Six Celestial Swords (28 page)

“One of them twice your size, so keep your sweet tongue still and get your backside in that tent!”

Tristus laughed and relented, following Taya toward the canvas shelter that shuddered in the wind and glowed from the fire within. All mirth drained out of him once he reached the entrance and he almost turned back, but Taya seized him by the wrist and dragged him in. Two steps inside, he stood motionless like a lost child, his bed roll tucked under his arm. No one seemed to notice him.

The elf had yet to return from his scouting. Tarfan had curled himself in a ball of blankets and beard beneath one of the torches and was poring over a map, mumbling to himself. Fu Ran sat near the entrance, eating and talking with Bastien. Xu Liang sat cross-legged at the far side of the tent, his eyes closed. Was he meditating again?

“Taya!” Fu Ran beckoned. “Bring us more of that stew and tell us again how far you had to chase your uncle to get him to eat it!”

The dwarf maiden sighed. “The problem with sailors is that the same story keeps them amused for days,” she murmured to Tristus. “Oh well...set your blanket down somewhere and I’ll bring you a bowl.”

She was gone before Tristus could say anything. Tristus stood still a few moments more, listening to Fu Ran’s jovial roar, Bastien’s amused snickering, and Taya’s healthy giggle. Tarfan’s murmuring had become snoring and the torches crackled invitingly. Tristus looked at Xu Liang, appearing at peace and so still that he almost didn’t look alive. But he was alive. He glowed with life, with such grace that the very sight of him filled Tristus with warmth and hope. The dark memories that had chased him so deep into the mountains fell away and Tristus stepped forward, further out of their reach.

He crossed the tent and stood before the mystic of Sheng Fan. He continued to stare, and soon felt as if
Dawnfire
had returned to him and were in his grasp again, giving him light and granting him direction. He began to lower to his knees, but someone caught him by the back of his armor and dragged him away. He went down hard on his arm, numbing it from his elbow to his fingertips. Daggers of shadow stabbed his mind, keeping him down. The heavy foot crushing down on his chest persuaded him as well.

Fu Ran glared at him, his wide mouth quirked with a frightening half smile. “If I catch you that close to Master Xu Liang again, you’re going to need that overgrown knife you’re carrying to cut your way out of this metal shell!”

“I—wasn’t going to hurt him!” Tristus gasped. “I only...”

“Fu Ran!”

At the stinging sound of the voice, the giant immediately took his foot off of Tristus and turned to face Xu Liang. He dropped down onto one knee as if it were purely and unstoppably instinct, and bowed his head.

The mystic, frowning mildly, but otherwise appearing undisturbed—he hadn’t even opened his eyes—said, “Remember that you no longer serve me. I do not require your protection.” He finally looked at the giant, adding, “You came here of your own volition, to provide us with an urgent message and while we are grateful, you are just as much guest along this expedition as Tristus. At the moment, I would think him less danger to be present in this tent than you.”

Chastened at first, the giant remained still, frowning perhaps as he scolded himself. And then he stood, glaring at the man he’d acted in defense of seconds ago. For a moment it seemed that he was trying to think of something scathing to say, and then he laughed, an abbreviated, bitter sound that carried more effect than any words he might have come up with. He turned away and made an unconcerned path back to the opposite side of the tent. The others, who had all risen out of their previous relaxation in the moment, slowly returned to their affairs and Xu Liang closed his eyes again.

HOURS PASSED AND the sounds of slumber filled the tent, offset by the crackling of the torches and the occasional crunching of the bodyguards’ boots in the snow outside as they patrolled their small camp. The elf returned all but unnoticed and slept as silently, apparently having discovered no imminent dangers near their route.

Xu Liang remained awake, as did the knight, whom he’d not forgotten.

The Andarian had been sitting upon his bedroll, saying nothing and scarcely moving, as if to stay unnoticed after his humiliation at Fu Ran’s hands and Xu Liang’s words. Xu Liang could have allowed Tristus to finish giving his explanation, but so appalled was he by the former guard’s typically thoughtless brutality, he could not contain himself. In his way, Fu Ran was just as much lost and confused as the knight, and until he resolved his own matters he had no business commenting or acting on someone else’s.

Xu Liang meant what he’d said, besides. He did not require Fu Ran’s protection. He had purposefully instructed Gai Ping and the others to stay out of his tent and act as guards for the whole group as a gesture of trust to the others. He needed what help he could get, and he did not need any of them believing that he thought so highly of himself—or so little of them—that he needed bodyguards near at all times. This was not Sheng Fan, and they could not afford that separation. Xu Liang would not be able to wield all of the Swords himself, even if he could wrest them from the grips of their chosen bearers.

Fate mixed with trust had delivered the Twilight Blade and now, possibly, the Dawn Blade as well. Alere seemed to be fitting comfortably into the group, but Tristus was as yet an uncertain element, just as
Dawnfire
was. Xu Liang would not risk losing either of them before he could understand them. The consequences in the event of an error would be too dire.

Finally, Xu Liang spoke to the restless body perched just a few feet away. “You should sleep.”

Tristus seemed surprised. “You’re awake?”

“I have not slept since I left Sheng Fan’s Imperial City. When I meditate I am at rest, but I am not truly asleep.”

“Oh,” the knight said quietly. In a moment, he asked, “Do you hear everything that is said or goes on around you, then? Always?”

Xu Liang smiled a little in order to appear less stern, though he did not open his eyes to look at the knight. “No. When I am deep in concentration I must trust those around me. Until recently, I have trusted only my bodyguards.”

“The others are your friends,” Tristus said, as if to make a point. However, he added nothing more and left Xu Liang to wonder as to what that point was.

At length Xu Liang said, “Perhaps you remain awake to hear the answers I promised and have yet to give?”

“Perhaps,” the knight replied strangely. “To be honest, I’m not sure anymore. In a single day I have been dealt more revelations than one man is entitled to. I think.”

Xu Liang opened his eyes, sure that in another moment he would see the young man rise and take his leave, determined to seek
Dawnfire
on his own. However, Tristus did not move to leave, but only to lie back. His light eyes glistened in the torchlight as he studied the flickering shadows on the ceiling of the tent.

“Should one continue to follow the faith of a group that’s cast him out?” the knight asked, seeming to ask no one in particular. “Shouldn’t it stand to reason that if he was true to that faith that the group should have been true to him? Is it unreasonable to ask forgiveness of one who is all-forgiving?”

“One must follow what one believes in,” Xu Liang offered. “Whether it is reasonable or not.”

The knight looked at him. His smile was too pale to hide his suffering. “Like you believe in your quest?” Before Xu Liang could answer, Tristus had another question. “What are you looking for? What brings you to this land so distant from your own?”

“The desperate fear of losing all that I hold dear,” Xu Liang answered honestly, surprising both of them. He added calmly, “Selfishness.”

“What makes you say so?” Tristus asked.

The reply came easily. “Who are men to stand against forces far older than they, and far greater? If the time of a land has come, how can we hope to lengthen its span? If a palace must fall, what fool attempts to hold up the final pillar that supports it?”

“The fool who calls that palace home,” Tristus guessed. “Unreasonable perhaps, but not selfish. If that fool succeeds, it will be the selfish ones who fled to spare their own lives scratching at the door to be let back in.”

Xu Liang gazed upon him with wonder. “How is it, Tristus Edainien, that you can find justification in another man’s quest, that you know so very little about, and none in your own?”

The minor mask Tristus had managed to lift over his depression shattered. He looked back at the ceiling. “I have nothing to save in my quest but myself.” His voice carried softly, but it was laced with tones of disgust and self-loathing. “There is selfishness, my friend, in its purest aspect.”

Xu Liang disagreed, but before he could say as much, shrieks rose above the wind and the snapping of the tent fabric. Tristus bolted upright, a look of terror in his eyes. He stood quickly and headed for the tent entrance with one hand on his sword, following Alere, who was already on his way outside.

TRISTUS’ REACTION TO abject fear was often to charge headlong at the source of that fear, to face it rather than be chased by it. It was no act of bravery; he often wound up standing cold with panic or fighting madly and inexpertly. He did not fear men, even if they were far more skilled or phenomenally stronger, so he’d had no trouble proving himself in the knighthood’s ranks. He feared demons, though, and he knew all too quickly where he had heard this inhuman cry before and how he’d proven himself helpless against its source. His palms were sweating in his gloves and rivulets of perspiration formed across his brow, stinging as they crystallized in the freezing mountain air. His heart hammered loudly enough to have seemingly escaped his chest and been battering against the inside of his armor. Still, he drew his sword and looked into the snow-dotted blackness for the demon.

The elf watched the sky as well, his keen eyes sorting through the snow, finding a shadow amid the blackness that Tristus had overlooked. He drew his slender elven blade and answered the demon’s hideous shriek with a confident phrase or oath in the language of his people. The demon dropped out of the sky—a man-sized monstrosity—claws outreached.

Tristus didn’t get to see the outcome, suddenly given his own opponent. The demon landed on all fours in front of him, its black wings fanned against the night and the snow, its thin lips peeled away from its sharp teeth in a malignant grin. It knew his fear. It tasted it on the air with its foul tongue before leaping at him. Tristus did not stand paralyzed this time, but began to swing madly. The demon disarmed him almost immediately and brought him down. With horrible visions of burning eyes returning, Tristus grabbed for the dagger sheathed at his thigh and plunged it deep into the darkness looming over him.

The demon clapped one clawed hand to the wound, then shrieked directly into Tristus’ face. The horrid sound seemed to latch onto his mind physically and created a piercing ringing in his ears that blocked out all other sounds. Still, Tristus scrambled out from under his startled opponent and with his head swimming, took up a search for his thrown sword. Images of others drawn into the battle as multiple demons descended upon the camp swayed in and out of focus in his peripheral vision. He thought he saw flashes of purplish light near where he’d last seen Alere, but his concentration was on finding his sword and he didn’t wonder long at the source of the glow.

“Cowardly mortal!” hissed the demon, taunting and terrifying him as effectively as the first he’d encountered. “Come back here and die the many deaths you deserve!”

Tristus fumbled through the snow, sliding his hands back and forth over the crusted powder. His fingers jammed against what could only be the hilt of his weapon and he grabbed up the blade at once, rolling over as he heard quickened footsteps behind him. A rush of darkness, a flash of steel, and a scream from both parties preceded the demon’s end. It slumped over Tristus, impaled upon the end of his sword, its great leathery wings forming a morbid tent over its shocked and relieved opponent.