Tiger - Jeff Stone [14]
Fu concealed the scrolls securely within the folds of his own robe and looked down at Sing's tiger hook swords still lying over the soldier's throat. Those hook swords were fine weapons, but they were very difficult to transport. Fu decided to leave them in their current position to help remind the soldier of his promise.
His mission accomplished, Fu ran for the main gate—and into the worst surprise of the entire night.
Fu stopped running just short of the main gate. Something didn't feel right. He stared through the smoky moonlight—up, down, forward, back, left, right.
Nothing.
Feeling like he had no time to waste, Fu took several steps backward, then shot forward. After six long strides, he was at top speed. On his seventh, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. By then, it was too late.
Someone dove out from behind one of the gates and smashed headlong into him. Together they tumbled into the grass, and Fu managed to break loose of the fierce grip on his robe only by biting his opponent's arm. Fu sprang to his feet, and his opponent did the same. It was Ying.
Ying's carved face grimaced as he slipped his hand up one of his oversize sleeves and rubbed his arm.
“Where are you going in such a hurry, Pussycat?” he asked.
“As far away from you as possible,” Fu replied, spitting out the words along with the horrible taste in his mouth.
Ying smiled. “Why spend your life running? Join me. I could use someone as feisty and fierce as you.”
“Never.”
Ying leaned forward and his black eyes sparkled. “Come on, Fu. Join me, and your rice bowl will always be overflowing. You'll never have to sweep another floor again, or wash somebody else's dirty socks. In my world, warriors are at the top of the food chain, not the bottom. What else are you going to do? Especially now that Grandmaster is gone.”
Fu glared at Ying.
“That's right,” Ying said. “Grandmaster is dead. I released his soul just a few moments ago.”
Fu's eyes narrowed. “You're lying.”
“Do you honestly think I would be standing here if he were still breathing?”
Fu shuddered like a cat thrown in an icy river. Ying is probably telling the truth, he thought. Ying never left anything unfinished.
Ying continued to rub his arm under his sleeve. “I'm not kidding, Fu. Grandmaster is dead. And it's a good thing, too. He wasn't the holy man everyone thought he was. I did you and everyone else a favor by killing him.”
“Fu! Run!” someone shouted through the smoke. Fu looked up and saw Grandmaster limping toward them. He was dragging one leg, and one arm hung uselessly at his side.
“Stay back, you silver-tongued demon!” Ying shrieked at Grandmaster.
“Fu! Leap!” Grandmaster shouted.
Fu leaped backward as Ying suddenly whipped around and snapped his wrist outward in a blur. Fu saw a glint of metal and felt something brush against his right cheek. That side of his face immediately felt like it had caught fire. Blood poured across his jaw, down the side of his neck. It was Ying's chain whip! Fu remembered that Ying had designed the long, rigid, interlocking segments to be concealed in an oversize sleeve.
Fu turned in time to see Ying swing the metal whip at Grandmaster. Grandmaster dropped his head to avoid the sharp, weighted end, and Ying released the whip from his hand in mid-swing while thrusting his other hand straight out toward Grandmaster. There was a terrific BOOM! and Grandmaster stumbled backward as a hole opened in his chest. He slumped to the ground, dead.
Fu roared. Pain shot from the right corner of his mouth all the way up to his ear as the slice in his cheek opened wider.
Ying dropped the smoking qiang he had hidden up his sleeve and turned toward Fu. He bared his razor-sharp teeth and flicked out his forked tongue.
Above the crackling roar of the burning compound came a desperate cry.
“Major Ying! Come quickly! It concerns the scrolls!”
Ying turned his head toward the shouts, and Fu followed his gaze through the smoke. In the distance,