He stood in a field. The sky was golden and soft clouds drifted by lazily. Ping took a few steps into the tall stalks of grain and ran his fingers over the silky tips, just like he would when he was a child.

Before him a figure suddenly appeared. Ping recognized the broad, plated back and scarlet cape billowing without wind. He tried to call out and found he couldn't make a sound, instead walking forward.

"Ping."

He stopped and turned around. His father stood there regally, wrinkles and crippled leg gone. He was tall, imperious in his stance. Ping tried to say something but once again words would not come from his throat.

"You are a disgrace." His voice was like terrible thunder in Ping's ears. "Even the weakest daughter would be of an improvement. It is comical that such a spineless, weak fool could come from me. You would be better as feed for the vultures."

A strong wind blew from behind Ping, smelling of rotted flesh. He whipped around and found Shang standing in front of him.

His skin was gone, only a grinning skull under his helmet greeted him. Ping gasped and fell back. Behind him his father gave a roar and his armor turned into bloody scales that folded in on him. He rose up and was now a fearsome dragon that soared into the sky, circling the clouds with blood thirsty snarls.

"As feed for the MAGGOTS!"

The dragon came down, jaws open and yellow teeth bared. Its crimson eyes glared and it descended down onto Ping with fire spewing from its rancid mouth.

He jolted awake when a slimy tongue flicked at his ear canal.

"Ugh," he groaned around his gag, sticking a finger into his ear to dry it. Around his neck Mushu's body rippled with a chortle. He groaned again when a dull throbbing stabbed at the back of his head like a nail. Where the arrow had lodged into his left arm burned with soreness and felt raw.

He saw a fire flickering a few yards away and was unable to appreciate its warmth from where he was. His back was stiff and he was chilled to his bones. His boots were bound together with leather strips, same as his wrists.

His attempt to sit up was hindered by another chord tying his neck to a stake in the ground. Ping forced his eyes open and found it was already sunset. Several Huns sat around the campfire while one leaned against a gnarled tree next to Ping.

He stood up and loomed over him, giving a malicious smile with ruddy gums. He took a few lumbering steps away, speaking in a foreign tongue to his comrades.

Mushu moved under his armor to whisper in his ear. "Ping. They've been talking about how they're going to kill you."

"Wahaa?" Ping tried to get out around his gag.

"You killed a pretty popular guy back in the Jin Zai camp. That and I think they know you're a famous general's son."

Ping drew his legs in and let his hands rest on his chest. He willed himself to not move or panic as a group of four imposing men stood over him. One approached him and squatted down to his level. He wore leather armor and a hide helmet with studs. His hair hung in silky black strands that melded into his beard.

His flat face and small, bright eyes gave him a savage, carnal element. He lifted his meaty hands to slacken the line around Ping's throat. When he spoke his voice was surprisingly level and a bit more high-pitched than Ping expected for one his size.

"You are son of Fa Zhao, yes?"

Ping tried to answer vocally but had to nod, avoiding eye contact.

"I know. I know sword and armor anywhere." Ping saw his father's sword drawn around the man's waist and looked back at him, confusion knotting his brow. "I am Nergůi. Your father and I, battle once far back." He grinned. "His leg. I wonder, it twisted still like branch?"

Ping felt his muscles tense up and an anger flare up inside in his stomach. His father had never mentioned the name of the one who inflicted his injury. His glare told Nergůi everything he needed and the man grinned.

"Ah, good. I am pleased." He turned to spout out some foreign babble to his comrades and they laughed. "Your father great warrior. Kill many of my men." His face darkened. "Now you kill Ganbaatar. My brother."

The men around him muttered and spat in Ping's direction. Nergůi gripped Ping's bun in his thick fingers and yanked his chin up without mercy. Ping blinked back tears that pricked at his eyes and held his lip steady.

"I kill you, for blood of brother gone. But, not yet, I think. We kill you in front of father." Ping could smell his rancid breath, hitting his face like fumes. "We kill you like goat."

A sickening chill ran down to the tips of his fingers and Nergůi laughed again before shoving Ping's face into the dirt. A rock dug into his cheek and his arm screeched in objection to the angle he was forced to take. He bit his tongue to keep back his yelp.

The guards and Nergůi left him to roll back to his original position on his back. One man tightened the leather chord and Ping felt the material chafe against his sensitive skin, much too aware of his pulse rapidly beating against it.

The smell of food filled the air and the Huns commenced eating with no sign of feeding him. He felt Mushu stir.

"Hey, you didn't faint did you?"

Ping growled.

"Just checking. So here's my plan: when they all settle down for the night, I'll cut you free and provide a distraction while you grab a horse and high tail it back to Rin village. Any objections?"

Ping could sense Mushu's enjoyment at his inability to respond. He nodded and closed his eyes, bringing his fingers up to massage his throbbing temples. His mind went back to earlier that day when the Jin Zai camp was overrun. The screaming horses, the bellowing men and their blood-shined blades.

And Shang. His stomach lurched when he realized there was the possibility that Shang had…he had…

No. Shang had survived. He was still alive, getting the troops in order to march on to the frontline and join the commander's army. He was not dead. He couldn't be.

In the back of his mind, a string of warmth amidst his tangled worries, he wondered: Is Shang worried about me?

Shang was about at the end of his proverbial rope. The damage to their supplies and numbers was staggering, but manageable. Out of the two groups, the Jin Zai had been more heavily hit. According to the body count they were down to one-third of their former group, whereas Shang's brigade had suffered less deceased and more destroyed canons.

A second campaign of Huns had ambushed the camp from the south while their brethren distracted the soldiers, setting fire and destroying their carriages and canons with maces and torches. They had also cut down a number of their horses with vicious scythes.

And, to top it all off, Ping had been knocked out and dragged away by a pair of flea-bitten savages right in front of him.

Shang's teeth ground together and he forced himself to keep his cool while atop his horse. He remembered shouting and urging his horse over only to be stopped by an archer shooting at his head. When he had regained his ground, Ping had vanished from sight.

In the moments that followed the ambush, Shang's every other thought revolved around finding Ping, seeing Ping, where was Ping? Shang knew. He knew, and yet his stubborn pride refused to let him break down. Instead he kept his head clear and voice level as he gave the orders to move out with the Jin Zai, to the front.

A few men had reported missing soldiers, asking if they should send out a search party. "No," Shang had said, the crack in his voice barely concealed. A gut-wrenching pain ran from his chest to his very core as he cursed his eyes for the traitorous tears they threatened to spill.

"The Huns don't keep live prisoners."