Outlaw Mountain_A Forbidden List Short Story

by G R Matthews

  Locked together, arm against arm, muscle fighting muscle, the two men stood still. Blood pumped in Gang’s system, the sound of crashing waves echoed in his ears. Breath laboured. Sweat sprung out on his forehead as the outlaw guài bore down with all his weight and strength. Gang gritted his teeth, drawing upon all his training, his experience, his desire and confidence.

  On the guài’s face there was only a smile. “You are going to lose, little man.”

  “Not,” Gang gasped, “today.”

  “Yesss, today,” the outlaw chief, the guài, whispered. Leaning forward, the chief opened his mouth and a forked tongue flickered out, tasting the air before it extended further, running its raspy slickness across Gang’s cheek. “You will make a tasty meal.”

  “Not,” said another voice, soft and full of promise, “today.”

  There was a solid clunk and the guài’s eyes lost focus, his arms weakened, grip loosened and the large man fell forward. Gang let go and stepped out of the way.

  Silence fell as the outlaw chief, the guài, the leader of the outlaws hit the ground face first with an axe buried in the back of its head. Behind the fallen demon stood Liu, one axe still held ready and a look of concern on his face.

  “Never thought I’d see anyone as strong as you,” Liu said, stepping forward and looking forlornly down at the embedded axe.

  “Nor me,” Gang said, bending down and retrieving his hammer from the floor. “I’ll get your axe.”

  Resting his foot on the back of the dead chief’s neck, Gang grabbed the axe haft in one hand and with a strong wiggling action freed it from the bone, blood and brain.

  “The other outlaws?” Gang asked.

  “Gone,” Liu said accepting the axe back. “I’ve killed a few, the Dragon Box killed more, and when he,” Liu nodded at the body on the ground, “fell, they all ran.”

  “Nuan?” Gang asked.

  “Inside,” Liu said. “I’m sure you can open the door.”

  “What are you going to tell her?”

  “Me?”

  “I’m not a good talker, Liu,” Gang said with a half-hearted smile. “A boaster and drinker, but we’ve just killed her brother and he was the man making life in the village impossible for everyone.”

  “She knows what her brother did. We can’t hide that from her,” Liu admitted before adding. “Bring the dragon box weapon, the Emperor will be interested in it.”

  “He was a demon. His tongue,” Gang said and shuddered. “What if they are all like that, her family?”

  “I think he was a Wu, Gang. Out of control and insane, but still a Wu. We don’t need to tell her that,” Liu said, “and what we tell her, she will tell her father. Let’s save them some pain if we can.”

  “You know the problem with outlaws, Liu?”

  “They steal things?”

  “No. The problem is they exist.” Gang lifted his hammer onto his shoulder and marched towards the house.

  THERE IS MORE

  Keep reading on for a chapter from ‘The Stone Road’ and the first chapter of ‘Silent City’!

  HELP ME OUT?

  Being an author is a tough business. Getting everyone to realise you exist, that your books aren’t too bad and that, actually, people enjoy reading them is a struggle for them all (apart from G R R Martin, maybe, but he had to start somewhere).

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  G R Matthews

  THE STONE ROAD by G R MATTHEWS

  EXCERPT

  “I assure you, the road is coming through here. Now, it can be with your assistance and you’ll be recompensed for the land you've lost. Or it can be the other way and they will see the smoke for miles.” Zhou forced his voice to stay cold and purposeful though every word tasted rotten in his mouth.

  The village leader, a tall scrawny man with a rather too large mouth, stared back into Zhou’s eyes, “Your surveyors had prettier words but we understood them all the same and we’ll give you the same answer as we gave them. This is our land, it’s been fought over more times than even the oldest of us can recall. We’ve always farmed it. You won’t be no different, but we are not moving. This is our village.”

  “I wish you would see it differently. The road is our route to peace and after thirty years of war neither side is going to let a small village get in the way. This is the last chance to choose your own destiny. The road will be here within three weeks and either you will have moved aside or you will be swept away. For what it is worth, I am sorry it must be this way.”

  “You can shove your sorry’s right up your...” the wide mouthed leader began.

  “Yes, I thought you would see it that way.” Zhou gave the villager a sad smile then raised his voice to address the other villagers, “You have three weeks to gather up your belongings, and be gone. Do this and you will receive compensation to start anew elsewhere. It is your choice, just don’t let others make the wrong one for you.”

  Zhou swept his gaze across the crowd, meeting the eyes of as many villagers as he could. Then he turned, climbed astride his horse and led the troops he had brought with him on a slow paced walk out of the village. There was every chance that he, or one of the troops, would feel an arrow in the back. If they were lucky it would just be a shouted insult or a hastily found pebble instead.

  # # #

  The winter slush was fading from the road but the soil was still soggy and the horse’s hooves sank into the soft earth. He dragged leather gloves out from his belt and pulled them on over numb fingers. He inspected the gloves wistfully, the last gift his wife had given him before he had to leave for the road. The stitching was beginning to fray and the palms were wearing thin under the constant chafing of the reins but he had resisted the temptation to replace them.

  A few hours later, Zhou and the troops reached the construction camp at the furthest extent of the road foundations. At the camp margins, he dismissed the troops and dismounted from his horse. The ground here was slippery and keeping his balance was difficult. Holding onto the bridle for safety, he led the horse through the crew’s tented area and to the corral of horses where he handed control over to the horse-master.

  “You shouldn't have banned riding in the camp. The mud is ruining your expensive boots.” Wang’s voice was loud behind him. “You get anywhere with those stiff-necked idiot farmers?”

  “For a loud, brute of a man, Wang, you move more subtly than a whore's fingers into a priest's purse.” Zhou turned to see Wang’s gap toothed smile, it wasn’t a pleasant sight. “But, to answer you, with some I think and nowhere with others. Anything happen whilst I was gone?”

  “Nothing much. The men have worked hard all day, reports and tallies are on your desk for signing.” Wang had mellowed since the winter started to warm towards spring. The site was safer and they hadn’t lost any more men to disaster or illness. “Had a visit from the road crew chief who reckons he's less than a week behind us now and catching fast. I think he’s liar and a cheat, but I don’t reckon he’s much further away than he says. Now we're coming onto the plains proper we can get back to full speed, long as there is no more snow. Three months more work, I’d say, till we’re at the meeting point.”

  “And if they catch us up, they can bloody well help with the foundations and clearing,” Zhou said as he slid and slipped through the tents towards his own.

  “Won’t happen.” Wang’s voice was full of confidence.

  “They won’t catch us?” Zhou had to grab at the guide rope of a tent to prevent him falling into the dirt.

  “Oh, they’ll catch us. Winter saw to that but I reckon it won’t be for two months, two and half if we’re lucky. No, when they catch us up they won’t
help. They’ll pitch camp near us and no doubt bring chairs and drinks out to watch us work. It’s what I’d do.” Wang chuckled to himself.

  “I’ll speak to the Bureaucrat in charge. We’ll work something out,” Zhou said as he moved the flap of his tent aside and entered.

  “You don’t know then?” It was clearly a rhetorical question and Zhou raised an eyebrow. “Hsin’s nephew has been put in charge. Think they are all for catching you up and rubbing it in.”

  Zhou slumped onto the bed and dragged his boots off, throwing them into the empty corner. The only chance he had of getting some position back was to finish the road foundations on time and ahead of the second crew. His father-in-law, whose position in the government had taken a big knock over the mission to Yaart, would not be happy if he failed in this.

  “We can’t let them catch up. Wang, whatever work can be done by lantern will be done. Double the shifts and increase the pay by a quarter in recompense. We will not be caught.” Zhou held his feet up to the stove and steam began to rise from the socks he wore. “Anything else?”

  “Well, we got hit by another bandit raid early on today. No one seriously hurt but they cost us half a day. These raids continue and even if you made the men work every hour of every day we wouldn’t stand a chance of making the meeting point on time.”

  Zhou looked away from the comfort of the stove flame and focused on his travel chest. “Get reports from the men attacked. I want to know everything, numbers, direction they rode in from and rode out to, what weapons they had, armour, state of horses, what they said. Anything the men can recall. I’ll ride perimeter with the troops tomorrow but by evening I want that information. We are going to do something about those bandits, and keep doing something until they’re either all dead or smart enough to stay clear.”

  When Wang had gone, Zhou opened the chest and took out, from underneath a pile of dry clothes, his armour. Dark green leather, stiffened by hard boiling and lacquer insets, held together with bronze studs and soft leather strapping. Reverentially, he hung each piece on the clothes stand. The feel and smell brought back memories of his early days training as a diplomat. A diplomat that couldn’t defend himself was a dead diplomat, his teacher had said, not everyone wants to be negotiated with. Some people preferred to let their swords do their wheeling and dealing.

  # # #

  The following morning dawned misty and cold but at least there had been no fresh snow. Zhou pulled on a double layer of cotton shirts and trousers, the latter he tucked into thick socks. Taking a deep breath and exhaling a resigned sigh, he began strapping on the armour. The leather creaked with underuse but it was well made and fit him as well as it had done when he’d had it made just before leaving for Yaart the first time. Last of all, a heavy woollen cloak which he draped across his shoulders and fastened at the front with a soldier’s clasp, designed to be strong enough to withstand the wind but if tugged hard enough, would give way leaving the enemy soldier holding the heavy cloak whilst he rode to safety, or cut the soldier down, whichever was most appropriate at the time.

  As he left the tent heading for his horse, he finished tying his belt and securing his dagger in place. In his right hand he held the diplomat's weapon, a thin but stout staff of wood about four feet in length and capped at either end with iron. It could double as a walking stick but that was just a cover for its real purpose.

  “Horse-master, saddle my horse and get rations for two days.” Zhou waited in the cold air, breath turning to steam in front of his face.

  It was a short walk to the troop’s tents where he met the corporal in charge of the small contingent the road builders had to guard them. After a quick conference, they mounted their horses and rode away from the camp with the troops in tow.

  All morning they patrolled a semi-circular perimeter about three miles out from the camp. Even though they were on the plains it was not entirely flat and the undulating terrain made it entirely possible that enemies were never far away, hidden just below the low hills. So, every so often Zhou and the rest of the patrol would double back on their tracks or canter a zigzag route to ensure they covered all the ground possible and they would not be surprised.

  As the sun burnt off the mist they could see further and further. Around midday, the range of their vision had expanded to a mile in all directions. Too little for the telescope Zhou had brought along to be any use, “Corporal, I think it is time we stopped for food.”

  “Of course, Sir.” The corporal reined in his horse and signaled the rest of the soldiers.

  Zhou dismounted and staggered to the small fire over which the troops had started to warm their food. He winced at each step, an ache racing up and down the inside of his thigh, a feeling that someone had driven an iron spike into both hips. Probably a blunt one at that, he thought. Worse than the pain in his legs was the numbness between his legs and he had a quick check to make sure everything was still there.

  “Don’t sit down, Sir,” one of the soldiers near the fire said. “Best bet is to keep moving, get the blood flowing again to parts that haven’t seen it in a while.”

  Zhou winced again. “You sure?”

  “Oh, aye, Sir. If you ain’t been on a horse for a while it can take your body and... um... bits a little time to get used to it. If you sit down, everything will just lock up and when you go to move its gonna hurt a hell of a lot more than seven lashes. Well, either that or you won’t be able to move at all.” The soldier spoke through grey stubble, “I've been doing this a long time, Sir.”

  “Then I’ll take your advice. Thanks.” For a moment, Zhou felt that he belonged and shared something with the commonest of men. He shook himself mentally, probably didn’t want me to share their fire, he thought. Zhou kept moving, accepting a bowl of watery stew from a different soldier and limping across the grass to stand near his horse to eat.

  He was spooning the gravy into his mouth with a rough cut wooden spoon when they came over the low hill, looking as surprised as he was that anyone was out here. Their hesitation did not last long. They screamed and charged down the rise towards the troops. The troops from Wubei leapt to their feet, drew swords and formed a short line to meet the charge.

  Zhou was the slowest to react. He chucked his bowl of food away and as the first of the bandits closed on the troops, he dragged himself into the saddle of his horse kicking it into a run towards the edge of the Wubei line. His troops were outnumbered, it was clear. But even through fearful eyes, he could see that the bandits were not trained warriors. They did not fight as one unit as they broke against the Wubei wall.

  Raising his short staff in one hand, he clung onto the reins with the other and ploughed into the bandits. The combat trained horse did not flinch as it ran down the first man in its path. In slow motion, Zhou watched the man’s face turn from anger to panic and then to pain as the horse rode over him. He followed the path of the body under the horse’s hooves, saw the chest cave in and blood burst from the mouth. The carcass was spewed out the other end like a lump of half-chewed gristle.

  The second bandit jumped out of the horse's path and aimed a sword slash at its legs. The horse squealed in agony and buckled. Zhou was thrown clear, landing belly down on the soggy ground and continuing to slide across the mud before coming to a dazed halt. He spat out mud as he scrambled to his feet, casting a quick glance around to see where he stood in the battle.

  The bandit who had killed the horse was advancing on him now. Straight, double edged, sword weaving back and forth in front of a face that was familiar, the grinning mouth was just a little too wide.

  “Well, well,” the farmer-bandit began, “look who it is. The little bureaucrat man. You know, about ten years ago, Yaart owned our village and they pressed all the men into service, trained them to fight. Three years I fought for them against the Wubei. I still have my sword. Come on, take a closer look.”

  Zhou looked around for help but each of his soldiers were hard pressed fighting the remaining bandits. He wiped muck
y hands down his cloak and took a two handed grip on his staff.

  The bandit’s first swipe was too short but it forced Zhou to jump backward. His back foot slipped on the mud. The bandit advanced, sword extended in front of him, stabbing at Zhou’s belly. Turning his left hand and letting his right slide down the staff to meet it, Zhou took a swordsman’s grip on the staff and parried the bandit's attack. He returned a swing of his own which, being off balance lacked power, thumped into the bicep of his enemy with a satisfyingly meaty sound.

  The bandit backed off a step, rubbing his upper arm, as Zhou regained his balance. The next attack was more cautious, a series of jabs and thrusts which Zhou avoided. He continued to back away from the sword, his eyes fixed on those of the bandit who was beginning to smile again. The thrusts changed to slashes, shoulder to hip, hip to hip, and Zhou was forced to parry and deflect them away. The tip of the sharp sword finally broke through his defence and bit into his upper arm, between the leather plates.

  “You’ll bleed a lot more before...” the bandit’s words ended in a grunt and he pitched forward to rest, face down, in the churned mud.

  The corporal stood behind the fallen bandit with his own bloody sword in his hand, “Never talk when you’re fighting. Kill your enemy and move on. Idiot.”

  “Thank you, Corporal,” Zhou said, as his hands began to shake. He turned abruptly and added his breakfast to the bloodied mud.

  “Pleasure, Sir. First time in proper combat?” the corporal asked and Zhou grunted in response. “You did fine, Sir. Might want to get a sword for next time, or practise a little more with the staff. Still, least you aren’t dead. I’ll see to your horse.”

  From his kneeling position on the floor, Zhou watched the corporal rest a soothing hand on the horse’s neck, stroking it tenderly with one hand, whilst cutting its throat with a dagger held in the other. Zhou threw up again.