“This has been passed down from generation to generation through our family to the eldest warrior. Empress Li-Song herself gifted it to our ancestor. I now pass it to you, Mulan.” The star metal gleamed in the firelight, appearing black or purplish-silver depending on how the light struck it. One end had been carved to resemble a dragon.
With her mother’s help, her father twisted her hair into a topknot. Once secured with the dragon pin, he finished it off with a length of indigo silk. Then he helped her rise.
“Fusan is saddled for you. Don’t veer from the road and do not lose your conscription papers.”
“I won’t.” She had the document secured in a thin scroll case tied to her belt.
They walked with her as far as the gate. She drew in a deep breath then mounted Fusan, guiding the bay gelding down the mountain. With six days left to reach the training camp, she’d have to make good time.
No stranger to camping in the jungle, Mulan had no trouble with the first two nights alone on the road. The third morning took her down the mountain and into the lowlands, riding through a thick mist that shrouded the valley.
Fusan’s ears twitched and turned. He danced beneath her, sensing something she could not.
“Settle now, boy.” She rubbed his neck and searched her surroundings, but the fog was too thick. “Come on, let’s keep moving.”
It didn’t take long to discover the source of Fusan’s nervousness. As the mist thinned, Mulan made out shadowy figures in the field to her left.
She ignored them and continued down the rough road. More figures emerged and she laughed at herself, finally recognizing that the people she passed were farmers. An older woman waved at her.
The remainder of the day passed without incident. Locals she passed either greeted her kindly or ignored her. She traded medicinal herbs for steamed buns in a small fishing village on the river, then continued onward. An hour before sunset, she began to look for a suitable place to set up camp for the night, wishing she’d lingered behind to take up lodgings with one of the kind residents in the last settlement.
Luck was often funny and unkind. She came across a perfect spot for a camp, one with fresh water and shelter among large, rocky outcrops, but others had already claimed it as their own. Three men sat around a fire, roasting fish over the flames. Fusan snorted and turned his head, tugging the reins in her hands. Not that she blamed him. She could smell the trio from a distance.
“How’s the road, boy?” one man called over, a large brute with a tangled beard.
“Long,” she said, pitching her voice low. “Busy.”
Maybe if they thought there were other travelers nearby, they’d let her pass in peace. As the men laughed, it seemed like such would be the case. Then one rose and took a few steps in her direction, bringing the stench of his unwashed body with him.
“Where ya goin’ with that fancy sword, boy?”
Mulan ignored him and continued down her path at a sedate pace. If she urged Fusan any faster, they’d sense weakness and pursue her.
Not that the speed of her departure would deter bandits from following on her heels. A chill crept over her as pins and needles tingled in her hands. Mulan licked her lips and faced forward, aware that the other two men were rising.
Could she outrace three men?
“I asked a question, boy. Did your father not teach you manners?”
“Looks like a rich kid. Must be too good to speak to the likes of us,” the larger bearded man said.
A fourth man she hadn’t noticed stepped out from the trees and snatched the reins from her hands. Fusan reared up, nearly sending her tumbling from his back. Instead, she leapt backward and hit the ground on her feet.
“You should rethink this,” she warned.
“I think we’ll be taking that fancy sword. Armor and horse, too. They’ll fetch a fine price.”
They all moved together. For bandits, they were a coordinated lot. Whistling a gorgeous song, her sword drew smoother than silk from the scabbard and shimmered in the air with her first stroke. All this time, Mulan had never realized it was enchanted. She whirled and parried a strike aimed to slash her back, then planted her foot in the man’s knee and shoved him off balance. He stumbled and went down. Before he climbed to his feet again, she slid her weapon into his throat.
His life ended in satisfying gurgles and bloody spittle bubbling from his mouth. Shouts of outrage from his companions echoed across the sky.
One down, three to go. They were terrible odds, but Mulan turned them in her favor. Blinded by collective rage, the group came at her without expertise, nearly striking one another each time they swung. She bowed beneath one strike, spun, and kicked one man in his hip. He stumbled to the side and fell into his companion. As she nimbly evaded another strike, she took a punch to the face that rocked her head back, her teeth cutting the inside of her cheek. Pain exploded in her face and salty blood swam over her tongue.
A strike glanced off her armor. She stumbled forward then turned to face her assailant, fury pouring out of her in a series of swift blows. His leather armor split beneath her assault, blood welled from the wound, and he cried out before crumpling to the ground.
No matter where they stood or the angle from which they attacked, she sensed them with keen awareness.
Battle frenzy took over in a way it never had when defending the village. Mulan had to make it through this. If she didn’t report to Shenyang, the empire would brand her father a deserter.
Catching her second wind, Mulan sprang up and thrust with the weapon, spearing another bandit through his chest. The exhaustion in her arms melted away, and the blade, which had been so heavy moments before, became as light as a feather. Each subsequent blow landed heavier than a boulder.
For her family. For her honor.
Nothing else mattered but reaching that camp and guaranteeing the safety of her loved ones.
“Demon!” one of the men shouted, falling back. Within seconds of the outcry leaving his lips, her blade pierced his chest, plunging through his heart.
Chest heaving, Mulan stood over her defeated foes, realizing that man had been the last of her assailants. The others lay on the ground bleeding from mortal wounds or already claimed by the goddess of death. There they would remain, as their dishonorable behavior had made them unworthy of even a shallow grave. Instead, they would complete the circle of life as food for the predators roaming the edges of the jungle.
Thankfully, Fusan hadn’t gone far. She soothed him with a few strokes to his face then gazed toward the road ahead of her. It would be hours longer before she reached civilization again, if she found another homestead at all. Liang was a large empire with vast stretches of open ground and farmland between their humid jungles.
Then the wind shifted and brought a tantalizing aroma to her nose.
“Well…waste not, want not,” she murmured before retracing her path to the camp. Her attackers certainly weren’t going to enjoy the meal.
The fish over the fire were horribly charred, but a hot meal after a battle was all the motivation she needed to linger at the bandit camp. She devoured every blackened morsel while Fusan grazed nearby, until, with her hunger sated, she took a good look at the gear stacked around her.
The group appeared to have done well for themselves. She found a sack filled with coins and a variety of weapons. Most were basic blades, chipped on their edges, but she also found a well-made shortbow with a full quiver.