Path of the Eclipse (18 page)

“Dog’s head!” Jui shouted as he recovered for his attack.

This time, as the pike blade cleft the air, Saint-Germain snapped his belt outward, the metal-studded leather snaking toward the steel blade. It wrapped around the tang once, then fell away as Jui Ah cursed in the name of half the demons in China. Saint-Germain caught the end of his belt and wrapped it around his left hand again, then stood, waiting.

Jui Ah held back a moment, assessing the older man’s chances. It would not take long, he thought, to wear down that insolent foreigner. A man of his years would not have the stamina for close combat. He smiled and thumbed the pike blade.

More men had come into the courtyard, and one of them had offered to take bets. His comrades had motioned him to be quiet, but a few were already reaching for the wallets looped around their belts. Saint-Germain saw this and was appalled.

“You cannot run from me all afternoon,” Jui Ah called, gloating as he approached once more, bringing the Pike blade up to strike.

Saint-Germain took the belt into his left hand and began to spin it, making it sing and blur in front of him, like a shield. He started to feint to one side, and was relieved when Jui Ah was misdirected.

Down came the blade, an arm’s length from where Saint-Germain stood. The belt continued to whirl.

Jui Ah was puzzled. He knew something of staff-fighting and had been taught classical boxing when he was younger, but he had never encountered this style of defense. He lifted the pike blade and used a number of quick passes, testing the barrier. Once the belt had been arrested, but it wound along the blade, and Saint-Germain had pulled at it sharply, almost dragging the blade from Jui Ah’s hands.

From that exchange on, Jui Ah was more circumspect. He kept his distance and moved in swiftly, darting with the steel blade in the belief that he could bedevil Saint-Germain into exhaustion.

Betting began among the militiamen, and shortly there was a vociferous clamor as the fight progressed. The gatekeeper came away from his post, though he was awaiting the Warlord’s return with her daily patrol. This was much more exciting than staring out at the hot afternoon.

“Come closer!” Jui Ah shouted as once again Saint-Germain eluded him. It was infuriating to be unable to rush his opponent. Jui Ah looked about him for a more suitable weapon. It had become a matter of pride with him now to beat this foreigner to his knees with all of the militiamen watching.

For an answer, Saint-Germain stepped nearer, bringing the belt up so that the heavy steel buckle spun by Jui Ah’s face. The metal winked in the sunlight, and then was gone as Saint-Germain moved off to the side again, luring Jui Ah after him.

There was a flail sitting out on a barrel, its thick wooden handle ready for rewrapping in leather. The rods were joined to the handle by a stout loop. Each was tipped with a small, spiked ball of iron. It was a dangerous weapon, requiring skill to use. Jui Ah tossed the pike blade aside and grabbed the flail.

This was one weapon that Saint-Germain knew he could not fight with only a belt. He flung it away and retreated before Jui Ah, never taking his eyes from the rods of the flail.

“Coward! Coward!” Jui Ah called out in derision. He began to swing the flail, the long rods clattering. “Not willing to face up to this, are you? Foreign worm!”

Saint-Germain kept his silence, watching for his opportunity. He felt no disgrace in his withdrawal. There was little significance in it, and, he noted with a degree of irritation, Jui Ah was growing cocksure as he came after Saint-Germain.

“Like the taste of iron, foreigner?” He shifted the flail in his hands, taking a wider grip on the haft. “Think how these little balls will kiss you.” He squinted as the afternoon sun slanted into his eyes, and was not aware that Saint-Germain had led him into this position.

The stones that paved the courtyard were uneven, and Saint-Germain was wise enough to move cautiously. But now that he had the sun behind him, Saint-Germain began to weave, darting first one way, then another, forcing Jui Ah to rush forward unwarily.

A few of the militiamen shouted a warning to Jui Ah, but he was now too confident of the outcome to heed them. It would end soon, he could feel it. He brought the flail up over his shoulders.

Saint-Germain made one quick, supple motion, seeming to fall toward Jui Ah, but catching the man’s chest on his back and lifting him into the air. Without pause, Saint-Germain rose to his feet, reaching around to grab the militia Captain by his arms, tossing the man across the courtyard to land on the stones with a sickening sound of breaking. Saint-Germain turned toward Jui Ah, and found a party of horsemen in the unguarded gateway. He stiffened, and the other men turned toward the sound of hooves.

“Explain this!” T’en Chih-Yü commanded as she brought her sorrel into the center of the courtyard. Her right hand was on her sword hilt, the left on the reins. “Explain.”

The gatekeeper rushed forward, reaching up for her bridle. “There was a fight.”

“I can see that.” Her voice was icy and she refused to look at either Saint-Germain or Jui Ah.

“I was afraid it might become a brawl,” the gatekeeper temporized as he went on. “I thought it was best if I—”

“Left your post?” she inquired. “What if there had been a party of Mongol raiders? What then? Who would have stopped them? You? No.” She looked around at her militiamen. “And the rest of you. What came over you?” She beckoned to the two men who had patrolled with her. “I want you to take the name of every man here. Every man. And I want those names before sunset.” Her face was still with fury.

“Warlord, it was not that way.” The gatekeeper clung to her bridle. “There was danger—”

“Be silent.” She cut off his protestations. “Ling, what is the condition of the Captain of militiamen?”

The man she had singled out rushed over to the fallen Jui Ah and made a rough inspection of him. Jui Ah groaned and swore as the soldier rolled him onto his back. “His leg is broken, Warlord. The rest is scrapes, cuts, and bruises. “No,” he amended. “The collarbone is broken on the right side, too.”

“It was that sow’s udder of a foreigner!” Jui Ah screamed up at Chih-Yü, his face contorting now that the pain had hit him.

She sat her horse rigidly, some of her tension communicating itself to her mount, for the sorrel’s ears were laid back and he champed at his bit nervously. “Very well. Who began it?”

A babble greeted this question as every man who had watched vied with the others for the chance to give his version of what had happened. Jui Ah had provoked the foreigner, who had attacked him with demonic fury. No, it was Jui Ah who had attacked, but the foreigner had driven him mad. No, Jui Ah had been under the control of the foreigner’s sorcery, and had been set to fight so that the foreigner could vanquish him at last: Jui Ah was fortunate to be alive.

“That last is correct,” one of the militiamen said calmly. “If you had seen how Jui was cast through the air…”

“I did see. I saw a great deal.” Chih-Yü dismounted, giving the reins over to one of the grooms, who was grateful to lead the horse away and escape the castigation which all of them surely deserved.

Jui Ah had managed to sit up, but he moaned as he breathed, sucking in air in gasps. His chest was bloody and the ends of his broken collarbone scraped together once, so that he almost lost consciousness. He tried to point at Saint-Germain, who stood alone in the courtyard, his dark eyes fastened on Chih-Yü. “Cur! Vile son of a diseased jackal!” he raged.

Chih-Yü walked over to her Captain of militia and stared down at him, her face quite pale now. “You will say nothing more,” she ordered him, her manner dispassionate though she was full of turmoil. She had known for some time that Jui Ah desired her: he had made no secret of it. His lust was inconvenient but she had chosen to ignore it. Now she knew she had been unwise, for he had allowed himself to regard her possessively. She had the right to blame him, but was not quite capable of doing so. “I should send you away,” she said at last. “I should order you to depart now, before your hurts are treated. But I cannot afford to do that. We’re too shorthanded as it is, and no matter how incorrectly you have conducted yourself, I cannot allow myself to do as custom and law require.” With that, she started to turn away.

“Whore!” Jui Ah shouted after her.

Chih-Yü swung back and brought her scabbard up, slapping it against his face. “No man in this stronghold may call me that, no matter what I choose to do, or with whom!” Now her face was flushed and the masklike composure stripped away. “I am Warlord here. Remember that, all of you. If I wish to take a lame camel to my bed, that is my right, and not one of you is entitled to question it. Is this understood?” She held her scabbard up and her eyes raked over every man in the courtyard but Saint-Germain.

“That foreigner has bewitched you,” Jui Ah muttered through his split lip.

“No one has bewitched me,” she said, quite suddenly calm. Then she gestured to Ling. “See that he is bound up, and the bones are set.” Her scabbard was returned to her belt as she left Jui Ah to cross the courtyard to where Saint-Germain stood.

“I have medicaments, if you wish,” he said softly as she came up to him.

“No, nothing should come from you. It might seem that you are making reparation, and that would not be wise.” Her eyes met his and there was worry in them. “Are you safe? Did he hurt you?”

“I am not easily hurt,” he said to her kindly. “I’m sorry only that it came to this.” As he glanced around the courtyard, he went on, “Do you think you should be speaking to me this way? Jui Ah is not the only man here who resents me.”

Audaciously she put her hand on his arm, knowing that this familiarity would be noted by all the men watching. “It is not their place to question me.” She was a small woman, coming no higher than his chin, and she wore her strength with a curious fragility that stirred Saint-Germain deeply. “They should be aware of what is happening.”

He bent his head toward her and whispered, “I thank all the forgotten gods that you are a Warlord and not some mandarin’s Third Wife, relegated to the women’s quarters and wasting your intelligence and your courage on accounts and running a household.”

Chih-Yü stared at him, astonished. “If that is what must have become of me if my brothers had been … satisfactory, then I, too, am grateful to your forgotten gods.” She glanced over her shoulder to where three militiamen were struggling to get Jui Ah onto a plank to carry him to his quarters. “Dog’s tongue,” she said contemptuously.

Ling heard this and was so suddenly nervous that he dropped the corner of the plank he carried, and the others, after a few frantic, scrabbling moments, also lost their grip on the rough wood. Jui Ah shrieked as the plank crashed to the flags. Chagrined, Ling made a self-deprecatory gesture and motioned to the others to pick up the plank again.

They had almost raised the board all the way when one of the men caught a glimpse of something lying on the ground just where the plank had been. Ling tried to reach it, nearly stumbled, and pointed to the thing. “It fell out of Jui Ah’s wallet,” he said apologetically.

“Oli?” Chih-Yü asked, wishing to be rid of the man. “What is it?”

One of the militiamen bent down to retrieve the thing. “A string of cash, I think.”

Hearing this, Jui Ah cried out in fright. “Not mine!”

“Since when does a militia Captain turn down cash?” Chih-Yü inquired as she reluctantly approached the little group of men around Jui Ah. “A string of cash? How much is it?” She held out her hand to the man with the pierced coins on their leather thong. “Let me see them.”

“It’s just from gambling,” Jui Ah insisted, his voice high.

“But you said they weren’t yours,” Chih-Yü reminded him as she took the string in her hands and inspected the coins.

Saint-Germain could see from the tightening of her shoulders that Chih-Yü was suddenly very upset. He hastened to her side, putting one small hand on her arm. “What is it?”

Her voice was choked with anger and despair. “Mongol cash.”

“I won it!” Jui Ah protested.

“When? Where?” Chih-Yü asked. She signaled the men to set the plank down once more, which they did with horrified slowness.

“I don’t remember,” he said crazily, licking his lips between each word.

“This much cash and you don’t remember?” Chih-Yü said, holding up the leather cord. “Who among you would forget winning this much money? There are brass and copper coins, but most of them are silver.” She looked from one militiaman to another, and read the shame in all their faces. She lowered the string of cash, turning the coins over in her hand. “Jui Ah, where did you get these?”

“I won them, I won them,” he shouted wildly, retching as his broken collarbone shifted.

“Yet you don’t remember when, though the silver is hardly tarnished.” The coins jingled in her hands as she shook them again. “What man here would take Mongol cash, no matter where he got it?”

One or two of the men started to boast and were quieted by their comrades. Jui Ah lay back on the plank and set his face.

“Shih Ghieh-Man,” Chih-Yü said contemplatively, fingering the coins she held. “What would you do, if the choice were yours?”

“About Jui Ah?” He dreaded this question, for there was nothing he could say that would not alienate him further from these soldiers. He was aware that Chih-Yü was making a point with her men, and he knew that she was relying on his support. “I would search him.”

Chih-Yü nodded once. “Search him,” she said to Ling, and stood back while two of the militiamen bent to carry out her order.

Jui Ah was cursing softly between ragged breaths as his clothes were systematically and none too gently removed. His color was bad now, and his thoughts were muddied by the relentless, grinding agony of his broken bones.

Ling had drawn off Jui Ah’s leggings and was reaching for the boots when he noticed a scrap of paper in the seam of the leggings. His eyes went to Chih-Yü’s. “There’s something…”

“Give it to me.” She held out her hand for the paper, glancing at it when it was unfolded. Her whole body felt cold as she examined the drawing, which showed the two protected ways to approach the Mao-T’ou stronghold from the steepest side, and gain entrance to the keep. Convulsively her fingers closed on the paper.