What he and Pero did find, as their horses scrambled up and over the top of the ridge, was so unexpected, and so incredible, that they both came to a sudden and instinctive halt. For a split-second, hit by the majesty and the scale of the thing before them, they forgot their pursuers and simply gaped in awe and shock, their eyes widening in their filthy faces, their mouths dropping open.
Towering above them, so high they had to crane their necks right back to see the top, was a vast stone wall. And it was not just a wall, but a wall that went on and on, stretching out in both directions, undulating over mountains and valleys, for as far as the eye could see.
It was a wall, William thought, which might encompass the whole world. And beyond the wall was… what? A vast city? A mighty kingdom?
Certainly there was something. Squinting against the sky, the top of the wall almost lost in the heat haze from the sun way above, William saw what appeared to be the tip of a vast tower or fortress.
“Mother of God,” Pero muttered in a hushed voice beside him.
William lowered his gaze, looked at his companion. He felt dizzy and disorientated, and not merely from thirst and exhaustion.
Then something caught his eye at the base of the wall, a flash of brilliant purple in his peripheral vision. He turned his head again, this time in the opposite direction.
And—wonder of wonders—he saw a group of at least thirty horsemen, sitting atop magnificent steeds and watching them silently, who had appeared seemingly from nowhere. The horsemen’s gleaming purple armour was so beautiful, so immaculate, so intricately decorated, that William was quite prepared to believe they served whatever god ruled these provinces, and had been sent down from the heavens to offer divine justice. Each of the purple-clad horsemen wore a purple helmet from which antlers curled, and each was armed with an unusually long lance. William and Pero were so overawed that even when the soldiers, in one smooth motion, unsheathed their swords and raised their long lances, the two mercenaries simply stared, making no move to defend themselves.
Another flash of color, red this time, made William look up. And now he saw that above them, equally positioned along the top of the wall, a row of red-clad archers had appeared, their heads encased within crimson helmets. The archers were poised, their bows readied, countless gleaming, deadly arrow heads pointed in the direction of the two men.
Before William could speak, there was a zing! as dozens of strings were released in unison, and the next second arrows were flying at them like a swarm of deadly insects. He watched them arc across the clear blue sky, and then fall, speeding towards them.
William knew there was no point in retreating, no point in throwing himself from his horse and ducking for cover. The arrows were too fast and too plentiful. Gripping the reins, he sat up straight in his saddle and waited calmly for death.
But death didn’t come. Instead the arrows thudded into the dusty earth around them, enclosing them in a perfect circle, a fence of slim, scarlet-feathered arrow shafts.
“Por dios…” Pero murmured.
They don’t intend to kill us, William thought, and his heart leaped. Maybe there is hope, after all.
Pero was clearly thinking the same thing. Now that the immediate danger was over, he was perusing the vast wall once again, his grimy, haggard face etched with awe.
“You are a well-travelled man, William…” he said quietly.
But William shook his head. “No. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Pero looked almost wistful now. On his scarred and brutal features the expression was an unusual one to see. “If only the Frenchman was here to see this.”
William barked a laugh. “The lying bastard was right.”
There was a rustling of hooves behind them. Pero glanced back to see that the pursuing tribesmen had stopped at the crest of the hill, and were now glancing uneasily up at the wall and the still-silent, purple-armored horsemen. But they were not retreating. They were waiting patiently, clearly believing that eventually the two mercenaries would have no choice but to turn back, into their clutches.
“I have no desire to go down fighting,” Pero said. “Not today.”
William too looked back at the tribesmen, then nodded. “Agreed. I say we take our chances with the gents in front of us.”
“I haven’t surrendered in a while,” Pero said with the ghost of a smirk.
William grinned, his teeth white in his filthy face. “It’ll come back to you.”
He sheathed his bow, then dismounted from his horse and, still holding the reins, raised his hands. He led his horse out through the encircling fence of arrows and began walking slowly towards the soldiers. Pero followed suit, walking a few steps behind William, hands held high. From behind them came a cry of disgust, and William turned to see the tribesmen wheeling away, spurring their horses.
He looked at Pero and nodded. Pero nodded back.
The purple-clad horsemen remained motionless as the two men approached. William eyed their lances and swords uneasily.
Let’s hope we’ve done the right thing, he thought.
3
“General Shao requests Commander Wu of the Tiger Corps! Commander Chen of the Eagle Corps!”
The runner, clutching a black signal flag, was small and wiry. Dressed in a simple uniform of shimmering black silk, he scurried through the complex, intertwining corridors of the massive fortress like a worker ant through the tunnels of a colossal nest.
“Commander Deng of Deer Corps!” he shouted, scampering along a corridor lined with Deer Corps soldiers in their resplendent purple armour, metal antlers curling from their elaborate, tight fitting helmets.
Down another corridor, then another. He knew this vast interior structure like the back of his hand. A wave of red-armored soldiers, their helmets resembling beaked eagles, parted like a crimson sea before him.
Another corridor, and here was a set of downward-leading stairs, which in turn led to a long, wide tunnel, where a line of soldiers at least three hundred strong, their armour yellow, their helmets molded into the shapes of glaring tigers’ heads, were passing crates of arrows and bolts and other weaponry from hand to hand with tireless mechanical efficiency.
“General Shao summons Commander Lin of Crane Corps!” the runner shouted. “Immediate request for Commander Lin of Crane Corps! Commander Lin is needed at once!”
He sprinted around another corner. Ahead of him stretched another staircase, leading upwards this time. Seeing him, a dozen guards jumped to attention, pushing open a pair of burnished, exquisitely embossed metal doors as he flew up the stairs. The runner shot through the doors and along another corridor, lined with soldiers in gleaming blue armour.
At the end of this corridor was yet another set of double doors, even grander than the last. A blue-armored soldier opened this door for him, and he shot through into a huge, high-ceilinged room.
“Commander Lin of Crane Corps!” he shouted again. “Immediate request for Commander Lin of…”
He halted. On the far side of the room, at least two dozen officers and adjutants, who were huddled around an expansive desk, turned to regard him.
The wiry little runner, still clutching his flag, stared back at them impassively. Then he opened his mouth.
“General Shao requests Commander Lin! Immediately!”
A huge powerhouse of a man, well over six feet tall, stepped forward from the throng, his black armour topped with a helmet molded into the shape of a snarling bear’s head. The man’s shoulders were so broad that the armour seemed to fit him like a second skin. He took another clumping step towards the runner, the deep blue, highly polished floor seeming to vibrate as he did so. Then he moved to one side, gesturing with his hand.