The Killing Fog (The Grave Kingdom)

by Jeff Wheeler

  “We fight together,” Rowen told her huskily, his voice trembling slightly.

  Bingmei didn’t respond, keeping her eyes focused on the charging men and their weapons. They wore seal skins, hide boots, and leathery armor that was beaten and fire-hardened. Scraggly beards and unwashed faces contorted with hatred. They had all the marks of savagery, of those who dwelled in such inhospitable shores, who raided and plundered and stole. How she despised them. Where was Muxidi? Where was the man who had slain her grandfather?

  Before she could spy him, the first of the raiders reached her. Bingmei sprang at them with the sword. The magic augmented her instincts. Her movements felt as light and quick as a feather, yet each stab struck a man in the vitals, the sharp blade piercing the thick hides they wore. Soon the Qiangdao’s shrieks of attack were paired with cries of pain and groans of anguish. Bingmei shifted from pose to pose, parrying cudgels as she danced backward, then lashing out with a whip-quick slash to a wrist or chest.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Rowen at work. He, too, was quick and lethal, using both blades at once. He swiveled, turned, and thrust, dropping man after man. They were both engulfed by the tide of men, but their blades held the enemies at bay.

  Bingmei’s blade seemed to quiver with delight in her hand, and the magic threatened to overwhelm her. Was she summoning the killing fog by using it? Part of her didn’t care. The power began to consume her, promising her the revenge she’d hungered for all these years. How many of this band had slaughtered her family? They deserved to die. To be cut down without mercy.

  A dart embedded in her arm, thrown by one of the Qiangdao. She plucked it out and threw it back, hardly feeling the pain. She cut down two more before she saw a man whirling a leather sling overhead. He launched the stone at Rowen before she could issue a warning, and the rock struck him in the temple, dropping him instantly. The other Qiangdao roared in triumph and surged forward to bludgeon him to death, but Bingmei shouted in fury and rushed to protect his body. She brought down three before the slinger managed to load another stone. He whirled it again and launched it at her. Some instinct within her, probably the magic, brought the sword up just in time to deflect it. The slinger scowled in anger, already reaching into his pouch for another stone.

  Then Kunmia and her ensign arrived, smashing into the Qiangdao. They were still heavily outnumbered, but the odds had improved. The cacophony of battle filled the air. Damanhur was at the forefront of the group from the boat, his sword slashing the chests of enemy warriors in long sweeps, his expert skill outmatching those he fought. Mieshi and Zhuyi were twin sisters of vengeance, using their staves to crack skulls and smash throats. Even Quion was part of the effort, using his fists to strike down those who’d attacked them.

  One of Damanhur’s men went down from the slinger’s stones. Bingmei scowled at the slinger, reached into her pocket and invoked the cricket, harnessing its power to leap over the tide of battle. When she landed near the slinger, who was already reaching into his pocket for more stone, he ducked away from her slash. He scooped a handful of sand and tossed it at her face, but she closed her eyes in time, as the grit stung her skin. She smelled his fear, his dread of her abilities, his hatred—a noxious blend of rotting meat and putrid fish. Bingmei followed the scent, clearing her eyes, and saw him put another stone in his sling. He started to swing it around his head, intending to strike at her at close range, which would kill her for certain, but she leaped forward and sliced through the leather strap. She’d ruined his weapon of choice. Bingmei heard the crunch of sand, the sound of someone rushing up to attack her from behind. Still facing the unarmed slinger, she tucked her blade beneath her armpit and stabbed behind her, impaling a man in the gut. He slumped to the ground.

  The slinger gawked at her and turned and ran for his life. Bingmei let him go, turning her focus on another of the Qiangdao. Bingmei’s blood was up, she was thrilled by the combat, by the power of the blade in her hand, and the invincibility it gave her. Then a new stench caught her nose, one she recognized with a wrench in her stomach. The horrible man who’d killed her grandfather was fighting Kunmia. He wielded a saber that was the same shape and style as those used in her grandfather’s quonsuun. He was dressed in furs like the others, but she could see a flash of color from his underclothes. Kunmia blocked a strike from his saber and then dealt a blow to his head with her rune staff. The man fell to his knee, blinking through the haze of pain and surprise.

  Fury filled Bingmei. No. No! She needed to be the one to defeat the man.

  She rushed forward, slicing down two more enemies who stood in her way. Perhaps a hundred Qiangdao had attacked them. Bodies writhed in anguish on the sand. Bingmei saw at least thirty fallen. The rest were fleeing, running off toward the woods along the base of the rocky slope.

  She saw Marenqo using hand and foot techniques, crippling a man’s arm before chopping him in the throat. He’d always preferred hand-to-hand combat.

  When she reached Kunmia and the crouching leader, she raised her sword to strike him down and exact her revenge.

  Kunmia turned, her eyes fierce. She shifted the staff to defend the man against her. “Put it down. Now!”

  Bingmei felt her heart explode with rage. It was as if she’d become the core of a raging fire. “He murdered my family,” she said, so angry she choked on the words.

  “Obey me, Bingmei,” Kunmia said. “You promised. Put it down.”

  Muxidi tried to rise, but Kunmia whacked him on the back with the staff.

  Never had Bingmei felt so tempted to defy Kunmia Suun. The man deserved death, not life. Some miracle had brought their paths together to give her a chance at vengeance. It took every ounce of will within Bingmei’s mind and heart to lower her weapon. She felt her gaze might melt the man under its heat. Sadly, it did not. He reeked of that memory, the one that had tormented her for years.

  Kunmia let out a breath of relief. Her knuckles were white against the rune staff.

  Bingmei felt the magic slough off her, as if it had been a second skin. She shuddered, feeling her body as her own again. Her arms trembled. The sword felt suddenly heavy. The rest of the ensign gathered around them, except for Damanhur, who was tending to Rowen’s injuries. Quion came to stand by Bingmei, giving her a worried look. His knuckles were bloodied.

  She cast her eyes around the sandbar, then saw the fisherman, Keyi, straining to push the boat into the water.

  “Kunmia!” she said, pointing.

  Her master frowned. “Stop him, Bingmei. We’ll go after those who fled later.”

  Bingmei nodded and quickly sheathed her blade. Invoking the cricket again, she sprang away from the ensign and bounded twice before springing again. Keyi had part of the boat in the water and was shoving it hard. If he got away, he’d strand them on the beach. Perhaps that had been his plan all along.

  She landed hard on the sand, but she didn’t allow herself time to recover. Keyi howled with fear when he saw her rushing up to him. The smell of his terror was overwhelming. He pushed harder, trying to flee, trying to escape.

  “Stop it, Keyi!” she shouted.

  The boat started to slide into the water. Keyi’s boots tramped and splashed after it. There was a huge groove cut in the sand where he’d pushed it.

  “There are too many! Too many! We have to flee!” he shouted at her, shoving harder.

  Bingmei grabbed the edge of the boat to halt its slide. Keyi, with a frantic wail, tried to knock her back. She took a blow to the cheek, which startled her, and then kicked him on the edge of his knee. He landed with a splash in the icy water, and she continued to tug and pull at the boat, but its weight dragged her with it. She felt squishy sand sucking at her boots, but no matter how hard she pulled, she couldn’t wrest the boat back from the water’s embrace.

  She heard the sound of running, and then Quion was kicking up a spray as he joined her. His bloodied hands gripped the edge of the boat, and he grunted as he pulled it with all his might. Together, the
y were able to drag it back to the sand. Bingmei sighed in relief. Keyi wept, sitting in the water, trembling and gnawing at his fingers in worry.

  After they’d brought it far enough ashore, Quion secured it to a piece of driftwood with one of his locking knots.

  The misery Keyi felt smelled like spoiled cabbage. He continued to weep, although not with the same intensity. He looked like a child at that moment, a confused and frightened child. She felt a little disgusted by him, but she understood why he’d done it. He was desperate to save his own skin at all costs. That was understandable. He’d never faced Qiangdao before. But everyone knew the stories of how they tortured and killed their captives for sport.

  “Stand up, Keyi,” Bingmei said.

  He wiped his eyes, looking at her morosely, but he did as she asked and rose, his clothes dripping. Quion folded his arms, looking at the older fisherman with disgust.

  “We’re all going to die,” Keyi moaned.

  Bingmei felt a shudder of apprehension at his words.

  Muxidi’s hands were tied behind his back, and he’d been forced to kneel in the sand. His fur jacket had been ripped open, and Bingmei saw the soiled tunic he wore beneath. It looked like her grandfather’s jacket, though stained and blotted. Seeing it made fresh anger surge in her breast.

  Although the man hung his head, he had a smirk on his mouth, a look of defiance in his eyes. He still smelled of rotting tubers. If anything, the stench had grown stronger.

  As Bingmei and Quion approached with the trembling Keyi, the Qiangdao leader gave her no notice.

  Marenqo’s arms were furled over his chest. He raised an eyebrow at Kunmia.

  “He said they were expecting us,” Marenqo said.

  Kunmia looked around the beach. Some of Damanhur’s men were gathering the dead and laying them alongside one another.

  “Bingmei,” Kunmia said. “Come closer.” When she did, Kunmia turned back to Marenqo. “Ask him again.”

  Marenqo nodded and repeated the question. The Qiangdao leader, Muxidi, lifted his head a little, casting a glance at Bingmei. His eyes showed no sign of recognition, but why would they? She was a woman grown, wearing a braided wig, and they were very far from the quonsuun where they’d first encountered each other.

  Muxidi said some words in his guttural language. She recognized his voice. After all, he’d spent the winter pillaging her quonsuun, ruining all that her family had built. He’d eaten like a king those months. Her resentment burned in her nose since she’d been forced to conceal herself and scavenge for food when they weren’t watchful.

  Marenqo sighed. “He asked if I was deaf and didn’t hear him the first time.” Squatting, he gazed at the Qiangdao leader’s face and said a few words in a low, menacing voice. Muxidi blanched. He answered curtly this time.

  “What did you threaten him with?” Kunmia asked, giving him a little smile.

  Marenqo shrugged. “Best not to say in the presence of ladies. He did answer. He said they were expecting people to come.”

  Kunmia turned to Bingmei. “Is he lying?”

  The odors coming from Muxidi were still strong, but his smell hadn’t changed. “No.”

  Kunmia faced Keyi, her expression giving nothing away. “Who else did you tell about this place?”

  “N-no one!” Keyi stammered, his words tainted by the smell of his lie.

  Bingmei shook her head. “He’s not telling the truth.”

  Keyi looked at her angrily. “I am!” The smell got worse.

  “Then why were you trying to flee?” Kunmia said.

  “I thought you were all going to die,” Keyi grumbled. “But I didn’t know we would be ambushed. I swear it on the ghost of my grandfather!”

  “That much is true,” Bingmei said. “But you still told someone else about this place. That part was a lie.”

  Keyi began to tremble.

  Damanhur sighed, hands on his hips. “Shall we beat it out of him? That would be faster.”

  Bingmei noticed that Rowen was standing. He had a scrape and some blood on the side of his temple. He smelled of suffering and antipathy against the fisherman.

  “Keyi,” Kunmia said patiently. “Bingmei knows when someone is honest. She has an instinct for it. If you do not tell me the truth, we will leave you behind on the island and return to King Budai. We can come back next spring and try this again. If you want our protection, you must be honest with us. Who did you tell?”

  Keyi looked from face to face, his cheeks turning red. “I . . . I . . .”

  Kunmia waited, watching him intently.

  “I may have shown the pieces to someone before coming to Bao Damanhur. There’s a little fishing village called Somset.” His cheeks continued to flame. Bingmei felt his self-loathing and shame.

  “You lied to Budai, then,” Kunmia said. “And you’re afraid you won’t be paid the wealth he promised you.”

  The fisherman nodded miserably.

  Kunmia then walked over to the Qiangdao leader. “What is his name?”

  Marenqo asked the question.

  The man, whom Bingmei knew to be Muxidi, lifted his head slightly. “Echion.”

  Another shudder of dread went down Bingmei’s spine. He’d lied, but what a strange lie to tell. Kunmia’s eyes wrinkled in concern. “That’s the name the other Qiangdao leader gave.”

  The man muttered more words.

  Marenqo listened and then said, “He’s not afraid to die. If you kill him, he will be reborn. And he will avenge his death in his true form. A dragon.”

  “The last one said the same thing,” Kunmia said warily. “Yet he did not come back as a dragon. Why are these Qiangdao leaders calling themselves the same name? Are they banding together?”

  Rowen frowned at that, and Bingmei caught his eye for a moment. He knew something he wasn’t saying. It didn’t come as a smell, just as a wave of intuition. The reek of the Qiangdao leader overpowered everything around him.

  The Qiangdao leader spoke again. Marenqo listened and translated. “He said there’s an ice cave here. His palace is buried beneath it. His empire is about to be reborn. We can see it for ourselves.”

  Everything about Muxidi was insincere. It was impossible to divine whether anything he said was true, although she sensed it wasn’t a bald-faced lie.

  But she did know one thing for sure. He had killed her family. She still wanted her revenge.

  Kunmia pivoted again, gripping her staff, and faced Bingmei. Her expression was full of concern, but there were other emotions playing out inside her. Confusion and even a little distrust. “How do you know this man is the one who murdered your family?”

  “I know it, Kunmia,” Bingmei said. “And he understands every word we’re saying.”

  “How did you know it was him? I see by his clothes that he stole from your grandfather’s quonsuun. But you can’t possibly have recognized him. He was wearing a bearskin hood when they attacked. You told me that yourself.”

  All of their eyes were looking at her, and she felt part of herself shrivel inside.

  In order to convince them, she’d have to reveal herself in front of everyone, something she could not do.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ice Caves

  “I can sense people,” Bingmei answered softly, hoping a partial truth would be enough. “I recognized him as soon as he emerged.” She wanted him dead. The temptation to draw the Phoenix Blade made her fingers itch. Her arms.

  “I will not allow you to kill him yet,” Kunmia said. “He may be of some use to us. I forbid you to harm him.”

  The restriction made Bingmei’s heart surge with resentment, but she wrestled it down. Kunmia was a good leader, just. She would not forsake her. “As you say, Master. And as I said, he speaks our language,” Bingmei declared, eyeing the Qiangdao leader with contempt. “He’s only pretending not to understand.”

  Kunmia turned to face the man, her eyebrow lifting.

  Muxidi’s shoulders sagged a bit, but a malicious smile twiste
d the corner of his mouth. “I remember you now,” he said in their language, his voice deep and rough, his eyes meeting hers. “You’re the ghost. The little girl with the winter sickness.”

  Kunmia rapped him on the side of the head with her staff, a quick blow. “Now you’re speaking to us, villain?”

  “We cannot trust anything that comes out of his mouth,” Damanhur said. “Why not just kill him now?”

  “We cannot trust his words,” Kunmia said. “But we can trust Bingmei’s senses.”

  “Ice rose?” the Qiangdao leader muttered, still wincing from the blow. “I should have crushed your flower when I had the chance.”

  His vile smell was overpowered by the protective smells coming from the others. The ensign were her friends, and she could inhale their support, their anger on her behalf. She glared at the murderer in defiance. He was only one man. He would bleed like one. Die like one.

  “How many robbers do you lead? How many are here?” Kunmia asked.

  “Too many for you, I think,” he said with a smirk. “We saw you coming up the fjord. What you faced here on the beach was just a taste. The others are coming. If you kill me, every one of you will be slain. After they’ve tortured you.”

  Keyi started to whimper with fear again.

  “How many?” Kunmia pressed.

  “Do you even know what’s hidden here, beneath the ice, or did you just come to pilfer the ruins of another palace? We are at the threshold of the Summer Palace! Fusang!”

  “You are educated for a bandit,” Kunmia said. “I see you weren’t raised in the wilderness. You were trained at a quonsuun, were you not?”

  Muxidi snorted. “I was”—he shot a look at Bingmei—“but I razed it to the ground. This is my quonsuun now. My fortress. My treasure. It all belongs to me. I am the Dragon of Night.”

  “You’re an imposter,” Kunmia said. “You’re not the only one claiming that title. So you’ve found the lost city. It is no more yours than anyone else’s. You may have frightened your followers into believing such lies, but you do not fool us. Where is this ice cave you mentioned? How far is it?”