歲寒知松柏
Suì hán zhī sōng bǎi
Only when the year grows cold do we see the qualities of the pine and cypress.
Adversity reveals virtue.

*~*~*~*~*~*

I heard Zakhar crashing off through the undergrowth. The men shouted and followed him. Then there was silence save for the sound of my own labored breathing.

Fingers numb and wet with blood, I pulled my way from the crevice, stumbling as I stepped down onto the forest floor.

The pain in my shoulder was excruciating. I realized the bolt must have shot through a nerve, or a joint to cause me this pain. I needed to remove it.

My vision darkened, and for a moment I thought I would pass out.

No!

Gritting my teeth, I reached up to feel the bolt in my shoulder. The shaft was thick, and the head narrow and made of heavy steel.

Made for punching through armor... that bastard shot me with an armor breaking bolt.

Luckily, this meant that the bolt head was not barbed, and would be easier to pull out.

I clenched my teeth, gripped the arrow by the tail end, and pulled.

"Grr AaaGGHH!"

With a nasty, wet sound, I pulled the bolt from my shoulder and threw it to the ground.

Then I promptly vomited.

As I straightened up I recalled suddenly Captain Duan doing the same thing with Zakhar's arrow, in the commander's room at Changsha Fortress all those weeks ago.

How did that dog do it so easily?

The arrow was out of my shoulder, but the pain and effort of removing it left me weak and dizzy. My head spun, and I leaned it against the cool rock to try and still it.

No. I have to go to Zakhar. He is facing those head hunters on his own.

I pushed away from the rock and struck out the way Zakhar had gone, following the trail of broken branches and trampled snow. Blood from my shoulder ran down one arm, leaving drops of red that looked dark brown on the long dead forest foliage my fingers trailed against.

My head circled as I tried to make my way back toward the road till all directions were one. My foot slipped on a slick root and I found myself on my back, staring up at the scar of pale sky I could see between the pine.

It started to snow.

One of the flakes fell to my cheek and melted there, running like a tear.

Pain.

How easy it would be to just lie here, till the pain went away.

No! What am I doing, what was I thinking? I have to get to Zakhar!

I staggered upright again, the pain in my shoulder causing me to reel. The air was cold, but my right arm was warm with my own sticky blood.

I stumbled on.

Finally I staggered from the forest undergrowth onto the road. Our horses were milling about, but no one was in sight.

I heard shouting from further up the road.

I shrank back into the undergrowth, and stumbled through the forest toward the yelling as fast as I could.

The road curved, and when it straightened again I could see what I had heard.

The men had made a circle in the road, and Zakhar and a bounty hunter faced off in the middle of it. Zakhar's opponent was the flint-eyed man, who I had pointed my bow and arrow at before when I had stolen Zakhar back from then.

The man had a sword in his hand, and his stone like eyes glowed with violent mirth as he teased Zakhar with it, threatening to strike so Zakhar was forced to dodge.

The pairing surprised me. I would have thought Zakhar more than a match for the flint-eyed man.

Then I saw that Zakhar's movements were slow, labored. A crossbow bolt stuck from his thigh, just below his left hip.

No...

To one side of the circle the one of the men lay in the dirt of the road, blood streaming from his ears and nose. I knew from the awkward stillness of his limbs he was dead.

That accounted for all thirteen of the men except for-

A sudden swish and a hiss and Zakhar gave a cry.

"Arghh!" A crossbow bolt buried itself in my friend's upper arm. The men in the circle around him laughed at his pain.

I'll kill you all.

The flint-eyed man took advantage of Zakhar's distraction and leapt forward, sword swinging. Zakhar dodged out of the way just in time, but the tip of the sword caught his upper thigh, opening a line of red in his leather riding pants, and the circle of men laughed again as Zakhar grunted and fell to his knees.

I glanced up and caught a glint of metal from atop a small rocky outcrop above the road.

You...

I doubled back through the bushes, slinking across the road. The pain in my shoulder had faded now, dulled by the pounding anger that raged through me.

I'll fucking kill you all!

As I approached the outcrop where the man with the crossbow crouched, I slowed. It wouldn't do to be heard coming.

I crawled up over the rocks, using my uninjured arm to reach up and grab hold of roots, cracks in the rock, patches of moss, anything I could for purchase.

My hand and shoulder both throbbed where the bolts had pierced them, but the pain was different now. It was as though it were urging me on, driving me to complete my goal, to inflict more pain for that I felt.

I pulled myself over the lip of the outcrop.

The moustached man I had shot in the leg all those weeks ago when I had taken Zakhar back crouched just before me. He was chuckling to himself as he loaded another bolt into the chamber. He aimed it at Zakhar's unprotected shoulder blades.

Just behind the man sat his quiver, filled with bolts.

Like a whip, like a snake, I dashed forward, grabbed one of the bolts and drove it into his neck.

The man screamed, high pitched like a woman, and his shot went wild, whooshing off into the treetops. He twisted, reaching for the bolt to pull it out.

I grabbed him by his grimy hair and pulled him backwards.

The man tipped back, and fell. As he hit the ground the impact drove the bolt deep into his neck.

He did not move again.

Smile savage, I stepped over his body, reaching for the quiver. I placed that by my side, then perched atop the rocky outcrop, propping the crossbow on one knee before me.

As I rested the crossbow on my knee I noticed a carving in the metal of the crossbow. No, not a carving, an imprint, made at the time of manufacture, to brand the weapon. The imprint of a tiger, mouth wide and roaring.

I got shot by one of Baihu's fucking weapons.

Below me the men in the circle had closed in on Zakhar. Many had drawn their weapons and were baiting him with teasing swipes before dancing out of range.

Zakhar stayed calm, waiting. One man, younger than the rest, came close, laughing as he jabbed his short spear at Zakhar's shoulder.

Zakhar grabbed the spear, pulled the man toward him, and brought his knee up into the man's stomach with a sickening crunch.

The man sunk to the ground and did not rise, and Zakhar wielded a spear now.

"Oi, Dongguo, what are you waiting for! Shoot this bastard 'tween the eyes!" I heard one of the men yell from below.

I chuckled to myself. Oh, Donguo won't be shooting anything else.

I loaded a bolt and peered along the sight, finding a forehead.

My finger squeezed the trigger.

The mechanism worked with a hissing efficiency. The bolt lodged directly between the man's eyes and he dropped to the ground.

I hate to admit it, but Baihu does make good weapons.

The head hunters glanced at their crumpled comrade, confused. It was all the distraction Zakhar needed.

Chaos erupted.

Zakhar, armed with the spear, quickly took out the two closest head hunters with sharp, controlled jabs. Then he brought the butt down hard across the neck of a third, causing both the spear and the man's neck to snap.

Five down, eight to go.

I loaded a bolt and aimed it at the headhunter who dashed toward Zakhar's unprotected back.

Whoooosh- thunk!

The bolt grew from his chest. The head hunter stopped mid stride, staring at the bolt, before an uppercut from Zakhar knocked his chin toward the sky and sent the man spinning to the ground.

Seven more.

My next bolt found an eye, and the one after that lodged in another man's buttocks, causing him to cry out and hop around until Zakhar's elbow finally crashed into his skull.

Five more to go.

I had the next bolt loaded and aimed when I realized something was wrong.

I counted the men remaining. There were only four.

Where is-

Before I could think further, an arm wrapped around my neck.

I found myself bodily lifted and then thrown down against the outcrop, all breath forced from my lungs as the sharp rock dug into my stomach. One arm was twisted behind my back, and a weight pushed into it, pinning me to the ground.

I gasped for breath, turning my head to see. The flint-eyed man was above me, knee digging into my back.

His sword was held to my neck.

"Stand down now, or your little fuck friend will lose his head before you," the flint eyed man yelled down at Zakhar and the remaining bounty hunters below us.

I heard the sounds of commotion carry on below us and a cry- thankfully not Zakhar's. Kill them, Zakhar!

"I SAID STOP!" the flint eyed-man bellowed, grabbing and dragging me up and against him. The cold metal of his sword twitched against my neck.

The man was near hysterical and I knew why. Zakhar and I had killed half his number in seconds.

I could feel the arm around my neck shaking. You should be afraid, hunter.

"Ao?!" Zakhar asked, looking up and finding us atop the outcrop. "Ao!"

"Don't move, you blonde fuck," said the flint-eyed man. "Throw down your weapons or you can watch your friend bleed to death where you stand." His arm tightened around my neck, and I felt his sword push harder.

I caught Zakhar's gaze, telling him no with my eyes. There were only three of the men remaining and all of them looked too afraid to fight. He could easily lay them out, even without me and the crossbow to help.

Instead, face bitter, Zakhar threw his spear to the ground.

What are you doing? I thought at him wildly, my eyes trying to convey my message. Kill them!

But Zakhar stared stubbornly up at us, eyes locked on my own.

Seeing Zakhar surrender, the three remaining men gathered up their courage. They started toward him, feet stepping carefully over the bodies that now littered the road, weapons raised.

Stop!

Zakhar did not move. He did not even glance at the men approaching him. His eyes were fixed on me, like a traveling pilgrims did upon entering a shrine and finding the icon of their long sought-for god.

They were full of reverence, full of hope.

Idiot. Was he really going to let himself be cut down, just to spare me pain?

I could feel the flint-eyed man's chest shake behind me as he laughed in triumph.

I did not have much strength left. Most of it had run with the blood from the wound in my shoulder and hand and dripped onto the forest floor.

But the strength I had I used to grab the arm around my neck and launch us both forward.

The muscles in my body strained, but I was strong, and the flint-eyed man slimmer than most. I felt his feet leave the ground.

I had meant to throw the head hunter over my shoulder and off the outcrop. But I misjudged, and over balanced, and suddenly found myself falling with him.

The man cried out, sword arm flailing wildly.

There was a crunch as an out jutting rock connected with the flint-eyed mans back, sending him spinning and me flying from his grasp.

I landed on the dirt of the road hard, the impact sending an agony of pain from my pierced shoulder.

Pain.

"Ao!" Zakhar's voice was distraught. Had the men gotten to him?

I fought to stay conscious. I have to help, have to get up-

I heard a cry, and the thud of a body falling to the ground. Then another.

I pushed my uninjured hand under me, to the frozen dirt of the road, and tried to lever myself up.

I have to, I have to-

My arm shook terribly, and I fell against the cold ground once more. I could not stand.

No, no-

Before me a body lay. It was the head hunters I had shot through the eye. Red leaked from the corner of his eye like tears. As though he were still living, and lamenting his fate.

Death is never far away.

I heard a shout, and the sound of metal striking metal.

I turned my head, and forced my eyes to focus. Zakhar was facing off with the one remaining head hunter. It was the huge tribesman, one of the original three who had tried to take Zakhar.

I had not thought it possible, but the man was even bigger and more muscled than Zakhar.

The tribesman had a sword in hand, while Zakhar was empty handed. As I watched the man swung the sword, a huge double handed weapon. Zakhar dodged away, but was slowed by the bolt in his thigh.

The sword caught Zakhar on the forearm. It did not open up a cut, but a sword like that did not need to. It could shatter bone without breaking the skin. I heard Zakhar's grunt of pain.

No. No!

I pushed myself to my knees. If I could not stand I would crawl.

About ten lengths from where I had fallen, I caught sight of the crossbow. It lay beside the broken body of the flint-eyed man.

Miraculously, the bolt I had loaded had not discharged in the fall.

Just one shot.

I reached out and dragged the crossbow to me. Then I carefully rolled over, onto my side. I used the flint-eyed mans broken body to steady the bow.

I peered along the sight.

My vision was blurry, with blood loss, exhaustion, and pain. Snow had started to fall, not hard, but heavy enough to hang a swirling veil between me and my target.

I found the big tribesman's shoulders.

No, that will not be enough. Those shoulders were too broad, and too padded with muscle. The bolt would not sink deep enough to incapacitate him.

I aimed higher, for the neck. A much smaller target. But I would have to attempt it.

Before my finger could pull back the metal tongue of the trigger the man dove. I thought it was to avoid my shot. Then I realized he had seen an opening, and was lunging at Zakhar.

The sword swiped up across Zakahr's calf, and my friend cried out, trying to back up. His legs became entangled with the body of a fallen head hunter.

Zakhar fell.

The big tribesman raised his sword up, up, over his head, to bring down upon Zakhar's blonde one.

I bit my lip and stared along the sight.

Just one chance-

I took the shot.

The bolt swished forward. Shakily I stood, but I could not see where it had gone.The wind blew a flurry of wild snowflakes between me and the two men.

For a moment there was silence except the wind and the hiss of icy snowflakes as they blew across the road.

Then, through the snow, I saw the tall figure of the tribesman totter and fall.

Zakhar did not wait for him to hit the ground. He quickly rolled out of reach, snatched up a fallen spear, and stood. Then he drove the spear down between the big mans shoulder blades with a sickening crunch. The move had all the ruthlessness efficency of a trained mercenary.

The huge tribesman twitched once, twice, and was still.

Zakhar let out a breath. Then he looked up, eyes finding me.

"Ao!" He cried out, hurrying forward.

"Zakhar." I tried to stay standing, but my legs shook beneath me and I had to crouch to the ground once more.

"What are you doing?" he asked, kneeling beside me. He carefully took my arms, looking over the wounds from the crossbow in my hand and shoulder. "You were hurt. You should not have come after me."

"You are hurt worse," I said, nodding to where the bolts protruded from his thigh and arm.

Zakhar shook his head. "They did not hit anything vital. You should have stayed hidden."

And you should have told me you were dying, I thought. But I was silent, not meeting his eyes. Instead I stared at the snowflakes as they slid across the road, too dry to stick to the surface.

"Can you walk?" asked Zakhar, helping me to my feet. "Let's get back to the horses and get out of here."

I glanced around us at the carnage, the bodies of our would-be hunters, spread across the road, the snow falling atop them.

"Leave them for the birds," Zakhar said, lip twisting.

I agreed. Together, we limped back to the horses.

*~*~*~*~*~*