The Dragon Songs Saga: The Complete Quartet: Songs of Insurrection, Orchestra of Treacheries, Dances of Deception, and Symphony of Fates
Page 42
In reality, they were the Tianzi’s fiercely loyal spies, whose skills in stealth and swordsmanship bordered on the impossible. One of the three most talented Moquan in his youth, Liang Yu had been betrayed and left for dead during an operation in the Ayuri City-State of Vyara thirty-two years before.
He’d returned to Hua five years ago as an importer, under an assumed name. It turned out spying skills translated well to business, and Hua’s aggressive trade policies didn’t hurt either. Yet it also exposed him to the dark underside of immoral mercantilism: the bribes, corruption, and greed that would drag the country into decline.
Now forty-nine, Liang Yu pondered these things, all the while assessing potential danger along his route. Nothing amiss. He continued until he reached the grove of plum blossom trees that surrounded the temple grounds. The flowers had passed peak, and now only a few stragglers desperately clung to limbs as they watched their fellow petals fluttering like warm spring snow. Hundreds of pieces of folded paper competed with the blossoms for space on the low branches, tied by those who hoped their written wish would come true.
He silently recited the one-hundred-twenty-third poem from the popular book Poetry Anthology of the Yu Dynasty. Comparing it with a numbered code his anonymous employer had provided, he came to the correct tree and branch and looked for the specific type of paper his benefactor always wrote on. He retrieved the correct note and squirreled it in the folds of his robes, then set a brisk pace back to the Phoenix Spring Inn.
Liang Yu found the inn especially empty this night. With few prying ears, its location made for a perfect meeting place. That, and the attractive proprietress who sometimes shared her bed with him.
A glance around the common area revealed nothing suspicious. He continued on to the private room. Settling on one of the cushions arranged around the table, he unfolded the paper and read the first few words of the sloppy script.
The scare tactics have not done enough. It is time to make a louder statement with an assassination implicating Madura…
He continued reading. His employer was moving quickly, ready to take a bold step. An actual kill. Liang Yu pursed his lips. Not enough resources to make this brash move. Perhaps if he made the kill himself. The order gave meticulous time and location details.
Up to now, all of the missives had been unerringly accurate. Liang Yu, in whom suspicion was well-trained, often wondered how. By consideration of means and motives, he had already narrowed his employer’s identity down to eight possibilities. He would find out soon enough.
In the meantime, he had an assassination to plan.
Hong Jianbin peeked out from his palanquin, baffled at Princess Kaiya’s weak resolve. He had been certain she would order the imperial guards to expel the philandering Young Lord Zheng from the castle after his unannounced visit. Yet there she was, riding with the fop as the imperial procession made its way toward Lord Peng’s pavilion.
Perhaps Peng had been right about women’s lack of willpower. The princess went so far as to forgo the propriety and safety of a palanquin to ride by Zheng’s side. Had her brothers been there, they would have ordered her to use it; but on this night before the full White Moon, they were most certainly busy in their futile attempt to conceive an heir.
The imperial guards had remonstrated her, citing the unsettled climate in the capital. Zheng Ming also insisted she ride in the palanquin. Even Hong protested, though more for show: he knew of every ambush, and the imperial family was never targeted. Nor were any of the attacks ever fatal to anyone save for a hapless guard or two.
His concerns, along with those of the imperial guards and Zheng Ming, had all fallen on deaf ears.
The princess disguised herself as one of the imperial phoenix riders in court robes. Her decoy, the beautiful handmaiden Han Meiling, rode in the imperial palanquin.
Hong could not help but admire the princess’ courage, even if it bordered on recklessness. He slid his palanquin window shut and closed his eyes, thinking of his impending meeting with Royalist Tai-Ming Lord Liu in Lord Peng’s renowned garden teahouse. He would pledge the princess to Lord Liu’s second son in exchange for the Chief Minister position, just as he had promised her to Young Lord Zheng.
Zheng Ming. Just thinking the name brought a bitter taste to his mouth. If the princess still favored the young man even after hearing of his reputation, Hong would have to find another way to remove him from the picture. It was just a matter of timing.
A loud crack jolted Hong in his palanquin. He turned to see an arrow protruding from the wall, the head just inches from his nose.
The grim voice of General Zheng carried over the commotion of men and horses outside. “Ambush. Protect the princess.”
Hong fought the rising panic and tried to concentrate. There was supposed to be an attack on Lord Han tonight, not here. This was never part of the plan, nor did it make logical sense. The only scenario he could imagine was the possibility of other disaffected partisans taking advantage of the political climate. That, or perhaps Lord Peng had decided to take things into his own hands.
No, it was still too early for Peng to make a move like this. If the princess were harmed—
A female scream rent the air.
Zheng Ming scanned the line of tiled rooftops where two dozen enemy archers bobbed up, sniping at them. He couldn’t believe the audacity of an attack on an imperial procession, let alone the foolhardiness of engaging a contingent of a hundred imperial guards.
His cousin General Zheng remained calm, issuing orders. A column of imperial guards on either side of the procession knelt and loaded their muskets. Others snapped into a protective formation around the princess’ palanquin. Her personal detail formed a line around her horse.
She made for an easy target.
She rode high above the rest of the procession, though the archers ignored her. The disguise? He admired her composure, even as her startled doe eyes darted from place to place. A hand strayed to the curved dagger in her sash.
Ming swung out of the saddle and placed himself between their two horses. He reached up to her. “Dian-xia, you are an inviting target. Please, come down.”
Her gaze settled on his, recognition blooming in her face. She took his hands and slid from her horse. Ming grasped her shoulders. Her slight body trembled.
He gestured downward. “Stay low, between the horses.”
Armed only with his own dagger, he pulled the dao from her sash. It wasn’t much better, given the distance, and he silently lamented the ban on weapons near the Imperial Family. Were he allowed to carry his bow, he could give the assailants a reason to keep their heads down.
A barrage of gunfire rang out, followed by the cracking of wood and tile as musket balls struck them. The horses stirred and shuffled, nearly crushing him and the princess between them. Sulfur hung in the air.
The volley of arrows stopped, and the sound of men skittering across the rooftops faded in the distance.
“Wolf and Lion Companies, pursue the rebels,” General Zheng said. “We are not far from Lord Peng’s pavilion. The princess’ detail, along with the Dragon, Tiger, and Phoenix Companies will escort her there. Captain Tu, run ahead to Lord Peng and order him to send a contingent of his guards to meet us. Commander Ling, take a horse back to the palace with word of this brazen attack, and assemble half of the imperial guards to come to Lord Peng’s pavilion. The rest of you remain here, tend to the wounded, and gather evidence.”
Ming turned to the princess. “Are you all right?”
Her wide, startled eyes met his. She straightened, her voice firm as she called out, “General Zheng, is Meiling unharmed?”
Ming could not help but gawk in admiration at the sudden transformation from frightened girl to imperial princess.
“Yes, Dian-xia,” the gruff soldier replied. “Shaken, but uninjured.”
“Then let us proceed to Lord Peng’s pavilion.”
Ming didn’t like the idea of splitting their guard. He turned to Gene
ral Zheng. “Cousin, what if this was merely a diversion, to thin our defenses and draw us into a more dangerous trap?”
General Zheng nodded. “Your concerns are noted. However, Lord Peng is close by and we will be much safer in his compound until the rest of the imperial guard arrives.”
Ming only hoped Cousin Zheng was right.
Frogs croaked and trilled in the large pond of Lord Peng’s Four Seasons Garden, oblivious to the dangers beyond the compound walls. Having survived an attempt on her life, Kaiya knelt in the teahouse, listening to the serene night sounds in hopes they would calm her rattled nerves.
She’d travelled the width and breadth of the empire, always greeted by an adoring citizenry. To her, the imperial guards were just a formality, a symbol of imperial splendor. Besides the single incident in Wailian two years ago, she’d never considered they might be actually called on to protect her.
Tonight, they had performed admirably, holding a tight protective formation as the procession marched to the Peng’s estate. Cousin Kai-Long suggested she sequester herself in the safety of the main keep’s inner sanctum; but at General Zheng’s insistence, Cousin Kai-Long cancelled his appointment in the garden teahouse so the imperial guards could appropriate it.
Situated on a peninsula jutting into the pond, it was the most defensible position in the pavilion. Her senior-most guards, Chen Xin and Zhao Yue, stood inside by the door, while a dozen others kept watch over the narrow path.
Kaiya’s frantic heart slowed as she took deep breaths and wiggled her toes in the slippers Cousin Kai-Long had provided. As her worries over safety faded, other concerning thoughts filled her mind.
Zheng Ming had seen her scared and trembling, the antithesis of imperial grace. She shuddered at the prospect of having to face him, now that he knew she was not a Perfect Princess.
Right now, he might very well be enjoying wine with Cousin Kai-Long—or worse, Kai-Long’s pretty sisters—laughing at her expense.
She looked down to find her fists clenched tight around the kerchief he’d given her. She was holding her breath. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and reprimanded herself. Doctor Wu’s Cool Spring Rain breathing technique quieted her mind.
By the door, Chen Xin’s and Zhao Yue’s breaths synchronized with each other.
Three other breathing patterns, slow and muffled, emanated from beneath the woven straw floor panels.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Chen, Zhao, intru—”
Two floor panels flung open. Three men emerged just beside her.
Clothed in long kurta shirts of the Ayuri South, they all wore expressionless metal masks with eye slits and a nose opening. Each brandished a guardless broadsword with a wide tip resembling a scorpion sting.
The mask, the sting. Madura’s Golden Scorpions, the castoffs and deserters from the Paladin Order which defended the Ayuri South. They were banned from Hua, so she’d never seen a Scorpion with her own eyes, let alone been attacked by one.
She twisted to her feet and glided to the side, just as the heavy blade crashed down where she’d been sitting. Another sting whipped toward her neck.
With a technique from the Dance of Swords, her foot swept up as she bent back under the swing, and her toes connected with her assailant’s chin. Yet the silken slippers Cousin Kai-Long insisted she wear provided little traction. Her planted foot slid out from beneath her.
The collapse to the mats knocked the air out of her. The third attacker raised his blade. Unarmed, fighting for air, there was nothing she could do. She closed her eyes. Tonight, a Scorpion’s sting would cut her life short.
A loud clang rang out inches from her nose, followed by cloth tearing and a male scream. To the side, a dao whistled through the air and cut through muscle and bone. Two heavy swords and a body part thudded to the ground in quick succession. Someone shuffled across the floor toward the corner.
Kaiya opened her eyes. Chen Xin stood above her, his blade reflecting light from the lamp. One of the Scorpions leaned against the wall, clutching at his spilling intestines. Another lay headless at her side. Zhao Yue held his dao raised, ready to fall on the third Scorpion, who pressed his back to the wall.
At the entrance, her guards Xu Zhan and Li Wei rushed in. A third presence breezed in behind them, and Kaiya could hear its quiet breathing. Try as she might, she didn’t see anyone else.
As Xu and Li interposed themselves between her and the remaining Scorpion, Chen and Zhao surged forward with a coordinated attack. The would-be assassin huddled down, his sting quivering in a feeble defense. Without a doubt, both of her guards’ blades would find their mark.
Their dao clinked against metal without reaching the cowering man, though all she could see was a dark blur and a flash of short blades. A shadow darted across the Scorpion with a tearing rasp. The man yelped and his sword clunked to the floor.
“Keep him alive for questioning,” the shadow chirped in a girlish voice. A familiar voice, but from where? The shape swept out the entrance before Kaiya could ascertain any other detail.
She picked herself up off the mats with as much grace as she could muster and lifted her chin. “Take the survivor into custody.” She waved toward the one man, whose guts hung out of his abdomen, and then met the terrified gaze of a disembodied head.
Her belly lurched and bile rose to her throat. She collapsed to her knees and watched in horror as she threw up.
By the first gibbous, two hours before their planned ambush, eleven of Liang Yu’s hired swords had arrived. Song came first, wide-eyed and eager as always; and then a new recruit surnamed Fang who claimed to be a marksman with his repeating crossbow. If he lived up to his boasts, he would be the key to Liang Yu’s daring plan, able to eliminate their target from a distance regardless of an army of guards. A clean escape would prove more difficult.
Liang Yu lifted his brush and sketched a simple map on a sheet of rice paper. “Our target is Lord Han of Fenggu, whose heir nominally supports our employer’s cause. He could be pushed toward war by his father’s death. Lord Han should leave Lord Peng’s compound at the fourth gibbous.”
He began handing out copper coins from Madura when the sliding door crashed open, causing all to look up. His twelfth man, surnamed Fu, straggled in.
Something was out of place, something wrong about the man’s smell: the sweet scent of yinghua petals, a contact poison causing intoxication in males.
That flowering weed grew in only one place in the world, the Black Lotus Monastary. Home to the Black Lotus Moquan.
Liang Yu frowned. “Song, go out into the common room and mingle with the other patrons.”
With an inquisitive cock of his head, Song left the room.
Liang Yu turned to Fu. “You are late because of a woman, aren’t you?”
Fu ran his hand through his dark hair, biting his lip.
“Hurry up and answer.”
Fu nodded. “She was such an exotic little sprite, barely yet a woman.”
Liang Yu modulated his voice, changing the pitch and inflection to imitate the accent from Hua’s rural South. “Were you able to bed her?”
Fu chewed on his lip.
“She claimed some sort of reason she couldn’t, didn’t she? Answer truthfully.”
Fu’s words slurred as he spoke. “She kissed me on the neck, then got up and left.”
Liang Yu sprang to his feet, his walking stick already in hand. “Abandon the plan. Regroup at Long-An Temple in three days.”
An excuse. If there were any survivors, they would be followed. He only hoped Young Song had made it out of the room early enough to avoid being associated with the rest.
It was time to recruit a new collection of disaffected soldiers and insurgents.
With confused murmurs and shrugs, his men headed toward the exit. Liang Yu slipped into the low closet door behind him and into the dark. He released the secret exit in the back of the closet and slid into a hidden corridor that ran from the inn to the adjoining bowyer’s workshop.
Suspicions confirmed. A female Moquan had drugged the hapless Fu with a contact poison; and then a group of them followed him as he stumbled to this meeting. Sudden and precise in their assault, only they could operate with such surgical efficiency and then disappear into the night. Not even the proprietress or other inn patrons would realize what had happened, though it occurred right in front of them.
Liang Yu retreated quickly through the corridor, listening to the silence of the Moquan. Emerging in the bowyer’s workshop, he heard the subtle breathing of one of the warrior-spies, likely assigned to this spot to watch for anyone who might escape out of the inn’s kitchen backdoor.
Reaching into his robe, Liang Yu snatched three biao throwing spikes and flung them at the sentry. The young man contorted himself so that two blades whizzed by, but the third lodged into his throat.
Liang Yu bounded over to both silence his scream and prevent his blood from staining the floor. Too young, too inexperienced, too confident. How unfortunate. The boy might have one day made a fine warrior.
Covering his trail the best he could in the urgent escape, Liang Yu collected his weapons and headed toward his special pupil’s home. He could put his gardening skills to use for a couple of days, while hiding in plain sight. The Moquan would not think to look for insurgents in a Tai-Ming’s villa.
Then again, the Moquan had identified Fu. But how? The only unpredictability in his infallible planning was employer betrayal.
Of course! The order to assassinate Lord Han had been too audacious. It must have been a ruse. His employer had likely decided their group had outlived their usefulness, and needed to clean his hands.
Liang Yu growled. It was time to root out whoever it was and pay him back.