Six Celestial Swords (56 page)

Helplessly, Tristus watched his fellow knights come, and felt the familiar sting of tears in his vision. “Please, God...I can’t do it again.” He closed his eyes…and heard the battle begin.

Begin? It continued, as it had continued for days. Warriors belonging to a pagan cult had been gathering near the Citadel, planning a strike against the Order, to be rid of it and its arrogance, as they deemed it. They brought strange weapons, as well as strange craft, weaving spells with their twisted staves that enabled them to move the trees and to take the forms of animals. They ambushed the knights that had gone into the forest to clear them out. Their numbers were greater than the Order anticipated. Reinforcements were slow coming. Knights were falling everywhere. Tristus’ men were in a state of chaos, ignoring orders, panicking while men with the heads of wild boars came at them. The Order would later call it simple trickery, the result of illusions created by poisoned air. Illusions…of men tearing out the throats of other men with the jaws of wolves?

It was no illusion to Tristus. The acrid stench of blood and fear was no hallucination, nor was the beating he took from the wild swings of a giant man with a bear’s head. He felt each blow through his armor, as if it had cut through, but the pain was nothing compared to the terrible fear that assailed him when one of his own men knocked him back and confronted the beastly attacker in his place. The older man, without rank due to a lack of sponsorship—who was a greater knight than any in Andaria who could claim wealth or high family—managed to disarm the cultist. However, he learned quickly that his savage opponent needed no weapon in order to kill.

Tristus recalled himself trying to move and getting nowhere, as if the air had become mud. He could only watch while the beast’s jaws clamped onto the other knight’s neck, breaking it with a fierce crunch. Gerrick, his dear friend, was dead before he hit the ground.

Tristus dropped to his knees, reliving it. Pain quickly evolved to anger.
Curse you! Curse you, whatever you are!
What right have you to attack us!

‘Us’ became ‘me’. The anger bored inward, running his blood hot, turning his thoughts red.

Murderers, all of you!

He found his sword. He would stop them. He would kill all of them, before they could kill him.

TAYA HISSED AND pulled her hand away from Xu Liang’s skin. She’d barely been able to get her palm on his forehead while he turned his head back and forth on the pillow. His body writhed beneath the bedding as he struggled, caught once again in a web of nightmare.

“He’s at it again,” Tarfan reported needlessly, standing behind Taya, who had to climb up onto the mattress to reach the mystic. “I thought Tristus said this part of his ordeal was over.”

“He didn’t say the nightmares were over,” Taya replied, wringing her hand as if to be rid of the lingering heat. It felt as if Xu Liang’s fever had leapt out of him and infected her as well. “Tristus said the worst of his ordeal appeared to be over. You weren’t listening. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. He won’t wake up. I’m worried.”

“Let him be.”

Both dwarves looked behind them, at the flame-haired priestess who had joined them in the vast chamber.

“Help him!” they both demanded at the same time.

Ahjenta shook her head. “I cannot. This is what happens when humans are exposed to the Flame. They do not trust it. They are afraid to embrace it. It is only because he wishes to live that he survives, but it may be some time before he is at peace again. It will always be worst when he sleeps, when his spirit wanders into the deepest chambers of his mind and heart, to the long passages of his memories and his dreams. The Flame accompanies him. It would guide him, if he would let it.”

“Maybe you’d better explain this to him the next time he’s awake,” Tarfan growled.

“He would not understand,” the priestess replied gently. “Besides, the dreams are not entirely his own.”

“What do you mean?” Tarfan demanded.

“His spirit has wandered on its own, away from his body. It has reached others, and it reaches for them still while it searches vainly for some escape from what it perceives as madness and a threat to its existence. What your friend does not know is that this tunneling through the walls of his dreams leads him to no escape, but only to more dream.”

“Is there some unwritten law you elves have against giving a straight answer?” Tarfan griped, and he may have had more to say, but Taya didn’t listen, drawn suddenly to Xu Liang when he began to speak.

“Stop them,” he murmured weakly. “They’re...killing every—no, don’t! Not that way. Why are you here? Why...are you still here?”

Taya stared at him with pity, wishing she had some way to help, but she was far from even seeing the horrors Xu Liang saw, let alone doing anything to quiet such visions.

XU LIANG’S SPIRIT moved ever away from his body, through the half-darkened passages of his nightmare, and somehow out of them. He emerged in a large rectangular chamber. The walls still looked shadowed in his eyes and the jade fire remained overhead, but it was higher now, and beneath him was a floor of black and white. The killing was over. Where he had once seen grass and trees, and men in armor falling beneath the fangs and claws of wild beasts, he now saw an empty room. The battle that had summoned him toward this place was done.

No, it was not done. A body slumped before Xu Liang, trembling as it reached for the weapon beside it. The knight was slowly rising off his knees, shuddering as the battle waged on inside of him, delighting the fiend that still resided within him, goading him to fight and to keep on fighting until nothing remained but a sea of blood, lapping at his feet.

How did I get here?
Xu Liang wondered belatedly.
How could my spirit project itself to this place? Why? Is it because of you?

Xu Liang looked at Tristus, who had begun stepping away from him, and saw someone else, the figure of a man who looked more elven than human, and more demon than elven. His hands clutched the spear, dousing its fire with his own flame. It was one of cruelty and rage in its purest form.

Xu Liang remembered, and he reached out, grasping the knight by the shoulder. “No, I will not allow this.”

The demonic figure screamed at the mystic’s touch, pulling forward almost with desperation while Tristus stepped away from it, and immediately collapsed to his knees. He dropped
Dawnfire
and began to weep.

The dark figure wheeled around, howling in rage. It escaped Xu Liang’s grasp. “You cannot take him from me! He is mine!” And then it turned and threw itself forward, diving slowly back into the knight.

TRISTUS WAS WEEPING.

Shirisae had strayed several paces ahead of him and turned to see him on his hands and knees,
Dawnfire
lying on the floor just within reach. He might have had a chance if the shadows came, if he could compose himself in time to fend them off.

Shirisae, unsure what the matter was, set aside sympathy for safety. She said sternly, “Stop that and get up. We have delivered ourselves to an enemy and must remain alert.”

Tristus didn’t stop. His body shuddered as the sobs escaped.

She had never known a man who could shed his emotions so freely. It touched her, even as it angered her. She took a step toward him and repeated her instructions, more gently this time.

“Just leave me alone,” the knight said miserably. “Leave me alone. You’ll never understand. You’ll never know how I feel.”

She was inflicted with the desire to go to him, as she had been numerous times before, and—as before—she resisted. Her care for this gentle human would not let her coddle to him. Something ill was afoot in this house and if they let their guard down they would both die. “Pick up your spear and get on your feet,” she insisted.

He only lifted his hand to his face and continued to weep.

Shirisae’s frustration mounted. She began to wonder at the reality of what she believed she was witnessing.

And that was when the mystic arrived—out of nowhere—and knelt beside Tristus. He put his hands on the knight’s shoulders and frowned with disapproval at Shirisae. “Let him be. He is right. You’ll never understand. You scarcely understand your own feelings.”

Shirisae lifted her chin indignantly, not as awed in this man’s presence as others seemed to be. “How dare you? You, who’d be lost if not for me.”

“I am lost
because
of you,” Xu Liang returned, speaking in quiet, overly patient tones, as if he were regarding a child. “I gave my life to save his, and you brought me back to serve your own selfish desires. Your attraction to him is a passing whim, and I am made to suffer for it. Leave him alone. It is the very least you can do at this point.”

Shirisae scowled at him. “Don’t glorify your deed, mystic! You saved him to spare your conscience. I’ve seen the way you behave toward him. You don’t love him!”

The mystic’s delicate brow creased. “Don’t presume to speak my love to me. It runs far deeper than the girlish emotions, which currently guide you on a fool’s path. My love is for an empire, for the land that gave it and the people a foundation. I live for the safety and prosperity of that land and its people...and yet I threw my life away for one person.” His gaze lowered to the floor and he drew the knight almost unconsciously toward him, absently cradling Tristus’ head while the young man leaned into him, weeping softly. “I must now reflect on the deed, and suffer its consequences for your petty interest in a reckless and troublesome young man.”

Shame filled her too quickly. “I brought you back because I couldn’t bear to see him suffer...not to ingratiate myself with him.” The words sounded like a lie. She looked to
Firestorm
for support, but its light was dim and cold. “How can this be? You have chosen him. You brought us together.”

“Yes, the Blades brought us together,” Xu Liang said. “All of us. We, as the bearers of these weapons are inclined to follow their calling, but the emotions are our own. For some of us they may be difficult to understand. For others of us they are all too clear. They exist. That is all that matters, and we cannot let them divide us.”

Shirisae looked at the mystic with tears glistening in her golden eyes. “Us...or the Swords?”

“Us,” Xu Liang answered emphatically. “The Swords on their own are little more than artifacts. The bearers distinguish them and activate their powers. We must understand those unique powers and use them together, harmoniously. As day balances night and contrariwise; we must achieve that same balance amongst ourselves. If we do not, this chaos will continue to grow, until it swallows everything. The heart of it beats beneath Sheng Fan. There, we must put it to rest. Then your people will be given a new beginning, a life free of the demons that plague them now.”

“No,” Shirisae argued. “The Keirveshen are not merely spirits. They will continue to exist, whether or not your problems in your homeland are resolved. You would use us for your own purposes.”

The mystic frowned. “I set out to use the Swords. I realize now that I must unite with their bearers. Yes, it is true that the Keirveshen will always exist, but they flourish in the madness which radiates from my homeland. They become stronger with its awakening, taking advantage of the fear already in all of our hearts. They are being helped by one of our own. As the Moon Blade calms and protects, the Night Blade enshrouds and attacks. It attacks the mind and stirs our darkest thoughts. It is a terrible power, but one that can be governed. A malicious will governs it now and would lure all of you to destruction, if you let it.”