The Last Concubine

until all his men were hidden from view, having urged their horses into narrow breaks in the jagged walls.
    He positioned himself where he had a clear view. If any harm befell the princess, it would be his duty to bear this news back to his general, after which he would kill himself in an act of apology and contrition. Preferring to live, he decided he needed to keep a keen eye on whatever transpired to be ready to defend her.
    The princess and Ning sat upon their horses, neither speaking nor looking at each other. The watchfulness in their bodies seemed to have communicated itself to the animals, for they also were still. Not even a snort or incautious movement marred the silence.
    A man wearing the armor of the Liaopeh appeared suddenly within the narrow gap, and Wen was seized with suspicion. What did he actually know about Ning or the princess? He had admired her insistence that she not be left behind, but this clandestine meeting made him angry and uneasy, lest she betray the general. Yet something made him wait to see what would happen.
    The young Liaopeh man was shocked into reining in, and his horse reared and whinnied. He hurriedly gained control over his mount again and stared at the two men who blocked his way. Without saying a word, he turned and disappeared back the way he came.
    Still Ning and the princess did nothing, moved not a muscle, spoke no word. It seemed to Wen as if they could read each other’s minds, and he wondered if they had given the Liaopeh soldier some sign imperceptible to him.
    Wen was about to ride forward and demand some explanation when sounds beyond the gap caught his attention. As he waited, an older man rode into the small clearing. Judging by his armor, he seemed to be a Liaopeh general at least, and his cruel, angular face was alight with amusement.
    “Princess Lan’xiu, you come to show me the way to your new owner. How very kind,” the man said with immense confidence. “And your little toady still rides by your side. I can’t think what your general can be thinking to permit you to scamper around unchained. He must be softer in the head than I supposed.”
    “I have come to show you the way to your new owner in the underworld,” Lan’xiu said.
    Her voice startled Wen. It seemed deeper and was filled with loathing and disgust.
    “Very amusing. A sweet little girl raising her sword in contest with a real man,” the unknown general jeered. “If anyone journeys to the underworld today, it will be you!” He drew his long sword with a snarl. “I shall enjoy this. And after I’ve given you what you deserve, I shall cut your little rat’s head off and dispatch him to fetch your slippers for you in hell. That’s all he’s fit for.”
    Two soldiers appeared behind the general and charged toward Lan’xiu. Before Wen could shout an order, the princess had thrown her spear, skewering one man through the throat. He fell, clutching his throat and gurgling, to writhe in the dust until he died. His horse bolted through the opening on the opposite side of the clearing. The other soldier hesitated just long enough for Lan’xiu to snatch a spear from Ning. Wen noted that she seemed familiar with the weak spots in the Liaopeh armor as she jabbed the man in the armpit. He wheeled his horse and retreated back into the darkness beyond the gap.
    The Liaopeh general did not move during the contretemps, the sarcastic smile still curling his thin lips. “You think to impress me with that little coup? Pah! They were mere soldiers, nothings. Their destiny is to die for me. One more or less will make no difference in the outcome.”
    “At least you will have a bodyguard to accompany you in your death, brother,” Lan’xiu spat at him. “If you can still command their loyalty after you die.”
    “You forget, my dearest sister,” Wu Min said, “your lamented mother read the omens for me. You cannot kill me. If you believe her oracles, my death cannot be caused by man or woman. You can stab at me all day with that toy sword, but in the end I will spill your blood in the dust and trample your broken body in my ride to victory.”
    “I remember,” Lan’xiu said. “She also said that although I could never kill you, I would be the cause of your death. I wouldn’t have blamed you for sending me away. Perhaps I might have done the same. But you didn’t need to kill my mother.”
    “Old news, sister. Her bones have been dust in the wind a long time. As yours would have been, had