The fired arrow whistled softly as it arced across the fifty feet between them and the camp and sailed into the dimly lit cave, where it sliced through the lamp’s hanging rope. Before the bandits could react, the lamp fell to the ground and shattered, its flames igniting the grease within. A blazing fire roared to life, and startled cries filled the cave. The guards outside rushed in to investigate, running directly into those trying to escape. As the bandits shoved past their fellows, Duan Ling loosed his second arrow.
The group’s leader was swift enough to dodge a fatal shot, but the arrow still pierced his leg. Realizing they were under attack, the leader roared and cast about for their invisible enemy.
Wu Du was already in position in the forest upwind of the camp. With one graceful flick of his firestarter, a handful of dry leaves covered in poisonous powder were set aflame. Thin blue smoke wafted from them and drifted toward the waterfall.
The first bandit who ran into the smoke collapsed in a soundless heap. Duan Ling shot more arrows as he retreated; the bandits were trying to charge toward him from the cave, but every one of them buckled the instant they breathed the poisoned air. In the ensuing chaos, Wu Du darted over to the front of the carriage and jumped onto it.
Duan Ling had underestimated the number of bandits—he hadn’t expected almost forty men would swarm out of such a tiny cave. Yet just as they neared his hiding spot, Wu Du whistled for their attention. Having retrieved his Flashblade from the carriage, he leapt out, still shirtless, with the case strapped over his back.
Wu Du waved to Duan Ling to signal he’d retrieved the items and scattered darts through the sky, pinning the bandits to the ground.
Slinging his bow over his shoulder, Duan Ling crawled through the underbrush toward the cave, while Wu Du mounted the carriage again and whistled a lilting taunt. The enraged bandits, grasping for their bows, got off a few shots, but Wu Du ducked behind the carriage and aimed a flying kick at the carriage shaft, sending a wooden pole that weighed over twenty pounds hurtling toward the bandits.
Duan Ling covered his nose and mouth with a damp cloth before dashing into the surprisingly spacious cave. Violent coughing echoed from its depths—the kidnapped girl. Black smoke clouded Duan Ling’s vision; he could hardly see her, but he grabbed her hand, cut through the rope binding her with his dagger, and helped her stand.
“Let’s go!” Duan Ling shouted, covering her face with the cloth and leading her back toward the entrance.
They exited the cave to find that Wu Du had slashed his way through the bandits and swiftly knocked them all unconscious. Duan Ling grabbed the horse, lifting the girl onto its back before jumping up in front of her.
“You two leave first!” Wu Du barked.
Duan Ling set his heels to the horse’s sides, leaping over the stream and galloping into the forest.
“Who are you?” the girl asked.
Duan Ling turned his head and asked, “Who are you?!”
When they’d traveled far enough to enter the deeper woods, Duan Ling reined the horse to a halt and looked behind them. He hesitated, wondering if he should return to collect Wu Du—but since Wu Du had told them to go ahead, he was likely fine.
“Who are you?” the girl asked again. “What family are you from? Are you Han or Tangut?”
Only then did Duan Ling really take a look at the girl. Their faces were both blackened with soot, so that they looked like calico cats. Duan Ling burst out laughing at the sight, and the baffled girl received no response to her volley of questions.
“Let me think which way we should go,” Duan Ling said. “We have to reconvene with the others first.”
A rustle went through the brush a short distance away, as if someone was approaching. Duan Ling murmured, “Wu Du?”
“Wu Du?” the girl echoed.
“Shh.”
Tensing, Duan Ling reached into his quiver and set his last arrow to the bowstring, aiming into the depths of the forest. A shrill scream broke the silence, startling them both.
The footsteps faded.
Duan Ling lowered his bow, realizing this must be the real entrance to the bandits’ encampment; he and Wu Du had accidentally approached from behind. The watchman stationed here must have been the source of the rustling—but who had taken care of him? Duan Ling wheeled the horse around and galloped into the deepest, densest part of the forest, fleeing until they reached the wheat fields. It was full daylight now, and amid the endless fields where the sky and earth met waited the official road.
“Stay here,” Duan Ling said, sliding off the horse. They’d arrived where he and Wu Du had agreed to meet, under the tree where the carriage had originally been stolen. He held the horse while the girl dismounted.
“Don’t run off,” Duan Ling reiterated as he looked around, taking a few calming breaths. “Are you thirsty?”
A palm streaked toward him from behind. Nerves singing with danger, Duan Ling instinctively blocked the blow, but the opponent’s wrist felt like metal—no, it was metal! Duan Ling felt the bones in his hand crunch and cried out in shocked pain.
The assassin had come out of nowhere and attacked without warning. His assailant kicked out viciously, and Duan Ling dodged and kicked back in return. The assassin struck out again; this time, Duan Ling was swept to the ground.
“Leave him alone!” the girl shouted.
She pounced on the assassin as if to drag him away, but the man merely grabbed her collar and tossed her aside. He stepped forward and stared Duan Ling down as Duan Ling staggered back.
Who is this? Duan Ling met the assassin’s eyes behind his mask, one of which was clouded over—likely blinded. His good eye fixed on Duan Ling, and terror washed over him. This was a true assassin: a living weapon with no humanity.
So fast he was a blur, Wu Du emerged from the wheat field behind them. A whirlwind of chaff swirled around his sword as he lunged, slashing at the throat of the masked assassin, who blocked his Flashblade with one arm. Duan Ling was taken aback; his mind’s eye filled with the image of that arm being cleaved off—but when the sword tore through the assassin’s sleeve, a hook of black iron emerged where flesh should have been and snaked around Wu Du’s sword.
“You?!” Wu Du exclaimed, astonished.
He tossed his sword into the air and struck out with his palm, scattering a burst of poison powder. Duan Ling cheered internally despite the seriousness of the moment—Wu Du’s maneuver was practically unbeatable. To meet the strike and repel it, the assassin would need to breathe in and channel his qi, but Wu Du’s own blow carried poison; inhaling meant certain death. The second this thought flashed through Duan Ling’s mind, the masked assassin leapt backward. Wu Du didn’t hesitate: He followed up with a second palm strike, sending the assassin flying into the wheat field before catching his falling sword.