Figures appeared at the head of the lane, blocking it.
There was no lantern at that end, it was hard to be sure of their number. Tai stopped, swearing under his breath. He looked quickly behind him. Was unsurprised to see more men at the lower end now, where he'd entered. Eight of them in all, he guessed. He was in the middle of an empty street. The doors of shops and houses on either side were, naturally, barred.
He had only one of his own swords. It was considered bad manners to carry double blades into a courtesan house, but it was also regarded as foolish to go unarmed through night streets in any city.
He might have been foolish just now. He drew his sword.
There were tactics prescribed on Stone Drum Mountain, early levels of teaching, for dealing with a challenge such as this. It was set as a formal lesson. One was unlikely to defeat or break free of eight men. Four was possible.
Tai drew two quick breaths and then sprinted forward, shouting at the top of his voice for the city guards. He heard a yell behind him, but he'd have a few moments with half of these men, whomever they were.
And he did, as it happened, know how to fight.
He hadn't had much use for those skills in years, but the second son of General Shen Gao, trained by the Kanlin on their holy mountain, ran towards this new set of assassins with a rising, useful anger—he recognized it, let it surge, channelled it.
Sword extended, he whipped through a full, running circle as he neared them, to confuse, cause hesitation. He leaped at the last house wall on his right, driving himself with three or four short steps, running up the wall, and then he sprang back from it, flying above the heads of the men—three only, not four, which was good—and he stabbed one and slashed another with his first two airborne passes, the good blade cutting deep, both times.
He landed behind the one who remained. That man whipped around, lifting his sword to parry.
It was at that point Tai saw that the man wore a uniform—the colours of the army of the Second District. The same as his own five cavalrymen. These were the military guards he'd been shouting for. Tai froze, blade levelled.
"What is this?" he cried. "I am one of your officers! The commander at Iron Gate sent word of me!"
The second man he'd wounded moaned, lying in the muddy street.
The one still on his feet spoke rapidly, through shock and fear. "This is known! Your presence is required! It was judged you might decline to come. We were sent to ensure it happened." He bowed, jerkily.
Tai heard a rustling sound. He looked up quickly, saw someone hurtling down from a rooftop, behind the four other soldiers who had rushed up from the far end of the lane. He made as urgent a decision as he had in a long time.
"Song, no! Wait! Leave them!"
Wei Song landed, rolled, and stood up. She hadn't been going to a courtesan house: issues of courtesy had not applied. She drew both her swords from the scabbards behind her and extended them.
"Why?" was all she said.
Tai drew a steadying breath.
"Because there are twenty more soldiers here, not all of them incompetent, some with bows, and you are in a city I control."
The voice was assured, and amused. It came from the square behind Tai. He turned, slowly.
There were half a dozen torches by a curtained sedan chair. The small square was otherwise empty, kept that way by soldiers at the edges, blocking each street. At least twenty men. The curtains of the litter were drawn back on this side, so that the man within might see what was happening—and be seen in the cast torchlight.
Tai still felt anger within himself, a hot stone. He was dealing with the sick sensation that could follow violence. The two men on the ground were silent now. He didn't know if he'd killed them. The first one, probably, he thought. He walked slowly over to the sedan chair and the torches.
"Why have you done this?" he asked, his voice demanding, too arrogant. He was aware of the tone. He didn't care. He was fairly sure who this was.
"You look like your father," said the thin, very tall man in the litter, stepping out to stand gazing at Tai. He used a stick, a heavy one, to support himself.
And that made it certain. A city I control.
Tai bowed. It was necessary, whatever anger he felt. He cleared his throat. "Sir, I told your officers outside the walls that I would be honoured to call upon you in the morning."
"And I have no doubt you would have done so. But I am an impatient man, and disinclined to follow the prefect in a matter such as this. You would have had to attend upon him first."
A matter such as this.
It would always be the horses now, Tai thought.
Governor Xu Bihai, commanding both the Second and the Third Military Districts, smiled at him. It was a cold smile.
Tai sheathed his sword.
"The Kanlin," the governor said, in a paper-thin voice. "She is retained by you?"
No time wasted. Tai nodded. "She is, my lord."
"And was assigned to guard you tonight?"
"Assigned to do so always." He knew what this was about. He was afraid again, suddenly.
"She was not walking with you."
"Kanlin are conspicuous, sir. I chose to remain otherwise. She was not far away. As you see."
The cold smile again. The military governor had to be sixty years old, his long chin-beard and hair were white, but his posture and manner were commanding, notwithstanding the stick he held.
"In that case, she will be permitted to live. You do not object if she is beaten? Twenty strokes?"
"I do object. I would take it as an insult and an injury to me."
A raised eyebrow. The torches flickered in a flare of wind. "She drew weapons on soldiers in my city, Master Shen."
"She drew blades on men in darkness who appeared to be attacking me, Governor Xu. I say this with respect. I would have had cause to dismiss her, or worse, had she not done so."
A silence.
"I will indulge you in this," Xu Bihai said finally. "In memory of your father, whom I knew. I served under him in the west."
"I know that. He spoke of you often," Tai said. Not quite a lie. He did know how the governor's leg had been injured. "Thank you," he added. He bowed again.
It was entirely the governor's right, even a duty, to have Song executed or beaten to crippled incapacity. This was a market town, thronged with drunken foreigners and transients. Hard men from the long roads. The soldiers were charged with keeping order. Certain rules followed upon that.
"Wei Song, sheathe weapons, please," Tai called. He didn't look back. He heard, with relief, the doubled snick as she obeyed.
"Thank you," he said again, to her this time. She was Kanlin. They weren't servants, to be ordered about as such.
Neither was he. He said, "I am honoured, of course, beyond my worth, that the governor has taken himself abroad in the night to hold converse with me. I had been greatly looking forward to your counsel and tidings in the morning. I still am. What hour would be convenient?"
"This one," said Xu Bihai. "You weren't listening. I said I was disinclined to see you after the prefect."
"I was listening, sir. I do not decree the protocols of our glorious Ninth Dynasty, governor. And I am disinclined to have my appointments for a day—or a night—decided by others, however greatly I honour them."
The white-bearded governor appeared to be considering this. Distant sounds drifted, music and laughter, one voice briefly lifted in anger, but they were alone in this square with the soldiers and Wei Song.
"I don't see that you have a choice," Xu Bihai said, at length, "though I note your disinclination. I will not apologize for protecting the interests of this military district, but I can offer you mare's teat grape wine at my residence and an escort to the entertainment district afterwards."