Heir of the Sacred Dragon Sword

9. The Fireball Assault

“What is it, Elder Feng?”

“I offended the Gongliao Alliance’s envoy. Leader Li, give that list to Zhangjian!”

“Very well, Elder!” Leader Li replied, drawing the worn scroll from his sleeve and handing it to Xiu Zhangjian. “Quickly, gather them here!”

Xiu Zhangjian unrolled the paper hastily. Ten names were written upon it: ten young members of the White Tiger Sect. His heart hammered as he sprinted from the hall.

Truthfully, Zhangjian did not yet understand what was unfolding. The world gave him no time to ask.

Moments later he returned with the ten named youths pressed closely behind him. Confusion was written on every face; like Zhangjian, they asked nothing aloud and simply met one another’s eyes. The furrowed brows of Leader Li and Elder Feng made clear the gravity of the situation.

“Elder Ho, take them as far away as possible, do not return until you receive written orders,” Feng Yin ordered, and several mouths fell open at the command.

“Yes, Elder!” Elder Ho answered without question, gathering the ten chosen disciples and guiding them toward the exit.

“Wait!” a girl called, halting the departing group. “Father, I will not go. I do not know what this is about, but I will not leave you.”

“Xinyue… go,” Feng Yin murmured, closing his eyes. Xinyue, one of the ten chosen, shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes.

Before the father and daughter could resolve their standoff, a breathless man burst into the council hall, one of the men tasked with closing the gate. Pale-faced, he stammered, “E-elder… the imperial soldiers are already at the gate.”

“What? Insolent! They came too soon,” Feng Yin ground his teeth. “Elder Ho, take them away from here!”

“No! I will not leave!” Xinyue clutched her father’s hand, gripping it as if to anchor herself. “Father, please, let me stay with you.”

Feng Yin tightened his fists, jaw hardening before he barked, “Drag that girl outside!”

Xiu Zhangjian watched Xinyue being pulled away, her sobs muffled as she was hauled from the hall. His hands closed into fists, he could do nothing to help. When their eyes met for a heartbeat, Xinyue’s look pleaded: 'Zhangjian… help me.'

He could not bear to see her torn away. He turned his face aside, unwilling to meet her gaze. 'Forgive me. I swear, no one will ever make a child lose a father again,' he vowed inwardly.

After Elder Ho’s party slipped out through the back gate, Leader Li ordered every member to arm themselves and assemble on the main grounds. The elders and he moved swiftly to join them.

“Hurry, open it!” A shout came from the gate, followed by the sound of a battering ram pounding the wood.

Within the headquarters, White Tiger Sect members formed ranks some distance from the gate. At the front stood Leader Li and the elders, and beside them Xiu Zhangjian, his grip tight upon his sword, stances grounded and ready.

“Break the gate!”

Leader Li raised his right hand as another cry sounded outside, signaling the members to brace. Moments later a heavy thud after thud rent the silence, the gate’s lock beginning to splinter. All eyes swung to the weakening bolt.

“Rush!” the imperial commander cried the instant the gate gave way. Soldiers poured through the breach, only to be met by a sudden hail of arrows.

Unseen at first, the White Tiger Sect’s marksmen had taken positions upon the roofs, their bows singing death. Arrows thudded into armor; imperial ranks staggered.

Commander Tong Mu, leading the imperial force, stared in disbelief as his men fell too easily. “Damn you!” he snarled. “Launch the firestones!”

At the command, soldiers beside three great boulders lit fuel and set the stones aflame. Each burning rock sat in a spoon-shaped iron cradle. The mechanism worked like a colossal sling, tensioned springs and cables flung the incendiary boulders high and far.

With an ear-splitting crack, a blazing stone hurled into the headquarters, smashing roofs and setting thatch alight. Others arced toward the defenders, forcing the White Tiger Sect’s ranks to scatter and dodge. While the catapulting continued, fresh waves of imperial soldiers surged in through the shattered gateway.

Quick as lightning, the sect archers leapt down to shore up the swordline, loosing volley after volley until their quivers ran dry. “Forward!” Feng Yin roared, his voice cutting through smoke and sparks.

War erupted in the courtyard. The sect members swung their blades with feral resolve, meeting steel with steel. Against numbers, however, they were outmatched, the imperial force three times their size.

“Die!” Xiu Zhangjian howled, cleaving into the enemy. In those frantic moments his mind replayed the burning of his village, the inferno that consumed homes, and the memory of his father’s head displayed before the villagers, each image fueling his blade.

He fought with a desperate, brutal strength, stabbing bellies, severing throats, splitting torsos, showing no mercy.

After a time a voice attempted to rise above the clash, “Stand down!” but the combatants were lost in the frenzy and paid it no heed. “Stand down, or your elders die!” the shout came again, this time with a knife-edge threat.

Those words reached the men of the White Tiger Sect like an icy spike. They halted when they saw Elder Feng bound and held in the enemy’s grasp. Tong Mu pressed his sword against the old leader’s throat; a ribbon of red blossomed.

“Drop your weapons, or this old man’s head will roll!”