The Man in the Veil - Part 1

Warning: Mentions of blood and physical violence

The desert wind picked up the grains of sand and draped them like a funeral shroud over the lifeless bodies. The dead men’s pallid countenances faced the brilliant blue sky, once vibrant eyes now dulled. Their armor was cracked, and their robes were stained a dark crimson. Rivulets of blood ran from their wounds, seeping into the ground. Swords lay by their motionless fingers, having failed to protect against the bandits that loomed over them.

The bandits were clad in dusty black robes and sat atop dark horses. Fabric covered most of their faces, leaving only their menacing eyes visible. In their hands were scimitars stained with fresh blood. From a distance, they looked like a horde of wraiths, and their shrill banshee cries added to that illusion. One of the ghostly bandits led his horse forward and eyed the trade caravan fifty paces away.

The dead men had been the caravan’s hired guards, and the remaining merchants were now defenseless. The caravan horses neighed. The cargo wagons’ canvas coverings fluttered. One merchant drew his sword and stood before the others. The blade wobbled before his eyes as his hands trembled. The dampness of his palms threatened to loosen his grip on the hilt while sharp sand grains assailed his face and limbs. The other merchants curled up like panicked pill bugs and squeezed their eyes shut, whimpering prayers to the goddess of their faraway homeland.

The bandit at the front of the horde pulled his reins. His horse galloped forward, throwing up starbursts with each hoof strike. The sword-wielding merchant gripped his hilt, heart pounding in his head. His muscles tightened, and his vision blurred. All he could hear were the ominous gallops and the sound of his strained breathing. The bandit drew closer and closer, raising his scimitar skyward. The cowering merchants’ prayers switched to screams.

A whistling sound pierced the air, and the incoming bandit was thrown off his horse. He landed with a thud and his fingers loosened their grip on the scimitar hilt, twitching a few times before stilling. An arrow shaft protruded from his chest, the tip buried in his heart. The other bandits stared at their dead compatriot and murmured amongst themselves. Another gust of hot wind passed through. Once the wall of beige died down, the bandits looked toward the horizon.

In the distance was a man on horseback. His face was obscured by the veil of his wide-brimmed weimao hat, and his dusty brown cloak fluttered in the wind. He held a curved bow before him. No one had seen him coming - he was like a silent ghost.

Three other bandits raised their scimitars and howled like vengeful wolves. They pulled their reins, and their horses galloped toward the veiled man. A cloud kicked up behind them as the hooves made a slow and steady rumble. The merchants eyed the veiled man nervously as the bandits approached him.

The veiled man reached into his quiver and plucked out three arrows. He nocked them against the bowstring at different angles. Holding the bow horizontally, he waited until the bandits were within twenty paces. Then he let the arrows fly. They sliced through the air with a shrill whistle. The bandits were struck in their chests and tumbled from their horses. The merchants gasped in awe.

Suddenly, a scythe blade attached to a chain hurtled through the air. The veiled man pulled out his sword. There was a loud clang as the two blades clashed, and the impact knocked him off his horse. He rotated as he fell, and his bones rattled when he landed. He looked up through his veil to see where the attack had come from.

A shrouded man on horseback rode out from the side of the bandit horde. He wore a bone-pale mask with gash-like stripes scrawled across the cheeks and a painted grin with razor-sharp teeth. His eyes were like bottomless wells. The chained scythe blade had returned to his gloved hand.

“Stranger, you should not have interfered,” the masked man bellowed in Sargeshi, the lingua franca of the trade routes. He held up the scythe blade. “Now you must die!” He threw the talon-like instrument at the veiled man again.

As the blade hurtled toward him, the veiled man spun out of harm’s way. Laughing behind his painted smirk, the masked man reached into his robes and hurled a dagger. The veiled man deflected the incoming blade with his sword while in mid-spin. He landed on his feet, but all the spinning caused the weimao to slip off his head. It settled at his back, held in place by the long cord around his neck. The merchants and bandits could now see his face. He was a handsome young man with gracefully curved phoenix eyes and long black hair tied in a high ponytail.

“You’re quite skilled,” the masked man sneered. With a wave of his hand, he summoned the other bandits. Pointing his finger at the young man, he yelled, “Attack!”

The mass of bandits surged forward with scimitars drawn. Their battle cries echoed through the dunes. The young man glared at them and plunged the tip of his sword into the sand. He focused his mind and summoned his wind magic. Air currents swirled around his hand as he gripped the hilt. With his other hand, he raised his index and middle finger in front of his face and closed his eyes. His expression was serene.

The bandits were approaching fast, and the sound of their hooves was deafening. The young man’s eyes shot open, and he used his magic to unleash a whirlwind. The bandits screamed as the powerful gale knocked them and their horses over. The masked man braced himself against the onslaught and gritted his teeth. He tightened his grip on the reins and steadied his horse.

What sorcery is this? the masked man thought. He tightened his grip on the scythe blade. When he felt a lull in the chaos, he hurled the weapon at the young man once again.

The young man sensed the incoming threat and leapt out of the way. The whirlwind ceased, and grains of sand rained down. He glided through the air in a graceful arc. As he descended, he swung his sword at the chain. The impact made a clinking sound, and the chain wrapped itself around his sword’s blade. He landed and sharply pulled his sword backward.

The masked man was yanked off his horse and landed face-first. Gritty sand grains flooded through the holes in his mask and irritated his eyes. The young man kept pulling until the chain slipped out of the masked man’s hands. He then shook the chain off his sword and the scythe blade flopped onto the ground like a dead fish.

The young man narrowed his eyes. “Would you like to continue?”

The masked man looked up at him uneasily. “Who are you?”

The young man smiled. “Just a stranger…passing by…”