We have to stay. The baby is sick.”

“Xióngmāo,” he called and made to step after her. The men from each family, including the young boys, all stood at the same time and moved into his path. There was no way through without violence and bloodshed. He wanted neither.

Zhou left his hands at his side, palms turned outwards to show he held no weapons and waited. He watched Xióngmāo make her way over to the mother holding the baby. No one reached out to stop her, he noticed.

She bent down and placed a hand on the baby’s head. It stopped crying, but what she was doing Zhou could not see. After a moment, Xióngmāo raised her head and spoke to the mother. The young woman replied. She seemed nervous, not looking at Xióngmāo, but speaking towards the baby. Zhou saw his companion nod a few times and pat the woman on the shoulder. The men who blocked his path parted as she re-joined him. She smiled at them and, without a word, they dispersed back to their families.

“They can be quite protective of their women and children,” she said.

“I noticed,” he replied.

“We need to get some medicine for the child and some food for the mother,” Xióngmāo said. “Every room in the building has been taken by one or more families. As you can see, they even have to share the floor space down here.”

“Where is the innkeeper, the owner?”

“She didn’t say,” Xióngmāo said. “I am sure they pay someone for the privilege of living like this. That’s why they cannot afford the medicine the baby needs.”

“You did not tell me you spoke the language,” he said.

“I’m sure I must have mentioned something.” Her eyes carried a spark of humour and he left it at that.

“Is the baby’s illness serious?” he asked.

“Let us talk outside.” Xióngmāo led the way to the door and out onto the street. “It is not too serious if we get the medicine, but we need to get it soon and get some food into both of them. They are not a people used to living in close proximity to each other and these conditions help to spread the illness. Babies and the elderly are the most susceptible to it. If it catches hold, it will spread like spilt tea into every crack and crevice, every home in the town and to the soldiers too.”

“A plague?” Zhou rubbed his thumb along the wooden shaft of his staff.

“Possibly.” Xióngmāo was silent for a moment, then shook her head. “It is impossible to know, but if we catch it quickly.” She left the rest of sentence hanging on the air.

“What medicine?”

“
Chuan Xiong Cha Tiao Wan
,” she said. “We should be able to find some in an apothecary or the fort.”

“Not the fort. Not yet,” he said. “Did you find out where an apothecary is?”

“Next junction and turn left, then right. It is signposted, apparently, and expensive. Another reason why they cannot look after the baby.”

He held her gaze for a moment, trying to read the words that were unsaid in her eyes, but failing. “What are you not telling me?”

“I’m not sure,” she confessed at last. “I haven’t lived amongst these people for many, many years, but I get the feeling I am missing something. We will get the medicine and I will talk to the family some more. It will come back to me.”

* * *

The medicine and food took up the last of the money. All for a little paper pouch of green speckled pills, some rice and meat that was not spoiled too much.

Back at the inn, Xióngmāo went straight to the mother and child. Zhou contented himself with waiting by the door under the watchful eyes of the men in the room. He smiled in an attempt to reassure them, but it bounced off the distrust in their eyes. Behind the wall of men, the baby was crying and Zhou could hear the startled words of the mother. The sounds made no sense, but the fear was palpable and the way the men kept looking over their shoulders added to the tension.

“Zhou, come here,” Xióngmāo called from the back of the room.

He looked at the men and read the look in their eyes. “I don’t think they will let me.”

The mother called out and the men blocking the way gave each other looks of confusion then shook their heads in grudging acceptance. Their stares slid from his face. Permission for him to pass had been granted, grudgingly. He picked his way through the people and their belongings, careful not to offend anyone by stepping on their beds or bags. Though their faces were turned away, he could feel himself being watched.