Traveler from the west, p.1
Traveler From the West, page 1
TRAVELER FROM THE WEST
A SWORDMISTRESS ZHEN TALE
BLAZE WARD
KNOTTED ROAD PRESS
CONTENTS
Traveler From the West
About the Author
Also by Blaze Ward
About Knotted Road Press
Ying Ru-Hou looked up with pleasure, and then concern, as he spied the face of Merchant Hong entering the tea house, looking around, and locating him in the corner.
A look and Ru-Hou invited Merchant Hong to join him, nodding to the Mistress of the Tea House for another pot and a mug.
Hong Yin-Yu—Merchant Hong—stepped close and bowed his head.
“Scholar Ying,” he said quietly, though the shop was largely empty in the middle of the afternoon, most people either in the distant market or perhaps napping in the summer heat to await the night markets later.
“Merchant Hong,” Ru-Hou replied pleasantly. “Join me. Let us talk of pleasant things.”
The mistress delivered more tea, then withdrew. Normally, Ru-Hou would suggest a plate of steamed buns and other treats, but Merchant Hong’s business looked far too serious.
They settled and Ru-Hou served his old comrade tea.
The outer world would not allow them to be friends, as Ru-Hou was a Scholar and Yin-Yu merely a merchant, though Ru-Hou suspected that the man was wealthier than the Governor of Luanyi. Certain topics were inappropriate in a tea shop, even among men who had known each other for decades now.
Hong sipped his tea, kneeling in such a way that he could explode into motion in any direction at a moment’s notice, but that was normal for the man. Merchant Hong was a large man, broad in the shoulders and belly without being fat, and had been a champion wrestler in his youth. Trade with the west was rarely a simple, elegant affair, after all, with the Tibetans, the Khitan, and the Sogdian—among many many others—hassling merchants and caravans traveling overland on the Silk Road to the barbarian lands.
Hong did calm after a touch of tea. The wildness left his eyes and his breath regulated to the point that Ru-Hou no longer worried that he would need to draw his jian and defend himself. Ri Chu Ruili—Keen Dawn—was merely a Scholar’s sword, unlike the heavier blades Ru-Hou had used in his youthful adventures with Yin-Yu. However, Ru-Hou still practiced daily to keep himself ready for action, even as he was deep in his fifth decade and perhaps more stout than he had once been.
Thus does age creep up on all of us.
“There is news?” Ru-Huo asked his old comrade in a leading voice.
Ru-Hou knew many things, classically trained in all the great works of the Tang Dynasty and older eras. Yin-Yu was a merchant who dealt with a wide clientele of folks, including many horsemen from the steppes and barbarians from the west.
“I have just come from the palace of…an old acquaintance,” Yin-Yu dissembled nicely. “Last night, they were visited by bandits, burglars who snuck in, stole a few things, and kidnapped the man’s eldest daughter, who is soon to marry a baron from the capital. They left a note demanding a million cash for her, and instructions that they would be in touch and that he was to remain silent. My friend is beside himself with grief, obviously, and asked my assistance, based on certain rumors of actions I might and might not have taken in my youth.”
Ru-Hou grinned, taking a sip of tea to cover his mouth lest the Mistress of the shop draw unfortunately correct conclusions about the simple scholar who frequented her establishment.
And the things he had also done in his youth.
“We are not the youngsters we were,” Ru-Hou reminded Yin-Yu.
“True, but this is an old friend for whom many debts have been accumulated and discharged over the years,” Yin-Yu nodded. “And I have asked other contacts to listen for rumors that might prove useful. One such whispered in my ear of a small caravan that practically broke down the western gates this morning in their hurry to leave Luanyi. Certain details suggest that they may have belonged to Iron Fisted Du’s bandits, in disguise and perhaps in possession of certain ill-gotten materials.”
Ru-Hou considered his old friend. And the silly things they done when they were young and invulnerable.
“I have an idea,” Ru-Hou suggested. “We old farts should not be traipsing after bandits, but I know someone who still has that crazed fire of youth and would probably see if all as a grand adventure.”
He rose and Yin-Yu did as well. He knew that they both tended to tower over the average Chinese male. That had been to their respective advantages when they were younger, and would serve now.
Ru-Hou nodded to the Mistress of the Shop and got a smile. He would settle up his bill at the end of the week, with a gratuity that made his afternoons pleasant.
The outer world had intruded once again, and called him to action outside of his books.
Ru-Hou approached the alley with care, drawing Merchant Hong in his wake. Not that he feared bandits in this ward, but because a bag of hay had been sewn into the rough shape of a man and leaned against an upright board very close to this entrance. Several arrows emerged from the body in various places.
He had no interest in having his lovely silk robes pierced, even accidentally.
Fortunately, the person he was here to see was never accidental when she shot someone.
He leaned out carefully and looked down the way. She had her crossbow loaded, which he had expected, but not pointed at him, which he approved of.
Min-Gan was not classically beautiful, but attractive enough. Tall and lean, with her hair pulled back into a horse’s tail rather than up in some formal style like a proper Chinese lady. Her smile, however, lit up her face when she recognized him.
“Archer Zhen,” he called, stepping into the alley with greater dignity than he might have used to withdraw had she been in a mood.
“Scholar Ying,” she replied, weapon still down by her side in a negligent manner that didn’t fool Ru-Hou for an instant. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I have need of your services,” he called, walking toward her.
The alley was generally clean, as few fools would wander into it, once they knew that Zhen Min-Gan frequently practiced her arts here.
She wore woolen trousers rather than silk robes, but Ru-Hou was not fooled. Pants were better on horseback, and he knew her to be an excellent rider. She did many things excellently, for all her twenty-two years.
She waited, watching, her eyes alighting on Merchant Hong and narrowing suspiciously, which was probably the correct response on her part.
“Should we move inside and drink wine, Scholar Ying?” she asked polite yet evasive subleness for which she was generally known.
“Normally, I would say yes,” he agreed as he stepped close and bowed politely. “However, time is probably of the essence and precludes such social niceties today. Further, I suspect that the situation might also require the assistance of your sister, if we could locate her quickly and thus not require me to explain it twice. Do you know where she might be?”
“Probably scowling at trees,” Min-Gan nodded, face calm and serious for all her words were not. “That would be normal.”
Ru-Hou considered that. And agreed.
“Which ward?” he asked.
“You’re that serious?” Min-Gan asked.
“The situation is,” he countered. “Archer Zhen, this is Merchant Hong. You have met in passing a time or two, I believe. He needs experts at violence.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” she said.
Ru-Hou didn’t doubt that.
Zhen Wan-Xian tested the ground underfoot with one shoe. Firm, with short grass drying out from the heat. Packed dirt under that. A few trees nearby that could serve many functions while she worked with her sword. Opponents, obstacles, cover.
She moved into a pattern, sword up and stabbing before pivoting away to block with the flat, drive back a second foe with the tip, and slash sideways at a third that existed only in her mind. A hop, body and blade flashing up, over and down, then a reverse.
In the back of her mind, she tracked figures crossing the sward as she stabbed, chopped, and blocked in rapid sequence, turning all those slow hours of focus into explosive bursts of speed.
Then she recognized her sister leading Scholar Ying and another man.
Wan-Xian came to rest, breathing through her nose to return her heart rate to normal as the three approached.
“Swordmistress Zhen,” Scholar Ying said as he came to rest. “You remember Merchant Hong?”
“I do,” Wan-Xian replied, taking the bigger man in.
Wrestler. Expert at a variety of joint locks and throws in his youth. Older now and a bit heavier, but still impressive and strong, just as Scholar Ying was still known as a Scholar of the Three Great Arts: Painting, Poetry, and the Sword.
This looked serious, so she returned her blade to its scabbard, grabbed a towel and a sealed pot of tea to drink. Her sister had an excitable look. The others were more serious.
Wan-Xian knew that Scholar Ying considered the merchant a friend, in spite of merchants being the lowest of the social classes. She considered Ying Ru-Hou a mentor. Not an uncle, but close enough that when their parents had died, he’d assisted and protected her and her sister from various things.
“Last night, a palace was struck quietly,” Ying began, gesturing one hand to Hong as he spoke. “The owner’s daughter was kidnapped. This morning, we think the culprits fled via the western gate. I propose that the two of you pursue them, rescue the girl, and
probably destroy the bandits, if you can overtake them before they return to whatever base camp where they might have left more of their band behind. Your thoughts, Swordmistress?”
Wan-Xian’s nostrils flared. Both she and her sister had taken to arms, given the liberty to do such things by Empress Wu before she was eventually overthrown. Emperor Xuanzong had taken power and calmed the empire, letting Wan-Xian and her sister remain equals to any man. Not every daughter was granted that freedom in life.
Most—especially daughters of farmers and merchants to say nothing of the unclassed—were frequently little better than slaves. Wan-Xian had taken to the sword. Her sister to the crossbow.
“Two women against a horde of bandits?” she asked.
Not immediately refusing the man, because he obviously believed the two of them sufficient, but she was hard pressed to see it.
“I have another resource in mind,” Scholar Ying nodded. “On that I suspect may allow a proper rebalancing of the scales of justice.”
“Oh?” Wan-Xian asked.
“Shaman Gu,” he grinned.
Wan-Xian matched that smile.
Yes, Shaman Gu would be useful, assuming he didn’t blow any of them up in the process.
Wan-Xian trailed Scholar Ying, with her sister beside her and Merchant Hong walking at the rear of the column. The alleys were narrow and crooked here, the bottom of the ladder where even the courtesans were frequently forced to grow vegetables to sell for income, because nobody had money here and life was cheap.
She kept one hand ready to draw and slash. Min-Gan hadn’t unloaded her crossbow and held it cradled like a child as they walked.
Even the dumbest criminal would seek easier prey.
She smelled the place before they approached the door, a miasma of sulfur and other alchemical taints that filled the air, making her want to sneeze.
Ying Ru-Hou approached a door set back two steps into a small alcove and rapped smartly with one fist. They waited for several heartbeats, then the scholar drew his small sword and hammered the panel with the pommel loudly.
It opened a few moments later, revealing Shaman Gu.
Chinese bureaucracu did not have a place for a man like Gu, so officials rated him as unclassed, like some bizarre Taoist priest or geomancer perhaps, thinking his experiments represented the fool’s errand of immortality. However, she still remembered the time he’d tried to explain to her that he was pursuing science.
Wan-Xian had simply nodded and agreed.
Shaman Gu studied the four of them, his eyes lingering on Merchant Hong and largely ignoring her and her sister. He was a short man with an average build, so he was the smallest one present.
Possibly the smartest.
“I see,” he said, eyes returning to Ying Ru-Hou. “Come.”
He stepped back. Wan-Xian and the others followed the scholar into a front room that almost looked normal. Shelves for scrolls and such. A writing desk kept generally clean.
Through an open doorway, she saw and smelled his laboratory.
“Tea?” Shaman Gu asked. “Or are we already out of time for such niceties, Scholar Ying?”
He had turned so deadly serious in the last few moments that Wan-Xian almost expected that he had been replaced when she had blinked.
“We may be,” Ying replied. “This is Swordmistress Zhen and her sister Archer Zhen. You remember them from before.”
“Indeed,” Gu nodded deeply to both of them. “The cycle continues?”
“I believe so,” Hong said, stepping up. “Bandits have kidnapped the daughter of a friend. We have a trail. Ying proposes the sisters give chase. They will need an army to storm the bandit’s hideout.”
Gu glanced over and studied her now, like a farmer selecting among his chickens rather than seeing her as female. It was a hard look. Penetrating. He nodded a moment later and turned to the two older men.
It struck Wan-Xian that they were all of an age, these three men, and would normally not be associates, separated by such wide gulfs of class. Even in the enlightened era of Tang.
Gu stepped up and bowed deeply to her, surprising Wan-Xian.
“Gu Kao-Jun,” he introduced himself. “I Am An Army When You Need One.”
She recognized the quote, but could not place it. It fit his name, though. Wood Wood Fire, and thus extremely auspicious, just as Zhen Wan-Xian and Zhen Min-Gan were.
And Ying Ru-Hou and Hong Yin-Yu, when she paused and considered it.
Highly auspicious, in all the good ways.
“They will need to slip into an enemy camp,” Scholar Ying spoke. “Create a disturbance then escape with a freed prisoner in the ensuing chaos. What army can you bring?”
Gu paused and stared into emptiness, then nodded to himself.
He moved to a shelf and extracted a small box from under a pile of scrolls and tubes. It went to Hong’s hands and Gu opened it to reveal a pair of objects roughly the size and shape of large eggs.
“I have improved the formula,” he announced. “Burn time as long as twenty good breaths, generating smoke that will linger in calm air for a brief, but sufficient time.”
Hong and Ying nodded sagely. Wan-Xian was lost, but assumed an explanation forthcoming.
Gu moved to another part of the room and opened a chest after moving a quilt from atop it. He pulled out three tubes of paper with arrows trailing, plus a small box. Those got handed to Ying.
“These will scream when launched,” he said. “Horses that have not been trained to such noise will spook and bolt. The box holds firesticks that can be ignited by friction on a rough surface, or the fine sand I have glued to the outside.”
The three men turned to her now and Wan-Xian felt a scowl form.
“Shaman Gu is called that because others cannot understand what he really does,” Ying told her.
“And what does he do?” Wan-Xian asked the obvious question.
“He invents tools,” Ying replied. “These two eggs will generate smoke and blind your foes. Possibly frighten them, as we know bandits to be highly superstitious as a rule. The rockets will fly like arrows without needing a crossbow. And make terrible sounds.”
“You speak from experience?” she asked.
Ying smiled. All of them smiled. It was a terrible smile.
Wan-Xian found herself sharing it. As did her sister.
There would be many stories these men would need to share with her, that much was obvious.
When she returned successful.
Wan-Xian studied the valley below her. She and her sister had left Luanyi on the Post Road headed to the northwest, towards Hui and the Yellow River. East would have taken them towards the Imperial Capitals of Changan and Luoyang, but the bandits were moving away. Eventually, this road skirted the Tibetan plateau and traveled to distant Mengchi and the barbarian lands beyond, somewhere on the far side of Kashgar, but the bandits had left a note behind that they would leave instructions.
Thus, they could not have gone far from Luanyi. A few strings of 1,000 copper cash had been broken down and stashed in Wan-Xian’s saddle bags for bribes and little things, because the road was frequently cheaper than the city. Even the Post Road.
Thus, bribes at way stations and inns had brought her a scent. Two sisters, armed and dangerous, as well as traveling alone, had gotten a better reception at tea shops. Whispers of certain travelers who had not been that far ahead of them. Other whispers of bandits in the hills that had paid off certain district officials.
Wan-Xian would have liked to deal with the rampant corruption as well, but that would require proof she could put in front of a magistrate or a governor. Scholar Ying would know the correct person, being one of them at various times in his life, for all he presented as a simple scholar in a tea shop today.
Below, the valley stretched out, marshy and heavy with brush but not many trees. A Taoist fable in wood, where things were wet, gnarled, and of little use, so they were left alone to grow wild when the taller, straighter trees were cut down and turned into palaces.
Wan-Xian wondered how much of modern China could be thus described. Certainly, it provided cover for bandits, a camp just visible at the end of a winding path that followed a creek from the greenness below.
