by Mark Morris
With the death of their Queen the leaderless Tao Tei that had been swarming up the sides of the pagoda had frozen like statues. And now, as William and Lin Mae watched, the creatures, their life force extinguished, began to fall back, to tumble, one by one, layer by layer, to the ground far, far below.
24
As the sun rose over the Southern Plain, thirteen riders moved quickly and purposefully through the morning mist. The beautiful, exquisitely fashioned armour of twelve of the riders flashed gold in the early light. The thirteenth rider wore a dark, padded jerkin, breeches and boots—simple but well made—and had a bow and a quiver of red-tipped arrows slung across his back.
The horses were fine and strong, and they kicked up a thick cloud of dust in their wake as they galloped across the bare and sandy plain. One of the horsemen carried the Emperor’s Standard, which fluttered and flapped in the slipstream.
* * *
Lin Mae strolled along the now empty battlements of the Great Wall, close to its outer edge. Occasionally, as she walked, she stretched out a hand, allowing her fingers to trail across the rough stone.
She had come to say goodbye to the home she had known virtually all her life. It was not an easy task. She had so many memories entwined in this ancient structure. So many ghosts of her past haunted its corridors and walkways. She thought of all those she had loved and lost—her commander and surrogate father General Shao; her friends and lieutenants Xiao Yu and Li Qing; stern-faced but wise and kindly Strategist Wang; even Peng Yong, the frightened boy who had eventually discovered that he possessed great courage, after all.
So many gone, never to return. Alone now, she stopped and looked across the desert, at the rising sun shining on the tip of the Gouwu Mountain in the distance.
“General…”
The voice was diffident. It came from behind her.
She took one last look at the mountain, which appeared peaceful now, its green glimmer like cool, glassy water, and then she turned around.
* * *
The Imperial delegation slowed as it approached the towering fortress on the Bianliang side of the Wall. But when the twelve Imperial infantrymen stopped and dismounted a few hundred yards from the fortress’s side gate to stretch their aching limbs and tend to their weary mounts, the thirteenth rider rode on.
Slowing his horse to a walk, William looked up at the fortress’s forbidding façade, and then scanned the battlements at the top of the Wall, screwing up his eyes against the brightening sun as he looked first right and then left. He saw no sign of life. The Great Wall, unmanned, appeared eerily desolate. He was just beginning to wonder whether the information he’d been given was incorrect when the fortress’s side gate opened and a figure appeared.
It was a Bear Corps warrior, one of only a few who remained here now that the threat from the Tao Tei was over. The Nameless Order, decimated in the final battle, was no more. Soon even the last few survivors who still resided here – those members of the cavalry who had pursued Pero and Ballard into the desert; those warriors whose balloons had drifted off-course and landed miles away from Bianliang – would be issued with orders to join new regiments elsewhere.
The Bear Corps warrior gave a nod of respect and led William along a series of familiar corridors to the stockade – to the very cell, in fact, that he had occupied just before Lin Mae had given orders that he be set free. The door was unlocked and opened, and William entered the dusty cell.
And there, standing against the wall, his head secured within a square wooden pillory etched with Chinese symbols, his upraised hands chained to the wall behind him, was his old friend, Pero Tovar.
Pero glanced at him ruefully, then looked away. William couldn’t help grinning.
“So?” he said cheerfully. “How’s life without me?”
Pero shot him a dark look. After a moment he mumbled, “A little slow.”
Both men regarded one another for a moment, and then, in unison, they started chuckling.
“So you’ve become a hero, after all,” Pero said.
William shrugged, but he wore a smug expression, milking the moment. “Looks that way.”
“You seem pleased with yourself. So what are they giving you for all your troubles? A bag of gold? A victory parade along the top of the Wall?”
Airily William said, “All the black powder I can carry. And a cavalry escort to get me home safely.”
Pero stared at him, his brows beetling with resentment. “Well, congratulations,” he said heavily.
“Thank you.”
“So what’s all this? Are you here to rub my nose in it?”
William spread his hands. “Would you blame me? The last time I saw you, you left me for dead.”
“And the time before that, I saved your life,” Pero retorted.
“True,” acknowledged William. He stared at Pero for a moment, as if weighing up his options.
Eventually he said, “You know, the Emperor gave me a choice. Either I could take the black powder… or I could take you.”
Pero stared back at him impassively. “Please tell me you chose the powder.”
William sighed. And then he produced a set of keys and began to unlock the shackles around Pero’s wrists.
* * *
“The horses are saddled and waiting. Best we ride before nightfall,” said William, leading the way back towards the fortress’s side gate.
They rounded a corner at the head of a flight of stone steps leading downwards, Pero rubbing his sore wrists – and there they halted. Lin Mae, resplendent in gleaming gold-plated armour, was ascending slowly towards them.
Pero glanced behind him, saw a door standing half-open.
“I’ll wait in here. Don’t leave without me,” he said.
He ducked through the doorway, pulling the door closed behind him, leaving William alone with Lin Mae.
She reached the top of the steps and the two of them regarded one another for a moment.
“I came to say goodbye,” she said finally.
William nodded, momentarily tongue-tied. Then he licked his dry lips and said, “I understand congratulations are in order. General of the North West territory. That’s quite an honor.”
She smiled and nodded at the closed door behind William. “It seems you’ve made your choice.”
William rolled his eyes. “Oh, him? Believe me, I’m already thinking of trading him back for the powder.”
“I heard that,” came a muffled voice from behind the door.
To William’s ears Lin Mae’s laughter was like music.
“Perhaps we’re both wrong,” she said softly. “Perhaps we’re more similar than we thought.”
William felt such a swell of pride and emotion in his chest that for a moment he couldn’t speak. Then he clasped his hands together – the familiar symbol of respect and togetherness and trust. Of Xin Ren.
“Thank you, General,” he said.
* * *
Riding away from the Wall, into the Painted Mountains, William paused a moment, reining in his horse and looking back over his shoulder.
Lin Mae was standing atop the Wall, leaning over the battlements, her raven hair blowing in the wind, her armour flashing as it reflected the light.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go back?” Pero asked softly.
“Of course I do.” William grinned wryly. “I just don’t trust you to make it out of here alone.”
Pero laughed, and the two men spurred their horses into a trot, and then a gallop.
In a cloud of dust, with the magnificent Wall stretching to each extreme of the horizon behind them, they rode away.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mark Morris has written over twenty-five novels, among which are Toady, Stitch, The Immaculate, The Secret of Anatomy, Fiddleback, The Deluge and four books in the popular Doctor Who range. He is also the author of two short story collections, Close to the Bone and Long Shadows, Nightmare Light, and several novellas. His short fiction, articles and reviews ha
ve appeared in a wide variety of anthologies and magazines, and he is editor of Cinema Macabre, a book of horror movie essays by genre luminaries for which he won the 2007 British Fantasy Award, its follow-up Cinema Futura, and two volumes of The Spectral Book of Horror Stories. His script work includes audio dramas for Big Finish Productions’ Doctor Who and Jago & Litefoot ranges, and also for Bafflegab’s Hammer Chillers series, and his recently published work includes an updated novelization of the 1971 Hammer movie Vampire Circus, the official movie tie-in novelization of Darren Aronofsky’s Noah, and the Shirley Jackson Award nominated novella It Sustains for Earthling Publications.
FOLLOW HIM ON TWITTER
@MarkMorris10
www.markmorrisfiction.com
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