Six Celestial Swords (24 page)

Andaria was far behind him now, but the mountains stayed with him. They were colder this far north. The snow fell as stinging bits of ice and the winds raked over the skin like clawed fingers.

In truth Tristus was afraid to sleep, for fear of not waking up after the bitter cold embraced his idle body and seeped beneath his skin, freezing his blood and his heart. He was rapidly losing interest in the mountains and had begun to consider heading east or west to escape what seemed like an endless path. He’d begun to hear things as well. A strange bird that seemed to weep rather than sing. It sounded close sometimes and made him think of death, the angel’s death in particular, as if its fellow winged creatures were mourning its passing.

Thinking of the angel made Tristus reconsider the demon it had slain. Could there be more of them? Would he be able to wield
Dawnfire
and save himself, or would those haunting yellow eyes burn into him again and there would be no one like the angel to stay his death?

Death? Tristus wondered, or was it everlasting torment the demon promised? He suddenly felt less concerned.

I already have everlasting torment, don’t I? Perhaps there’s nothing to fear of demons, after all.

Even as he formed the thought, Tristus felt the tears of despair warm his dry, frozen eyes. The memories always came swiftly, threatening to rush over him with tidal force.

“How long will this last? How long before what is left of my heart can rest?”

He heard the eerie birdsong again. The dreadfully soft melody compounded his sadness and he felt compelled to shout at it.

“Be silent! You foul, heartless creature! Can’t you leave me in peace!”

In the next instant, he choked on his voice and lowered it.

“Please stop reminding me. Please...God, let me show you my remorse with my blood rather than my tears. I cannot bear this isolation, this lonely exile.” He looked up at the starless sky. “Give me an enemy if you must, but I can’t be alone anymore. I can’t…”

His answer came with silence. Even the mourning bird had ceased to weep.

Tristus stopped and lowered to his knees, exhausted, the harsh winds of endless winter swirling about him.

“WHY HERE?”

Silence filled the passageway within the Temple of Divine Tranquility; the Jade Hall, it was called. Jiao Ren looked from one section of carved green stone to the next, and at the flickering firelight that shone through the panels of jade tracery separating the hall from the innermost sanctum of the temple. And then he looked at the older man in rust-toned and pale blue-patterned robes and bonnet. The shade of the official’s wardrobe was not truly the deep blue of Ji’s banner, but it was often only the military who implemented strict adherence to the color code. Scholars, mystics, and other officials weren’t often at the risk of being mistaken for an enemy by their own on the battlefield, given that they were rarely seen in battle.

“Lord Huang Shang-san,” Jiao Ren prompted respectfully as the silence continued, following his question to the elder.

Huang Shang-san looked up from the polished wooden floor he’d been gazing at, as if entranced, then took up a study of the dark rafters overhead. He said thoughtfully, “Why not here? Isn’t that what we should be asking, General Jiao Ren?”

Jiao Ren regarded the Minister of Ceremonies with patience. “I’m not sure that I follow you.”

“The Temple of Divine Tranquility is in a more centralized location than the Palace of Imperial Peace. In the past, this is where the Seven Mystics gathered to attain the level of utmost solitude required to summon their most powerful spells. They have not done so for many years. It is as if they no longer feel at peace here, and even Xu Liang shies from its shelter, placing our Empress instead within the Palace of Imperial Peace during his absence.” An abbreviated laugh escaped on the official’s breath as he contemplated this. “The palace is more a hall of ceremony than a temple. I do not understand it.”

“He must have a good reason,” Jiao Ren answered.

“Undoubtedly,” Huang Shang-san agreed. “But what? He did not explain much to me before he departed for the barbarian realms. He left me with rather cryptic instructions. Following them has led me here, shortly after you told me of the tremor you felt from the wall overlooking it. I find myself as puzzled as you.”

“Well, Lord Han Quan is one of the Seven Mystics and he is also a geomancer. Let us consult him on this matter.”

Huang Shang-san reached out for the young general. “Let us not, Jiao Ren. Among my instructions, was the explicit command to share them with no one.”

“You are sharing them with me,” Jiao Ren reminded.

The minister shook his head. “I am sharing only my thoughts with you as I ponder matters you know nothing about. Han Quan will have many questions and he will leave with answers I might not even realize I have given.”

Jiao Ren frowned. “I’m beginning to form questions of my own.”

The elder did not seem concerned to hear this and gave his attention back to the ceiling. He said, “You will respect my silence, because you respect Lord Xu Liang, who has undoubtedly given you instructions as well.”

“I am the chief lieutenant to the Empress’ army,” Jiao Ren said. “In matters of state and scholarship Xu Liang may supersede, but where the physical defense of the Empress and her city are concerned, I consider myself his equal. He cannot simply leave, and leave me to wonder why the Empress must sequester herself.”

Huang Shang-san smiled, evidently amused by Jiao Ren’s insistence in this matter. “I shall assume, then, that you were satisfied with his explanation, else you wouldn’t be standing here, reminding me of your title and responsibilities.”

Jiao Ren sighed, “You’re right. I still hold my rank because Lord Xu Liang trusts me.” In a moment, he added, “It is mutual. I would not question him—not openly or in secret—but I do feel unsure about what is going on in this city.”

“It is not this city alone,” Huang Shang-san corrected, “but all of Sheng Fan. The epicenter of the disturbance lies here, and it is for Empress Song Da-Xiao’s protection that Xu Liang left her in the care of the ancestors.”

“She is very young,” Jiao Ren said, finally letting out some of his true concern. “How long will she be able to maintain the state she is in? How will we even know if she cannot? Lord Xu has stationed a guard of a dozen men at the interior, whom no one has seen since his departure. The winds surround them and the Empress, and to what purpose other than slow starvation?

“And there is Fa Leng to consider. Xun squeezes the province with its advantage of a much nearer headquarters. By the time we replenish our troops, it is nearly time to do so again. This does not seem to me like Xu Liang’s typical way at handling rebellion.”

“That is because it is not,” Huang Shang-san answered with understanding. “Know that there are limits even to what Xu Liang can accomplish, particularly when he has divided himself between his homeland and the outside realms. We must be stronger now, general. And we must be patient.”

As the Minister of Ceremonies spoke, a rumble shuddered through the previously still air. The torch flames in the chamber beyond fell flat for a moment, then rose once again to light the empty sanctum.

Jiao Ren felt suddenly queasy and overheated. Beads of perspiration formed across his brow and he noticed Huang Shang-san wiping his own face with his sleeve. “Lord Huang...”

The elder nodded. “Yes, Jiao Ren. I felt it, but I cannot tell you what it was.”

Because you do not know or because you will not say?
Even as the question formed in his mind, Jiao Ren bit the words back. He would know when it was time for him to know, and not before. In spite of his military rank, Huang Shang-san and others of the top ministers held more command in the Imperial City than he did. There was nothing to do but wait.

“
H
E’S HUMAN.”

“And I’m a dwarf! Can you make any other plain-as-day observations, elf?”

“You’re a dwarf without much armor,” Alere replied without tone. While Tarfan blustered and fumed about the implied threat, the elf added, “This man is heavily armored in a fashion I’ve never quite seen the likes of among men. The metal’s strangely pale. And here...what’s this emblem?”

“He’s a knight of Andaria,” Tarfan blurted angrily. “Wouldn’t expect a mountain elf to recognize one. Though, what a knight of Andaria is doing this far north...”

“Is he alive?” Xu Liang asked when it seemed that elf and dwarf were intent to leave out the only truly important detail concerning the stranger.

Alere was kneeling beside the unconscious man, but it was Tarfan who had to step forward and check his pulse as the elf made no motions to do so. The dwarf nodded once.

“What should we do?” Taya asked, mounted once again upon Guang Ci’s horse, having taken well to her daily riding beside the mystic she’d grown to admire and respect. Xu Liang treated her with patience even when she complained about her ill feelings or asked too many questions. He seemed to encourage her questions while Tarfan constantly enforced his guardianship upon her, telling her to sit still and be silent.

In this instance, the mystic gave his answer to everyone. “We must stop and tend to him lest he share his horse’s fate.”

Taya looked upon the frozen animal with pity. Then she remembered her pouch and the herbs, roots, and petals she always carried with her own journal—that wasn’t filled with Tarfan’s silly history lessons or diagrams of worthless artifacts. During the years she’d been traveling with her uncle, she had taken up a study of the plant life in different lands. Through reading, interrogation of locals, and experimentation, she had learned quite a lot about the various poisons and medicines found in nature. It was her secret desire to become a healer, and so she leapt at this first real opportunity with alacrity. “I can help!”

Everyone looked at her, even the guards who couldn’t possibly have understood what she said. The elf seemed disinterested, Bastien was neutrally quiet, and Fu Ran seemed mildly curious. Tarfan frowned dubiously.

Xu Liang, however, kept his eyes on the ice-rimed stranger and said—as if she were of equal status and importance to everyone else on this expedition, “Please, do so. The weather is looking disagreeable. I’d like to move away from these heavier clouds before it begins to snow again.”

CAMP WAS MADE again, only a few hours after they’d left the previous site. Taya went to work heating water and the herbs necessary to banish chill from the body. She added a few shreds of carrot and some honey to improve the taste and to add some nourishment. The stranger, removed from his ice cold shell of armor, lay in relatively dry shirt and trousers under a stack of blankets. He was breathing, but he’d yet to regain consciousness by the time Taya carried the herbal stew to him. She tried nudging him and speaking to him, but it was no use.

“If we can’t wake him, we may lose him after all,” she reported when Xu Liang entered the tent. “The chill inside will take him while he sleeps.”

The mystic observed the sleeping stranger for a moment, then asked if he could try something. Taya nodded, shocked that he would ask rather than simply do whatever he had in mind. She bobbed her head again when he issued his customary half-bow and approached what he clearly viewed as her patient. He knelt down beside the man, considered briefly, then touched a spot on the knight’s wrist without ceremony or ritual of any kind.