Taming Poison Dragons Read Online Free PDF Page A

steep grassy banks. Here I sit to regain my breath, and fall into a pleasant doze, the wine swirling back to the top of my head. At once I enter a hazy dream and hear songs in the trees, the rustle of feet, whispered voices, distant and indistinct. To wake now is a great labour, yet I cannot help myself. My head jerks up.
    I look around. The road is no longer deserted.
    I am surrounded by half a dozen villagers, talking in low voices. For a moment I blink, taking in details – a wheelbarrow, bundles on backs, frightened eyes. Then my gaze settles on a familiar face, one I least want to see in my bedraggled, sottish state.
    ‘Ah, Wudi,’ I say, and can think of nothing more.
    He looks a long, scornful glance. His weathered face is set in a scowl of grief. The people round him include his wife and two granddaughters.
    ‘I am sorry about your son, Wudi,’ I say, with an effort.
    The slur in my voice shames me. ‘Very sorry!’
    Yet he does not even acknowledge my words. Turning to his family, he orders them on. They toil up the road, burdened by baggage and belongings, until out of sight. A desire to chase after him, beg forgiveness for not averting his loss, almost propels me to my feet. But I am too tired.
    And I do not blame him. He has every reason not to acknowledge me. Just as a bad emperor may lose the Mandate of Heaven through fecklessness, so may an inept lord lose the respect of those he has been set above.
    A weary walk back to Three-Step-House. All the freshness and splendour of the morning has gone, trees and stones somehow lifeless.
    At the gatehouse I find Eldest Son talking to men from the village. He frowns as I approach and I notice he does not bow. The villagers examine us both curiously.
    ‘Do not stand and stare,’ he barks at them. ‘Go and keep watch on the road. At the first sign of travellers, send a runner to me.’
    They leave us alone by the gate gods, and Eldest Son’s face sags. I suspect he has had less sleep than me.
    ‘Father, where have you been?’ he scolds. ‘The valley is full of brigands. And what about the horsemen who rode through yesterday? It is not safe. Where would we be if you were captured?’
    Better off, I think.
    ‘I met Wudi,’ I say, sadly.
    ‘Yes, he is taking his wife and granddaughters to a relative in Crow Hamlet. They will be safer there and he has promised to return by nightfall.’
    ‘Wudi would not speak to me. I have known Wudi all my life. Yet he would not speak to me.’
    ‘You must make allowances, Father. His son. . . I do not understand why our ceremony went so wrong! We have offended the Gods!’ he cries, bitterly. ‘They are ungrateful! We sacrifice to them with all propriety. What more do they want?’
    ‘Hush,’ I say. ‘Lest they hear.’
    ‘What are we to do, Father?’
    There is something pitiful about his tone, as though he has never quite become a man. Am I to blame for that? I realise how hard he finds our present danger. He needs guidance, reassurance. I repress a desire to trail wearily back to my room.
    ‘Should we send the children to one of the monasteries?’
    he asks. ‘And our valuable clothes, the little chest of cash ?
    They might be safe there.’
    ‘We may need the money and cloth for bribes,’ I say.
    ‘Should we all go to the monastery, Father?’
    ‘If the Lord flees, so will half the village,’ I say. ‘Your Grandfather would know exactly what to do. . . Perhaps if we made a sacrifice at the Ancestral Shrine.’
    ‘There is no time!’ cries Eldest Son. ‘The barbarian horsemen will be telling their tale in Chunming by now.
    They will burn our house to the ground! How long will it take for them to send troops here?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘Should we all go to the monastery?’ he demands again.
    ‘It might be safer. But the village needs us. If we fail in this duty, we will forfeit all respect. Send only your sons, only them. They are children, after all. Besides, the headman has done as much. The