They had only one cannon left.
Mulan held her breath, digging her heels deep into the snow as she surveyed the valley ahead for any sign of the Huns.
Nothing.
From the heights above where, only minutes ago, a barrage of enemy arrows had rained down death upon them—also nothing.
All was still. Too still.
Mulan knew better than to hope the silence meant the Huns had retreated. No, with each passing second, her apprehension grew. None of the soldiers beside her—Yao or Ling or Chien-Po, or even her dragon guardian, Mushu—said a word.
Something was wrong. She could feel it.
Her eyes focused on a plume of smoke curling across the top of the hill, moving like a dark and foreboding shadow. As it thinned into the air, Mulan’s brow furrowed.
There was something behind the smoke. No, someone.
Dread twisted in her gut. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the imposing form mounted on a black horse.
Shan-Yu.
The smoke lifted, revealing an endless line of Hun soldiers on horseback, rimming the hills and blocking their way. They were surrounded.
There were barely ten men left in Captain Li Shang’s regiment against an overwhelming force of Huns. And the Huns had the advantage of attacking from above. Mulan knew what everyone must be thinking. How could they possibly survive?
Captain Li Shang tightened the collar of his red cape, then turned to face his soldiers. His expression was grim, but resolute. “Prepare to fight,” he said. “If we die, we die with honor.”
Her pulse pounding in her ears, Mulan clenched her fists and sucked in the cold, cold air. She didn’t know whether her knees were buckling from fear or from hopelessness. Or both.
She didn’t want to be afraid. There was no dignity in fear. But there was no hope. After all, what could she do? It was clear Shang believed they could only stand their ground and fight.
Still, she drew her sword with hesitation. There had to be another way.
With a ferocious battle cry, Shan-Yu led the charge to war. His steed raced down the snow-covered slope, followed by his men. The sound of the horses thundering down the hill was a terrible counterpoint to Mulan’s racing heart. She squeezed the hilt of her sword, trying to tune out the sound, but it was impossible. Her eyes froze on the storm of white cascading over the Huns as they ripped across the snow.
“Yao,” Shang said calmly, “aim the cannon at Shan-Yu.”
More like a firecracker than a cannon, Mulan thought glumly. Too small to rest all our hopes on. It was barely larger than her torso, with a red dragon’s head at the tip.
Yao, the shortest soldier, swung the cannon left and right, trying to find the best position to fire at Shan-Yu.
She frowned. Eliminating their leader would likely throw the Huns into disarray and slow their invasion. But even if they killed Shan-Yu, the rest of the Hun army would slaughter them.
She forced her focus ahead, knowing she needed to prepare herself mentally for battle, but she couldn’t take her mind off Shang’s command to Yao. Something about it felt…wrong.
Her sword weighed heavily in her hand. She stared at the polished blade, wondering if its reflection would be the last sight she ever caught of herself. Would she die as Ping, the Fa son she’d made up so she could join the army in her father’s place? If she died here, in the middle of this snow-covered mountain pass, she’d never see her father or her family again.
Mulan swallowed hard. Who would believe that only a few months ago, her biggest concern had been impressing the Matchmaker? She could barely remember the girl she’d been back then. She’d worn layer upon layer of silk, not plates of armor, her waist cinched tight with a satin sash instead of sore from carrying a belt of weapons. Her lips had been painted with rouge instead of chapped from cold and lack of water, her lashes highlighted with coal that she now could only dream of using to fuel a fire for warmth.
How far she’d come from that girl to who she was now: a soldier in the Imperial army.
Maybe serving her country as a warrior was truer to her heart than being a bride. Yet when she saw her reflection in her sword, she knew she was still pretending to be someone else. She’d never have a chance to find out who that person was, because she, Mulan, was about to die.
And the one thing she regretted most was that she’d never make her family proud of her.
The Huns drew closer. As Mulan raised her sword higher, a flash on the blade caught her eye again. Not her reflection this time, but that of a snowy overhang on a peak behind the Huns.
Her thoughts quickened as she tilted the blade from side to side, then glanced up, taking in the massive snow embankment.
She had an idea. It was crazy, and it would mean disobeying Shang’s order. But if it worked…
Mulan’s heart raced with a sudden burst of hope. What was there to lose? If she didn’t try, they’d all die. Even if her plan succeeded, they likely wouldn’t survive…but China—she could save China from the Huns.
No time for second thoughts.
Mulan sheathed her sword and lunged forward, grabbing the cannon from Yao.
“Hey!” he shouted after her, but Mulan was already racing toward the Huns.
It was the boldest, wildest thing she had ever done. She tucked the cannon under her arm, barely noticing as Mushu grabbed hold of her scarf so he could keep up. Up the hill she ran, and with each step she grew more determined and less afraid.
Behind, Shang shouted after her, “Ping! Come back! Ping!”
She ignored him. The Huns were descending fast. She had only moments before Shan-Yu was upon her and his army crushed what was left of Shang’s troops.
Mulan stopped and planted the cannon into the snow, aiming it at the overhang, praying she had picked a good spot.
This could work—if Shan-Yu didn’t kill her first. He was so close she could smell his horse’s sweat, so close she could see his black eyes glaring at her.
Her blood thundered in her ears. Distantly she could hear Mushu telling her to hurry. She fumbled in her pocket for her pieces of flint and frantically tried to light the cannon’s fuse.
She didn’t see Shan-Yu’s falcon soaring overhead. It swooped down, its powerful wing knocking her back into the snow and scattering the flint rocks behind her.
Mulan jolted up.
No no no, she thought as she swept the snow for the flint. She couldn’t find it!
She looked up. Shan-Yu was charging straight for her.
She grabbed Mushu by the neck, squeezing until he choked a breath of fire. It was just enough to light the cannon. Sulfur burned into the air. Mulan crouched, holding the weapon steady as it shot off toward the overhang.
Shan-Yu’s horse reared from the cannon’s explosion, but Mulan was barely aware of the Hun leader. Her gaze was locked on the overhang, and on the rocket arcing smoothly toward it until it finally lodged itself into the snow.
A loud rumbling erupted. Snow plummeted off the precipice, washing down into the pass in fearsome white sheets. Avalanche!
Mulan grinned. She’d done it.
She stumbled, struggling to keep upright as the ground shook. She needed to get back to the others.
Suddenly Shan-Yu loomed above, and her grin faltered. Up close, he was like a mountain himself—broad and large, his fists alone the size of Mulan’s head.
Shan-Yu’s deep-set eyes narrowed with rage, and he lifted his sword with one powerful arm, ready to deliver her a crushing blow.