The Jongurian Mission (45 page)

“Tell us about this man Zhou,” Willem said.

Jurin took a deep breath. “Where to begin,” he said, pausing a few moments before he spoke. “Zhou was a young peasant when he joined the imperial armies at the start of the war. They sent him to Bindao where he somehow survived the siege. He was part of the force that retook the city for a time before again being pushed out. After that he led a unit that specialized in hit-and-run tactics against the supply wings of the Adjurian army. He was very good and caused a lot of damage.”

“When the war came to an end Zhou wasn’t quite ready to stop fighting.
Lots of hardened fighters were kicked out of the army and told to go back home to their fields. After ten years of fighting you can imagine that didn’t appeal to many of them. There was a lot of anger directed toward the emperor about how the war was waged, especially in the southern provinces. He’d lost a lot of face with the people over how the war with Adjuria turned out. It wasn’t seen as a victory by most people, even though the Adjurian armies had withdrawn. His hold on power was fragile after that, and several attempts were made on his life, including one spectacular military coup that nearly succeeded before the plotters were discovered and put to death. After that it was all that the emperor could do to secure his areas of power in the north.”

“We had no idea it was that bad in Jonguria following the war,” Pader said.

“I’m not surprised,” Jurin said. “It’s not the kind of news the emperor would want known.”

“Then what happened?” Bryn asked eagerly.

“Well, let’s see,” Jurin said, thinking for a few moments. “Many of the disgruntled soldiers who suddenly had nothing to do and a lot of time to do it in formed into rebel groups which opposed the imperial government. But in reality they spent most of their time terrorizing the countryside. For the past ten years large areas of the south have largely been controlled by one rebel group or another. Most often they fight against one another more than they fight against the emperor, but lately their attacks against each other have lessened while their cooperation in concerted attacks on the government have increased. It’s as though there’s some kind of new leadership binding them together,” Jurin said.

“
This man Zhou,” Willem said.

Jurin said nothing, just kept walking down the hill.

“So you think that this man Zhou was tasked by Grandon Fray to kill us before we made it back to Adjuria to report that we think the boy in our group may have spotted the False King? I’m sorry,” Pader chuckled, “but it just seems a little far-fetched to me.”

“That may be,” Jurin replied, “but we know that it
’ Zhou’s men that you killed back there. You see, each rebel group marks itself in some way, sort of like a badge of honor to identify them to the people. Those back there had the striking snake mark of Zhou branded onto their horses.”

“Maybe some other men had stolen those horses,” Flint said.

“Highly unlikely,” Jurin replied. “No, you have Zhou after you. And he won’t stop until you’re dead, that’s for certain. Now that you’ve killed four of his men, he’ll hunt you all the way into Adjuria if he has to.”

“Five,” Rodden said quietly, “we’ve killed five.
Another man we killed last night in their camp.”

“Five then, it makes no difference.
If you kill one of Zhou’s men, he will hunt you down. He’s very protective of his men and because of that they are very loyal to him. He’s one of the fiercest of the rebel leaders, but also one of the most respected.”

“Is there any way that we could reason with
the man?” Halam asked.

Jurin laughed a deep throaty laugh.
“No, no chance of that, I’m afraid. Zhou never negotiates. He saw what negotiations brought Jonguria after the war, nothing but despair for the majority of the people and a government that is more mistrustful of any perceived threat to its power than ever.”

“So what are we to do then?” Willem asked.

“You’re best bet is to somehow get back to Adjuria before Zhou catches up with you. Catching a ship out of Bindao is out of the question; most in that city are loyal to Zhou and word’ll have already spread that he’s looking for a group of Adjurians. You could try to make it to a northern port, but most likely you’d just run into some northern warlord and have the same problems. Your best bet lies west toward Waigo. That city still firmly supports the emperor and stays out of all regional politics, much like your province of Ithmia and the city of Fadurk. It just may be possible that you can find a reasonable voice there to help you. Wen will know more about that.”

“Wen?” Halam asked.

“Wen Wubai,” Jurin replied. “He’s the man I’m taking you to now. He helped me out when I was in a similar situation ten years ago. We’ve had a bit of a falling out since then, and I haven’t seen him in several years, so I can’ be sure.”

“Any help you or he can give us we’ll kindly take,” Halam replied.
“You’ve already done more than enough by helping us out back there. Thank you.”

Jurin gave a slight nod over his shoulder then moved down the hill.
Bryn’s head was awhirl with all that Jurin had said. Like most Adjurians, he had no idea that the emperor was so weakened following the war. None of this news had ever reached past the Isthmus, and the idea that there were rebel groups and warlords that virtually controlled large areas of the country came as a big surprise to him. Of greatest concern, however, was this man Zhou Lao. From what Jurin had told them, this was a man that you did not want to anger. They’d already done that by killing five of his men. Bryn took some small satisfaction knowing that they’d killed two more of his than he had of theirs, but then he quickly thought that they were now eleven when they had been fifteen just two days before. The way Jurin talked, after another few days they might all be dead. If only he hadn’t spotted Grandon Fray, or the man that he at least thought was Grandon Fray. It was becoming more and more likely as events unfolded, however, that the man he saw was actually the False King, freed somehow from his exile on Desolatia. All of their troubles seemed to be stemming from that one brief moment and for more times than he could now count Bryn wished again that he had never left Eston.

* * * * *

Dusk was approaching when Jurin brought them to a stop. They had come completely down the backside of the hill by then and had spent the past several hours winding around the base of several other hills in a narrow valley. The hills rose up steeply around them and were blanketed by and immensity of small rocks which had rained down from above to completely cover the ground around them. Higher up large pine trees soared toward the sky. Several of these steep hills formed one after another to create a myriad of narrow and winding canyon paths between them which caused the travelers to feel as though they were trapped between walls enclosing them from all sides.

“We’ll find Wen around here,” Jurin said to them.
It took another hour of poking into one small gully after another before Jurin finally seemed to think that they were on the right path. They walked through an especially narrow passage between two steep hills which came to an abrupt dead-end in a small clearing. Large pine trees crowded together and through the darkness they could see a small wooden cottage with a faint light coming from the small window set next to the door.

Jurin motioned for them to remain back while he went to the door and slowly knocked.
“Wen,” he said loudly to the closed door, “you home?”

“When aren’t I home,” a voice said from behind them in Adjurian.
The group turned suddenly, startled that someone had somehow come up behind them in such a small area, although Bryn wasn’ able to make out the man standing somewhere behind them in the darkness of the narrow canyon.

Jurin walked away from the door and back toward the way they’d come.
“Wen, is that you? It’s Jurin.”

“I figured that out when I heard you tramping through these hills hours ago,” the voice answered.
“You never did learn how to move silently.”

“I’m still trying,” Jurin replied before turning to motion at the group behind him.
“These men were attacked by Zhou’s men. Two are injured, one quite badly.”

“While another two lay dead beside the four you felled.”

“So you were there then?” Jurin asked the darkness.

“I saw.”

“Will you help us, then?”

An old man stepped out of the darkness at that point.
“And bring down Zhou’s wrath on me?”

Jurin didn’t answer.
The man looked them over slowly and thoughtfully. He was Jongurian, Bryn could tell from his slanting eyes. At first Bryn thought the man must be in his late-sixties or early-seventies judging by the whiteness of his hair which hung down past his shoulders, but his face also possessed a smoothness indicative of a much younger man. A large white mustache grew between his small nose and lips, the ends of which hung down in long strands well past his chin. He wore dun-colored pants and shirt made of wool with a thicker vest that was darker in color. He didn’t appear to be carrying any weapons at all.

After the man had judged them silently for a few
moments he moved over to where Fess was laid out on the stretcher. He was shorter than them all by a good few inches and appeared a little stoop-shouldered, but he moved gracefully, Bryn saw, and he got the impression that the man could be much older than he originally thought, but just as easily much younger.

Fess had been nodding on and off for the past two hours as they moved down and around the hills.
The man kneeled down and put his fingers to Fess’s neck to check the heartbeat, then gently unwrapped the bandaging around the leg. He shook his head and stood up to look at Jurin. “He’s lost too much blood already. I don’t think he’ll make it through the night.”

Jurin nodded, but Pader spoke up.

“There must be something that you can do for him,” he said loudly, pressing around the others to stand in front of the man.

“If I could I’d go back and tell him not to have let his leg get cut,” the short Jongurian replied straight-faced.

“Do you make light of us then?” Pader said angrily, thinking that he was being made fun of.

“Not at all.
You men are far from home and in a lot of danger. There’s no humor in that at all.”

“There’s nothing you can do for him?” Halam asked in a more conciliatory tone.

The man shook his head. “If you would have made it here a few hours ago and I sewed up the wound, there may have been a chance, but then he would have had to stay here and rest for several days. From what I saw this afternoon, you don’t have that much time.”

“So you saw those men attack us then, but did nothing?” Iago asked.

“Did nothing? No. I watched, and waited. Jurin was nearby, and he’s always had a soft spot for those in trouble. Besides,” he said, spreading his arms down around him in a sweeping motion, “I’m unarmed, what help could I possibly be.”

Jurin scoffed but said nothing.

“Is there no help that you can give us then?” Halam asked.

“I can fill your water skins and give you a bit of food. That shoulder could use some looking at,” he said, pointing toward Pader. “But other than that, no, I don’t think I can help you much. You men are already dead.”

“What do you mean by that?” Willem asked, but the man was already moving between them and toward the cottage.
He stepped through the door, leaving it open behind him. Willem began to move quickly after him but Jurin caught his arm.

“No,” he said, looking into Willem’s eyes.
He turned to look at Pader. “We’ll get that arm stitched up,” he said, then turned to Jal and Conn. “Bring your friend inside; there may be something we can do for him yet. The rest of you, find a comfortable spot to rest outside. There’s a small spring that flows down those rocks behind the cottage, and I’ll bring some food out in a bit.” He motioned with his arm for Pader to come with him inside, and Jal and Conn picked up the stretcher and followed behind.

Bryn looked up at Halam after the door closed.
“It looks like we’re still on our own, uncle.”

“Aye lad, that it does,” Halam said as he tousled Bryn’s hair.
“But don’t you worry about it, we’ll be just fine. Use tonight to get some sleep and we’ll start out west again in the morning.”

“Will we do like Jurin says and head to Waigo?” Bryn asked.

“We’ll head in that direction, aye. Whether we go into the city or not, I’m not sure. I think we still need to talk that one over between us all.”

The men sprawled out onto the grass beside the cottage for some much-needed rest.
Bryn and Trey walked around collecting all of the water skins and filled them from the bubbling spring that flowed down between the rocks of the hill. Behind the cottage was a small pen with a couple of goats and chickens grazing quietly. A few rows of vegetables were planted a few feet away, and Bryn could make out a few tomato plants growing tall in the darkness. After a time Pader, Jal, and Conn came out of the cottage. Pader no longer had the bloody cloth around his arm where the arrow had entered. Jurin or Wen had sewn up the hole and now a small line of thread around the red and puffed up skin was all that marked the wound. Jal and Conn carried a handful of apples and some cheese to them, laying it out on the ground around them where it was soon eaten up by the hungry men.