The Yellow Silk - Don Bassingthwaite [88]
Li spun out on the other side, sweeping his blade down. It hit hard just above the hilt of the Hooded's sword with a clear, sharp ring and slapped the weapon from his grasp. Li's sword flicked back to the other man's chest. The Hooded froze.
But so did Li. His face twisted. His eyes were fixed on the Hooded's masked face as if they were the only two people in the room-in the world.
Tycho stared at him. "Li?" he asked cautiously.
***
"Li?"
Memories played through Li's mind. Memories of his father's face as he showed him the letter from Tieh Fa Pan. Memories of the drawn faces of the silk families of Keelung as they mourned sons, daughters, sisters, and brothers lost in the lands of the west-with no idea of the truth behind that loss. Memories of the shame and righteous anger that had driven him the length of the Golden Way, of the stabbing agony of Cado's words in the cellar. He said get rid of you faster.›
… Memories of watching Yu Mao on the day of his Blessing Ceremony, of playing with him in the garden, of lessons together, of trapping frogs and fireflies before the heir of Kuang grew too dignified for such things- You're talking about murdering your brother, Tycho had said and he had insisted, Better me than a stranger; better me than no one at all. Courts, justice, tradition all agreed-but, in the end, his heart did not.
"I can't do it," Li hissed finally in Shou. His blade trembled. "Do you hear that, Yu Mao? I have ached for this halfway across the world and now… " Yu Mao said nothing, just stayed stone still. "Tycho," breathed Li. "Take off his hood."
The bard stepped away from the writhing form of Yu Mao's young woman, moved next to Yu Mao cautiously, and reached up and pulled off the leather hood.
Breath caught in Li's throat. Memories, love, and conflict all suddenly collapsed, shriveling like paper in a flame.
Round Western eyes. Thin, gold-brown hair. Pale skin. The man before him was not Yu Mao.
Li's arms and legs shook. His shoulders tensed. The muscles of his belly heaved and knotted. A voice-his- rasped in hollow agony.
The Hooded moved suddenly, grabbing at his sword arm and thrusting him away. An elbow lashed back and caught Tycho in the jaw. The bard cried out and staggered. Li barely noticed.
Not Yu Mao.
With a wild roar, he dropped his sword and grabbed the Hooded with his bare hands. Fingers knotted in the Westerner's tunic and pulled him close-Li snapped his head forward, smashing his forehead against the Hooded's. The Hooded swayed. Li lifted him off his feet and slammed him back into the nearest wall. "Where is my brother?" he howled. "Where is Yu Mao?" He clamped a hand tight around the Hooded's throat to hold him upright while he drove the other into his belly.
Tycho was like a mosquito hovering on the edge of his awareness, his voice an annoying whine. Li shrugged him aside and hammered his fist into the Hooded's belly again. The mosquito gasped and its whine changed to song. Light flashed suddenly between him and the Hooded. Li threw up his arm to shield his eyes and staggered back.
Hands grabbed him and gave him a sharp slap across the face.
"Li!" yelled Tycho. "Li, look at me!" Another stinging slap. "Look at me!"
Li blinked and focused. Tycho was hanging onto his shirt front. His face was white. The room was silent. Even the Hooded's interpreter had stopped her struggling. Li looked beyond Tycho.
The unmasked Hooded slumped motionless against the wall. Blood was trickling down from a cut on his forehead. Li swallowed hard. His anger ebbed a little and he glanced up at Tycho. He wasn't sure what he intended to say, but what came out was, "He's not Yu Mao."
"No," Tycho agreed. "He's not. Another couple of punches, though, and you might have killed him anyway."
Li's stomach lurched. "I wasn't going to. When I thought he was Yu Mao--"
"I know," said Tycho. "I could tell. Let's