The Immortal Words (The Grave Kingdom), стр. 2

All winter, he had prepared for the siege. He’d allowed his countrymen to be practically enslaved so they might build the complicated, layered bridges that were central to his plan. He’d hoped they would repel the huge ships Echion had used to destroy his people at Sajinau. In the end, Echion himself had arrived in the form of a giant dragon made of smoke. He’d tried to snatch General Tzu with his claws, but Bingmei had shouted a warning just in time. The general had jumped into the water moments before the great dragon opened its maw and spewed an impenetrable darkness. For three days, the entire city lay under a shroud so dark that not even a single flame could be lit.

The darkness had caused terror and despair. It had blinded the Eagle Throne. And that was when General Tzu realized the reason for it—Echion was planning to attack from the rear, not from the sea. Despite the darkness, the general had marshaled his defenders to the swamps behind Sihui and hidden them in the woods. He’d put fake armor on ordinary citizens and sent them to man the bridges. If he had guessed wrong, they would all have died.

But when the darkness had finally lifted, the army of Qiangdao was spotted coming in from behind. His troops lay in wait for them and ambushed them when they reached the river. It was a slaughter on both sides, but his strategy had worked, and they’d sent the invaders fleeing into the wild.

On the second day of battle, the killing fog came.

But General Tzu had already learned one of the fog’s secrets from Muxidi, a Qiangdao who had shifted his allegiance. In battling the first round of invaders, the general’s men had discovered sigils written in blood on their backs. It was this sigil that protected them from the fog. General Tzu had ensured every soldier and citizen had the mark before the next attack. On his instructions, his soldiers had dropped to the ground, one by one, as the fog touched them, pretending it had done its evil work. But that trick could likely only be used once, for Echion could change the sigil and had done so in the past.

When the Qiangdao arrived on their ships and began to enter the streets, General Tzu gave the command to fight. The dead sprang to life and attacked, surprising Echion’s army and winning the day.

The taste of victory was sweet. But General Tzu had known even then that each day would bring its own challenges. Past success meant nothing about the future. While the armies of Sihui rejoiced, he paced and worried. His concern was well founded.

The enemy wasn’t disheartened at all. In fact, they were enraged. The next day, they attacked on both sides at once. The first bridge came down, and the second crumpled quickly thereafter, opening one side of the river. All the survivors had been evacuated to the palace side of the river, but many innocents had perished due to the brutality of the Qiangdao.

General Tzu had been wounded on his thigh during the fighting that day, a wound that still grieved him days later. He felt it now, in particular, as he arrived at the palace. The building swarmed with soldiers and townsfolk. People shouted at him, demanding answers, the fear in their voices scraping down his spine. Guards with spears pushed the swelling crowds back, allowing him to pass.

The captain of the palace guard, Captain Shan, reached him through the masses. “What news, General?” he asked. The rust of blood was still on his armor. He was a huge man, one of the strongest in the city, and had joined in the fighting at critical moments.

“We’ve lost the third bridge,” General Tzu said curtly.

Captain Shan’s face darkened. “Is it the end?”

“Hush, man. Too many ears. Bring me to the king. I’ll give you both the news.”

The interior of the palace smelled of sweat and cinders. When General Tzu had first arrived as a refugee, he’d been impressed by the splendor of Sihui’s wealth. But such things mattered very little in the thick of war. Gold couldn’t delay a sword thrust. And silk didn’t mop up blood very well.

When they reached the throne room, he saw Zhumu dressed in his ceremonial armor, a two-handed blade strapped to his back. The usually confident king looked rattled. His eyes were feverish with worry. Despite the crowds elsewhere in the castle, he was alone.

“Well, General?” he asked. “Has there been any word yet? Any word at all from my daughter, Cuifen?”

“None, my king. Getting word through the defenses would be difficult. Do not succumb to fear.”

The king gave him a haughty look. “I already know I’m a dead man, Tzu. But my heart groans for my daughter. I’d rather her drink poison than become one of that foul monster’s concubines.”

General Tzu clasped his hands behind his back. Captain Shan shut the door. “We’re alone. What news, General?”

“Today we fall,” he said solemnly. “I’ve done everything within my power. We’ve lasted longer than any of the other kingdoms. But our fate was assured as soon as Echion revived. We’ve prolonged our fate. But we cannot prevent it.”

Zhumu frowned. The gray streaks in his black beard had become more plentiful in recent days. “I will not concede defeat, General. We must prevail. You must find a way.”

General Tzu’s shoulders sagged. “I have done all that I can do, my lord. It is a simple deduction. If we had banded together all of the kingdoms, as King Shulian had suggested, we would have had ten times the resources. Instead, each kingdom has defended itself. Even with the men I brought from Sajinau, we cannot match the number of soldiers that Echion can throw against us. Right now, I have more wounded men than hale ones. Yet still they fight on, knowing most of them will be executed if we fail.”

“Then