Alex Archer - Forbidden City

Rogue Angel ™

www.mirabooks.co.uk

…THE ENGLISH COMMANDER TOOK JOAN’S SWORD AND RAISED IT HIGH.

The broadsword, plain and unadorned, gleamed in the firelight. He put the tip against the ground and his foot at the center of the blade. The broadsword shattered, fragments falling into the mud. The crowd surged forward, peasant and soldier, and snatched the shards from the trampled mud. The commander tossed the hilt deep into the crowd.

Smoke almost obscured Joan, but she continued praying till the end, until finally the flames climbed her body and she sagged against the restraints.

Joan of Arc died that fateful day in France, but her legend and sword are reborn….

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Epilogue

Loulan City, China

184 A.D .

Everyone in the city hated Emperor Ling’s tax collectors. Times were hard. Spring floods had ruined crops and dwellings. Families struggled to make ends meet while still having enough left over to fill the imperial coffers. The Han Dynasty, though, remained unsympathetic to the needs of its citizens. Rebellions had begun around the kingdom.

Occasionally, when angry men grew tired of the heavy tax burden, they killed the royal collectors and took back their taxes. The emperor then had to employ more warriors to protect the tax collectors, and that raised the taxes again.

Of all the emperor’s tax collectors, Tsui Zedong was the most hated.

Fat and arrogant, Zedong enjoyed throwing around the emperor’s power. It was said that were he not able to add sums so quickly in his head he would have been executed for being a thief.

Dressed in brocade robes, he traveled the countryside inside an opulent carriage. Six armed warriors on horses escorted him and protected the emperor’s gold from bandits. All of the warriors were experienced and scarred from many battles.

When the carriage slowed that late spring morning, Zedong slid the rice paper shade from the carriage window and peered out. Loulan City was small, filled mostly with farmers who barely eked out an existence. But there were a few skilled artisans and craftsmen. Most of them had shops on the street he presently traveled.

The driver pulled the carriage to a stop, then got down and opened the door.

Holding his robes together, Zedong heaved his bulk up from the padded seat and got out to do the emperor’s collecting. Zedong smelled food in the air. When he stepped down from the carriage, he saw a tavern three shops down. The carcasses of ducks and geese hung from a rope out front, ready for purchase by those who worked inside the city and didn’t raise their own livestock.

All of the shops ran in straight lines on either side of the street. Most of them had existed for years, put together by families and trained carpenters. A well in the center of the square provided water for travelers. Several shopkeepers stopped their work and came out to look at the carriage. Most of them wore looks of dread.

The warriors, bristling with swords and bows, tied their horses to the back of the carriage. They took the chest from inside the carriage. Two of them carried it between them.

Several murmured curses echoed along the street. The shopkeepers knew what was about to occur.

Unrolling the scroll the emperor’s tax keepers had prepared listing the shopkeepers and the amounts they were to pay, Zedong reviewed the listing for the jeweler he planned to visit first. Zedong rolled the scroll back and entered the small shop.

The jeweler’s establishment was small and tidy. On the surface, he appeared to be a poor man, but Zedong knew from years of collecting that many shopkeepers and tradesmen disguised their wealth.

An old woman sat in a chair holding a fat cat in her lap.

“I have come to collect the taxes for the emperor,” Zedong announced.

The old jeweler looked nervous. His back was bent from years of hunching over his tools, creating settings and pulling thin gold wire. With a trembling hand, he handed Zedong a cloth bag that clinked.

Zedong knew from the feel of the bag that it didn’t contain enough gold. He could have told the shopkeeper that without opening the bag, but he opened it anyway and spilled the contents across his hand.

“There is not enough,” Zedong accused.

“It is all we have,” the jeweler whispered.

“Nonsense. You have a fat cat. If you have enough to keep your cat fat, then you have enough to pay the emperor his taxes.”

“No, I swear to you,” the old man said. “It is all we have.”

Zedong dropped the bag into the emperor’s chest. Then he looked around the shop. “You have gold ingots and jewels.”

“Please,” the old man begged. “We do not have many of those. Hardly enough to stay in business. If you take those, we cannot make items to sell. Then the emperor’s new taxes won’t be met.”

“If you don’t meet the taxes,” Zedong promised, “things will go badly for you.” He turned to the warriors. “Seize the gold and gems.”

The warriors went about their assignment. Screaming in outrage and pain, the old jeweler grabbed one of the warriors by the arm and yanked. Without hesitating, the warrior shoved the old man away and thrust a dagger through his throat.

The jeweler fell and his blood stained the wooden floor. He clasped his throat and kicked helplessly as his life ebbed.

Wailing, his aged wife abandoned her chair and rushed to her stricken husband. She called on the gods and for help from anyone, but no one came. No one dared.

The old woman’s pain didn’t touch Zedong. He’d ordered the deaths of many others. This one had been easy because he didn’t have to think about it. Furthermore, with one man dead, the other shopkeepers would readily pay.

As her husband died, the old woman turned to Zedong. “May the gods curse you,” she moaned. “May your life end soon and in painful agony. May you throw up your own entrails and take days to die.”

Zedong knew he couldn’t afford to allow such an affront. He was the emperor’s tax collector. An insult to him was like an insult to the emperor. If he did not avenge it, the emperor would have him executed.

“Kill her,” Zedong ordered.

The nearest warrior drew his sword instantly, then slashed down into the old woman, cleaving her from shoulder to heart. With a last gasp of pain, she fell across her husband.

Zedong looked at her and hated her even in death. He kicked her three times, getting madder each time because she wasn’t alive to feel pain.

He wished he’d killed her before she’d cursed him. Curses were powerful things.

At his order, the warriors looted the shop. Zedong stood and watched. The fat cat stared at him with its unblinking green gaze. Zedong walked toward it, slipping a dagger from inside his sleeve. When he was close enough, he struck.

But the feline moved at the last moment, leaping over Zedong’s knife, landing on his arm and leaping up again. The cat’s claws struck Zedong’s face above his right eye. Blood dripped onto his cheek and fire stung his flesh. He swung the knife again, but the cat vaulted through a window and vanished.