Dragon (8 page)

“Dried fruit bats,” PawPaw replied. “Good for digestion.”

“What about these?” he said, poking a finger into a small container of tiny dried objects.

“Don’t touch those!” PawPaw snapped. “Larks’ tongues. Very expensive.”

Long pulled his finger away and shrugged. He wrapped these final fragile items and moved on to the remaining bulky objects, like dried deer antlers and whole tortoiseshells that would one day be ground into powder.

Thanks to PawPaw’s constant attention, Long’s health had steadily improved and he could now handle nearly any task she threw at him. She had removed his stitches, and both wounds were healing nicely. Hok’s estimate of a two-week general recovery proved to be accurate, and he was healthy enough to travel. He was probably even ready to climb onto a horse.

Horses had been on Long’s mind ever since Xie had first mentioned them, and Long was somewhat relieved when the bandit escorts finally arrived with two workhorses, each pulling an empty cart. It meant that he would get a chance to observe the animals up close before he would ever have to climb onto one’s back. In some ways, he wished that he could observe the bandits in advance, too.

His sensitive
dan tien
had detected the bandits approaching well before they knocked on PawPaw’s door, and he was not sure he liked what he saw. Peering out of PawPaw’s shuttered windows, Long saw the first bandit come into view, and he was one of the strangest-looking humans Long had ever seen. The man had a stubby torso, curiously long arms, and a ratty mustache that reached all the way down to his chest. He was filthy, and even from a distance Long could see
that his nose was very wide and almost completely flat. Thick scar tissue crisscrossed his forehead and cheeks, a clear sign that the man was a veteran fighter. He must be NgGung—Centipede.

Hok and the others had told him about NgGung. They had said that he was a very nice man, but warned that he loved to play a game called “One new thing you’ll know for every blow.” Apparently, NgGung would encourage people he had just met to fight him as a means of exchanging information.

Fortunately, PawPaw was familiar with NgGung’s ways. She hurried outside to greet him alone, while Long continued to peer through the shutters, sizing up the other two bandits. One was a thick but pleasant-looking man with a clean-shaven head and face. He looked a surprising amount like Fu, and was surely Fu’s father, Sanfu—Mountain Tiger.

The other man was gargantuan, with short, greasy hair and the heaviest beard Long had ever seen. He had to be Hung, or Bear. Malao had told Long about a fight he’d had with Hung many months ago, and Long made a mental note to not get on Hung’s bad side.

PawPaw called Long outside to meet the group, and, thankfully, NgGung made no mention of his crazy game. After a few formalities, they got right to loading PawPaw’s things into the carts.

Hung made it clear from the beginning that he was in charge, and that they were in a hurry. It was midmorning, and he hoped to be on the way by mid-afternoon. PawPaw encouraged him and the others
to spend a restful night at her home instead and head out first thing the following morning, but Hung would not hear of it. He said that he was eager to return to their camp as soon as possible, because they had received reports that Tonglong and his army were heading in their direction. They had a lot of work to do to prepare for what he felt would be an unavoidable battle.

Long worked quickly and silently alongside the bandits, and they finished faster than Long would have believed possible. The men were careful and efficient. He was impressed.

Hung’s plan was to travel until dark unless there was a bright moon, in which case they would march for as long as possible by its light, too. It had taken the bandits six days to get there, and even though the carts were now fully weighted down, Hung wanted to return in five. He allowed them to quickly eat a hot meal Paw-Paw had prepared, and they left.

Long fell into stride beside NgGung at the head of the caravan, leading the first horse with its cart. Sanfu took up a position at the center of the group, leading the second horse and cart with PawPaw riding atop it. Hung guarded their flank, his gigantic war hammers at his side.

Long and NgGung talked for hours as they walked. Despite NgGung’s rough outward appearance, Long found him to be very interesting and intelligent. As one of the bandits’ main spies, NgGung knew a great deal about the politics of the region. He and Long
discussed everything from Tonglong to the Emperor to Cangzhen Temple.

Long learned that many of the bandits were once monks who lived at Cangzhen. They had left over a disagreement with Grandmaster years ago, but they still held a great respect for him and his memory. In their opinion, Grandmaster had gotten overly involved in politics, especially where the current Emperor was concerned. The bandits disliked the Emperor, but they believed that things would be much worse if Tonglong took control of the throne. They vowed to stop him at any cost.

It was dusk before Long and NgGung’s conversation started to dwindle. At this time, Long began to pay more attention to the forest sounds around him, and he could have sworn the noise level was diminishing. He soon felt his
dan tien
begin to warm, and he turned to NgGung. “Something is not right.”

NgGung nodded and raised a hand to stop the caravan. A skinny middle-aged man wearing a threadbare robe jumped out of the undergrowth in front of them. Two more men in equally shabby clothing leaped onto the trail behind Long and NgGung’s cart. All three men carried makeshift
kwandos
—long wooden shafts tipped with a large wide blade on one end and a heavy metal spike on the other.

These men could not have chosen a more inappropriate weapon to wield in the narrow confines of this forest trail. A
kwando
was designed for use in an open battlefield. They would never be able to swing their
weapons properly without hitting the close-packed tree trunks and endless overhanging branches.

It was apparent that these men had planned to rob them, but they were obviously amateurs. They had chosen their weapons for shock value instead of practicality. And judging from the imbalanced manner in which the lead man was holding his weapon, it was equally clear that he would not know how to use it even if he did have the room.

NgGung seemed to have noticed these things, too. He smiled and took a step forward.

“Stop!” the lead man commanded in a surprisingly strong voice. “Move away from your cart and there won’t be any trouble. We do not want to hurt you.”

NgGung patted the horse’s nape and handed its reins over to Long. “We do not want any trouble, either, my good man,” NgGung said, taking another step forward. “Why don’t you find someone else to pester?”

“Don’t take another step,” the lead man warned. He pointed the
kwando’s
blade at NgGung’s head and shook it powerfully. It was an impressive display for such a skinny man.

NgGung’s smile widened. He continued toward the man, and the man seemed unsure what he should do.

NgGung stopped within reach of the man’s weapon and said, “I applaud your determination, but someone is about to get hurt with that thing and it isn’t going to be me.” He pointed to his smashed nose and ran a finger along his battered forehead,
highlighting a lifetime of combat wounds. “Do us all a favor and lower your weapon. Walk back into the forest, and pretend you never saw us. Better yet, join us. We could use men as brave as you. I could even show you how to hold that properly.”

The man hesitated, and Long heard a faint scuffle behind them. He turned to see Hung and Sanfu pin the other two men to the ground with their own
kwandos
.

Long looked back at the lead man and saw that his hands were beginning to shake.

“You appear to be a reasonable individual,” Ng-Gung said. “You gave us fair warning before attacking. This tells me that you are in the wrong line of business. A real thief needs to be ruthless—attack first and talk second. What is it you normally do for a living?”

The man lowered his head. “I am a baker.”

“Why, that is an admirable trade!” NgGung said enthusiastically. “Much better than a thief. Do you know how to make stuffed pork buns?”

The baker lifted his head. “I make the best buns in the region. Why?”

“Excellent!” NgGung replied. “We have several hundred people in our camp, but not one of them can make a decent pork bun. You’ll be a hero!”

The baker’s eyes widened. “Several hundred people in your camp? Why, you must be members of the Resistance! It is an honor to meet you.” He bowed. “If I may ask, what are you doing here? Rumor has it that your camp is to the south.”

NgGung gestured to Long and to PawPaw, who was
now walking toward them up the trail, leading the second horse and its cart. “We are gathering recruits. Your timing could not be better. Would you like to join us?”

“Certainly,” the baker said. “I believe I can speak for my friends, too.”

The two men on the ground mumbled something that sounded like they agreed, and Hung and Sanfu released them.

“Do you know of any others in the area who might be interested in joining our cause?” NgGung asked.

“I believe I can bring many compatriots,” the baker replied. “More than a hundred. Army enlisters sent by a new warlord called Tonglong have been overrunning nearby villages, and the only way we can avoid being forced into the army is to hide in the forest. This Tonglong’s mandatory recruiting is destroying our families and our livelihoods, and his soldiers are eating up all of our winter stores. He must be dealt with.”

NgGung slapped the baker on the shoulder. “Very good. Round up every man and woman you can, and gather at this spot in exactly fifteen days. Bring as much food, weapons, and other supplies as you can carry. Horses would be particularly helpful. I understand that Tonglong has been hoarding them even more than he has been hoarding recruits.”

“He has,” the baker said. “I will spread the word and meet you back here in fifteen days.”

NgGung bowed. “It was very nice meeting you, my friend. I look forward to sampling your wares and to
meeting our new recruits.” He motioned to Hung. “Shall we be on our way?”

Hung grunted, and they continued up the trail.

The next several days were relatively uneventful for Long. He spent his daylight hours chatting with Ng-Gung as they walked, and his nights learning as much as he could about horses from Sanfu. Sanfu was responsible for choosing their campsites and making sure the horses had plenty to drink and graze on. While Sanfu modestly said that he was not a horse expert, he was able to give Long a good idea of how to care for and handle one.

Long would help Sanfu unhook the horses from their carts every evening, removing their collars and harnesses. He would then lash each horse’s halter to the base of a stout tree, allowing enough distance between the animals for them to be able to eat and rest without harassing one another, or becoming entangled. He would also check their hooves, dislodging small stones and the like.

Before dawn, while the others were still asleep, Long would ride one of the horses bareback for a time before hooking it back to the cart. The horses were old and gentle, and he found them to be forgiving of any mistake he made. He quickly learned to steer by holding the reins and lightly moving the leather straps either right or left across their necks. The horses were far more sensitive than he had imagined, and he was soon able to turn them with little more than a flick of his wrist.

Riding atop a horse without a saddle was not the most comfortable thing in the world, but it would be better than walking a great distance, especially since his leg and arm were still on the mend. He was eager to try galloping, but there was never enough open ground to attempt it. Besides, as Sanfu had pointed out, these were stubby old Mongolian workhorses. If their cumbersome gait was uncomfortable at a walking speed, at a full gallop it would rattle his skeleton and bruise his bottom worse than anything he had ever encountered in the fight clubs.

After five days on the trail, Long was growing confident in his basic riding skills, and he could not have been more pleased, especially after they passed through a particularly dense stand of bamboo and he saw a collection of tents in a clearing ahead.

It was the bandit camp.

S
haoShu sat atop his secondhand pony, staring through rays of fading afternoon light at the fast-moving caravan of riders ahead of him. All he had seen for the past several weeks were horses’ butts, and he was sick of it. He hoped the group pitching tents ahead meant a long-term change of scenery.

As part of Tonglong’s official caravan, ShaoShu and ninety-nine of Tonglong’s elite soldiers were racing ahead of the main troops to the former bandit stronghold so that Tonglong could make plans with Commander Woo, the man Tonglong had left in charge. They were in such a hurry, Tonglong forbade them to set up formal camps at night. They slept beneath the stars, or in the homes of villagers they came across.

ShaoShu felt terrible about the treatment of those poor villagers. The soldiers would throw people out of their own homes and eat everything in sight, then steal whatever they chose when they left the following morning. If the villagers complained, the soldiers would burn their homes to the ground.