The young guard inclined his head a bit nervously, clearly wanting to look elsewhere—either at the nearby forest to watch for assassins or simply away from his master altogether, though he dared not before he’d been excused to do so.
He was so young, Xu Liang thought; easily upset, in spite of his skill and training. True youth too often inspired recklessness.
“We must all be on our guard,” Xu Liang concluded.
The young man went back to scanning the open land preceding the village and the relative quiet of the caravan resumed.
At that time, Xu Liang closed his eyes in concentration. Sensing nothing out of the ordinary, he opened them again and looked to the upcoming village. Small wooden buildings dotted the riverside. Lamplight glowed within many of them while torches lit the docks.
Among the four fishing junks floating idle beside the village was the
Swimming Dragon
, whose captain had graciously agreed to charter the Empress’ envoy all the way to Ti Lao Bay for minor compensation, considering that he did not realize precisely who he’d agreed to charter. It may have been obvious that Xu Liang was no commoner, nor a typical lord for that matter, but this far from the Imperial City there were very few who recognized him by his face alone. No one, in fact, who didn’t belong to the immediate presiding family in Du—the territory Xu Liang’s company would shortly be entering once they began their journey along the Tunghui.
Naturally, every part of Sheng Fan belonged to the Empire, but years ago a certain distribution of power became necessary in order to ensure that the people were properly governed and that the land was better defended. The decision had been made before Xu Liang’s services began in the Imperial Court. It had been made, in fact, before his birth. Had he been able to serve at the time he would have strongly advised against the Five Kingdoms Resolution. In his opinion it was no resolution, but a prelude to disaster. He blamed the Kingdoms for the Song family’s current struggle.
Since the lords of the outer regions of Sheng Fan had been given a taste of the Dynasty’s power, it seemed they now wanted more of it. Or as if they’d like to spit it back and create something new that they would force all of Sheng Fan to swallow—under a new banner and a new emperor, of course.
An example came to mind: Du—residing on the farthest western border of Sheng Fan—harbored steadily evolving ambitions of becoming a separate nation in and of itself. It would not be so, not so long as at least one member of the Song family remained who could be placed and kept upon the throne of the Empire, offering enough stability to the land to hold such ambitions at bay. However, posing a more urgent threat was the Xun Kingdom, to the south of the Imperial City, who wanted simply to bring down the Song and begin a new dynasty of its own. It was a constant struggle to keep the rebellious governors mollified or beaten back and, unfortunately, it was too late to revoke power that had already been given without provoking costlier civil battles.
And now the Empress was under attack from another source as well. One whose roots carried back to the very creation of Sheng Fan and whom no one, including Xu Liang, expected to see in their lifetime.
The oldest of the bodyguards, Gai Ping, positioned his horse alongside Xu Liang’s, placing himself between his master and the young guard he’d previously reprimanded. “My lord,” he beckoned with respect. When Xu Liang looked at him, silently inviting him to speak further, he said, “I know that you can see things as other men cannot, but the air disturbs me. The others are uneasy as well. Should we quicken our pace?”
“No,” Xu Liang replied quietly. He looked away from the man and again caught a spectacular view of the sky gleaming orange over the river as the sun departed from the sky. “Moving at a rushed pace would only attract attention. If there is someone here to be concerned with, they are going to be a concern regardless of how quickly we arrive at the inevitable conflict.”
“You sense something, then?”
Xu Liang shook his head. “I sense nothing here, but I trust your instinct, which leads me to believe that the disturbance awaits us in the village, or will come from there. In fact, … here it comes now.”
As he was speaking, Xu Liang returned his gaze to the upcoming river settlement, where a well-armored man on horseback rode out to meet them.
The stranger stopped at the edge of the village, wearing a grim smile on his broad, bearded countenance while no less than ten armed men scrambled to catch up with him on foot. As the peons arrived they took up a defensive stance in front of their evident commander.
Xu Liang drew his mount to an eventual halt and held his arm out, silently instructing his bodyguards to do the same. Xu Liang studied the men on the ground and assessed by their common appearance that they were little more than bandits, men paid for the use of their sword arms.
Paid by whom?
“The famed Xu Liang of the Imperial City,” the man on horseback said with tremendous confidence and very little respect. Perhaps it had not yet been earned in his eyes. “Can it be?”
Xu Liang looked to the speaker on horseback. The man bore no symbols or colors anywhere on his person that would readily indicate his lord, if he served one. The man’s attire appeared mostly blue, a shade too pale to belong to the Blue Dragon of the Ji Kingdom. Besides, Ji housed the Imperial City, or had rather been formed around it, like armor for the breast to protect the heart. No one of Ji’s military would dare impose so vile and flagrant an act of treachery before one of the Imperial Court. Xu Liang knew this not so much through personal pride, as through the pride of others. He knew that one who disagreed with Ji this strongly would not impersonate the Blue Dragon, as it would embarrass and dishonor them to in any way bear the flag of an opponent. A warrior this bold would, without question, speak openly against his enemies, with his appearance as well as his words and actions. Xu Liang thus concluded that this man was a rogue, and not one to be taken lightly. The size of his pole-axe and how easily he balanced it while mounted suggested tremendous strength.
The rogue’s eyes narrowed coolly in Xu Liang’s appraising silence. “I’ve heard rumors that you are very wise and also quite beautiful. It pleases me to see that the rumors were only half true.”
Unmoved, Xu Liang said, “Really? And which half would you be referring to?”
The stranger laughed. It was a deep sound that could easily put fear into the hearts of defenseless peasants. “You’re nothing more than the Empress’ ornamental bird.” He lifted his pole-mounted blade. “I have nothing against birds, Xu Liang, but I must strike you down!”
“We do what we must,” Xu Liang answered.
He had no sooner done so when the men on foot charged. The bodyguards responded in turn, spurring their horses forward to intercept. That left the nameless rogue and Xu Liang facing each other across several yards of open ground.
Xu Liang detested violence, particularly at this level, but he understood that in some instances it proved necessary. In this instance, the rogue was barring his passage into the village and more importantly, to the vessel he needed to board in order to carry out his duties to his Empress. He held steady and watched his opponent approach at a full charge.
We do what we must.
The rogue spun his blade once above his head, then drew his arm back, preparing to swipe Xu Liang from his own mount as the gap between them drew smaller. It would not be so easy.
Xu Liang closed his left hand, leaving two fingers raised, and held it just in front of him at chest level. Then he closed his eyes, extended his right arm, and whispered a brief phrase.
“None of your magic!” the rogue cried out, but too late.
The wind was already lifting strands of Xu Liang’s long hair and it lifted the stranger’s blade when he struck against the spell, curbing the pole-axe at an awkward arc above the intended victim’s head. The rogue managed to hold onto the shaft of his weapon, but he was forced to charge past his opponent and circle back for another attempt.
Xu Liang opened his eyes to the clash ahead of him, taking the time only to note that all of his bodyguards were still mounted, except for one, and that that one appeared uninjured, fending off two opponents at once. A member of the rogue’s gang of bandits already lay motionless in the short grass.
Such a foolish waste, Xu Liang thought, then turned his mount around to confront his own attacker, who was coming back. Xu Liang crossed his arms in front of himself, then drew them apart not too slowly, and thrust both hands outward. The air shimmered faintly, and a soft blue radiance preceded the sudden, brief eruption of wind that shot across the grass, pushing both the oncoming horse and its rider backwards.
The rogue took the brunt of the spell while the alarmed horse reared back, effectively spilling its rider onto the ground. The man was forced to let go or be dragged by the frightened animal as it turned and fled. The rogue landed on his back, but didn’t stay there for long. On his feet once more, he wielded the pole-axe with two hands. After cursing Xu Liang, he charged again, impressing him. Many would have given up after being struck from their horse, assuming that every attack would be countered as effortlessly as the first two. But then, maybe this man knew that the attacks hadn’t been countered effortlessly.
Xu Liang closed his eyes and his left hand again. He uttered a soft chant, pointing his right hand at his opponent, who found himself caught in a sudden updraft of magical force and lifted several feet off the ground. The rogue cried out as the ground abandoned him, grunting when it returned more quickly than he’d been raised from it as Xu Liang’s spell-casting hand lowered. Xu Liang heard his victim hit with a thud that at least took the air out of his lungs if it didn’t break anything. He opened his eyes to see the man slowly rising, coughing as he tried to recapture his breath.
Xu Liang couldn’t help but to smile just a little. “You are beginning to intrigue me. I am rapidly losing interest in defeating you at all. Perhaps we can cross words instead?”
“No words can save you, sorcerer,” the rogue growled. He took a step forward, cutting the air between them with his blade. “Now, fight me!”
“You will fight me!” someone else decreed. Less than a second after the words were issued, the young bodyguard dashed past Xu Liang, toward the rogue.
In the suddenness of the moment, Xu Liang recalled the youth’s name, and called out to him. “Guang Ci!”
The guard did not listen. With the cruel smile of a wolf, his opponent waited for him, and swung. Red clashed against the evening sky as the young man was flung aside.
Xu Liang replied to this offense without warning. He performed the wind thrust spell again, but rather than using it to jolt the man as he had before, he channeled much more strength into it—the same strength he might have exerted physically in weapons’ combat—drawn from the mind and spirit rather than muscle. Disks of soft, colorful light surrounded Xu Liang, seeming to radiate from him and then fall away as the powerful magic stored within him began to show itself. The wind responded at once, found its aim, and sent the rogue skidding and somersaulting over the grassy earth. Xu Liang expected the man was dead when he finally came to a stop out of view in the distant grayness of evening, but he did not bother to investigate.
Xu Liang’s immediate concerns were for his fallen guard. He did not go to him, but closed his eyes and found the man’s heartbeat. He followed its rhythm through the wounded guard’s blood, to every pulse point and knew that death would not be the outcome. The rogue’s blade had cut under his armor, but not in a vital area. More than anything it was the shock of the blow keeping the young guard down. Like Xu Liang, he was now also impressed with the man’s strength.
Gai Ping approached and knelt down just behind Xu Liang. “Nine of them fell to our blades, my lord. The last one fled.”
“Who do you suppose they were?” Xu Liang wondered aloud, recovering quickly from his exertion, and from the brief rise of panic and anger that had inspired it.
The elder bodyguard gave an easy reply. “They were foolish men, bandits who made the mistake of underestimating you, my lord.”
Xu Liang refrained from smiling. He asked, “Are there many bandits known to this region? One would think that the villagers would complain. A small community such as this could ill afford to be frequently, or even infrequently, troubled by such destructive men.”
“Perhaps that was the reason they came,” the older guard suggested. “Because the village would be unclaimed and unsuspecting.”
“Perhaps,” Xu Liang allowed, but he would not satisfy himself with so simple an explanation. The bandits’ leader knew him. At least, he knew who to expect—who he was waiting for, at the behest of an unknown enemy.
“My lord,” someone else said, speaking in a low, strained voice. It was not strained as a result of weakness or injury, so much as with shame.
Xu Liang looked down at Guang Ci kneeling before him and realized with a glance toward the river that the young guard had lifted himself and walked without assistance from the place where he had been violently flung. Xu Liang would have sent another man to aid him. The guard’s injury may not have been mortal, but surely the attack had taken something from him. However, Guang Ci showed no sign of being in pain, in spite of the dark stain spreading over his armor, just beneath his left arm.
“I have disgraced you,” the reckless youth admitted. “And I have proven that I cannot perform my duty to protect you. I accept my punishment.”
“Don’t you think that being swatted to the ground by a very large blade is punishment enough?”
Positioned above the kneeling guard, Xu Liang could just see the young man’s appalled expression at the words. Either he was confused by his master’s forgiveness or dismayed by his attempt to shame him further by making fun of his defeat.
Xu Liang was neither forgiving nor making fun of his impetuous underling. He said, “I have no intentions of executing you for overreaching yourself in an attempt to perform your duty, however thoughtless and rushed the attempt may have been. Even if it would be in my best interest to return one so careless to the Empress, we know that at least one of those bandits left here alive. There may be others. I would exact your execution myself before I would see you ambushed and killed by men without honor. And as I’ve already stated that such is not my intent, you will proceed on this journey with the rest of us.