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The road was a churned up mess of mud, making it impossible to follow any one set of boot prints or wheel tracks, and it was getting worse. The rain fell hard. Had been for hours. Any clear trace of what had happened long since washed away. The soldier at Sui Zhou’s feet was stiff from the cold, weighted down by amour and difficult to move. Half-buried in sodden earth. Sui Zhou had known this man. They'd fought together, once, and Sui Zhou knew him to be good with a sword. His fingers curled around air, fingernails black with mud. Blood stained what had once been his face; cut down by many hands. There was no trace of the carriage. No more dead.
Sui Zhou followed the road north. There was no other way they could have gone. He didn’t look back. There was no time for a burial.
The inn-keeper at the last village saw them only a day ago. A loud man, the inn-keeper said. Particular about his dinner. Seemed like the sort that should have been sophisticated - an intellectual - yet, somehow wasn't dignified at all. Tang Fan was hard to forget.
Ancient trees lined the road, bent towards one other, casting long, dark shadows. They grew thick and unrestrained. There was no way to cut through. Tang Fan must have hated this.
Sui Zhou wiped rain from his eyes, pushed his horse on. The cold reminded him of long nights in the North, huddled silently around damp, flickering fires, too tired to pretend to be anything other than exhausted.
The road curved east, beginning to climb. It would have been hard, with the ground so waterlogged, to drive a carriage uphill. It would have slowed them down. There were stones and logs jammed into the earth where the road was at its worst. Boot prints crossed over each other. Deep hoof tracks scraped out great gouges in the dirt that made Sui Zhou think of desperation and fear. Further on there was a sword - military, nicked with use - red stained the grip.
Even with the rain and the earth and the thick forest Sui Zhou smelled smoke in the air.
His foot slipped as he mounted his horse again, and Sui Zhou swore, and gritted his teeth and did not panic. Long experience told him it could be fatal to rush into a situation he only half understood. Sui Zhou hurried anyway.
To the south the thick forests fell away, opening out to a sheer drop. To the north the road was hemmed in by a steep incline. Still nowhere to escape. The smell of burning grew stronger.
Then, another body. A soldier. He was young. His face was crushed, blood pooled in what had been his mouth. A new recruit. He’d come highly recommended and Sui Zhou had looked him in the eye less than a week ago and told him to protect Tang Fan with his life.
A few steps away another body. This one he didn’t know. Not a bandit; too well-armed. Well-worn armour. A mercenary. His eyes were open, turned up to the sky.
Above, the clouds were grey and heavy. Around him, the thick woods shaded the road. What little light remained was fading fast. It was late afternoon. Autumn turning to winter. It would get much colder yet, and he still hadn’t found Tang Fan.
Sui Zhou rode on as fast as he dared. To fall now could cost him everything.
He passed another dead soldier but didn’t stop. Ahead, he could make out the outline of the carriage, tipped at a precarious angle where it had half-fallen into the drainage ditch at the side of the road.
Up close, Sui Zhou could see that the roof had caved in. The sides were blackened. Burned. There was a horse, dead, on the ground beside it. The smell was familiar from his nightmares; from his memories; burned flesh.
Something crunched under Sui Zhou’s boots as he dismounted. A broken up box. He could see none of the paper that had been inside. Any mercenary worth his salt would have taken it, whether he could read it or not. Sui Zhou had loaded the boxes of ledgers himself, in the light of the Capital under Tang Fan’s watchful smile.
There was nothing under the ruins of the carriage. The second horse was cut loose. Another soldier, cut deep across the neck, his face thick with mud, lay close to the front wheel. Sui Zhou would not let himself imagine what more he might find. Water pooled in the deep boot prints he left behind as he made his way around the carriage. The interior was ripped and slashed and burned. Empty.
Sui Zhou remembered to breathe. Blood stained the floor, but not enough that someone would die from it. He was wasting time lingering here. Wasting more time.
He turned away, scanned the ground around him. Boot prints and horse hooves and carriage wheels mixed together. It was impossible to tell what had happened, except that there had been a fight and that Tang Fan wasn’t here.
A wide channel led away from the carriage where a body had been dragged through the mud, disappearing over the side of the road. Cautiously, Sui Zhou looked to see where it led, leaning over the edge; a deep ravine. There was a dead man caught on a shelf of rock half way down. Sui Zhou couldn't see his face, but he was wearing a uniform. Another soldier. Of the guards Sui Zhou had assigned there was only one more left, and then Tang Fan would be alone.
He would be cold. And hungry. He’d be waiting for Sui Zhou to find him. He rode hard, couldn’t be far behind now. There was still no way off the road, no other way they could have turned or hidden. Night was approaching fast. The rain hadn’t let up at all. They were professionals. They would seek shelter.
The road narrowed and Sui Zhou reined in his horse, keeping as far from the sharp drop as he could. His hands were stiff and he flexed his fingers. He wished the rain would stop.
The road changed; from torn up mulch to sodden but undisturbed. Tracks turned left, heading up from the road and into the forest. The way wasn’t steep here; a way through.
Sui Zhou slowed his horse and followed, listening, but all he could hear was the rain. Then, something brightly coloured - white - caught his eye. Torn white cloth. The kind Tang Fan wore. Evidence Sui Zhou was on the right track. That the mercenaries hadn’t just thrown him into the ravine and been done with it. They must have wanted him for something. Or else Tang Fan had convinced them they did. Sometimes, Sui Zhou wondered if there was anything Tang Fan couldn’t talk his way out of. Or in to.
The trail between the trees was narrow, so that the mercenaries would have had to ride single file. The tangle of undergrowth underfoot would have slowed them down.
Sui Zhou tried to recall the maps of the area he had poured over before leaving the Capital, trying to understand which route Tang Fan might have taken. He didn’t recall any forest paths marked. He could be headed anywhere. He could be headed to the mercenaries' hideaway. It didn’t matter. There was no way Sui Zhou would turn back now. He would not leave Tang Fan alone any longer than he could help.
Then, a body in the road. Sui Zhou's breath caught in his throat, his head ran to ice. The body lay face down and half-buried in mud and twisted roots. No armour. White clothes. Hair loose and wet, fanned out over his face. Sui Zhou dismounted so fast his hand became caught. He yanked it free and felt the skin rend. He had to know. He ran, skidding to his knees. He couldn’t feel anything.
His hands shook as he reached out, pushed hair carefully away.
Not Tang Fan.
Sui Zhou felt his stomach turn and couldn’t tell if it was relief or terror. He remembered terror - the claws of it across his skin and deep, deep in the heart of him. Yes. This was that.
He lurched to his feet. Sound ahead. Something other than the rain or the braying of his horse or the deafening pounding of blood through his ears. A roar of anger. A laugh.
Sui Zhou ran.
When he was in pain - really in pain, and not whining because he’d stubbed a toe or because he hadn’t been fed in days and didn’t anyone care he was starving to death? - Tang Fan was silent. There was a long quiet now, and Sui Zhou imagined.
All this time he had held himself apart. All this time he had remembered his training and his experience. He had relied on what he saw and what he knew and nothing more, but this - silence and then rage and then laughter - all Sui Zhou could think was of every evil thing he’d ever seen men do to one another. He’d seen so much, and now every victim had Tang Fan’s face and voice and blood.
Not helpful. This was not helpful. He might make things worse. They would hear him coming like this. He had no idea what he was running into. He might get himself killed, and then who else would come for Tang Fan?
Sui Zhou made himself stop. He listened.
The mercenaries weren’t much farther up the path. They were setting up camp; Sui Zhou could hear horses stamping their feet, and he could hear boots slapping against water and mud, men moving quickly and cursing the rain and the weight of their bags.
He heard Tang Fan’s voice, and in his stomach he felt an empty, gnawing relief.
Tang Fan was talking fast - difficult to understand between the dense forest around them and the roar of the rain - but he was talking, and for now that was enough. Sui Zhou crept closer. It was twilight now, but Sui Zhou could see the flicker of firelight refracted through the trees.
Sui Zhou heard, “Where is it?” growled low and threatening in a thick accent he didn’t recognise.
“I would be a fool to tell you,” Tang Fan said, followed by the dull thud of skin hitting skin. Tang Fan coughed wetly, gasped in breath, and Sui Zhou had to grit his teeth to stay silent. To stay where he was. He needed to know more about the lay of the land, where Tang Fan was, how he was; how many men he’d have to kill.
It was hard to turn away - Sui Zhou hated himself for doing it - but Tang Fan had kept himself alive this long. Sui Zhou was certain he could hold out for a little while longer.
Off the path the way was difficult. Sharp-edged branches pulled at his clothes and his hands and his face. The ground was waterlogged, began to slop upwards, and for every step Sui Zhou took it felt as though he slipped backwards a dozen more. He couldn't shake the feeling he was making too much noise, and any moment there would be mercenaries crashing through the forest behind him. But stealth was impossible. He climbed, and below him he could hear a question, an answer, an answering fist. Sui Zhou moved faster, inching closer until he could see a small clearing, below him now, in front of a rock shelf. Tang Fan sat sprawled out in the rain and the dirt, his white clothes stained. His hair had come half-loose. It would be tangled.
“You little shit,” someone said. Arms, followed by broad shoulders emerged from beneath the rock shelf, grabbing at Tang Fan. This mercenary wore armour too, but it was old and frayed, repaired many times over.
The mercenary dragged Tang Fan through the mud, not letting him get his feet under him so he slipped and fell, and fell again. Sui Zhou was close enough to see Tang Fan grimace at the way the mercenary gripped him by the arm. Sui Zhou wished he’d brought a bow and arrows, but he didn’t think he would ever take the risk of hitting Tang Fan.
Below him, the mercenary snorted and pulled Tang Fan in, closer to his face. “Maybe you’ll be more willing to talk after a night in this storm.” He turned his face back to the rock shelf where the group had taken shelter and said, “I hear scholars wilt in the rain.” There was laughter. They were drinking. That was useful to Sui Zhou if it came to a fight. Tang Fan, predictably, looked unimpressed.
“Was that a joke?” he asked.
Sui Zhou knew what was going to happen - he could see it in the way the mercenary stiffened, drew back his shoulders - but he couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to look away. He wanted to know every cruelty he needed to repay, when it came to it. And it would come to it. So he watched, and pressed his nails into his fists and didn't move as the mercenary hit Tang Fan in the face, and the stomach, and pounded at him again and again until he was choking. Sui Zhou could see the red blood staining Tang Fan’s collar. Just when Sui Zhou’s fingers had closed over the grip of his sword, just when he had decided he needed to do something to stop Tang Fan being beaten to death, the mercenary let go. Tang Fan fell heavily to the ground.
“Anything else to say?” the mercenary sneered.
Tang Fan shook his head slowly, carefully. Sui Zhou’s grip on his sword tightened as the mercenary reached for Tang Fan again.
“I would kill you,” the mercenary said conversationally, “If it wouldn’t cost me so much. I would make it slow.”
Sui Zhou shifted closer, trying to see better; the mercenary was tying Tang Fan to the trunk of a tree, lashing his hands together tightly, roughly enough that Tang Fan winced.
The light was nearly gone now. It was darker still in the forest and Sui Zhou picked his way around the edge of the overhang, moving closer to the tree line. The yellow and orange glow of fire spread out across the clearing, making strange black mirrors of the puddles, making the blood on Tang Fan’s face look as thick as tar.
He would wait until they slept. He would move as close to Tang Fan as he dared and then he would wait and he would slit their throats as they slept - or at least as many of them as he could get to until someone raised the alarm. He imagined it. Sui Zhou imagined the warmth of their blood and their choked off breaths and he would enjoy every second of it. Except Tang Fan wouldn’t want that. Tang Fan would tell him they deserved a trial. Bring them to justice, he’d say. It would never be enough for Sui Zhou.
Getting Tang Fan away from here - that was what he needed to concentrate on now. So Sui Zhou crouched down in the twisted roots of an ancient, sprawling tree, boots heavy with mud and clothes plastered to his skin, and waited. He listened as the mercenaries laughed and argued and sharpened their swords and axes. From where he sat Sui Zhou could see there were ten of them, all wearing what had once been army uniforms, and all of their faces scarred and pitted with violence and drink. Deserters. They sat by their fire under the shelter of the rock and ate and drank and sometimes threw stones or scraps at Tang Fan. He was far enough away for none of it to hit him, and for once Tang Fan remained silent. His head was bowed low, resting on his chest, and Sui Zhou could hear him breathe, slow and careful, like it hurt him every time he took a breath.
In the dark, and the rain, Sui Zhou waited until long into the night. The mercenaries finally bedded down. Tang Fan was shivering. Sui Zhou waited longer.
What looked like the eldest of the mercenaries kept watch. For a long time he stayed by the fire, stoking it, and watching the rain. But Sui Zhou’s patience paid off; after a long time watching Tang Fan from across the clearing he came to torment his captive.
The old mercenary approached quietly, stepping around deep puddles and the worst of the trampled ground. Sui Zhou was certain he didn’t want to wake his companions. It made him uneasy.
Tang Fan looked up, opened his mouth to speak, but the man rushed forward, pressing his hand to Tang Fan’s face.
“Not a sound,” he hissed. A glint of light caught Sui Zhou’s attention; the reflection of a blade at Tang Fan’s throat. The mercenary pressed harder and Tang Fan nodded minutely. When the blade was drawn back there was a line of red across his neck.
It was the last pain the mercenary would cause.
Sui Zhou pushed away from his hiding place, drawing his sword. He’d had long hours to plan this; to know every knot that could trip him and every branch that might slow him down. Bent low, moving fast, there was time only for the mercenary’s eyes to open wide, to half-raise his knife, before Sui Zhou cut him down with a swift, deep slice to his throat. He died quickly and quietly, blood pooling heavily around his head. In their shelter, the mercenaries didn’t stir.
Tang Fan didn’t speak - knew better than that - but watched as Sui Zhou came around to stand in front of him. This close, Sui Zhou could see the bruises on Tang Fan’s face. Hair stuck to his cheeks. But he was alive, and Tang Fan smiled - just a small tug of his lips under the dirt and the blood - but Sui Zhou found himself smiling back. He knew; Tang Fan was stronger than most people gave him credit for. When it came down to it there was no pretension in him, no pomposity. Tang Fan was like no other official Sui Zhou had ever met. For a long time Sui Zhou had known this, but here was the evidence of it all over again. Gently, Sui Zhou touched Sui Zhou’s cheek. Tang Fan didn’t flinch but his smile grew wider, and there was amusement in his eyes. But his lips were white. They couldn’t linger any longer.
Sui Zhou glanced back at the mercenaries; asleep.
He cut the rope bound tightly around Tang Fan’s wrists, tamping down the anger that burned in his stomach at the torn skin, the way Tang Fan’s arms shook once he was freed. Sui Zhou caught his elbow, and Tang Fan leaned on him heavily.
They didn’t speak as they retreated, every step slow and careful. Sui Zhou kept one eye on Tang Fan and one eye on the path behind them. The light from the fire faded; the forest swallowed them up.
The rain, at least, had let up, but the night was at its darkest and it was impossible to see anything more than a short distance ahead. Sui Zhou remembered the ravine he’d followed along the road. He was fearful now that one careless step, one slip, and they would plummet down into it. Any moonlight there might have been was hidden behind rain clouds. Sui Zhou had nothing dry enough to light a torch. He didn’t think he would have risked it anyway. It would be foolish to hurry. Even if they had some way to see by, Sui Zhou wasn’t certain that Tang Fan could move any faster. He was breathing heavily, and his back was bent. Sui Zhou didn’t let go of his arm.
Options. He needed options. It was unlikely they’d be able to find his horse. They needed distance from the mercenaries. Sui Zhou took them what he thought to be south. There was nothing to navigate by, no landmarks, no moon or stars. Just the forest and the night. Beside him, Tang Fan slipped, leaned almost his full weight on Sui Zhou, and struggled to stand on his own feet again. Sui Zhou wondered how long it had been since Tang Fan had eaten anything. If the kept going they risked going too far from the road, and the promise of safety, and warmth, and food.
The worst of it was that Tang Fan didn’t ask to stop or rest; he didn’t tease Sui Zhou; he didn’t ask for dinner, or complain, or argue. Sui Zhou wanted to ask him if he was alright, but out here in the cold, so far from civilisation, how could he be?
Around them the forest thickened; great branches reached high overhead, shielding them from the worst of the rain. Sui Zhou couldn’t see anything of the sky now, and every way he looked was pitch black, like looking into a bottomless well. He could hear the shift of leaves in the wind, and the distant roar of what Sui Zhou thought must be a river. Under his boots the ground crunched - dry enough - so Sui Zhou led Tang Fan to the base of a great old tree. There was a hollow in the ancient roots; the best shelter they were going to get.
“Guangchuan?” Tang Fan said, confused, and it was good to hear his voice.
“We’ll rest here," Sui Zhou said.
“I can go on, if we need to,” Tang Fan insisted, though he did not sound enthused by the prospect.
Sui Zhou shook his head. “We’ll wait until light, if we can.”
Tang Fan seemed to understand, or else he was too relieved at the idea of rest to argue. Sui Zhou pulled lightly at his arm and he went easily, crumpling to the ground with a sigh. It was an easy thing to draw Tang Fan against his chest, to wrap his arms around him. He was shivering. His eyes closed. Sui Zhou kept one hand close to his sword.
“I knew you’d come,” Tang Fan said, and Sui Zhou didn’t dare ask him if he’d ever doubted it. “I knew you’d realise something was wrong.” His teeth clacked loudly together as he shook, so Sui Zhou rubbed his knuckles against Tang Fan’s sternum.
There were a hundred or more things Sui Zhou thought he might say then - private and secret, but in the anonymity of the thick darkness he thought he almost could - but there was nothing Sui Zhou would do that might drive Tang Fan from him. So he said, “Dong’er would never forgive me if I left you with a gang of mercenaries.” Sui Zhou would not consider what might have happened if he had not come - if he’d been too late. As best he could, Sui Zhou looked Tang Fan over, pressed his arms and his sides, looking for injury.
Tang Fan squirmed. “Guangchuan.”
“We’re going to have to move fast as soon as the sun rises,” Sui Zhou explained. Every flinch and every stain of blood made Sui Zhou want to go back and slit the throat of every mercenary he found.
“Guangchuan,” Tang Fan sighed.
“So you should get some sleep.” Sui Zhou said.
Tang Fan snorted a laugh. “I can’t sleep with you prodding at me.”
Sui Zhou’s hands stilled.
“Guanchuan,” Tang Fan said, and reached up and laid his hands on Sui Zhou’s shoulders. Even through the thick cloth Sui Zhou could feel how cold Tang Fan’s hands were. “I’m alright.”
A long silence. Sui Zhou tried not to tense at every snap of wood and crunch of leaves. If the mercenaries came they would be loud, confident in their numbers. They would bring torches. Beside him, Tang Fan was breathing.
Finally, Sui Zhou said, “Don’t go without me again,” and Tang Fan nodded, “Never.”
“Sleep,” Sui Zhou commanded, and for once Tang Fan obeyed.
Time passed achingly slowly. Sui Zhou watched the darkness for any hint of firelight, listened for any sound of movement. He gritted his teeth and gripped his sword every time the direction of the wind changed and he thought, for an instant, that he would have to fight. Tang Fan slept fitfully, shivering and uneasy. Sui Zhou would have watched him more closely, tried to do more to warm him, but all he had was his own chilled body. He pulled him closer and kept watch. He would keep them safe.
At first light Tang Fan's eyes blinked open, and Sui Zhou was glad he didn’t have to wake him.
“We need to go, don’t we?” Tang Fan coughed. They needed to find water.
“We’ll head down to the river,” Sui Zhou said, helping Tang Fan to his feet. It took longer than Sui Zhou would have liked. Tang Fan panted heavily and swayed where he stood, but he mostly held his own weight. He would need to if it came to a fight. “Then we head west.”
“We’re heading back to the village?” Tang Fan asked, and Sui Zhou nodded.
“Good,” Tang Fan said. “Good.”
They walked, faster than the night before but still too slowly. The mercenaries would catch up to them quickly, but Sui Zhou said nothing. It would not help. Instead, Sui Zhou took Tang Fan’s arm to steady him and led the way.
There was no rain, but above them the clouds were a heavy, threatening grey. The temperature had dropped enough that ice had gathered at the edges of leaves, drawn thin lines across branches. It had stiffened their clothes.
The sound of the river grew louder and Tang Fan’s steps grew shorter. His face was almost as grey as the sky. The air was damp and chilled. Then, the first flurries of snow fell, melting on Sui Zhou’s cheeks.
Tang Fan said, “I don’t dare to say that,” a half-gasped breath in, "things can’t get much worse.” He laughed, but there was no humour in it. “We still have a long way,” he stumbled, caught himself on a tree, “to go, don’t we?”
“Don’t talk,” Sui Zhou said.
Then Tang Fan did laugh, real enough that Sui Zhou raised an eyebrow at him.
“As though,” another strained breath, “telling me that has,” a cough, “ever stopped me before.”
For all his words though, Tang Fan didn’t speak for a long time after that. The snow fell more heavily, a thin white layer settling on the long arms of the high branches above them, on patches of space between the trees. Sui Zhou brushed the snow from Tang Fan’s shoulders, then his own. He flexed his fingers, afraid they might freeze up when he needed them most. It was just a matter of time now. They were waiting to be found.
When the time came it was over more quickly than Sui Zhou had anticipated. Just one mercenary, a scout, who called out “He’s headed west!” when he sighted them, then seemed surprised when Sui Zhou dropped Tang Fan, spun around and charged him. Sui Zhou didn’t give the scout a chance to deflect, or give any better directions, skewering the man through the heart. He didn’t stop to check he was dead.
Tang Fan grimaced as Sui Zhou pulled him up by the arm. “A little… ah... more gently next time maybe?”
Sui Zhou didn’t reply. They had to move faster now, and Tang Fan seemed to understand because he looked to the ground, focussed all his attention on putting one foot in front of another, and said nothing more. Behind them, Sui Zhou could hear shouts and calls, but still too far away to understand what was being said.
They came suddenly to the river. In one step they were in amongst the crowded trees, and in the next they were on the river bank. Sui Zhou stopped sharply, pulled tightly on Tang Fan’s arm to stop him toppling in. Here, out of the protection of the thick tree canopy the snow fell more insistently, building up on the rocks. The ground beneath their feet crunched with it. It would be obvious they had been here. Beside him, Tang Fan blinked at the river as though he couldn’t quite comprehend what was in front of him.
“You need to drink,” Sui Zhou said, and led him to the water’s edge. The river ran fast, clear enough to see the shallow shelf of the riverbed before it fell away sharply. Deep water.
Tang Fan looked at Sui Zhou blankly. “But,” he looked behind them.
“Drink,” Sui Zhou commanded. “Slowly. We have time.” It was a lie, but it was better to drink now than keel over later.
It was a strange thing; how Tang Fan nodded, trusting him completely. He knelt in the snow and drank, slowly as he’d been told. Sui Zhou drank too, keeping close to Tang Fan. He kept one hand on his sword. The water was cold enough that it felt that fire across his fingers, made his head ache. Tang Fan didn’t seem to notice.
The voices grew louder. Sui Zhou looked around them. The banks sloped steeply upwards on the other side of the river. Even if they could cross the river, any path up the slope would be impossible. They would have to find somewhere further downstream.
“We’ll need to walk in the river,” Sui Zhou decided. “We can keep to the edge; the water’s fast enough to cover our tracks. It will divide their numbers if they don’t know which way we went.”
At his side, Tang Fan rose from his crouch slowly. He did not look pleased.
“In the river,” he said.
Sui Zhou nodded, taking Tang Fan’s arm and helping him to his feet. “Yes.”
“Because we’re not cold enough?”
“Because we can’t fight them all at once.”
Tang Fan grimaced, looked at the water. His eyes were more focused. He stood taller.
“I’ll be close behind you.” Sui Zhou was trying for reassuring, but from the way Tang Fan scoffed he thought it might have come across closer to a threat. When he didn’t move Sui Zhou said, “We need to go,” and pushed lightly at Tang Fan's back. Tang Fan stepped cautiously into the shallows, hissing at the cold.
“There are other ways,” Tang Fan gasped, “to get someone to move.”
Sui Zhou moved into the water. His eyes widened at the shock of it. “Come on,” he said. He wasn’t about to let Tang Fan know how the cold felt like needles stabbing at his toes as it ran through his boots. How he wanted nothing more than to escape it.
Tang Fan walked cautiously, arms spread for balance. The water was shallow but fast, unsteadying, beating against the back of their ankles as they moved with the current. Sui Zhou was relying on the rush of it to wash away their boot prints.
By mid-morning the snow had lessened to occasional flurries. The skies had cleared enough that sometimes Sui Zhou could see something of the sun, but it was pale and cold. The river bent and turned back on itself and Sui Zhou knew this was a longer route to take, but it was a path he was sure of. Like this - chilled to the bone and slow to react - Sui Zhou knew he wouldn’t be able to take on so many opponents and survive. He could barely feel his feet anymore. And he had Tang Fan to think of.
Sui Zhou could no longer hear the calls and shouts of the mercenaries behind them. He couldn’t decide if that was a good thing.
Ahead of him, Tang Fan managed to keep a steady pace. His teeth chattered loudly. Finally, he said, “Guangchuan,” and Sui Zhou understood.
“We’ve gone far enough,” he allowed, and led Tang Fan from the river. The treeline reached out in to river here, a tangled mess of roots and branches; better to hide their boot prints.
Out of the river, Tang Fan slowed, unsteady as he navigated the forest floor.
“I don’t think,” Tang Fan said, “I’ve ever walked so far in my life.”
By late-morning the sky had turned dark grey again, and snow began to fall relentlessly. At this speed, they would need to find shelter for the night, or else he wasn’t certain they would survive it. There was no colour in the skin of Tang Fan’s face. His lips were cracked, and Tang Fan bit at them until they bled.
Then, Sui Zhou heard them; the snap of branches trodden underfoot; sudden shouts where an instant before there had been only the sound of their own heavy steps and breath. Sui Zhou had hoped to outrun them to the road. He had hoped, in this vast forest, they’d be able to stay hidden.
There was fear in Tang Fan’s eyes.
The way they had come was a clear path of prints in snow. Obvious. It had been wishful thinking. He had been careless, and worst of all careless with the one thing he would do anything to protect. Sui Zhou could blame the cold for dulling his sense just as he could blame his exhaustion for his stupidity, but it wouldn’t keep them any more alive when it came to it.
He drew Tang Fan close, pressed his knife into his hand. It was better than nothing.
Tang Fan tried to push it away. Sui Zhou insisted, “I don’t know how many of them will come.”
“I can’t use this,” Tang Fan said, shaking his head.
Sui Zhou knew that. Sui Zhou knew that.
“Stay behind me,” Sui Zhou said.
There was an old legend Sui Zhou had heard once; that in the oldest forests morning and afternoon and night shifted and changed, so that days might last the shortest of time, and nights might draw out forever. Sui Zhou felt it now. From dawn, when Tang Fan had awoken, until that moment had been stretched out, an infinity of trudging, inching steps. Now time narrowed, spun down to its edge, and there was no time to do anything more than push Tang Fan to his back and flex his fingers, shift his stance, raise his sword.
He met the first mercenary’s sword easily enough, though the force of it bent Sui Zhou’s wrists. Two more approached from the same direction as the first, but Sui Zhou could spare them none of his attention because his opponent was raising his sword. He met the blow again. This mercenary was slow but powerful. He smelled of liquor and sweat.
“Where,” the mercenary grinned, “did you come from?”
Tang Fan was close at Sui Zhou’s back, gripping at the waist of his armour. This needed to be over with quickly.
Trusting Tang Fan to keep out of the way, Sui Zhou thrust forward, hoping to surprise his opponent. The mercenary was ready, anticipated the move, drove Sui Zhou back. They fought. The mercenary laughed at first. Sui Zhou cut at him and cut at him until he was no longer laughing. He became sloppy in his rage, frustrated that Sui Zhou was not so easy to kill. He lashed out at Tang Fan, and Sui Zhou sliced a deep gouge into his arm, deep enough that the mercenary screamed and let go of his sword. Just in time, because the other two mercenaries were moving in, one circling round to his back; to Tang Fan. Sui Zhou backed them up to a tree, lashed out at the man in front of him - thinner than the last but more skilled. He didn’t underestimate Sui Zhou, met his sword each attack. The third mercenary was moving in on Tang Fan, reached out to grab at him, and Sui Zhou slashed at him, then back to meet the thinner man’s thrust. Two opponents at once was nothing new, but Sui Zhou was tired and cold and slow and Tang Fan was behind him. Relying on him.
Sui Zhou gritted his teeth and fought harder. The bigger mercenary rejoined the fight, having regained his sword, and then it was three against one. Behind him, Tang Fan moved where Sui Zhou pushed him, and managed to evade grasping arms and blades, until he couldn’t. Tang Fan cried out, and Sui Zhou saw the sword-point coming towards him and twisted himself around. He felt the blade push deep into the flesh between his shoulder and his neck. His sword arm. He heard Tang Fan call, “Guangchuan,” felt the shock of pain, and took the proximity as an opportunity to run the bastard that had tried to stab Tang Fan through the face. His attacker fell away, gurgling and scratching at the wound. Sui Zhou allowed himself one deep breath, then pushed forward, cutting furiously at the large mercenary, not giving him a chance to fight back. One deep cut across his neck was enough to finish him off, and he fell heavily to the forest floor.
“Sui Zhou, left!” Tang Fan warned, and Sui Zhou spun to his left. HIs sword embedded in the third mercenary’s side. He fell back, clutching at his wound, and Sui Zhou finished him quickly.
It was only then, looking at the corpses, torn, eyes staring sightlessly up at the forest canopy above them, that Sui Zhou felt the cold of the snow on his face and in his hair. The pain in his shoulder crept closer to awareness, to being all he could think of, except then Tang Fan was in front of his face, saying his name and looking behind them urgently. Sui Zhou blinked at him, trying to understand what he was saying. Then Tang Fan wrenched him to the side and Sui Zhou understood; another mercenary. Sui Zhou cursed himself for this distraction.
Tang Fan pulled on Sui Zhou’s wrist and said, “We should run.”
“No,” Sui Zhou said. It was too late to turn their backs now. He switched his sword to his other hand and pressed an attack. This mercenary was less skilled, but younger and faster. Still, this desperation to survive and to protect - even when he ached and his feet were unsteady and his head light - was familiar to Sui Zhou. This is what he had trained for a thousand times. This was how he endured.
He deflected every thrust, and waited for his opening. Then, something went wrong. His footing maybe. His balance. But Sui Zhou stumbled, nearly falling forward, and he knew then he could not defend himself like this. For an instant he panicked, certain he was going to die and leave Tang Fan alone, and it would be his fault. But then the mercenary stumbled back, yelling in pain and frantically reaching to the back of his neck. He fell, and didn’t get back up.
Sui Zhou straightened up. Tang Fan stood, frozen still and eyes wide. There was blood on his hands.
“Tang Fan,” Sui Zhou called, and reached out for him.
“I,” Tang Fan tried.
“Tang Fan,” Sui Zhou said again, made himself move forward, took hold of Tang Fan’s arm.
This was Sui Zhou's failure. This was his doing. He remembered that first time how it had squeezed all the air from his chest, how his stomach had turned to take someone’s life. It didn't matter that, above anything else, he’d been fighting for his life. And Sui Zhou had given Tang Fan the knife.
Except, there was no time to regret, or to tell Tang Fan it would be alright, because there were other mercenaries out in the woods still looking for them and they needed to move.
“You saved my life,” was all Sui Zhou could think to say.
At that, Tang Fan looked up. His eyes were wet. His teeth were chattering again, and Sui Zhou hoped it was more from the cold than from the shock.
His eyes went to Sui Zhou’s shoulder. “You’re hurt,” he said.
“Yes,” Sui Zhou agreed. “But we need to go.”
Tang Fan nodded. “Right. Right.” He didn’t move, so Sui Zhou took his wrist with his good arm and pulled him away. Tang Fan went easily enough, and didn’t look back.
They walked, and after a time Tang Fan followed without needing to be led. Sui Zhou tied a strip of his belt around his shoulder. At his hiss of pain, Tang Fan drew closer, touched his elbow.
“Is there nothing we can do? There’s a lot of blood.” He tipped his head towards the mess of Sui Zhou’s arm.
“It’ll be alright,” Sui Zhou said. More accurately, if they didn’t find safety soon it wouldn’t matter what state his arm was in. Tang Fan didn’t look convinced, but didn’t argue. Instead, he sighed and rubbed at his eyes, and Sui Zhou wondered if perhaps he was just too tired to bother. Sui Zhou knew how that felt.
The ground sloped upwards, then flattened out, the trees spaced further out so that it was easier to walk and they could cover more distance, but they were more visible. The day was passing to mid-afternoon. Snow fell steadily, remorselessly. In the places where the canopy was thinner they trudged through thick snow drifts. Sometimes, Sui Zhou caught Tang Fan picking at the dried blood on his hands.
He said, “You can wash it off in the snow,” but Tang Fan shook his head and hunched his shoulders.
He tried, “We can stop for a moment.”
Tang Fan said nothing. His silence was unnerving. Sui Zhou remembered a time when his home had been a quiet, peaceful place. He had rarely been there, except perhaps to sleep and on those rare days off when he had nothing else he could possibly contrive to keep him from haunting his own house like a ghost. Then Tang Fan had come into his life, and suddenly his entire world was full of noise and movement and demands. Somehow, inexplicably, even from the very beginning Sui Zhou had never minded any of it, not really. The chaos that Tang Fan brought served only to underline the barrenness of what had come before.
A hundred times Tang Fan had bullied Sui Zhou into talking. Sometimes for a case. Sometimes just for conversation. And then sometimes, Tang Fan convinced Sui Zhou to spill out his deepest fears and to recount his darkest moments, and he had never understood how. He wished he knew now. He wished he knew what to say, the way Tang Fan did. He wished he knew how to help him.
There was only one way Sui Zhou knew how to be. He said, “Talk to me.”
They were close enough that Sui Zhou could hear Tang Fan’s quiet laugh. He turned his head to look at Sui Zhou.
“I wonder,” he said, “if this is how our suspects feel when you interrogate them.” He was wheezing again; a pained sound. Sometimes he was unsteady on his feet.
“I’m not interrogating you.” Sui Zhou needed that to be clear.
“I know,” Tang Fan said. “I’ll talk to you. Just,” he looked at his hands, looked lost and ill and disgusted, "not now.”
Sui Zhou nodded. He’d let him be. They had been through enough together - both the good and the bad - that Sui Zhou believed Tang Fan would come to him when he needed to.
As they walked, they began to hear the rushing, churning sound of water. They were close to the river again, and much further downstream now. They were going in the right direction, close enough to the road that Sui Zhou allowed himself something like relief; something like belief that they were going to be alright.
Tang Fan frowned at the sound. “You’re not going to make us walk in the river again are you?”
“No,” Sui Zhou assured him. The river here was wider and faster and deeper, and neither of them were in any shape to swim.
Just as the day was coming to its end, the light dimming, they found the river. The path beside it was narrow and exposed, and the river itself was more dangerous than Sui Zhou had imagined; a mess of sharp-looking rocks and water moving fast enough that it foam white.
Sui Zhou remembered this; the road was above them. He’d ridden this way only the day before. He watched the path warily from the safety of the treeline.
“We’re not far from the village now,” Sui Zhou said.
Tang Fan had leant his back against a tree, trying to catch his breath. “I think your definition of far,” he said, “is very different to mine.” He narrowed his eyes at Sui Zhou, “And why do I get the feeling what you’re going to,” he took a deep breath, “say next will be bad.”
“We’ll be exposed,” Sui Zhou said. “The road is above us.” He pointed upwards, away from the river. “We need to move fast.”
“Fast,” Tang Fan repeated. He had long-since stopped shivering, but Sui Zhou wasn’t sure that was a good thing. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You can.” Sui Zhou knew he would because he had to, and if he couldn’t Sui Zhou would carry him. “It won’t be for long.”
Tang Fan turned his face to the path. “I guess we’ve come this far.” He pushed himself away from the tree, his movements stiff and laboured.
“I’ll go first,” Sui Zhou said, tightening the belt around his arm and hefting his sword in his good hand. There were likely at least four more mercenaries out there, looking for them. “Keep close.”
Out in the open, inspecting the steep slopes boxing them in on both sides and the open road above them, Sui Zhou wondered if they should not have taken another route. But any other way would mean another night, at least, walking out in the cold and he wasn’t sure how much further either of them could go. They had rested little, eaten nothing, drunk mouthfuls, and Sui Zhou hadn’t missed the way Tang Fan still held himself carefully, curling his arms around his chest. The pain in Sui Zhou’s shoulder was still there, but dulled to a constant ache. At least the bleeding had stopped.
The path was buried deep in snow, buried deeper as the snow continued to fall. Sui Zhou pushed forward more slowly than he would have liked, but he couldn’t risk misstepping and taking them both into the river. It was loud, thundering around them.
Behind him, Tang Fan gripped at Sui Zhou’s sleeve and kept pace.
Before them the path widened, and Sui Zhou could see the line of trees not far ahead where the embankment evened out. They would be hidden again from the road.
But then something made him look up - some old instinct - and Sui Zhou swore. He was too slow. Too careless. There were horses on the road, and Sui Zhou recognised them. Over the sound of the river it was impossible to hear anything, but Sui Zhou could see their leader shouting orders, and he could see one the mercenaries raise a bow. Sui Zhou grabbed Tang Fan’s wrist and tried to run, but the snow was too thick and Tang Fan was too surprised by the sudden change of speed. He tripped and fell to his knees. The mercenary fired and Sui Zhou let his instincts take over; he stepped in front of Tang Fan, batted the arrow away with his sword. They had only a moment. Two more of the mercenaries were trying to find a way down the slope.
Sui Zhou desperately pulled Tang Fan to his feet. To run, they needed to get closer to the riverbank, where the water had washed the snow away. But as soon as he’d navigated them to the cleared ground Sui Zhou knew he’d made a mistake. It was icy; slippery, and something was wrong with Tang Fan’s ankle.
He was shouting, “Guangchuan, run,” and his face was screwed up in pain as he tried to walk. Something caught his eye and Tang Fan turned to the road. His eyes widened. Sui Zhou saw it too; an arrow, loosed. Tang Fan pushed Sui Zhou back. He wasn’t sure what happened then, because he slipped and landed heavily on his back and the next thing he knew he was on his knees and Tang Fan was gone. Sui Zhou caught a glimpse of white and a hand reaching out from the surface of the river, moving rapidly downriver. He launched himself to his feet.
Recklessly, Sui Zhou ran, following the river, calling Tang Fan’s name and pushing himself through the snow and mud and ice and pushing himself faster. He would not lose Tang Fan now. Not after everything they’d survived. Not ever.
The river curved around; Sui Zhou remembered this too. It widened and slowed, but Sui Zhou had lost sight of Tang Fan. He kept running, even as the path became a tangle of roots as the forest gathered again at the edges of the river, even as he slipped and thought he would fall himself and they would both drown, or die of the shock of the cold, but he found his footing again. Kept going. Kept going. Kept going.
He didn’t dare look behind him to see if the mercenaries had been able to follow. At that moment Sui Zhou found he couldn’t remember if Tang Fan could swim.
It was getting difficult to see, Sui Zhou realised. The sun had sunk low when he hadn't been paying attention. The temperature would be falling.
Then, Sui Zhou saw him; washed up on the bank and face down, but his hands were grasping for purchase in the mud; still alive.
“Tang Fan,” Sui Zhou called, and skidded to his knees at his side, turning him over, pulling Tang Fan up onto his lap and out of the water. His lips were blue. Sui Zhou wiped the mud from his cheeks, rubbed the back of his neck, trying to get any warmth he could into him.
To his relief Tang Fan opened his eyes. “Not…” he tried to say, but his breathing was more gasping for air. His hair had come fully loose and Sui Zhou pushed it back away from his face, smoothed it down.
“Breathe, don’t talk,” Sui Zhou instructed.
“Never,” Tang Fan gasped.
If he could have, Sui Zhou would have given Tang Fan more time, but the water was too cold and the night too fast in coming.
“You have to get up,” Sui Zhou said. The look Tang Fan gave him was venomous.
“I’m,” Tang Fan turned his head to the side and coughed, turned back, “comfortable here.”
“Up,” Sui Zhou insisted, putting his hands under Tang Fan’s arms and pulling to make sure he wasn’t comfortable at all.
By the time he had hauled Tang Fan to his feet they were both panting, and Tang Fan was bent over and heaving. Sui Zhou rubbed at his back, his arms. Caught his breath. He couldn’t see anyone following them. The path of the river had split from the road, cutting out part of the distance to the village, but they would have to find a route through the woods with night falling and no means to light their way. Still, Sui Zhou gave Tang Fan until he had finished retching and his breathing steadied, before he said, “We’re going to walk.”
Tang Fan retched again, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His hands shook.
“Far?” he asked.
“No,” then, “A little way,” Sui Zhou corrected.
“I’m going to sleep for a month after this,” Tang Fan said haltingly, and stood himself a little more upright. He was still leaning heavily against Sui Zhou. Ice-cold water seeped through the arm of Sui Zhou’s shirt, making him shiver. Weighed down, with heavy steps, Tang Fan put one foot in front of the other, unevenly, half dragging one foot behind him.
The sky cleared. Their breath curled together in wisps of cold evening air. The snow underfoot crunched. They slipped on ice and tangled roots, pushing deeper into the forest. Tang Fan wheezed and blinked in confusion, like he couldn't work out which way was up or down. Sui Zhou gritted at the pain in his shoulder. It took them a long time to stand up, to move forward again, and not long afterwards Tang Fan’s legs seemed to give up and he collapsed and said, “I can’t.”
“You will,” Sui Zhou told him, and dragged him to his feet. If they stopped now Sui Zhou they wouldn’t survive.
It was the smallest of blessings that the moon rose, bright enough that Sui Zhou could just about see his feet, could see the shape of the trees around them like living, creeping walls. The wind rose too and the trees creaked loudly.
By the time night had fully fallen Sui Zhou was taking most of Tang Fan’s weight, and Tang Fan’s eyes were barely open.
“Walk, Tang Fan,” Sui Zhou insisted, and pinched Tang Fan in the side.
“Mean,” Tang Fan complained groggily. As long as he was still at least a little coherent, Sui Zhou reasoned, things were not so dire.
The ground began sloping upwards, and every step then was an ordeal, but it meant they were close to the road. Then, out of the darkness Sui Zhou glimpsed the familiar orange glow of firelight through the trees ahead of them. He stopped sharply, trying to make out the shape of it. Carrying so much of Tang Fan’s weight he couldn’t draw his sword. At his side, Tang Fan didn’t seem aware they’d stopped. He couldn’t leave him behind to scout the way ahead. He couldn’t ignore the promise of warmth.
So he hitched Tang Fan up and moved forward slowly, as cautiously as he could. Tang Fan’s feet dragged along the ground.
As he moved closer Sui Zhou could make out that the glow was outlined by a window frame, set into a farmhouse. Small, but solid. From inside, Sui Zhou could make out conversation; a man and a woman talking about the weather, the snow. It was the most normal thing he’d heard in days.
It was so cold. He was so tired. He had to get Tang Fan warm. He took the chance, bursting through the farmhouse door, asking for help, for blankets, for anything.
For a long moment the man and woman looked at him, mouths open. Then they looked at Tang Fan and hurried forward, trying to take him from Sui Zhou.
“No,” he said, “No.” So they led him to the hearth. The heat of it burned his skin, and Tang Fan groaned and tried to get away; too much too quickly. Sui Zhou held him still. The man was fighting to pull Tang Fan’s wet clothes over his head and the woman was bringing blankets to wrap around them.
“This would be easier,” the woman said, not unkindly, “if you’d let go.”
Sui Zhou didn’t let go.
He was aware they stripped his clothes too, and the woman tried to get a look at the wound in his shoulder but gave up after Sui Zhou growled at her.
“Who did this?” the man asked.
“Mercenaries,” Sui Zhou said. He felt guilt at bringing these strangers into their fight, except that Tang Fan wouldn’t survive without their help. This was all he could do now. “There will come here,” he warned them. “Go to the village. Get help.” He pressed his seal into the man’s hand. “Both of you.”
“I’ll stay,” the man said, and kissed the woman on the cheek as he passed the seal to her. She nodded, threw on a cloak and disappeared out the door. The man smiled after her, bolting the door. “She can run, can my wife.”
Sui Zhou hoped so.
Wrapped in blankets and furs, not really awake, Tang Fan looked terrible. The bruises on his face stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin.
“Guangchuan,” he murmured, and Sui Zhou brushed his cheek and pulled him close and said, “I’m here.” He felt like ice, but Sui Zhou could feel his heart beating.
The man said, “I’ll make tea,” and clattered about with a kettle and crockery.
They were half-lying on what was little more than a dirt floor. The mercenaries might still be out in the woods tracking them down, but in that farmhouse kitchen, wrapped in a stranger’s blankets, Sui Zhou could finally imagine that they might be safe. That Tang Fan might be safe.
“Tang Fan,” Sui Zhou said, pressing his hand to the back of Tang Fan's neck.
He opened his eyes. It was enough.