The Mummy Tomb of the Dragon Emperor

D
oomed by a double-crossing sorceress to spend eternity in suspended animation, China’s ruthless Dragon Emperor and his ten thousand warriors have laid forgotten for eons, entombed in clay as a vast, silent terra-cotta army. But when dashing adventurer Alex O’Connell is tricked into awakening the ruler from eternal slumber, the reckless young archaeologist must seek the help of the only people who know more than he does about taking down the undead: his parents, Rick and Evelyn O’Connell.

A
s the monarch roars back to life, our hero finds his quest for world domination has only intensified over the millennia. Striding the Far East with unimaginable supernatural powers, the Emperor Mummy will rouse his legion as an unstoppable, otherworldly force . . . unless the O’Connells can stop him first.

THE MUMMY: TOMB OF THE DRAGON EMPEROR

A Berkley Boulevard Book / published by arrangement with Universal Studios Publishing Right, a division of Universal Studios Licensing, Inc.

PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Boulevard edition / July 2008

All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2008 by Universal Studios Publishing Rights, a division of Universal Studios Licensing, Inc.

Book design by Tiffany Estreicher.

The Penguin Group Inc. World Wide Web site address is
http://www.penguin.com

ISBN: 0-425-22313-2
BERKLEY BOULEVARD Berkley Boulevard Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

“People make mistakes in life through believing too much, but they have a damned dull time if they believe too little.”

—James Hilton

“Study the past if you would define the future.”

—Confucius

“Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die.”

—Imhotep

 
PROLOGUE
 

Emperor of Evil

EDITOR’S NOTE:
The following draws heavily upon the work
Tomb of the Dragon Emperor: Myth and Mystery
(Bembridge Press, London, 1948) by Dr. Evelyn O’Connell. Among the many accomplishments of Dr. O’Connell, whose doctorate was in the library sciences, were significant contributions to the fields of archaeology and Egyptology. The daughter of noted Egyptologist Howard Carnahan, one of the discoverers in 1922 of the tomb of Tutankhamen, Dr. O’Connell was curator of the Cairo Museum (1925 to 1927) and in her later years held, at various times, the same post at the British Museum in London. In between she wrote a number of well-respected academic works as well as several popular novels that drew upon her experiences on digs and in the field with her well-known husband, explorer Richard O’Connell. The O’Connells raised a son, Alex, who shared his parents’ enthusiasm for antiquities and has followed in the famous footsteps of his parents.

Long ago, in a time of darkness two hundred years before the birth of Christ, China suffered under the rule of a ruthless emperor—Er Shi Huangdi of the Qin Dynasty. The Emperor’s thirst for power seemed unquenchable, and his willingness to brutally, mercilessly dispatch his foes earned fear for his army throughout the ancient world.

After vanquishing the barbarians of the north, Emperor Er Shi Huangdi’s army formed a huge encampment among the towering Chinese pyramids of Ningxia, a desertlike region bordering Shaanxi and Gansu. At dusk of the day of their latest great battle, the warriors rested, smells of food cooked over campfires wafting through the peaceful tent city, hearty laughter and drink-fueled braggadocio punctuating the calm.

Now and then more abrasive sounds threatened the after-battle lull, in particular a line of barbarian captives held in neck stocks and chains and moving along at the request of sharp whipcracks. Thundering past them, an armored messenger on horseback headed toward the enormous black tent whose banners were emblazoned with a three-headed dragon; here the messenger dismounted at a gallop to approach the Emperor’s sentries.

Within the expansive tent could be found fittings as grand as those of any palace, a black-and-gold interior whose masculine richness was enhanced by the flickering candlelight of wooden chandeliers. Here, in black armor adorned with intricately carved jade and finely molded gold, stood the Emperor, a figure as stoic as a statue, and with angular features just as finely sculpted. Er Shi Huangdi’s eyes, dark and penetrating in the pale oval mask of his face, explored the architectural model displayed on a sprawling table that also included engineering plans of what would one day be known as the Great Wall of China.

With him, but paying him the respect of distance, were General Ming Guo—tall and somber, his darkeyed demeanor rivaling his emperor’s—and Li Zhou, the boyish, athletic-looking chief eunuch, who despite his youth wore the gold-and-jade medallion of head minister. All were dressed in black, as were the attendants on the periphery numbering twenty much-less-important eunuchs and assorted palace guards.

When the sentries allowed him entry, the messenger approached not the Emperor but Li Zhou, presenting the scroll to the head minister, who broke the seal and gave what seemed a cursory glance at the Chinese text before passing the message to the Emperor.

Quickly, Er Shi Huangdi gleaned its contents. Then his eyes raised to those of his head minister and they traded smiles so slight, so brief, that even the nearby General Ming Guo did not catch the exchange.

Looking at no one, speaking to everyone, the Emperor said, “Leave me.”

Bows of respect were paid, and the Emperor’s demand heeded, while Er Shi Huangdi himself continued to study the model of the wall he would build, and the map of the lands he would one day rule. Those nearest the Emperor knew that he might stand for hours in quiet, intense contemplation of the plans, the future, that the three-dimensional map suggested.

The night that followed was clear and crisp with stars that seemed like punctures in the blackness of the sky, letting in pinholes of light from the heavens on the other side. The camp soon settled into near quiet, disrupted only by a few drunken songs from the happy, exhausted warriors, none of whom had the slightest notion that the invaders were about to be invaded.

Men dressed in black in this camp were no rarity, but these two men in black did not belong here. As they crept across the slumbering encampment, they went unseen until nearing the Emperor’s grand tent, where a sentry caught their movement and was about to call out a query when a third man in black used one hand to slip a knife in the sentry’s back, and another to come around and cover the man’s mouth, turning a cry into a muffled gasp. Then the sentry slipped to the ground, sounding no alarm, forever silent.

Within the elaborate world of his palacelike tent, the Emperor slept on a surprisingly unpretentious pallet, a soldier-like berth for so powerful a man. He seemed deep asleep and wholly unaware as a blade slit the tent and made an entrance for the trio of assassins, who slipped in low and quick, daggers in hand, already poised to strike.

The Emperor, at rest, had lost his charismatic presence and seemed almost small, an easy target, a helpless victim. As one assassin took position at the head of the simple bed, behind the intended victim, with the other two assassins on either side of the bed, Er Shi Huangdi might well have been a slumbering youth.

But he was not.

And what happened next defied the senses of the men who had come to kill him.

The Emperor’s eyes snapped open as from under the sheets emerged a sword, which he tossed to his left hand, quickly filling his right with a gold dragon-hilt dagger, which he plunged in a backward stab deep into the chest of the assassin behind him. At the same time, the assassin on the Emperor’s left bedside, lunging in with his own dagger ready to strike, had been pierced by his intended victim’s sudden sword-in-hand. A second blade struck the already dying assassin in the back, as his compatriot across the bed accidentally stabbed his slumped comrade. Er Shi Huangdi had already vacated the bed, rolling off nimbly, dragon dagger still in hand.