Not Really a Battle

Master Zhang waited a moment, looking at the two messengers. "Wait here," he said aloud. These were the first words Han had heard from any of them since they left the Royal Camp. The black-clad Qi warriors vanished into the woods.

An hour passed. It was cold – the spring evenings were longer, but not much warmer. Han couldn't decide whether he was cold enough to take his great cloak out of the bundle behind his crupper or not. He didn't want to be caught dismounted at the wrong moment. He cursed Master Zhang and his silence.

He kept looking at the older messenger, Feng, who waited, apparently calm, without fidgeting, for the whole hour.

"Here they come," Han said suddenly.

Master Zhang walked up to his horse and sheathed his sword on the saddle. "Come," he said. He was smiling.

He walked off up the steep hill, and all the horses followed him. "Uncanny," Feng said. He spat and made an avert sign.