Six Celestial Swords (35 page)

“The wise employ caution.” Xu Liang spoke suddenly, drawing Tristus out of his second trance for the day.

Tristus quickly dropped his gaze to the ground, feeling twice as embarrassed as he did the first time he’d stared so deeply at the mystic, as this time he had a witness; the very subject of his admiration.

However, it didn’t seem that Xu Liang meant to scold him when he rose to his feet and said, “With the sorcerer having survived and the shadow folk abounding we cannot allow our guard to fall. There is still a long journey ahead, for those of us continuing on.”

Still looking at the dark, cold earth, Tristus said, “I will come, if you and the others will have me. I know this may be difficult to accept, but I meant none of you any harm today and I would not seek to harm any of you in the future. I intend to take Master Gai Ping’s advice and make my weaknesses strengths. I include whatever lurks within me when I say that.”

“Gai Ping will be pleased to know that at least one of us is wise enough to regard his wisdom seriously,” Xu Liang replied. “And now I advise you to rest, Tristus Edainien. There are not many of us left who will be able to defend this camp tonight should the need arise.”

Before the mystic could leave, Tristus quickly stood and beckoned after him. “I can help,” he said when Xu Liang stopped. He glanced at the tent entrance, and felt a nervous spasm inside as he considered the others’ reactions to him. He recalled his vow but moments ago and said again, with renewed determination, “I can help.”

“UNBELIEVABLE,” TARFAN MUMBLED. He looked over his shoulder at Fu Ran, held a hand out to indicate the subject of everyone’s interest, and said, “I don’t believe it!”

No one paid attention to the dwarf, their eyes fixed on the young knight, kneeling beside Alere with his head bowed and one hand hovering just above the elf’s ruined back. A faint white light glowed under his palm. His other hand just touched the insignia on his breastplate and his lips moved in quiet prayer. The words were ancient, and even elegant. They sounded important, and they must have been, since the elf’s broken skin was slowly beginning to mend itself.

“Incredible,” Tarfan breathed in wonder. “A cleric? Him?”

Tristus finished his prayer with a traditional Andarian gesture, then withdrew his healing hand, and looked at his astonished audience. He smiled what might have been considered the first real smile since the company had met him and said, “I was schooled for the clergy before training to become a knight.” He glanced up at Xu Liang, his expression altering to one of apology. “I might have said something sooner, but there still would have been nothing I could do for Deng Po. God’s mercy where demons are concerned is often to grant the poor soul a quicker release from its tormented body. I’m sorry about the others as well. If I’d not been so irrational and exhausted after...after what happened, I might have gotten to them in time.”

“You are doing all that you can,” Xu Liang said appreciatively.

“A real cleric,” Tarfan marveled, stepping closer to the rapidly healing elf.

Fu Ran grabbed his shoulder. “Get in line, dwarf. My knee is aching like you would not believe.”

Xu Liang intervened before Tarfan could do more than bristle. “I know some of you have a long walk ahead of you,” the mystic said, “but perhaps we ought to be careful about tiring Tristus too much.”

“It’s all right,” Tristus said at once. “It’s the very least that I can do.” He turned to face Taya, who stood at the foot of the elf’s pallet. “I can heal your wound too,” he offered, seeming to know as he spoke the words that no amount of prayer was going to mend what actually hurt the girl. Tristus watched her hesitate, then extended his hand to the dwarf maiden and said, “I meant what I said before, Taya. I’ll do you no harm. You needn’t be afraid.”

She almost looked sad at first, perhaps even shy in the face of what she remembered from the battlefield. And then she lifted her chin indignantly and said, “I am not afraid. I’ve seen plenty of foul tempers in my time among men! Throw another fit like that, sir, and you’ll be making breakfast for the lot of us for the next week!”

“I won’t,” Tristus said, immediately relieved. He laughed as she marched toward him, then scooped up her small hand and looked seriously into her hazel eyes that glimmered with unshed tears. “I promise,” he whispered, then slowly stroked a lock of dark hair out of her eyes and pulled the lady dwarf into his arms, where she began to weep. “I’m so sorry, Taya. I’ll never give you cause to be afraid again.”

“You’d better not!” Taya snapped through her tears. “I’ll have your head myself before I’ll let you lose it like that again!”

THE NIGHT BROUGHT snow and healing, and rest. Their company of fifteen was down to eleven. Bastien still had not returned and, though Fu Ran would display no sadness, Xu Liang knew his former guard did not look forward to the dawn’s search for his shipmate’s body.

It seemed that Tristus had been forgiven his deadly rage, as he had not—to anyone’s knowledge—actually harmed any of them and had certainly proved indispensable in restoring their health. All but Xu Liang’s. Time would recover him, as it had before. He did not dare to meditate too deeply, but was resting his mind and gradually restoring his spirit when the elf awoke with a start.

Alere found his shirt and dressed himself mechanically, ignoring or possibly forgetting the wound that had left him unconscious for much of the day, and that remained with him in the form of a fading bruise. He didn’t bother with his tunic or cloak. With his lithe torso loosely veiled, he took up
Aerkiren
and headed for the tent’s entrance.

The elf’s rush of movement, though silent, stirred Tristus, who had climbed out of his smudged and bent armor to allow Taya to care for his minor wounds. Unfortunately, an Andarian cleric couldn’t use his healing art on his own body and—as Taya sternly informed him—even a minor wound could become serious if allowed to fester. The knight had been sleeping on his back, his shirt open, to allow the undressed burn upon his chest to begin healing beneath a layer of disinfecting salve that, according to Taya, worked quickest when exposed to air. In Alere’s wake he rose and emerged into the freezing night air as heedless of his lack of protection against its bite. He brought his sword, the once gleaming blade blackened in some places after his battle with a Fanese pyromancer.

Xu Liang rose shortly afterward and joined the two, who were already in conversation.

“I feel it as well,” Tristus was saying. “You’re right. Something’s amiss. But if not the Keirveshen, then what?”

“There are stories of these lands, told often by gypsies, of things that dwell beneath the snow at night. I myself have heard tales of warriors slain in this region, their corpses cursed by the spell of a necromancer, doomed to awaken and fight once more when blood touches their bones again.” The elf sighed, his frosty breath accurately reflecting his attitude toward gypsy myth. “Superstition, I’m sure, but I have often found that even the most absurd superstition can be based upon elements of truth. And I don’t like this feeling that’s descending upon me.”

Xu Liang closed his eyes and let his spirit reach outward, across the featureless dark terrain. The cold embraced him at once, reaching within as he extended his senses without. He smelled the death from the day’s battlefield and heard the quiet rush of many heavy snowflakes thickening the blanket that already covered the land. He heard nothing of natural life, not a single wolf or a bird...nothing. He began to wonder about things unnatural that may have been lurking in the icy stillness.

Gradually, Xu Liang pulled his senses back in, past the creaking, clanking armor and weapons of the two bodyguards on watch, past the scent of salves and cooling sweat that lingered about the elf and human in front of him. He opened his eyes and said quietly, “There is something out there.”

Tristus looked back at him, but Alere kept his eyes on the darkness beyond camp.

The knight said, “Do you know what it is?”

Xu Liang shook his head slightly, his eyes straying to Alere as he wondered if the elf did know and wouldn’t say. He had done well keeping the power of his blade a secret. Xu Liang was still guessing when he assumed it was
Aerkiren’s
magic that shattered the enchantment on Xiadao Lu’s armor. He’d not found the time to ask the elf about it.

“What goes on out here?” Tarfan asked. He held a blanket around him and blinked sleep from his eyes. Then he gasped and uttered an oath of alarm.

Xu Liang saw what alarmed him in the same moment. Multiple figures, all of them as pale as the snow and looking as if that snow had given them life, stalked across the darkness, headed directly for their camp. Xu Liang thought of Alere’s story and the drastic amount of blood that had been spilled upon the Flatlands that day.

The elf seemed to recall his own words at the same time, and repeated them softly. “Slain warriors, doomed to awaken when blood touches their bones once more.”

“Some of us certainly gave a fair contribution today, didn’t we?” Tarfan grumbled.

“How could I have known?” Tristus said as he caught the dwarf’s eyes glaring at him.

“You couldn’t,” Fu Ran replied, coming out of the tent with various articles of clothing draped over one big arm. He handed Tristus his shirt of chain mail. “None of us could, so let’s not face whatever those things are half dressed and half asleep.”

The knight stabbed his sword into the snow, quickly buttoning his shirt and taking the linked tunic from Fu Ran. “There’s no time for strapping on all of my armor. I’ll still be half dressed.”

Alere accepted the rest of his layers of white and Tarfan exchanged the blanket about his shoulders for his thick leather jacket. “Here we’re at it again!” the dwarf said. “More danger than I’m used to on an expedition, but it serves me right for traveling with a troupe of rebellious children!”

“Perhaps, when this battle is finished you and Gai Ping can seek solace in each other’s conservative maturity,” Xu Liang replied. “For now we must focus on the matter at hand.”

“You’re right,” Tristus agreed. “But how do we slay ghosts?”

“If they are ghosts,” Alere said.

“Unless you see any relatives in that lot, I vote they
are
ghosts!” Tarfan spat.

Alere ignored him, speaking to Xu Liang. “That would explain why we haven’t been attacked by the Keirveshen. They fear a spirit that roams without its body because that often means the spirit cannot be quelled.”

“I rephrase my question,” the knight said, reclaiming his sword now that the shirt of closely linked steel covered him. “How do we slay ghosts that can’t be slain?”

“Maybe we should ask them,” Fu Ran suggested, pointing to a pair of riders charging toward the oncoming force. Their mounts were almost too dark to be seen, as were the riders themselves, covered head to toe in armor the color of night. Were it not for the gleaming weapon of one and the wisps of orange-blue flame that trailed the swing of the other one’s sword, they might have gone into battle completely unnoticed. The warriors issued no battle cries and made little sound cutting through immaterial flesh. Even their armor and the animals they rode put forth very little sound.

Everyone watched in amaze. The snowfall had almost stopped for the night, but now it had begun to rise from the earth as the great horses kicked up a veritable storm of their own across the icy carpet.

“It’s
them
,” Alere said mysteriously. In a moment, he glanced back at the others and offered explanation. “The people who’ve been ahead of us since we left the river canyon. Two riders.”

“Who are they?” Tristus wondered aloud.

“They are elves,” Alere said with no pride nor any perceivable sense of kinship. He almost seemed disgusted, but then he’d yet to generate any warmth at all toward anyone since he’d joined the group.

“Warrior elves? Zaldaine?”

Alere answered the knight in definitive tones of animosity, presumably toward the newcomers, displaying emotion other than eagerness in battle for the first time. “They are landless elves. Nomads once. They used to travel in small numbers and call themselves Seekers of the Flame.”