Path of the Eclipse Read Online Free Page A

the Mongol forces to save those valiant defenders, but without archers and sufficient cavalry, we were helpless against their superior numbers. Six sallies were attempted, but all failed. The Mongols, since the taking of Pei-King, believe themselves to be invulnerable and mandated by Heaven to conquer all of our country. We have learned a dreadful lesson from these terrible fighters, and we dare not ignore it.
    Two days ago, Junior Officer S’a Gan led one hundred men toward Pei-Yo under cover of darkness with the hope of rescuing those few defenders who remained alive. This morning, the heads of this company adorned spikes around the Mongol camp and their horsemen have been throwing the flayed skins of our comrades over the barricades we have erected. Pei-Yo is less than twenty li away from us, and it will not be long before the Mongols turn their attention to us once more. Controlling Pei-Yo, as they do now, will make their work easier, for they will not have to fall back very far and will fight on fresh horses.
    General Kuei I-Ta respectfully requests that the most prompt assistance be rendered him and his men. If relief is not authorized quickly, it will come too late. Those of us defending the Sha-Ming Pass will gladly remain until the last of us is slain, but we ask that our deaths purchase a victory for our country. It is honorable to fall in battle, and we do not shrink from our duty. It is for those who come after us to hold our sacrifice at high cost.
    Our courier will leave two hours before dawn and it is hoped that he will be at the camp of the Imperial bowmen in the Ma-Mei valley by nightfall. If this report is sent promptly, marching orders should be delivered to the garrison by the fortnight of the White Dews, and may well be in time to avenge us without endangering the Ma-Mei valley by the action.
    General Kuei I-Ta prays that his words be regarded as those of a dying man, and given that devotion and respect incumbent upon such messages.
    By the hand of the scribe Wen S’ung in the second hour after sunset, near the village of Nan-Pi.

2
    A brook had been diverted through the garden to splash over a course of smooth stones in plaintive, endless melody. Night-dappled, it gleamed where the nodding trees let the starlight through. There was a tang in the autumn wind as it fingered the leaves, loosening them one by one from the branches, dropping the first few in token of the winter to come. Low in the west a waning moon vied with the coming dawn, casting long, soft shadows across the compound and garden, touching the elaborately carved eaves and the open door, stretching along the silken carpet of Saint-Germain’s private chamber, reaching at last the brocaded coverlet of the wide bed where Ch’uan-T’ing lay alone.
    Saint-Germain sat in a chair of carved rosewood on the far side of the room, where the night was the deepest. He held a volume of the works of Li Po in one hand, his finger marking the page he had abandoned earlier, while he looked contemplatively at the young woman sleeping. His black silken sheng lei rustled no more loudly than the wind as he rose, setting the book aside. He crossed the room in five swift steps, and stood for some little time at the foot of the bed, his dark eyes resting on Ch’uan-T’ing’s still face.
    Softly he dropped to his knees on the bed, moving with utmost care so that she would not be disturbed. Unhurriedly he stretched out beside her, away from the moonlight so that he could see her face without shadow. He braced himself on his elbow and gave himself to the perusal of her face.
    Her features were tranquil in sleep, her lashes on her cheeks like tiny dark crescents, her brow untroubled and unlined, her hair haloing her head. Ch’uan-T’ing sighed in her sleep, her lovely, arched lips opening slightly. At this subtle movement the coverlet slid back, revealing her small, high breasts and the gentle rise of her ribs. The moonlight bleached the color from her skin so