by Yvonne Wang
Tianyin only stands there silently though wishing to speak; shame and anger are blurred. He only seems dumbfounded and shocked while heat tumbles in his chest. He catches a glimpse of Angela behind the tree. Her fine face pale and her blue and dark eyes shudder. He cannot help but feel a pang in his pained and doleful heart as difficult decision cuts like a knife.
Who are you?
Who are you really?
He sadly scrutinizes her for a long time. Resentment seems to grill him; regardless of how his face seems to pulsate with pain. He turns and walks away, kicking up and catching the sheath on the ground. He takes a deep breath to calm his emotions. Fingers white from grasping the sword and the outline of his plain clothes shakes. You cannot tell whether it is the wind moving or the person trembling.
Angela sits on the ground as if having lost her soul. Hesig comes to the tree to help her up. The young woman swallows to calm herself. She watches the back of Tianyin and it pains her so as she think of her lies; she immediately becomes gloomy and sheds tears. She thinks it over and suddenly calls out, “Wait!”
Tianyin turns his head, both eyes dim. Angela leaves Hesig and takes small steps forward. She nervously looks into his pupils, “You . . . . why, why must you kill Ögedei? Even if he dies, Mongolia is still Mongolia.” The young woman prays for a future and pleads, “Life is only several decades short. Isn’t it better if the four of us run away from here and live our own lives?”
Tianyin’s eyes frightening and deep, a chill encircles him. His upright body moves in like a shadow and he says icily, “What do you know?” He surveys her for an extended period of time, disdainfully critiquing in detail. His stare makes Angela break out in a sweat and hair stand on end.
“Authoritarian regime produce tyranny that must be overcome through divide and conquer.” Tianyin said in all seriousness, “Mongolia eliminated the kingdom of western Liao and the State of Jin, went through Khwarezm and invaded the land of Europe and Russia. One goes, all go. One day, they will want to swallow South Song too. By that time, everywhere on this earth will be Mongolian territory. Where will we go to live our lives?” He spoke crisply about major principles and spoke to the heart of things with a profound understanding. Hesig walks up and also sighs at what he heard.
“In today’s Mongolia, brothers battle for power. Great Khan’s oldest son Güyük is not favored but has been ogling Khan’s position over a protracted period of time. His mother Naimaĵin secretly built a powerful force. Ögedei values his third son Kochu but he was killed by the Song army five years ago. Temüjin’s younger brother, Temüge has always been waiting for an opportunity to take down Khan. The Commander in Chief of this western expedition, Batu, has no wish for power but is a staunch opponent of Güyük, so he will definitely not let him be enthroned.” Tianyin exhales and pauses. He does not care whether Angela can understand at all, he tightens his fists and continues to speak. He clearly understands the scheming in Mongolia, each phrase gets to the point.
“Therefore, once Ögedei dies suddenly without leaving a will, Mongolia will definitely sink into a headless chaos. The actual strength of each side is about the same. Güyük can only guard Karakorum and its east side. Batu will occupy Kievan Rus’ and other places without letting go. Their uncles and brothers will also take the opportunity to govern for themselves. Mongolia will split and never have the power to reign supreme—other countries will therefore be saved.”
Tianyin grits his teeth and lashes out with words that pierces the heart straightaway. His faith is sincere and wise and his will is loyal; like someone to be revered, his might made others submit. Angela hears him and is puzzled. Tongue-tied and wide-eyed, she gives his inky hair and dark eyes . . . . the red stains on his shirt . . . . the marks on his cheeks the once-over. She feels to be in a dream.
As he speaks, Tianyin turns to the young woman, he throws his sword into the other hand and presses down on her grimly before Hesig could prevent it. He warns with a chill, “Do you really think you know a lot?” His ebony eyes are mysterious as if a maze-like valley with unfathomable blackness.
When the old man wants to peel Tianyin away to protect Angela, Tianyin had already spun far away with his foil, leaving Angela hanging onto her heart in fright.
The midday sun is not warm. Traces of cool blow by; the sky is gray and the earth is hazy.
Farmlands southwest of Krakow are burnt and ruined. The scorched earth is empty and unfamiliar; haystacks are piled in a mess. The barren and desolate reach into the horizon. Alexander’s face is filthy and muscles worn down, strength thin and will depleted, he is extremely breathless, thirsty and hungry. Boots covered with mud lead horses across in uneven strides. Anthony follows behind wearily. His arm draped around the neck of the horse; his head is drooped and his breathing bare, starvation eats away at him.
A throng of refugees in the fields are resting their feet. Apparently this swarm was able to escape before the Mongolian slaughter. The dilapidated young and old, women and children are sitting down. Although Alexander’s features are soiled and dirty, his shiny and elegant attire still attracts everyone’s admiration. He holds his reins and walks through the refugees. He hears babies cry and mothers sigh; he sees the young and disabled and the old and injured; he cannot help but be pained by shame and bitterness.
The prince’s hunger churns; he is pale in the face and blurry-eyed. He sees a woman on the side of the road feeding a child in her bosom a piece of dark-grain bread. He unbearably swallows, then takes off his golden laced cape and rolls it. Hoarse and tired, Alexander squats down and asks her, “Hello . . . . May I use this to exchange that piece of bread of yours?”
The woman lifts her head. A tall nose and a miry face, worry written all over it. Her eyes are dull but she leers, responding slowly, “. . . . Hey, you . . . .”
“Valerie?”
Startled, Alexander calls out her name.
“Aren’t you Angela’s . . . .” Bender Bakery’s owner tows her pupils and examines the silver buttons, luxurious embroidery and upscale attire beneath the soil. For a moment, she becomes confused.
As they talk, the two suddenly hears Anthony screaming behind them in alarm, “Oh no! They are here again!!”
Alexander turns his head and looks over, a unit of ten stallions rise from the horizons galloping over dirt and on wind. With their helmets and swords, their capes flap about; they chase with might and pounding hooves. The refugees disperse rapidly in fear, disappearing in like droves of buzzing bees. Valerie also crawls away in fright. Cries and horror fill the field.
“Quick, hide!” Anthony yells. He abandons his horse aside and sacrifices his life, pushing the prince into those mountains of hay. In shock, Alexander hobbles and trips in a thump. The smell of wet dirt entangles him while before him is entirely the color of gold. He and his attendant hide inside the dry stack. They can catch a sliver of the scene but do not dare to breath hard.
The legion rushes over. They are all fair-complexioned and blond. Their mustangs are tall and their weapons are heavy. The refugees relax a little and slow down to wait. The lead horseman has a mustache across his mouth. He walks his colt to show brawn. The man announces in native Polish, “Don’t panic everybody, I am Dominique. I have orders to come and find a green-eyed blond young man in luxurious clothes. He is probably seventeen or eighteen, followed by an attendant who is slightly hunchbacked. Has anyone seen him?”
Alexander carefully folds in his four limbs and covers himself solidly. He peeks through the grass and is so nervous a cold sweat bathes him. His heart seems to be thumping like a frightened doe and he whispers to Anthony in a volume likened to that of a fly, “They have been chasing after us the entire way, why?”
Anthony and His Highness can hear each other’s breathing. With thick brows in a frown, Anthony whispers into his ear, “Don’t know . . . .”
Dominique scans all ar
ound but everyone is confounded and no one responds. He then says, “I will reward anyone who can provide any clue with a gold ring. Ha, I will make anyone hiding this person spill blood on the spot!”
Valerie trembles and scared, takes a step back. She holds on to little Ivan and does not dare to look. Dominique notices her guilty conscience. Extremely skeptical, he hops off the saddle and moves up close, pulling his sword and entreating, “Well, did you see him? Speak!!”
The boss lowers her head and bends over. She is shivering in fear. Shaking her head continuously, she denies. Nine other people dismount to encircle them. Dominique’s rapier points to the young child, little Ivan. The woman’s is suddenly weak at the knees. Just when the situation seems dire, a cavalry soldier points to the side of the haystack, yelling, “Captain, check it out! Prince’s golden laced cape!”
“Oh?” Dominique releases the boss and leads combatants over cautiously. Valerie abruptly collapses like mud. She also sees the cloak and is startled to learn that Angela was befriending the prince. Her mouth drops open. The cavalry captain picks up the mantle and rubs it. He stares at the hay stack before him and is pleased. Suddenly he blares, “Stab!”
At once, ten heavy metal swords whoosh and simultaneously pierce the hay stack. Penetrating from top, bottom and all eight directions. However, the hay stack is empty and loosened, no flesh or blood.
In a wink of an eye, in the hay stack over, Anthony drags the prince out, rolling across a river of grass. Dominique is appalled and glares hatefully. He jumps and hovers over mightily, slashing with a heavy cutlass. Alexander turns his head in horror. Just in the nick of time, The prince raises his arm and slants his foot like a monkey so Dominique just misses him. The breeze from the scimitar brushes his hair by just an inch.
Failing to catch and hack Alexander, Dominique loses his balance and falls. The prince and Anthony run and crawl like mad, calling their horses with insane urgency. Throwing themselves over the saddles, they flee like flying arrows. Dread pours forth and courage is shattered.
Other cavalry solders all get on their horsebacks and one after another, speed along to try to seize lives.
Alexander’s face is waxy and palms moist, he bumps along on an agitated ride and lashes his whip while panting heavily. Anthony is alongside him, sweat pours down his forehead and chills his back. He raises his whip to help urge Prince’s horse. The two ride up front while the demons are at their tails. They only know to scuttle frantically but have lost their direction as they head south.
The constellations of the galaxy turns in cycles, the sun hides then again lights up the universe. This chase actually has lasted for a day and a night. The sun surveys the mountain tops and morning dews condense again. They have lost the cavalry and the speed of their horses has slowed. Anthony turns around and do not see the enemy. Relieved he leans on the horse mane. The prince collapses face-down on horseback. Burning fatigue invades his body. Blurry scenes and miscellaneous shapes fly by while noise roars in the midst of hustle and bustle. His precious and pampered body cannot tolerate the hunger and torture for several consecutive days; it is completely depleted.
Plop, Alexander falls off the horse and is as soft as mud, making not a grunt lying on the ground.
“Your Highness!!” Anthony switches reins and turns around. He hops down to pick Alexander up, shaking him in fright. He then brings over the water pouch, holding the prince’s back and neck, and feeds water into the dry mouth.
“Um . . . .” Alexander gulps down the water and opens his green eyes again. He has difficulty breathing.
Suddenly, the earth’s surface vibrates slightly and sounds of hooves close in. Anthony looks and is stunned. Dominique and nine others appear behind them. They have been at their heels and chasing vigorously! He immediately half squats and exerts all his energy to drag the prince onto the horse. Weak, he hauls and pulls without success.
Anthony beholds afar and the other party is only a hundred paces away. Danger is at hand.
Dominique is in the lead. He pulls out his sword and roars, rushing toward Anthony like the tornado so that without uttering a word he manages to take lives wherever his stallion passes. He slashes right down on the two of them—Anthony yells and covers his prince, protecting him with his body; he shuts his eyes and waits to die. Then he hears clanging and Alexander’s sheath emerges from beneath his body to block, knocking off a crisis. Anthony only sees the prince ashy in the face, gritting his teeth and exerting all his might. His clear and green eyes are mixed with determination and hate. His hand upholds the sheath. The struggle makes his neck green and body tremble.
Anthony does not get a chance to thank him even; less than half a second later, Dominique whips around to hack again. Suddenly with a shoosh, a feathered arrow flies over straight and on target, directly into the cavalry captain’s wrist. Dominique cries, holds and tosses his sword while his dear horse is scared into a standing position and a long howl. Kicked by the horse’s random stomping, Alexander and Anthony tumble and roll down the hillside, embracing and bumping into each other.
Dominique holds on to his arm and peals in pain. He fiercely rivets his sight toward the source of the arrow and sees a team of compact mustangs and ferocious cavalry with black hair and dark eyes. Their attire includes buttoned lapels and strings to their shirts, felt hats and horse boots. He cannot help but retract all of his viciousness and hesitantly and frightfully judge, “Mon . . . . Mongols?”
The rest of the cavalry arrive and are also startled to see what is before them. They deeply gasp and are at a loss.
Alexander’s head hits two poles and he shrieks. The pathetic rolling stops temporarily. He lifts his head and sees that he is right by the hooves of that gang of Mongols! The Mongolian broncos with their tough hooves standstill and do not move or hide. The rider sitting on high appears eccentric but majestic, his shady eyes seem dangerous and mysterious. Anthony drops down next to the prince and lies face-down like a frog smelling the grass, too fearful to make a sound.
The leading Mongol has narrow eyes and a wide face, high cheekbones like a dragon and a beard, he is stalwart and striking like a tiger. His round hat with a sharp top is tied with red tassels; the sleeves to his silver robes are decorated with blue satin. His collar is decorated with mink like curled clouds and tied to his waist with satin straps is a saber; his boots are laced with golden threads in flower patterns. He mutters some sound and lashes his whip at Dominique, stern in tone. When he is finished, the interpreter on the horse next to him opens his mouth and it is Hungarian.
So having chased for days from south of Poland, they have crashed into the Hungarian border. In the face of the legendary Devil’s Army, the ten cavalry riders secretly panic in distress and eyeball each other, breaking out in a sweat. They do not dare to move. Dominique tightens his rein, swallowing and saying, “We . . . . are Poles.”
That translator has a tall nose and fair complexion, reddish brown hair and lotus like eyes, obviously born in Eastern Europe. His saddle is especially distinct among the Mongols. He nods and understands, then turns to speak in Polish, “Our General asks, who are you and where did you come from?”
“We . . . . are cavalry under Duke Silesia in the Dukedom of Silesia, Poland.” Dominique tries to hold his chest high and muster up confidence, preserving honor and reputation, “We came out this time to catch a Polish fugitive; it has nothing to do with Mongolia.”
Alexander is stunned. He struggles to prop himself up off the ground. He only experiences ringing in his head and a chill that is ever so sharp. In the face of the horse soldiers before him, he is shocked and sorrow circles about in his eyes. It is Granduncle Henry! The person who wants him killed is actually Granduncle Henry!
The Mongolian general parts his lips and speaks with a throaty voice and resonant words. Again as soon as he finishes, the translator says, “The person you see is the Mongolian Com
mander-in-Chief Prince Batu. He says that because you know about his secret path of patrol, he will have to kill you immediately.”
Straightforward and simple words in an even tone as if nothing, but the decision is vicious and harsh like a wolf. The troop holds their breaths as they listen and hesitatingly looks around befuddled; the horses also stomp back and forth. They only see the Mongols start to set up their arrows and bend their bows. One person at once realizes what is happening and rushes off on his horse trying to escape. With everyone in such a mess, they pull on their reins and holler disaster, fighting to run away. However, the marksmen’s focus is sharp; they straddle over their horses and stand in a row. Once the command comes down, fierce arrows are released simultaneously and all aim for critical spots such as the neck or chest. In a moment’s time, the arrows pierce through flesh and blood splatters. Cries rise one after another on the field.
Dominique did not go too far before he is shot from the back. He falls off his seat and his eyes roll in pain. The vivid bloody scene leaves Alexander tongue-tied and frightened out of his wits; his bones seem frozen crisp and his limbs seem to have no awareness. His eyes lose all their spirit and he sits hunkered over like a stone, watching the Mongols go up with their knives to check if anyone is still alive. They burn the corpses so smoke billows, then takes the horses for their own . . . . at once the sky capsizes and earth roars; the nightmare is like an illusion.
He does not know how long it has been when a voice above his head calls, “Hey, hey!”
He looks up fearfully and sees Commander-in-Chief Batu stares down from his magnificent stallion. The interpreter has dismounted already and is bending over to call on him. Alexander scrutinizes him and the face appears to be someone familiar. Surprised, he says, “You . . . . you are Valentin?”
Anthony sits in a squatting position behind the prince, hunchbacked and neck crooked, his mouth is wide open out of astonishment.
