Mistress of the Gods (The Making of Suzanne Book 2)

by Rex Sumner

  “What ails the dragon, Sung Qingting?” Wulan, the eldest, plucked up the courage to ask.

  “He spooks at shadows,” said Qingting, checking the suppleness of a wrist bandolier of shuriken. “He believes an enemy comes, a black dragon, from the north.”

  “You go to face a black dragon, alone?”

  “I doubt it is one. They are very rare.”

  “Nevertheless, we shall come with you,” said Wulan with certainty, and the little girl’s eyes shone. She almost bounced and allowed excitement to seep out into her ch’i.

  Qingting paused in her preparations, considering the girls. Wulan bristled confidence, little Mai Mai excitement, but the other two showed caution and trepidation.

  “No,’ said Qingting. “I shall go far and fast, scouting and seeing what the true enemy is. You would be a help, Wulan, covering more ground that I alone, but I need you here to organize defense if there is a true enemy.” She dropped to her knees and took little Mai Mai’s chin. “You, my sweet, would be most valuable, for your skills are wondrous. But I cannot wait for you, so will you please me by organizing the watch, not just for my return but in case the enemy gets past.”

  Mai Mai put her thumb in her mouth and sucked hard. She stared at Qingting, an obstinate expression on her face, and shook her head. Qingting sighed.

  “Do not follow me,” she said in a firm tone that made tears well in Mai Mai’s eyes. She debated on her sword, before remembering how the Sung Bai Ju had killed the last dragon, and thrust it into her sash. She made for the door, heading for the kitchen. Wulan stepped in front of her, placing a travel bag in her hands.

  “I suspected this would happen, and you would be in a hurry, my Shifu,” said Wulan. “Here, travel rations for a week and a water skin. I stopped by the kitchen on the way here. May the Dragon’s Wings speed your feet.”

  Qingting accepted the bag, exchanging a deep look with her and nodding before leaving the room. Behind her, she heard a scuffle as Wulan grabbed Mai Mai to prevent her from following.

  Qingting ran hard for the first few leagues, stretching her legs, before falling into a dog trot. She would trot a league, then run a league, and keep that up all day. There were few horses in Sung, and the Dragonflies must travel far and fast.

  She chose the northern path, which skirted the mountains, and cast ahead for a trace of ch’i. On the second day, she left the path and climbed the lone peak between the ranges, reaching the cool summit as dusk settled in. From the peak, she could see league upon league to the north, indeed to east and west as well. She made herself comfortable in the loose sand at the base of a rock, crossed her legs into lotus and brought her mind inward. Qingting controlled her ch’i well now, but this was a new purpose, hunting and finding another powerful ch’i.

  First, she sensed behind her, checking there was nothing between her and the brooding presence of her master, still tainted with despondency and resignation. This was the extent of her ability, and then only with as powerful a ch’i as Sung possessed. Now, she ranged forward, first to the north, then east and west in little half circles. Half the night passed, and she kept but a tenuous hold on her ch’i, unsure if she felt anything or not in the vast empty highlands, bar the odd bandit camp, each of which convinced her it was the black dragon on first contact.

  She slept, dreamless, till daybreak, whereupon she continued her search. Two days later, and she wondered at the power of the dragon to reach so far and detect an enemy. She better understood his attempt to flee if he could detect danger so far away. She found nothing, bar false alarms every few hours. However, in the process she refined her power, and found she could detect beasts, and how to filter out the natural ch’i of the trees. Water cooled the ch’i, running through it and causing a coldness.

  But still nothing. Just an eagle to keep her company. She hoped it would stoop on a small creature while she watched, but it was more interested in her, coming to land on a rock not fifty paces away to check if she were dying. As she watched the eagle, something twitched the ch’i.

  She concentrated and found a ch’i unlike any she had sensed before, feeling controlled and powerful. Coming towards her at a steady rate, coming out of the mountain range to the north. As she narrowed her focus down, it seemed as if the ch’i first bulged, then shrank and disappeared. Strange, she thought, and scanned the region carefully. After an hour, she detected a small plume of dust, hanging in the sky. The plume came closer, too fast for a man and too much dust.

  The dust came closer, and from two leagues away she could make out a speck in front of it, which became a large animal, running on all fours. Was this the dragon? She wondered, clamping down on her imagination. It was dark, and had a bulge on its back, wings she guessed, but where was the tail? Hidden in the dust? Who knew a dragon could run so fast, so long. Not Sung, for sure.

  The animal became more distinct as it came closer, and the wings resolved into a man.

  “A horse lord,” she breathed, fascinated. She had never seen a horse, just heard the stories. The creature had no ch’i, and she wondered, suddenly terrified of this strange creature. A strange feeling, one she did not recognize. Qingting had never been frightened in her life.

  She puzzled on the feeling, more at the lack of recognition than anything else, and as she stepped outside of herself to consider, the feeling slipped away. With a shock, she realized it had been sent, sent by the horse lord.

  She was detected.

  Furious, she did something she had never tried. The horse lord was now half a league away, and looking at her. She cut off her ch’i, concentrated it inside her, before slamming it out in a thin beam, tight and powerful, straight at the horse lord.

  He fell off his horse.

  She grinned. Reading those old books turned out to be worthwhile. But no, he was getting up, and even at this distance she could see he was unhurt. His shoulders shook. Was he scared? No, she realized with mounting anger, he was laughing. Laughing at her.

  Incensed, she flew down the track, out of his sight. This led to a perfect ambush point, but that would be no good if he could detect her ch’i. She had never thought to hide it before, but the example he set caused her to concentrate, clamp down on her aura and pull her ch’i back inside. For a moment, she thought of old Ju Qua, Goat Shit, and how he had replenished her ch’i when she didn’t even know it existed, didn’t even know she used it. She pulled it back, down into her womb and one by one closed her chakras, stopped the leaking, kept them tight.

  This wasn’t much use, for this meant she could feel nothing and had to rely on her other senses. She reached her ambush point before the horse lord and found a perfect position, behind a bush where he would not see her. Even so, she did not look at the trail, but the far side, not taking the risk her attention could warn him.

  The horse lord cantered around the bend in the trail, coming fast down the trail lying twenty paces below her. His eyes scanned both sides of the trail, concentrating on her side.

  She fired her first arrow through the bush, leaping up to the rock to fire another three, adjusting her aim as he twisted. He reacted to the first arrow with supernatural speed, twisting off the horse and falling to his feet on the ground, the arrow whistling over his head. The next arrow misjudged his fall, he twisted to the left to avoid the third, straight into the path of the fourth as she anticipated his turn. It missed his body and lodged in his arm, causing him to stop and stare at it and her. Her fifth arrow thudded into his chest, her cry of triumph cut short as he looked at it and grinned, pulling it from his armour.

  He raised dark eyes to hers and laughed, oblivious of the blood dripping down his arm. He spoke in a strange language as she skipped down the rocks to the trail, advancing towards him. When she didn’t respond, he spoke again, this time his words resonating inside her head.

  “A Dragonfly,” he said, “as I live and breathe. Isn’t it cute?”

&n
bsp; “You travel far, Blackfly,” she said, remembering to send her thoughts through the ch’i.

  “Blackfly, am I?” He laughed again. “Well, I shall eat you now, little dragonfly.”

  He wore bone and leather armour, great shoulder protectors and flaps over his thighs. Two sword handles protruded over his shoulder, and he pulled out a long sword, curved ever so slightly upwards. It gleamed viciously in the afternoon sun.

  She paced forwards, her sword held with both hands, in the style of the novice. He came with a rush, sword high, ready to slice down and twist to remove a hand. She leapt sideways, her sword in her left hand as she parried and deflected his blade while her right flicked and he rolled in the dust shouting in anger, pawing at the blood fountaining from his right knee where her shuriken twinkled.

  “Damn and blast you, dragonfly,” he swore. “If that is envenomed, you shall pay dearly and die slowly over the flames as I roast you alive.”

  He was up faster than she could believe, her shuriken pulled out and dust slapped into the wound to stop the blood flowing. She stepped forward and feinted at his head, but the sword was out, no the second sword to block and the first swinging back at her. She somersaulted backwards to avoid it, a second shuriken striking his left calf as she did so, and she landed on both feet, watching closely for weakness.

  “First blood to you, dragonfly. Well done.”

  Now he was silent, extracting the shuriken, deep in the flesh without bone to stop it, and slapping on the dust again. He moved fluidly towards her, his movement unhampered, and Qingting turned and ran, flying up the rocks to stand on the top, looking down.

  He flowed up the rocks towards her, she feinted, he paused and she ran. Those few touches told her she was outmatched, far outmatched and all she sought now was distance and time, time for the shuriken to weaken him and give her a chance.

  He didn’t follow, but stood and watched her as she disappeared. From hiding, she scanned his aura, for it leaked as he went back to tend his wounds. She expected to see black, tarred, rotten black, but it wasn’t. Oh, there was black to be sure, but it flowed and skipped, with red and gold as well. She paused in thought, was this truly a blackfly? The aura snapped off, and she decided she imagined the gold. Now, a decision to be made. Should she stay and watch him, or retreat and regroup?

  She decided on the latter. He was too dangerous, too ready and would know she watched. She left a presence on top of the mountain, hidden but watchful, and ran back down the trail to the base of the next mountain. Half way along the trail, and she felt her presence wink out, followed by a roar of anger through the aether and ch’i as he realized she had duped him again.

  She found a small hole under a bush, low down on the slopes and quite different from her previous ambush points. Exhausted, she fell asleep as she considered the lessons she had learned, while watching the trail below, her defenses up, making her undetectable.

  She awoke screaming, as a great weight crashed onto her, crushing her chest and driving the breath from her body. The blackfly dragged her from her hole and trussed her, quick precise movements as he tied her hands behind her and her ankles together. He slung her over her horse and rode off down the trail muttering to himself. She picked up the words here and there. “Bloody little brat.” “Heathen fucking country.”

  For the first time in her short life, Qingting knew despair. She hung over the horse, behind the blackfly, her stomach aching where he landed. Her head boiled in the sun, her tongue swollen in her mouth. The sight of his blackened and bruised calf, the wound an angry red, eased her soul a little, but the paste over the wound told her he knew the poison and had the remedy.

  Gathering her resources, she pulled her ch’i in tight, and beamed a message to Sung. Or started to, as a hand slapped her before the hilt of the sword swung down and blackness descended.

  *

  A hard thump woke her, as she landed on the ground. Groggy, she realized the Blackfly had cleaned himself up. His armour wiped down, it shone in the sunlight with a lustre that showed hours of work in polishing. She drank in his appearance as she gathered her strength, eyes down to slits. One of the tallest men she had seen, he had black, slanted eyes with a light brown complexion. She couldn’t see his hair, but his breadth of shoulders made up for legs a fraction too short and with the slight bows of the horseman.

  “You are awake, Dragonfly,” he said, a statement of fact she couldn’t deny. He came to her and squatted on his heels, prodding her with his finger. “We are going down a steep trail, and you will walk first. If you fall, I will hold you with the rope, for I will not untie your arms. We are going to meet your master, see what he will pay for you. If anything.”

  He shrugged at her lack of response, untying the rope round her legs and dodging the kick with consummate ease. He jerked her to her feet and her tongue was a stick in her mouth as she longed for water, but too proud to ask. She staggered in the direction indicated, slow to give herself time, but a rough kick in the rear served to speed her up.

  She reached the edge of the cliff and recognized where Sung had tried to escape. His endeavours and the subsequent rock fall now made the way passable, on foot. She could fly down with her hands untied and she checked her bonds, before running down the slope to a small tree and racing round it, to collide with the Blackfly as he countered her move with a grin.

  “I don’t need to read your ch’i to know your mind, little Dragonfly,” he said into her wintry glare.

  In no time, they were at the bottom, and she made her way towards Sung, sitting on his rock and watching their approach, her head hung and disconsolate.

  “Greetings, Lord Sung,” said the Blackfly as they approached. “I bring you a present, your little dragonfly, trussed and ready for the fire.”

  “I see she marked you,” said the dragon, even his mental thoughts seeming a deep rumble.

  “Indeed, she has potential. Not once, but four times. Impressive for an untrained dragonfly.”

  The dragon mused, his head swinging from side to side, before speaking direct to Qingting.

  “Sung Qingting, please meet Lord Songkei, a high ranking Sohei from my brother Enryaku, who has graciously agreed to come to train you.”

  Lord Songkei grinned as he undid her bonds, while Qingting raised her head, eyes wide.

  “You know him?” Qingting stared at the aura of the dragon, radiant with gold and blue and self-satisfaction. “But what of the Black Dragon, of your fear? And what is a Sohei and an Enryaku?”

  “It was a test, little one, for Songkei to see your ability. In a far island nation lives my brother, Enryaku, who chose a different route to mine. He formed a monastery as well, but uses men to fight, Sohei, with different titles. How is my brother, Songkei?”

  “Lord Sung, I fear he is not strong. The struggles against your other brothers continue. He says you were wise to leave the island. Here alone your strength can grow. The constant struggles mean he missed his last sleep.”

  “Yes,” said Sung in reflective tones, “it is not safe to sleep when you are attacked. So, tell me, what can you do with my little Qingting? Can you grow me a chrysanthemum?”

  Songkei took a long look at Qingting, who was battling between outrage, excitement and hope.

  “She is cunning, Sensei, with fast reflexes and a powerful body, but it is small and there is little room for growth. She can never stand and trade blows with a man, but she knows this. She bluffed me not once, not twice but three times…”

  “Five,” said Qingting.

  Songkei smiled. “Yes, Five. The empty presence was clever, I have not seen that before. I will give it three months, Lord Sung.”

  “I asked for a year. In three months, you can do little.”

  “I fear the wars at home, Lord. Six months, then. I shall give her the knowledge and strength to fight, and the keys to her future.”

  The Marsh
al

  King Richard sat on a precarious stool overlooking a rickety table, on which Colonel Donnell, the Intelligence Officer of the Pathfinder Regiment, presided over a map of Hardenwall. He consulted scout reports before adjusting the placement of intricate, carved wooden models. General Roberts, commander of the Pathfinders, slumped, snoring gently, on a pile of cushions in a corner, despite the sun being high. A gaggle of nobles argued in the middle of the tent, keeping the volume down but not a few glances checked to see if the king noticed their intelligent comments.

  The tent flap burst open with a gust of chilly damp wind blowing in the Princess Asmara. A gentle smell of unwashed cotton, horse and leather emanated from her, causing the nearer nobles to retreat, one actually holding a perfumed handkerchief to his nose. The princess could barely walk, staggering to Colonel Donnell, her clothing a mess. She gave a perfunctory salute.

  “Big movement along the edge of the mountains, sir. I knew those attacks were a screen, not the usual bloody mindedness. They’re moving small bands into the mountains in constant procession. We reckon over a thousand men and we must have missed some.”

  “Show me where you have certain knowledge of their movement,” said Colonel Donnell. General Roberts, somehow awake and alert, looked over his shoulder, while the king frowned.

  “Here, sir, slipped through Cows’ Foot pass, at least two hundred, while we counted another fifty going up Goat Trail. Smaller bands in the distance, often where there is no trail. I regret, sir, we were unable to confirm numbers.”

  “Why on earth not,” complained the fop, removing the handkerchief from his nose to ensure his words reached her. “Here, girl, any nobles with the axemen?”

  “They are heading for the Sump,” said the princess, ignoring the comment. “They will come together in there, and cut down any one of the forest paths to get into the Hallowed Fields. Whether to rape and burn or come at our rear, I cannot know.”