Moyu stepped cautiously through the crowds. Three steps forward, one glance back. A misty rain now cloaked the town and obscured her vision, blurring the outlines until everyone appeared as no more than amorphous spirits lit by the soft glow of lanterns.
Which of these spirits belonged to the Queen?
Calm yourself, don't fear the shadows. She ducked into a quiet alley and quickened her pace. No lanterns here, only a black void filled with the ominous drip-drip-drip of cold raindrops. But the town of Yuan An grew outwards from its center, its main thoroughfares forming concentric circles. Side streets like this should lead her outwards. Her frequent backwards glances confirmed that she had no followers, and soon--she hoped, she prayed--she would reach the gates.
No luck. A few steps more revealed her miscalculation: a cul-de-sac. Worse still, a group of people crowded at the dead end, like a trap. Their commotion must have been muffled by the rain. Moyu silently cursed the heavens as turned her heel to flee.
"Who goes there?" cried a harsh voice.
Her heart thumped as she tried to speed up, but a pair of strong arms grabbed her around the waist and dragged her towards the dead end, where she was thrust into the center of the group. They were a bunch of ragged, pugnacious youths. They stared at her with snarls on their lips.
"Ah, just a small boy," said a stout, beady-eyed youth. The ringleader, no doubt. "But now he's seen too much."
Think, Moyu told herself. Think methodically. First, there was no breaking free. Seven young men in total. Second, they appeared to be mere village miscreants by the looks of them, hardly her royal pursuers. So there's that: good news.
But wait now, there's an eighth. He stood beside her at the center of the ring, seemingly also captive. Hidden by the shadow of the adjacent roof, she had nearly missed him. But now that he's slipped into the light, he revealed himself at once to be different.
For one, he was older.
For another, he was clothed in expensive linen robes embroidered in gold. No village lad, this one.
Moyu squinted for a closer look. Now, just a minute. Wasn't he the man from this morning? The one leading the horse? The very one they'd predicted would be robbed? And here he was, being robbed! Heaven help me, she thought, no doubt my punishment for evil thoughts.
But now was no time for this.
"Search him and take what you can!"
"It don't seem like he's got much, boss--"
"Then strip him and take his clothes! Those look brand new. That'll teach him to go where he's not wanted. He needs a lesson!"
"Yessir--"
Beads of cold sweat formed at Moyu's temple as one of the men holding her captive began pawing at her robe. Taking her money was one thing, but to be stripped of her clothing . . . She bit her bottom lip and contemplated screaming. Who would hear her though? Think, you fool, she told herself. No one can help you but yourself.
And all at once, the faint memory of Kai's voice came back to her.
If they've got you by the hands, kick behind the knees.
Her left knee shot out and drove violently into one of her captor's knees. He let go her with a surprised yelp.
Grab your dagger, which you must always keep hidden on your body, and press it against his throat. Then say to the others--
"Don't come any closer, or I'll kill him!" she growled, pressing her voice low. The boy in her grasp gurgled as she drew a thin, red line on his throat.
The lads hesitated.
Their leader cried, "You little bastard, you think you can threaten me? You think I care if you kill him? Go ahead! He's just my dog! What are you all waiting for, you nitwits get the boy, now!" But Da Wang wasn't just a dog, he was their comrade, he'd grown up with them, he'd done his fair share of fighting. Da Wang gurgled away pitifully, his blood intermingling with the misty rain. Still, the lads hesitated.
Meanwhile, the eighth man spoke. "Come now, you go too far. Let the boy go. He hasn't any money." Moyu was surprised by the authority in his voice, as if he were accustomed to giving commands and getting his way. It helped, she thought, that he also had a serious face, a face rendered all the more intimidating by the slight furrow in his brows.
The stout pigheaded one spat at the man, narrowly missing his face. "Shut up! You think you can tell me what to do? I"ll kill you too! Skin you alive! We've got you surrounded!"
"My patience wears thin."
"Your patience? Stinking asshole, let me show you--"
The man sighed softly, as if resigning himself to the inevitable irritations in life. He leisurely drew his sword. The blade glinted icily in the moonlight.
The youths took a few wary steps back. How had they failed to notice his sword? They had gotten too cocky, thinking they'd cornered him in a dead end. Still, no way he beat all of them, right?
But already, before the miscreants had a chance to ready themselves, the man's sword had descended on them like so many flashes of lightning.
Moyu watched, mouth agape, as the man rammed his way through the victims, his footwork light and skilled. Right, left, swish, swoosh, a macabre dance of shadow and blade. The youths, though there were nine, were no match.
A few spurts of blood in the cold night air, and it was all over. They scurried away like wounded creatures.
A sob close to Moyu's ear reminded her that she still held one captive. When she looked at him, she dropped her dagger in surprise--he was covered in blood. She must have inadvertently pressed her blade too close in her excitement. An apology hovered at her lips as she watched him stumble away.
"Are you all right?" The man sheathed his sword and stepped close to study her for signs of injury.
I'm fine, Moyu wanted to say, but no words formed. As the adrenaline seeped out, a wave of nausea crashed over her. Her legs shook. Her whole body shook.
The man seemed to understand. His serious, expressionless face approximated something close to sympathy and his voice might almost be described as gentle. "It's all right. They can't hurt you anymore. Would you like me to walk you home?" He reached over and pat her gently on the shoulder. Surprisingly warm, his large, calm hands. Moyu leaned ever so slightly into his touch. He was comforting, somehow, this total stranger. Almost familiar.
"Thank you," she said softly, grateful. "I--"
A sword cut her off. It appeared from nowhere and sliced straight at man's arm. Surprised, the man pivoted and pushed her away, so that the blade struck air. Moyu stumbled a few steps from the force before falling against someone's chest. She looked up into the cold face of Yang Kai.
"You okay?" he asked, searching her face with a sharp sweep of his eyes.
"Fine, but look," she replied, pleading, "He saved me. You can't hurt him."
Kai's expression darkened, but he lowered his sword. He nodded stiffly at the man, who watched them carefully with his hand on the hilt of his sword. Kai said, "Well, I thank you, sir, for helping my brother."
"Who are you?"
"You needn't know. We won't meet again. Good night."
Kai grabbed Moyu around the waist and, with practiced qing gong, leapt nimbly to the nearest rooftop. He ran lightly along the bricks and through the shadowy streets until they had safely vacated. He held Moyu tightly all the while, as if cognizant that he might lose her at a moment's notice.
The man studied their exit with a bemused shake of his head. Brother? Did they take him for an idiot? The village fools might have believed her to be a boy, but he was hardly a village fool.
He turned to walk towards his own inn--the exhausting night with its unexpected troubles has at last drawn to a close--but paused upon spotting something on the ground. Curious, he stooped to pick it up and studied in the moonlight: a pale, ivory pendant carved with an intricate pattern of two, intertwined dragons.
Coincidentally, the same patter on his robe.
The man drew a sharp breath and made frenzied steps in the direction Kai and Moyu had fled. The night was silent. They were gone. He stood still now and gazed at the pendant contemplatively. Could it be that after all these years . . .
He supposed they must meet again, after all.
