Outlaw Mountain

by G R Matthews

  The third man rose with Dao in hand, turned to face Gang, and found two axes at his throat.

  “Choose,” Gang said. “Talk or die.”

  “I’ll never tell you…” Gang’s fist, free of the hammer, ended the outlaw’s sentence.

  Liu’s expression never changed, but Gang could feel the displeasure radiating off of the other man.

  “What?”

  “How hard did you hit him?” Liu slid the axe hafts back into his belt and knelt next to the downed guard.

  “Not very,” Gang said.

  “He’s dead,” Liu said, looking up at the big man.

  “I didn’t hit him that hard,” Gang protested.

  “One punch, Gang. You know how fragile life is. One punch kills too often, and too often it isn’t intended.”

  “Sorry. One of the others might be alive.” Gang admitted and looked around the clearing, spotting the man he’d smashed in the ribs with his hammer. Blood, black in the light of the fire, pooled around his open mouth and sightless eyes reflected the flickers of orange. “All right, not him. What about the one you hit?”

  Liu moved over the first man he’d hit, rolled him over and lifted an eyelid. “He’s out. Alive but he isn’t going to wake up for a few hours.”

  “You hit him too hard,” Gang accused.

  “Maybe a little,” Liu admitted.

  “Anything in the pot?” Gang stomped over to the fire and lifted the pot from its hook over the fire, sniffing at its contents.

  “And?”

  “Food,” Gang said. “I think.”

  “It is all yours,” Liu smiled. “We might as well rest here for a bit and move on in hour or two. It will be still be dark. As you’re eating, I’ll try to get some sleep. You’re on first watch.”

  “What…” Gang began, but his words fell on disinterested ears as Liu lay down on one of the bedrolls, so he settled for digging a spoon out his pack and tucking into the burnt food. It was hot, filling and not worth thinking about the ingredients.

  The dead were poor company and offered nothing in the way of conversation. The unconscious lookout remained so and Gang let his thoughts wander. There was urgency within them, the desire to rush to Nuan’s aid, to rescue her and her brother, but it was tempered with experience. Rushing in was likely to end in their deaths or his. Liu often cautioned against his headstrong, impulsive actions, but they had not yet let him down. Dragged him into danger, put his life at risk, led to wounds that took a month or two to recover from, all of those things it was true, but he was too old to change. His Tao was set, the path he followed was his and he was happy to travel it.

  When he judged the moon had traversed the sky a sufficient distance, he woke Liu and took his spot on the now vacant, warm, bedroll. Without pause he fell asleep.

  Moments later, a hand pushed his shoulder. He slapped at it and succeeded only in striking the meat of his own flesh.

  “Wake up, Gang.” Liu’s voice came to him through dreams and layers of warm sleep.

  “Let me sleep,” he mumbled.

  “No time,” Liu replied. “It is getting lighter and I want to be at the camp before full sunrise.”

  Gang opened an eye, saw the glow of the embers, and closed it again. “The other guard?”

  “He’s like you, won’t wake up,” Liu said.

  Gang opened both eyes and rolled over to stare up at the night sky through the fronds and leaves of the bamboo forest. “I’m awake. What are you going to do with him?”

  “Leave him here,” Liu said.

  “Kill him?”

  “I’ve tied him to the bamboo,” Liu answered. “He won’t be going anywhere for a long time.”

  “How far to the camp?”

  “I’ve no idea,” Liu said, and Gang felt a toe nudge him in the ribs. “There’s no one to ask. Now, let’s get a move on.”

  Gang sighed, farted, and struggled upright.

  “Pleasant,” Liu sighed.

  “Can’t fight on a gas filled belly,” Gang smiled in return.

  They crept through the forest, following the track further up the mountainside, keeping an eye and ear out for more guards and lookouts. There were none. After an hour or so, and as the first arc of the sun began to climb above the mountains, its light piercing the gloom of the bamboo forest, the track widened and joined another.

  The new track was well used. Compacted mud and crushed vegetation marked the passage of many feet. It led to the left and right.

  “Which way?” Gang said, gazing up and down the path.

  “Up the mountain,” Liu said. “If the outlaws have a proper camp, the road will lead to it and not beyond. I don’t think it can be far past this junction.”

  “There’ll be guards on the road.” Gang let the haft of his hammer slap down into his large hand.

  “We go with care, Gang.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “And yet still alive. Funny how that works,” Liu said, patting his axes. “Come on.”

  The road was easy to travel and twice in the next half an hour they had to duck into the forest to avoid the patrols of guards. Each group had three outlaws, each armed with a different weapon. There had been a short, but heated argument when the first group had passed them by.

  “We could have killed them,” Gang said.

  “And then what?” Liu answered in a hushed whisper.

  “What?”

  “What about the next group to come past or come looking?”

  “We kill them too,” Gang stated.

  “You’ve a big head, Gang, start using the brain within it to actually think, and not just about food,” Liu had said and stomped off along the track.

  “What did I say?” Gang said to the other man’s retreating back.

  When it became clear, from the noise and voices that they were getting close to the camp they left the road and climbed up through the bamboo forest slopes to a vantage point overlooking the outlaws domain.

  They had built, in a cleared bowl of land on the mountainside, a sizeable camp. Roughly constructed timber homes, canvas tents and a large hall surrounded a muddy central area and the remains of a large fire. Wafts of smoke drifted upwards into the early morning sky. Individuals had risen from sleep and were moving slowly around the compound, beginning their day with the search for food. Of Nuan there was no sign.

  “Where do you think she’ll be?”

  “Either in the large house or one of the wooden shacks,” Liu answered.

  “Wait for night and go in?” Gang said.

  “Funny, I thought you’d want to rush in right now,” Liu said, glancing at Gang.

  “I do,” Gang said, stifling a chuckle. “I was trying to use my big head to think, for a change.”

  “There aren’t many up and about,” Liu said. “Just those patrols that went out, and I’d bet they find the lookouts we dealt with last night before long. When they do they’ll be rushing back here and raising the alarm.”

  “You want to go in now?” It was Gang’s turn to be surprised.

  “I don’t think Nuan will have the easiest of days if we wait,” Liu said.

  “I’ll take the shacks and tents,” Gang said. “They might recognise everyone in the camp, but I’m rough enough to get past a quick inspection. You look too…”

  He tailed off, unsure of the exact words to complete that sentence.

  “I agree,” Liu said after a short pause.

  They slid and scrambled down the slope, using the stems of bamboo for support and kept a careful watch on the camps inhabitants. The dirt made little impression on Gang’s tied robe, but Liu picked up some smears and smudges. Still too well turned out to be an outlaw, but at least making an effort to fit in, Gang decided.

  No fence barred their way, the slope, mountain, bamboo and patrols were sufficient to safeguard their camp. Until now, Gang smiled. Clapping the smaller man on the shoulder, Gang lifted his hammer and strode off through the camp, the picture of calm confidence and belong
ing. Liu headed off to the left, sticking to the shadows.

  None of the early risers paid him any mind as he sauntered towards the first shack. Opening the door and peering in, he saw nothing but sleeping bodies and wrinkled his nose at the scent of so many in such a small space. The next shack held the same, as did the third. By the fourth, people were beginning to stir and he still had no sign of Nuan or her brother.

  The tents needed checking but, Gang admitted, few prisons were made of cloth and canvas. It was too easy to escape from. However, it paid to be thorough and Liu would only chastise him if he failed to look in them. Sighing, and casting a measuring glance at the rising sun, he stomped off towards the nearest.

  Shouts of alarm erupted from the large building, the hall, towards the far end of the clearing. Changing direction, Gang began to make his way across the mud that made up the central area of the camp. From the shacks and tents, the sounds of people rousing themselves, the grunts, groans and curses against the start of a new day. He picked up his pace.

  Those souls already up and about had stopped in their tracks and looked in the direction of the house, but none moved that way.

  Liu flew out of the door, his axes drawn and leading the way. At the bottom of the stairs, Gang saw Liu dive forward and roll to his feet, spinning on the spot to face the doorway. A moment later, three guards piled out and down the stairs. They did not pause, but charged straight at Liu. Now the others began to move too, towards Liu and their fellow outlaws.

  The first guard to reach Liu died as the small man dodged the clumsy attack and riposted with an axe blow to the neck. The second held back, brandishing a Pudao, a polearm with a long curved blade, whilst the third began shouting for assistance, his Dao shaking in his grasp.

  Outlaws began to emerge from the shacks and tents, barely dressed but sporting a variety of weapons. Gang began to run, closing the distance. Liu didn’t turn, but the guards saw Gang coming and smiled, their confidence building as the large man raced up behind the axe wielder.

  Liu stepped aside as Gang reached him and the big man did not stop. His hammer swung down, smashing through the Pudao’s hasty block and crushing the chest of its wielder. Liu skipped around the clash and struck out at the third outlaw, burying an axe in his ribs. It ripped free with a wet, sucking sound and the man collapsed.

  “This is not going to plan,” Gang said, spinning the hammer in his hands and turning to face the crowd of outlaws behind them.

  Liu stepped over to Gang, his eyes firmly on the house. “I found Nuan.”

  “And?” Gang glared at the outlaws, all of them armed, but waiting at a safe distance. No one was willing to be the first to die.

  “She’s fine,” Liu answered. “They had her in a locked room. Sadly, I was seen before I could get her out. I left a few guards dead inside. Others were shouting for the chief when I ran.”

  “You reckon that’s who they’re waiting for?” Gang lunged forward, a feint, and smiled when the front rank of outlaws backed away.

  “I suspect so,” Liu said.

  A hush fell over the crowd and as one the outlaws straightened.

  “Chief’s here,” Gang said.

  “Yes,” Liu answered. “Turn round. I don’t think they are going to attack right now.”

  Gang glared once more at the outlaws facing him, sweeping his gaze as he would his hammer across them, but none were looking at him.

  The chief of outlaws was a man who deserved the title. He was large, but where Gang ran to fat the chief was muscle. The hilt of a sword protruded over his shoulder and the grey tunic was belted at the waist by a white sash. The object in his hands drew Gang’s attention. It was a large box, longer than the Dao swords, almost the length of the Pudao, with intricate carvings along its length. In the early dawn light, the nature of the carvings was difficult to make out. The open end faced Liu and Gang, a dark mouth gaping.

  “What is it?” Gang said, as the outlaw chief came to a halt some ten paces away.

  “I don’t know,” Liu said, “but it has dragons carved on it.”

  A wisp of smoke drifted upward from the open mouth of the dragon box.

  “Where’s Nuan?” Gang took a pace forward, hammer ready.

  “Safe,” the outlaw chief answered. “She told me my father had asked for assistance from the Emperor and that he had sent two Masters.”

  “Father?” Gang asked.

  “You’re the chief’s son,” Liu stated. “Why are you doing this? Your village is dying and your father was hurt by your men. It is not the way a dutiful child should act.”

  “Dutiful,” the outlaw chief spat. “I was an obedient and dutiful son, right up until he began paying the outlaws to leave him alone. Not fighting, but paying them. Not saving his village, but cowering in the house. Blaming heaven, the Jade Emperor, and everyone for his faults. Doing nothing to put them right.”

  “Yet you joined them,” Liu said.

  “I lead them,” the chief answered. “I give them purpose and do not blame others for mistakes. I don’t hide away and send others to do my fighting.”

  “He does what he must to protect his people,” Liu replied.

  “They aren’t fighters, boy,” Gang interrupted. “They’re farmers. They fight the soil, the elements and all of nature to raise crops and animals to feed their families. They don’t hide from the weather, the rain, the frosts and storms. Every day they rise from their beds to fight again. And you steal it all.”

  “They should fight for what is theirs,” the chief said.

  “As you did?” Liu said.

  “They took me,” the chief said, shifting the box to face Liu, “and he did nothing. I rotted in a cell and when they came to beat me, I fought them. I stood up and took the hits, striking back. I took my freedom from them. I stood up to the chief and I beat him.”

  The last words were growled. A sound from deep in the outlaw chief’s chest, it rumbled and snarled across the space between them. Gang saw the man’s hands clench, his muscles ripple along his arms, in the chief’s eyes there was a fire and his forked tongue flickered out of his mouth.

  Gang took a shocked step back, and Liu followed suit.

  “Guài,” Liu said, lifting his axes. “Demon.”

  “Dragon,” the chief shouted and squeezed the box. A flash of flame shot from the front of the box, a cloud of smoke erupted from the rear, and a loud explosion rocked the camp.

  Liu spun out of the way. Three graceful and lithe steps carried the thin man to the side and the line of outlaws that surrounded them. When one of them tried to strike at Liu they found his axes faster than their sword.

  Gang brought his hammer round in front of him and rushed forward at an angle.

  Tongues of flame and bright projectiles issued forth from the dragon box, screaming through the air in whirling, twirling paths that held only the edge of order but owed more to chaos. They flew everywhere within a wide cone from the dragon box’s gaping mouth. One struck Gang’s hammer, almost wrenching it from his grasp, but he held on and continued his advance on the chief.

  There were shouts and screams of agony from all around. The projectiles had found unintended targets in the outlaws. Secondary explosions roared behind Gang and more screams followed.

  The outlaw chief dropped the Dragon Box and drew his sword, swinging it in one fluid move. Gang raised his hammer and caught the blow; it drove him to his knees. Never before had someone managed to do that. Never had the shock of an impact coursed up his arms and shaken his skull so. The outlaw chief was strong, immensely so.

  Gang let himself fall to the ground and rolled away as the Dao fell again, cutting a chunk of earth wide open. Rising to his feet, Gang set himself, feet wide apart, body sunk low and hammer held before him. Injured outlaws, some smouldering and some aflame, raced about. None looked in his direction, more concerned with their own injuries. To the left, Liu was dancing with a few of the outlaws who had been out of the cone of destruction. At least three were already bl
eeding out on the dirt floor and two more were staggering away from the lithe man’s axes.

  “You’re going to die,” the chief said with a sibilant and undulating cadence to his voice.

  “Not today, guài,” Gang answered, slamming the haft of the hammer down into his palm.

  They charged each other, weapons leading the way. The Chief’s Dao sliced from right to left, faster than Gang had seen anyone move, but he was inside its arc, punching straight out with the round head of the hammer. Striking the chief’s chest with all of his weight and strength behind it the outlaw staggered backwards, but did not fall.

  Gang stepped in again, drawing back the hammer and executing a horizontal strike from left to right. The guài jumped backwards, away from the hammer. A smaller man than Gang would have been carried around by the sweeping hammer, but practice, weight and years of familiarity meant he could bring the weapon up once again to deflect the chief’s attack. The blow was as strong as before, but this time Gang did not try to stop the blow just redirect its energy.

  Sword and hammer were pushed out wide so Gang let go with one hand and threw a heavy punch. It cracked off the chief’s jaw to no effect. Cocking his hand again, Gang threw a second punch. A hand almost as large as Gang’s own caught his fist and stopped it in its flight.

  A kick to the inside of the guài’s knee caused the musclebound man to stumble, but he did not let go of Gang’s hand. Raising the hammer in a short swing, Gang caught the chief’s ribs with little power, hoping the shock or impact would cause the outlaw to let go and retreat.

  The chief did neither. Ignoring the impact, the outlaw raised his own sword and struck down at Gang’s neck. With no way to retreat, to dodge or time to raise his own hammer in defence, Gang did the only thing he could. He dropped the hammer and caught the chief’s wrist in a grip of his own. The Dao slowed and, digging his heels into the mud, Gang stopped it.