Chapter Forty-seven: The Horsemen

WILD DOG RIVER BY GREG BARRON

Liang scarcely dared breathe as he melted into his hiding place amongst leaf litter, grass tussocks and stone, on a heavily-wooded hillock. A sound carried up from the track below, surely the touch of a horse’s shod hoofs on the ground, and the faint creak of leather harness. He tensed in every muscle, blinking away the sweat that threatened to run into his eyes.

He had, up until now, been passing the time and steadying his nerves by silently reciting a favourite poem – a thousand-year-old lament by the great poet Li Shangyin.

In the north there is a beauty. Surpassing the world, she stands alone.

A glance from her will overthrow a city; a second look will destroy the State.

A change of colour appeared through the foliage. A patch of drab brown cloth. The first of the Guild assassins came into view, seated on a chestnut horse that appeared to walk with some energy. The man wore a soiled robe and a queue hairstyle, the shaved portion of his scalp darkened with several days’ of growth. He sat well in the saddle, with heavy shoulders and a rifle close to hand in a scabbard such as the Yi miners of the Palmer diggings used. This man, Liang realised, was a forward scout – an alert one – his head swivelling and eyes peering in all directions.

There was no doubt in Liang’s mind as to his fate if the scout spotted him. He held the butt of a pistol in his right hand, but would have little time to use it. Killing the scout might be easy enough, but the main body of the enemy would soon overwhelm him. The file of riders was now coming into view. It was a perilous situation, which was why Liang had insisted on taking this risk alone. His desire to locate Haoyu was partly a personal one, allied to a tactical need to learn more of this enemy that had pursued them so doggedly.

Horses from Qi and armour from Yan, came shaking the earth.

The beautiful lady was buried alone, and alone she became ash.

The day had been a hard one. At first, they had followed a hard-beaten path towards the coast, covered with footprints left by the resident Lama Lama people. It had been inevitable that they should run headlong into a valley filled with men; women; families – blundering in on a gathering, and the painted men had been affronted by the intrusion. Chung Shih had whooped out a danger signal from up ahead, and ridden back with the speed and sound of thunder.

Liang scarcely had time to retrieve his pistol from its holster. ‘Defensive positions,’ he had cried. Yet, he and his men had been so focussed on the threat from the rear that there was confusion in the ranks, and the Lama Lama warriors came down the track towards them, tall and strongly muscled, spears poised.

Somehow, perhaps because the spearmen and their people were preoccupied with their festivities, Liang and his party had managed to back their horses up and retreat unmolested. In order to skirt around the area, however, they had been forced to climb a steep ravine. On the way back down the hill, amongst stones that were piled and stacked like dinner plates around and over hidden hollows, one of the pack horses broke a foreleg. It went down, moaning and whinnying. The animal had to be shot, and again the load of gold redistributed across even fewer horses.

After rejoining the main path, they had come to the first water in several hours, Liang, knowing that the Guild horsemen would have no choice but to stop here, decided that it was time for him to find out whether Haoyu was indeed with their enemies, and to study the numbers and armoury of the men who had come to kill them and take the gold.

Had our Lord and King known that she could topple kingdoms,

would the jade carriage have passed Mawei slope?

Now, alone, and trembling with mingled fear and excitement, Liang watched the rest of the Guild party come up to the waterhole. The leader was easily recognisable, wearing a dark blue tunic. This man shouted an order, dismounted, and his men did the same, some taking their horses down to drink. Others distributed food or filled waterskins.

 Liang waited, counting the men as they rode in. Twenty-six in all. Soon, the arrivals stopped. Haoyu was not among them. Liang felt confusion, and a bitter disappointment. His pulse beat at his temples, and not merely from the strain of keeping still. The loss of Haoyu was a bitter pill, and even worse was the theft of the Dragon Head’s medal, the symbol of Liang’s authority. The very thought made his face burn with shame. This must be rectified, and avenged. Somehow. But if Haoyu was out of reach, what could he do?

Discomforted, he shifted to one side, his elbow finding an unseen twig. It broke with a sound that seemed as loud as a firecracker. Liang froze, and lowered his head to the earth.

There was a rush of shouted orders, and a man was sent to investigate. Liang heard the light touch of his sandals. He tried to sink into the earth, deeper, deeper. Melting like candle wax to the lowest point. Willed his lungs to be still, and his heart to slow down – to be silent.

The footfalls grew louder, followed by the sound of a man breathing. So near now.

Liang tried to pour every thought from his mind, and every emotion from his heart, making of himself a nothing. A mere vessel of skin and bone.

A long wait, then finally a shout of, ‘It is nothing.’ Then footfalls returning to the rest of the men. Liang breathed again, at last.

When, finally, it seemed that the encampment had relaxed into their break, Liang began to slither away, down the back of the slope on which he had been lying. Only when he was well out of sight did he come to his feet, walking backwards into the scrub, finally turning and walking fast – circuitously but quickly back to the track and ahead to where Gam and their two horses were waiting, thankfully rested and recently watered.

Liang had mounted up and was back on the track, knowing how important the intelligence he now bore was, when two more lines of the poem came to him.

Never again will the palace-crier announce the dawn,

on this day when the Sixth Army stopped all their horses.

***

Liang took comfort from Gam’s presence. He had himself been the last of four siblings, and lacked the experience of having a younger brother. Over the course of the voyage, and more particularly since leaving the Kingfisher in Cooktown, he had developed a strong sense of comradeship with the youth.

The thought of letting the Guild killers catch and take the life of Gam filled him with rage. This boy’s life was in his hands – this youth with a zest that was infectious – a genuine source of hope and joy to the small party. Gam was also becoming a reasonable horseman, and he matched the fast trot of Liang, posting quite naturally, as if he had been riding for many years, not just a few weeks.

After an hour’s hard ride, Liang and Gam reached the main party at the peak of a hill that offered views all the way to the sea. Liang dismounted and stood staring out at the vista, a sea-breeze on his face and the taste of salt on his lips.

 It was a wild and breathtaking sight. From the foot of the hills below them, the ground was white with what must be coastal salt flats, then more low hills, and some drab grey woodland. Through it all, not just one but several wild rivers wound, uncoiling like snakes to a distant but clearly visible sea.

Gam breathed, ‘It’s like looking at a map.’

‘What did you learn?’ Chen Ye asked, addressing Liang, and ignoring the lad’s enthusiasm for this view of their final challenge.

‘Several things,’ said Liang. ‘The Guild vermin were still resting at the watering hole when I left. But they will be scarcely an hour or two behind and are moving more swiftly than us. There are twenty-six men in all, and they are well-horsed and armed with rifles.’

‘About the numbers we expected,’ said Quen Ye.

‘Yes, but I have more news,’ said Liang. ‘Haoyu is not with the Guild party.’

Chen Ye shrugged, ‘As I suggested, he is most likely headed for Palmerville and the nearest opium pipe.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Liang.

Chen Ye went on, ‘Or the Guild tortured him for what he knows, and buried his body beside the track.’

‘Also a possibility,’ said Liang. ‘But one more likelihood has occurred to me.’

‘Go on.’

‘Haoyu has both the chart showing the location of the Kingfisher and a sextant to show him the way. He may have headed south to make us think he was either going to defect to the Guild or return to the goldfields, then, instead headed straight for the Kingfisher.’

The woodsman’s son’s face clouded over, ‘That is an uncomfortable thought.’

‘There is something else that I have not yet shared with you. Haoyu also took the Dragon Head’s medal from under my sleeping mat. The bearer is entitled to instant obedience from all men of the Society. If Haoyu has reached the Kingfisher before us …’ He turned to Gam, and pointed at the view. ‘I can make out four estuaries from here. Am I right, in my memories of the chart drawn by Qian Yao that he should be anchored in the most southerly of these?’

‘That is correct.’

Liang stared at the distant waterway, but riverside trees prevented them from seeing the mast of a ship. ‘How far do you estimate that to be?’

‘About ten li to the mouth, but the terrain looks treacherous – salt flats and woodland – hills, possibly swamps – and those rivers will be inhabited by crocodiles and who knows what else. It will not be a quick journey.’

Chen Ye was looking seriously at Liang. ‘I know what you are thinking, and I advise strongly against it.’

‘Splitting the party might be necessary,’ Liang said. ‘A few of us, on the best horses could win through to the Kingfisher, see that all is well, then return with more men to help protect the gold.’

‘And what if all is not well?’ Chen Ye said. ‘What if the Kingfisher was delayed or lost on the voyage? What if Haoyu is indeed there, and has already worked his poison on the master and crew? And if all is well, as you say, bringing more deckhands and topmastmen will hardly help us in a fight against the Guild. I strongly advise that we should carry on as we are, and fight a rearguard action across those flats, all the way to our ship. Dividing our small force would be an act of insanity.’

Liang was noticing a new scent in the wind, and he did not like the smell. He lowered his voice. ‘Chen Ye. You forget yourself. Your counsel is welcome, but your tone borders on insubordination.’

The woodsman’s son bowed deeply. ‘I apologise. My tongue ran away with my thoughts. Please forgive me.’

Despite the apology they were both aware that without the Dragon Head’s medal, Liang no longer spoke with the authority of their leader. Keeping the loyalty of the men, he realised, was going to be difficult.

Continued next Saturday.

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