The Ambush at the Pass
Even the occasional snatch of song had fallen silent.
Ho-in grumbled under his breath.
"This path is brutal. Are you sure there's really no other way?"
He drew a ragged breath and muttered on.
"I don't know how the people of Anchiunbugu ever come and go along this route! No wonder hardly anyone ever visits them."
"Hard to say. I suppose that could be part of it..."
Cha Gyeong-yeon cast a slow glance around them.
Anyone hoping to lie in wait and watch travelers coming and going—or to strike at them outright—could ask for no better spot than this. However strong a man might be, by the time he fought his way up to this stretch of the trail, his strength would be more than half spent.
Ho-in was a burly sort himself, yet there he was, heaving like a bellows.
"It's a perfect place for an ambush. It might even be one of the ways they keep the village protected."
Ho-in nodded, drenched in sweat, though his head bobbed dryly, without conviction.
It was certainly possible. They could have deliberately left the road rough to keep attackers out.
And yet Cha Gyeong-yeon could not quite shake an uneasy feeling.
Far behind them, the broad back of Iharachi, slinging his iron flail over his shoulder, vanished into the brush. His short jacket, too, was soaked clean through with sweat.
"Path's damn rough, I tell you."
Iharachi was grumbling in much the same vein.
Utai smirked.
"The famous Iharachi of Hwangseongpyeong, they say, and yet he's tuckered out already?"
"Don't be ridiculous!"
Iharachi laughed heartily.
"Hey, we're almost there, aren't we? The view's finally opening up ahead. This the place?"
Utai said nothing for a moment. Instead of answering, he walked out into the clearing ahead, then caught Tucheonggae passing by and spoke to him.
"Speaking of which—are you truly ready to die for this master of yours, that Temusi-i?"
"What's that supposed to mean, all of a sudden?"
Iharachi asked, still puffing for breath.
Utai shrugged.
"Well, it's not every day one of us frontier folk gets so chummy with a man from inside Joseon. And the Iharachi of Hwangseongpyeong, of all men... So I got curious."
"Fair enough, that it is."
Iharachi considered for a moment, then grinned.
"Stick around with me, Utai, and you'll find out soon enough."
"So what kind of man is this Temusi-i, anyway?"
Utai's voice was oddly quiet.
"A man."
"A man!"
Utai mulled it over, then burst out laughing. Iharachi wiped the sweat from his brow and laughed along with him.
"That answer's a bit thin, don't you think?"
"Thin it may be, but it's the gospel truth. Meeting a man as a man—that's a rare thing, it is."
"Is that so. I'd count that worth envying."
There was something leaden in Utai's tone. But Iharachi, too winded from the hard climb to notice, answered without a second thought, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Think of it this way—you've met him now, haven't you? Lord Temusi-i is young, and a Joseon man, granted, just as you say, but he's a fine one."
The head of the column was visible ahead.
"If you like, you could join us too, and..."
The words died in Iharachi's throat.
A heavy club came down on the back of his neck.
It was a blow that might have toppled a stone wall.
"What in the... hell was that?"
But Iharachi was a man built to take punishment. As he whirled around, the one who had swung the club was staring at him with a look of sheer disbelief.
Iharachi turned back to where Utai stood.
Utai regarded him with an expression of genuine regret.
"Sorry, friend."
"You..."
He never finished. The club came down on the crown of his head again, and another man hammered blows into his spine and shoulders in quick succession.
Utai looked down at the man who had crumpled without so much as a cry.
Someone spoke.
"Good work, Utai."
"Lord Bushuku."
A bare-skulled thug with a shaved head strode boldly out into the middle of the road, grinning. He planted his foot on the side of Iharachi's bloodied face.
"So this mongrel is Iharachi? The one who threw away the pride of the Jurchens to suckle at a Joseon man's teat, is he?"
"Nngh..."
As if he'd heard every word, Iharachi groaned. He raised his ruined face and glared up at Bushuku.
Bushuku spat on him.
"Sturdy bastard, aren't you. String the traitor up. A cur like that isn't worth keeping alive."
Then Utai stepped forward.
"Chief, spare the man's life."
"What?"
The chief called Bushuku stared at Utai as if he'd lost his mind.
"Have you gone mad all of a sudden? Why would I spare trash like this?"
"I'm begging you."
Utai dropped to his knees.
Bushuku glared at him a long moment, then finally shrugged.
"Fine. You've earned your keep. We'll let him breathe... Oi! Tie this one up. Well now, look at this—he's carrying a fine weapon. Hand that over here!"
"Yes, Chief."
Bushuku snatched up the iron flail Iharachi had been carrying, then turned back to Utai.
"So then—their baggage is loaded down with loot, is it?"
"Every bit of it, Chief."
"Good. Oi, Giahuchuyi! Baduri! What did you two see?"
Bushuku threw the question at two of his other men. A tall, sharp-featured man and a squat, stout one both nodded.
The two of them had spent the past several days shadowing Hong-wi's party in secret.
"Yes, sir. At a glance, their packhorses were loaded down with goods worth a fortune—and they even had five oxen and cows, yellow ones at that."
"Five head of cattle?"
Bushuku's face lit up.
To the frontier folk, a plowing ox was a treasure beyond price. Even in the far wealthier lands of Joseon, whether a village could keep cattle or not was the measure that separated rich towns from poor ones—so in the poverty-stricken wilds, it went without saying.
"Well, aren't we rich today! Heh heh heh..."
As Bushuku cackled, the tall man spoke up.
"Chief, but there's one problem. The men of Anchiunbugu seem to have caught wind of it."
"What? When?"
"Last night. We'd gone out scouting the party when someone started dogging our trail. We barely shook him off."
"Damn that busybody meddler... you can't even manage one simple thing?"
Bushuku flew into a temper. Giahuchuyi and Baduri hunched their shoulders and dropped their eyes.
Utai spoke up.
"Chief, even so, last night needn't be any trouble. Suppose that Tung Jugang of Anchiunbugu did catch wind of it—it'll take him a full day to reach this place. They're already in our hands right now. By the time anyone shows up, we'll be long gone."
"Hm... aye, that's true enough."
"They'll be along shortly, so you'd best make your preparations."
"Right, good thinking. Lads! Get ready to receive our guests."
"But Chief—will you truly say nothing to Lord Kunuma?"
The squat man asked. At those words, Bushuku scrunched his face up in annoyance.
"What a damnable fool you are... Hey, Baduri! Why in hell should I tell my big brother anything? This is my prey, understand? Don't talk nonsense."
"...Yes, understood."
"Good. Lads! Let's make ourselves a fortune."
"Yes, sir."
The bandits bustled into motion.
Utai looked down at Iharachi. Gagged, bound tight as a corded log, the man glared up at him.
Utai sighed.
"Sorry, friend. But this is my trade. Rest a while."
Meanwhile, Hong-wi's party, too, was toiling up the slope.
The trail was so brutal that even Hong-wi, Ho-in, and Cha Gyeong-yeon had dismounted and climbed on foot, and the packhorses and oxen, unable to manage the grade, were making their way up in stops and starts.
"Utai and Iharachi have gone awfully quiet."
"Perhaps they've stopped to find us a place to rest."
Ho-in answered. They had just crested the ridge.
The sun beat down from directly overhead, though a mountain breeze, at least, offered a cooling touch.
"We've made it up at last. Let's rest in the shade of those trees and catch our breath. Where have Iharachi and Utai gotten to, though?"
Even as Ho-in said it, Cha Gyeong-yeon was sweeping their surroundings with sharp, narrowed eyes. In an instant his brow furrowed, and he shouted.
"Ambush!"
Hong-wi wheeled around.
The Hwando sword his uncle Grand Prince Geumseong had left him sang out—a whisper of steel and a flash of light.
At the same instant, a war cry erupted from every direction.
Startled, Ho-in leapt in front of Hong-wi, and before he knew it, the sword his father had left him as his final legacy was bare in his hand.
"Hahahahaha..."
A laugh rang out from nowhere in particular.
A huge, hairy, bald brute of a man stepped into view. He glared at Hong-wi's armed party, then bellowed at the top of his lungs.
"Sharp instincts, I'll give you that... well done spotting us. Now listen up, you dogs! If you value your miserable lives, drop all your goods right there and surrender quietly."
His frontier Jurchen was slurred through with a vicious backwoods accent.
Hong-wi answered only with a stare. Was that the leader of this rabble?
Around the bald brute, at least sixteen men were grinning wolfishly, brandishing every manner of weapon.
Hong-wi's eyes slid toward the scrubby woods on either side. There seemed to be a dozen or more hiding among them.
This won't be easy.
That was Hong-wi's assessment. It wasn't merely the numbers—the ground itself worked against them. Tucheonggae and most of the porters were still scattered along the slope below, pinned in place by the packhorses and the oxen. That left only Hong-wi's three, plus four porters whose unease was plain to see.
A perfect trap.
"Are your ears stuffed? Drop the goods and surrender."
When Hong-wi made no reply, the brute fidgeted, irritation creeping into his shout.
Hong-wi thundered back at him.
"And who are you, to order us to lay down our goods?"
At that, the brute fell silent, dumbfounded. Then he turned to his men and barked out a scornful laugh, and raucous laughter echoed back from the bandits scattered along both flanks.
"The fool's gone mad, I think."
"Hey, you there!"
The brute jabbed a finger at him and shouted.
"Fine then—name your last wish before you die. You'll piss yourself when you hear it... Have you ever heard the name of Lord Bushuku?"
The man was swaggering to the skies.
But to Hong-wi, it was almost comic.
Ho-in murmured.
"Bushuku? What in the world is this scrap-of-bones nobody, and where did he crawl out from?"
And yet his voice was stretched thin with tension.
Meanwhile, when Hong-wi's party showed no reaction at all, Bushuku looked rather nonplussed. Never once had men gaped so blankly at the mere mention of his name.
"Are you deaf, you dogs?"
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but even if that man were Lee Man-ju himself, I have no intention of handing these goods over. If you want them, come and take them yourself."
Bushuku's jaw dropped.
"Wha—what?"
Shock lasted only a moment before Bushuku's face went scarlet. Giahuchuyi and Baduri exchanged incredulous glances. Only Utai, watching from the shadows with his arms crossed, showed no change of expression at all.
"The madman's truly lost his wits. Arrogant whelp!"
Bewilderment and fury boiled up together in Bushuku, and he snarled as he raised his blade.
Hong-wi turned to his companions.
"What shall we do?"
"We're at a disadvantage, Your Majesty."
Ho-in answered, casting a quick glance back at the porters.
"We have only six men here, and only two of us have ever been trained in the sword."
The porters carried Hwando swords, to be sure, but they were not swordsmen by trade. Truthfully, the blades at their waists were as much for intimidation as anything else. The mere sight of even common porters in a merchant caravan armed to a man was usually enough to make ordinary bandits lose their nerve.
"Two? Why two? There are three of us."
Hong-wi replied with perfect calm.
Ho-in nearly choked.
"Your Majesty!"
"Granted, even three makes for a poor tally. But there's nothing for it—we fight."
Hong-wi gave the light reply, then fixed his gaze on Bushuku's band, whose dark, weathered face had gone the color of a red pepper, spittle flying as he hurled one curse after another.
"Three of us—charge. Three... two... one!"
With the shout, all three men tore forward.
Bushuku, in the very middle of his tirade, flinched at the killing intent that hit him like a gust of winter.
"Wha—what are they doing?!"
Giahuchuyi and Baduri were just as thrown—nothing like this had entered their calculations—and the rank-and-file bandits didn't bear thinking about.
One bandit, still scrambling in confusion, finally gathered his wits and swung his club; Hong-wi slipped past it almost lazily and hooked the man's ankle out from under him.
"Aigoo—!"
Before the man had even finished crashing to the ground, Hong-wi drove his elbow into the next one's solar plexus. The instant the man doubled over, Hong-wi sent him flying with a kick, and he went tumbling and howling down the hillside.
Ho-in and Cha Gyeong-yeon each swept their blades in wide arcs, cutting down men one after another.
As their comrades fell in succession, the bandits' composure shattered. In the end, every fight is a fight for momentum—and despite holding a crushing advantage in numbers, they buckled under the pressure, turned tail, and began to flee.
"You gutless bastards! Three men—that's all it takes to scatter you lot?"