Jeff Stone_Five Ancestors 07 Page 10

  Long reached the horse and found it to be quite friendly. He led it to a rock outcropping that provided better protection and secured it. He was about to look for his water skins when he heard a low moan. It did not sound like anything he had ever heard before, and he remembered the camel. It was still alive.

  Long frowned, hating what he had to do next. He checked the thief’s saddlebag and found the pistol that had been pointed at him the previous night. It was loaded with a single shot, and he used it to put the poor camel out of its misery.

  Next he walked over to where he had last seen his water skins, and his heart sank. The containers had all been trampled, their contents emptied.

  Averting his eyes from the three dead thieves, Long sighed and looked at the sky. It would be dark sooner than he had realized. Powerless to do anything more, he walked back to the rocks and curled up next to the horse, willing himself to sleep. However, with the darkness came a cold unlike any he had experienced.

  The rocks did little to keep the frigid swirling winds at bay, and by the time the moon rose, Long was shivering uncontrollably. He knew that if he did not do something, he would freeze to death. He needed better shelter, but the only thing he could think to use was the camel.

  Long stood and stretched his tight muscles as best he could with his injured side before heading over to the carcass. The camel had only been dead a few hours, but it was already as rigid and cold as the stone Long had been lying on. He had heard stories of desperate people who had gutted an animal and slept inside its body cavity to protect themselves from sandstorms or insurmountable winter winds, but there was no way he could bring himself to do that.

  This left Long with only one option—skinning the beast. Or at least, skinning a section of it. He doubted he would need the entire hide.

  Long reached for the knife in its sheath, then remembered that it was no longer there. He swallowed hard and headed for the fallen second archer. He removed the knife from the man’s throat, trying hard not to think about what he had done, and returned to the camel.

  He had never skinned an animal before, and the hide was much tougher than he had expected. Working by moonlight made the task even more tedious. It took him nearly an hour to remove an area from the camel’s back and sides large enough to wrap himself in. One benefit of all this activity was that he had warmed enough to at least stop shivering. On the other hand, his wound began to drip blood again, sapping his strength.

  With the section of hide cut free, Long proceeded to scrape as much fatty tissue as possible from the skin with his knife. Then he carried his heavy camel-hair blanket over to his earlier resting place beside the horse, spread the hide out skin side down upon the rock, and collapsed into it.

  The camel hair was dusty, but it was surprisingly soft and thick. He eased over to one end, gripped a corner, and rolled himself into the hide, taking great care to not disturb his wound. Warmer and more secure than he’d thought possible, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

  The sun was high the next day when Long emerged from his camel-hair wrap. He checked the arrow shaft in his side and found that the area was incredibly sore but scabbing over. He was thirsty and began to seriously consider heading back to the outpost. After all, trying to cross a section of desert in two or three days without water could easily mean death. There were also the horse’s water needs to consider.

  He thought of the Supreme Rule of Three. A person can survive three weeks without food, three days without water, and three minutes without air. The question was, how far did he want to push his luck?

  Long remembered pulling the pistol from a saddlebag the day before, but he had not bothered to pay attention to whatever else was inside the bag. He opened it, and to his astonishment found two small water skins tucked beneath a bag of pistol bullets, the man’s powder horn, and a coil of rope. He discarded the bullets and powder and raised one of the water skins to his lips.

  He drank the entire thing and found that he was still thirsty. He consumed half of the second skin and gave the rest to the horse from his cupped hands.

  These small efforts exhausted Long. The wound had definitely weakened him. However, he was feeling better about his chances of success since he had found the water, and he decided to press on toward Tun-huang. He used some of the rope in the saddlebag to secure his camel-hair blanket to the back of the saddle, and he climbed onto the horse and steered it toward the pass. Or, more accurately, it steered him. The horse clearly knew the way.

  Long settled into the saddle, leaning back against the plush camel hide. He soon fell asleep. When he woke, it was very late. It was dark and the moon was out. He was so weak now that he was concerned he might fall off the horse and never be heard from again.

  Using a section of the remaining rope, Long lashed himself to the saddle with the camel-hair blanket draped across his shoulders for added warmth. He still wore his jacket, hat, and heavy gloves, but he figured the blanket more than doubled his chances of survival in the bitter nighttime temperatures.

  He drifted in and out of consciousness over what he guessed were the next two days, though he could not be sure. He became so dizzy from blood loss and then dehydration, sometimes he could not even tell if it was day or night. Yet this whole time, his horse continued at a steady pace, never stopping.

  On what Long thought was probably the third morning since lashing himself to the saddle, he imagined he heard voices and hooves rushing across sand. Without much hope that this was anything more than a hallucination, he raised his weary head.

  Long saw two rough-looking young men ride up to him atop Heavenly Horses. They wore black turbans, which led him to believe that they were thieves. He opened his mouth to speak and put up at least a verbal fight, but even his vocal cords had failed him.

  The men began to talk with one another in a language he did not understand. Even so, it was clear that they were deciding what they should do with him. One of the men reached over and removed Long’s gloves. They were going to steal the clothes right off his back!

  The thief started talking excitedly to the other man, and Long realized that they were both staring at his left hand. More specifically, at the scorpion ring Xie had given him. Surely they would steal that, too.

  Long was shocked when he was addressed in perfect Mandarin Chinese. “We are so glad to have found you, young dragon!”

  Dumbfounded, Long focused all his energy and managed to mouth a single word. “How?”

  “A Heavenly Horse arrived in Tunhuang two days ago. It was tied to an old Mongolian horse that appeared to have led it there. Both were riderless, and the Heavenly Horse was wearing hoof boots that had filled with sand. It was clear that something was amiss. When the story was reported to Warlord Xie, he thought of you and sent two hundred pairs of men out into the desert to discover what had happened. No one expected to find you alive, but here you are! You look like you could use a lake’s worth of fresh water and several nights by a warm fire.”

  Long did his best to nod, and the man smiled warmly.

  “We will have you in Tunhuang before you know it.”

  Ying circled the bandits’ former stronghold for the hundredth time, as eager to find a bandit as he was to ambush one of Tonglong’s elite soldiers. He had important information to give to one group, and equally important information to take from the other. He did not care which encounter happened first. In the end, he was going to get what he wanted, and that was Tonglong’s head.

  Ying glanced down at Grandmaster’s sword, dangling scabbardless from his sash. It glimmered in the moonlight. Its brilliance was likely to give him up to a keen eye, so he had been limiting his patrols here to the nighttime. Even then, he did his best to remain hidden within shadows.

  He had come almost a week ago, after ShaoShu had told him about Tonglong’s short-term intentions. He needed to warn the bandits, but had no idea how to find them. He decided that if he were Mong, he would have bandit spies patrolling the stronghold’s outer reaches in
search of information about Tonglong’s plans. Find a spy and he could find Mong.

  As for Tonglong’s elite soldiers, find one of them and, with a little persuasion, he should be able to find their leader, too. He had seen many soldiers, but none had been wearing the red uniforms ShaoShu had told him about. They had all been Commander Woo’s men, out on routine patrols, and would not have access to the kind of information Ying desired. As tempted as he was to interrogate a few of them, he had let them all pass. When the time came for one of Tonglong’s men—if not Tonglong himself—Ying would be ready.

  His grandfather’s sword would be ready, too. He had spent hours refurbishing it to its former deadly glory. He had gotten nearly every speck of rust off the blade with the help of abrasive stones and river sand. He had always been good with metal, having spent years helping at Cangzhen Temple’s small forge. He had even made his extra-long chain whip himself. He knew good metal when he saw it, and this was the best he had ever held. With additional polishing and a proper whetstone, he could rejuvenate the sword’s legendary edge. Even now, it would get the job done.

  Ying continued his hunt in the moon shadows of the stronghold. He moved quickly and with purpose. Before he knew it, the sun had begun to rise, and he found himself on the opposite side of the stronghold lake’s sizable perimeter from where he normally hid for the day.

  He looked around for a place to hide and spied a thick tract of tall reeds following the shoreline for quite some distance. The ground would be soft and dank in there, but the reeds would be great cover.

  Not long after entering the reeds, Ying felt his dan tien begin to stir, and he heard what sounded like a dog growling. He had never known soldiers to use dogs, but the bandits might. Dogs would make a powerful first line of defense.

  He stopped and was readying Grandmaster’s sword for a canine attack when a strange-looking man slipped through the reeds and faced him. The man had huge brown eyes, a big nose, and oversized ears.

  The man looked Ying over, then sniffed the air. Sniff. Sniff. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Looking for friends,” Ying replied.

  The strange-looking man laughed. “You? Friends? Ha-ha-ha!”

  Ying took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was not there to make enemies with the bandits, for this man was indeed one of Mong’s men. His name was Gao, or Dog. Ying had caught glimpses of him in and around the bandit stronghold when the bandits still controlled it.

  “I suggest you—” Gao began, but he was interrupted by a tremendous shriek from a line of tall cedar trees bordering the reeds. Ying looked up to see a large white one-eyed macaque glaring down at him. It bared its huge fangs.

  This circus is going to attract attention, Ying thought. He looked back at Gao and saw that Gao was unconcerned about the monkey. Gao sniffed the air again.

  The white monkey shrieked a second time, and Ying saw Gao tense. Ying fought the urge to look up at the monkey, keeping his eyes fixed on Gao. While an attack from the toothy macaque would be bad, an attack from Gao would be worse.

  A soft voice drifted toward Ying from the cedar boughs overhead. “Malao! Can you make that monkey quiet down? The last thing we need is soldiers finding us because of his noise.”

  “I can try,” a small voice replied. “I don’t think we need to worry, though. I just heard Gao sniffing. He’s in the reeds.”

  Ying recognized the voices and relaxed. He saw Gao relax, too. That was surely Hok and Malao.

  “I thought I smelled your feet, Malao,” Gao said in the direction of the voices. “Over here. There is someone you should see.”

  The treetops began to rustle beyond the white macaque, and Ying saw two figures descend. One swung down on a vine, while the other seemed to float to the ground.

  A moment later, Malao broke through the reeds and froze, his eyes locking on Ying’s.

  The white monkey let out a howl from overhead and leaped down onto Malao’s shoulder. The macaque was huge, weighing nearly as much as Malao, but Malao took the monkey’s weight in stride. He did not show the slightest strain as the macaque bared its impressive fangs at Ying, noticeably irritated.

  Ying nodded to Malao, but Malao did not acknowledge the greeting. Ying thought Malao might bare his teeth, too, but then Hok stepped into the reeds.

  “Ying!” Hok said, sounding genuinely happy to see him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have recent news from ShaoShu,” Ying replied. He glanced at Gao, then looked back at Hok. “It concerns the bandits.”

  Hok’s eyes widened. “You saw ShaoShu? How is he?”

  “He was fine when I saw him a few days ago at Cangzhen Temple. He is with Tonglong.”

  “Tonglong arrived at the stronghold several days ago,” Gao said. “What news do you have that concerns us?”

  “Tonglong knows about the troops you are training,” Ying said. “He plans to attack, likely any day now. He has an elite force of ninety-nine men on horseback, plus there are the soldiers in the stronghold. That would be a sizable group. He plans to crush you, and once the remainder of his troops arrive—now tens of thousands strong—he will march upon the Forbidden City in an effort to seize the throne.”

  Gao nodded. “We knew his plan involved the Forbidden City, but that he knows about our troops is news to us. We need to take action.”

  “You need to retreat,” Ying said. “Unless you have pistols, muskets, and cannons.”

  “We have very little in the way of firearms,” Hok said. “Unless Charles manages to—”

  Gao held up a hand. “Ying does not need to know about our secret resources.”

  “Charles is no secret to Ying,” Hok said. “He and Charles are friends, just as Ying is my friend. We can trust him.” She looked at Ying. “As I was saying, we are hoping Charles can find some firearms for us. In the meantime, we train mostly with spears.”

  Ying spat. “I suppose every little bit helps. Where is your camp? We should warn the others immediately.”

  “Whoa,” Gao said, holding up his hands. “I am not sure you should be shown its location.”

  Hok glared at Gao. “I just told you that Ying can be trusted. I would bet my life on it.”

  “You might just have to,” Gao said. “Even if he proves trustworthy, there are many within the camp who would love to tear him limb from limb after he helped capture our stronghold.”

  “I am truly sorry for my actions,” Ying said, “and I do not blame you for hating me. However, you once fought against the Emperor, and now it appears you are his ally against Tonglong. Perhaps you can reconsider me, as you have reconsidered him.”

  Gao scratched one of his large ears. “You raise a good point. Why is it that you want to come to our camp, though? We could just as easily convey this information without you.”

  Ying nodded toward his grandfather’s sword. “I need a whetstone. If you can provide me with one now, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Isn’t that Grandmaster’s sword?” Gao asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you promise to never use it against me or any of our men and women at the camp?”

  “I do,” Ying said. “The only flesh this blade will cut is Tonglong’s.”

  Gao nodded. “Since Hok says that you can be trusted, you may follow us to the camp. However, I suggest that you remain out of sight. There is no telling how people will react to you. Stay back in the trees, and I will find you the finest sharpening stone we possess.” He nodded at Grandmaster’s sword. “That blade looks like it deserves it.”

  Ying followed well behind Gao and Malao, with Hok at his side and the white macaque overhead. Ying and Hok conversed in low voices as they hurried along. Hok told him of her adventures since they had parted company in the south, and Ying gave her a detailed account of his encounter with ShaoShu. By the time their conversation reached the present moment, it was late afternoon.

  “Will Fu and Seh be at the camp?” Ying asked.

  “They should
both be there,” Hok replied. “Seh never leaves, and Fu and his father were supposed to return to the camp last night, along with my mother. They were on patrol with us, but their watch ended.”

  “Are their replacements patrolling the other side of the stronghold?”

  Hok shrugged. “The replacements never showed up. That happens sometimes, especially with newer recruits. They get lost or become frightened upon seeing soldiers, and they run off.”

  Ying frowned. “I wonder if Long will get lost on his way to Tunhuang.”

  “Long will make it. You of all people should know that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know how tenacious he can be. He is a lot like you.”

  “I suppose.”

  Hok shook her head. “No, he truly is a lot like you—in more ways than you are likely to know. In fact, he asked me to share something with you.”

  “Such as?”

  “I am not sure how to tell you.”

  “Just say it,” Ying said.

  Hok pursed her lips. “Long is your cousin. Your father and his father were brothers.”

  “And?”

  “‘And?’” Hok repeated. “You knew?”

  “No, but it does not surprise me. Long is a dragon, like Grandmaster was. I am a dragon, too. Long and I also look alike. I have never told anyone this, but part of the reason I changed my appearance was so that I would look less like Long.”

  “Really?”

  Ying nodded. “So Grandmaster was Long’s grandfather, as well as mine?”

  “That is what Grandmaster told him.”

  “Did Long know how he came to Cangzhen Temple in the first place? I remember he was already there when I arrived, but he was a tiny infant.”