The Mongoliad: Book Three

CHAPTER FIVE

The change that came over Luo Xi was as dramatic as if a mask had been removed, revealing a face pitted and harsh beneath a delicately painted facade. Lines appeared in his face, deep striations etched in his forehead and cheeks. Such lines were not unusual-every Chinese person who had suffered under the yoke of Mongolian oppression was similarly burdened-but he secretly cultivated his suffering. His grip on Lian’s arm was tight, his fingers digging into her flesh as if he would squeeze down to her bones.

“These dogs ravage our homeland,” he snarled at her, all pretense of geniality gone. “They loot our cities. Kill our children.” He shoved her again, driving her ahead of him. “They rape our women.”

She wanted to run, wanted to flee the lash of his words. Moments ago, she had wanted his eyes on her, wanted him to be distracted from his surroundings, but now she didn’t want his attention.

One of the soldiers slapped Gansukh on the legs with the shaft of his spear, and the Mongol warrior rolled away from the blow, getting his legs under him. Even though Gansukh didn’t understand a word of what was being said, the message was clear. Clenching his teeth, Gansukh wobbled to his feet, and as he stood upright, one of the other soldiers whacked him across the back, causing him to stumble and nearly fall.

She couldn’t help herself, and she darted toward Gansukh. A Chinese soldier reached for her, and she slowed, pulling her arm out of his reach. He grinned, revealing a wide gap between his upper front teeth; lowering his spear so that the point hovered near her breast, he shook his head.

Beyond him, Gansukh stared at her. One of his eyes was swollen partially shut, dark shadows already discoloring his flesh. Dirt and ash and blood streaked his face, and a chill ran across her arms as she met his one-eyed gaze.

The Chinese soldier clucked his tongue, flicking the tip of his spear toward the unruly mass of her unbound hair that fell across her breasts. She looked away from Gansukh, met the Chinese man’s eyes for a second, and then demurely dropped her gaze toward the ground.

She caught sight of a dagger shoved negligently through the man’s belt, and she sucked in her breath. Her dagger!

A man staggered toward the group, and Luo Xi drew his sword. It wasn’t a Mongol, and Luo Xi relaxed his guard enough to slam his helmet back on his head as the wounded man came closer.

Lian recognized him as the other commander, the one who had argued with Luo earlier. The one who had argued against taking hostages. He had worn a helmet too, but it was gone now, and his head was covered with blood, some of it still wet.

“We have failed,” he gasped to Luo. “We had the banner-” He caught sight of Lian, and stared owlishly at her. Slowly, as if he was having a great deal of trouble remembering something of vital import, he looked at the four men surrounding Gansukh. “My men are dead,” he said, and he swung his gaze back to Luo. “We are all dead.”

Luo’s face was ashen. “Idiot,” he hissed. “We only needed the sprout. Why didn’t you take it?”

“It wasn’t there.” Seeing Luo’s expression, he shook his head. “It had been harvested already,” he explained. “We had no choice but to take the banner. Otherwise-”

Luo cut him off with a wordless hiss. “Do not think you know what is best. The banner is too old to sustain life. What we need-”

“Commander,” one of the soldiers interrupted Luo. He pointed toward the rise that blocked the caravan from view. The light was softer now, no longer the harsh radiance of hungry fires. White plumes of smoke hung in the night air. “The Mongols are putting out the fires,” he said.

Luo’s companion swayed unsteadily. “If they know why we are here, they will not negotiate.” He pointed toward Gansukh. “Your hostage will not save you.”

The soldiers guarding Gansukh shuffled uneasily.

“I cannot run,” the man said softly, indicating the dried blood on his head. “I can barely walk…”

Luo lowered his head briefly in acknowledgment; then, with a swift jab, he ran his sword into the belly of the wounded Chinese man. The look of confusion on the other man’s face faded, and the tension in his face eased. His gaze remained locked on Luo, and he grunted lightly as Luo pulled the sword free. Something akin to a smile came to his lips.

All the air had fled from Lian’s lungs. She couldn’t move; she couldn’t scream. She could only stare in horror as the dying Chinese man tried to speak, failed, and crumpled to the ground.

Luo whirled, his face twisted into a demonic mask. “Kill them both,” he snarled. “And then run. Run as fast as you can, for the Mongol dogs will be at your heels.”

His sword was red with blood, and as he strode toward them, the paralysis that had held Lian vanished. “Wait,” she cried.

Luo didn’t slow down. He raised his sword.

“Let me do it.” Lian was as surprised as Luo to hear the words come out of her mouth.

Luo hesitated. “What?”

“If I kill him,” she said, letting the words run out of her mouth of their own accord. She didn’t think about where they were coming from or what they meant. All she knew was that if she wavered, if she showed any fear or hesitation, this sudden resolve would vanish. “If I kill him, will you take me with you?”

Luo’s mouth twisted, finally shaping itself into a nasty leer. “You want revenge on this dog?”

Lian stood firm, pushing her chin out and throwing her shoulders back. “This one. All of them.”

Luo examined her, letting his eyes roam over her body. His sword dipped slightly, but his body was still rigid.

“Commander,” one of the guards interrupted.

“Go,” Luo shouted, the muscles in his neck standing out. “Run, you cowards!” His eyes remained locked on Lian.

Two of the four guards took him at his word, dropping their spears and sprinting away into the darkness. One of the remaining pair lingered, unwilling to turn his back on Gansukh or leave his weapon. The gap-toothed one stayed, and Lian’s gaze fell on the dagger in his belt again.

“Let me do it,” she said again, and pointed at the dagger. “That’s his dagger. I want to kill him with it.”

Luo laughed, and Lian tried to not flinch at the sound, though it made her skin crawl. He nodded to his man, who pulled the blade free of his belt and tossed it to the ground. “Go,” Luo said to the remaining pair. “I…we,” he amended with a curt nod at Lian, “will meet you at the second camp.”

The soldiers needed no other prompting, and they too fled.

“Pick it up,” Luo said, indicating the knife as he walked toward the captive Mongol.

Gansukh hadn’t understood any of their conversation, but the look on Luo’s face was plain enough, as was the bloody sword. As the Chinese commander approached him, Gansukh strained at his bonds while moving slowly backward, giving himself some room to maneuver. He wouldn’t be able to dodge Luo’s attack, but his expression said he wasn’t going to make it easy for the Chinese man.

Lian crouched, and with a shaking hand, reached for her dagger. Was she going to go through with this? Could she actually kill a man? In his own way, Gansukh had tried to warn her at the feast. He had said she would be punished if she were caught with the weapon, which was true, but there was another message behind his admonition. Why carry it, he had implied, if you aren’t willing to use it? She slipped the blade from its sheath, and wrapped her fingers tightly about the handle.

She had no choice.

Luo feinted with his sword, and when Gansukh dodged away, the Chinese man leaped forward with a savage side kick that connected with Gansukh’s stomach. Gansukh doubled over, gasping and retching, and Luo brought a knee up sharply to Gansukh’s lowered face. Gansukh’s head snapped back and he toppled over. His hands, bound behind his back, prevented him from lying prone, and he flopped onto his side. He curled forward, retching and shaking. Trying to protect the parts of his body that had been traumatized.

Luo looked over at Lian, and nodded at the sight of the dagger in her hands. “Do it quickly,” he sneered, “and I won’t leave your corpse with his.”

“Pull the dog’s head back,” she instructed with more confidence than she felt. She couldn’t dwell on what was going to happen after the next few moments. She couldn’t let herself wonder if she was doing the right thing. She had to focus on what had to be done, on what was required in order for her to survive.

Luo put his sword down, and crouched next to Gansukh’s supine body. He hauled the semi-conscious man upright, and positioning himself behind Gansukh, he grabbed the Mongol’s hair. “Do it,” he hissed at Lian, exposing Gansukh’s throat.

Gansukh shuddered, his one eye rolling in its socket. Luo’s strike had bloodied his nose, and his lower face was smeared with blood and dirt. His mouth hung open. He was unrecognizable to Lian, just another Mongolian warrior-indistinguishable from the men who had taken her from her family years ago. They were all alike. It was as Luo had said: the Mongols destroyed everything; they burned countless villages; they had raped generations of Chinese women; they had plundered the great cities. So much had been lost to Mongolian rapaciousness, wiped from existence.

Gansukh was one of them. Had he not demonstrated that fact when he chose his brutal Khan over her? Had he not denied her the ability to defend herself by stealing the very dagger she now held in her hand? Had he not wanted to keep her as a slave? It didn’t matter how much she taught him about how to speak, how to dress, how to be civilized; he was still a barbarian, a dog with blood on his face and hands.

She gripped the dagger tight, the way Gansukh had taught her.

She looked at Luo’s sweat-slicked face, and her stomach twisted as she realized his expression was just as alien. His eager anticipation of Gansukh’s death sickened her.

But he was one of her own countrymen-her rescuer. He was going to help her get back to China. Back to her family. She was going to be free. All she had to do was kill one man. One Mongol.

“Kill him,” Luo barked. He jerked Gansukh back, leaning forward as he did so. His face was so close to Gansukh’s, his mouth nearly touching the Mongol’s ear. “Watch her,” he laughed in Gansukh’s ear. “I want you to see your death.”

Gansukh surged against Luo, but he had little strength and less leverage. The Chinese man held Gansukh tight, his knee in the middle of Gansukh’s back. Gansukh snorted, blowing blood and snot out of his impacted nose; his open eye staring wildly at Lian.

She licked her dry lips and stepped forward, swinging the dagger from left to right. Her swing was slow and weak, and Luo grimaced as he watched her halfhearted attack. She was too far away, and the blade missed Gansukh’s neck.

Luo was starting to say something, his lips curled in an ugly snarl, when he realized she wasn’t finished. Having come as close as she dared to the Chinese commander, she stabbed savagely upward, the way Gansukh had taught her, driving the dagger deep into Luo’s neck.