The debates were going on, out of my knowledge, away from my sight.
I asked how long I had been imprisoned. There were more uncomfortable places in which to die. My cell was for officers and had comfort of a sort.
“How long?”
“Days, sir. You’ve been rather ill. The adjutant is on his way. He is busy with all the celebrations.”
“Celebrations?”
“Why yes, sir. Bearfoot has been tried, and hanged. His tribe is finished. The General is very satisfied.”
“I don’t understand.”
There was a step on the stair, and laughter. I knew that laugh. Next moment the servant was bowing, nose almost on the floor.
“Highness. Excuse me.” In came a tall grinning man, coat sparkling with orders and ribbons, face full of fun. He hauled me up to embrace and slap me. It took me a moment to remember his name.
“Highness. Lepo.”
“Young Rudek. Congratulations! You are recovered. You are reprieved. You are released. By the Lion! You look rough.”
Behind him, Lord Carne, also grinning.
“Rudek, my friend. The top men only just realised. They weren’t sure whether or not you’d pulled off the most cunning strategy. And of course,” with a glance at Lepo, “the fact that you have some exalted friends helped them decide.”
I said again: “I don’t understand. Please explain.”
“The enemy thought it was a trick! When he saw you and your troops lined up and you didn’t advance, Bearfoot was completely wrong-footed. He and his mob just wandered up the slope, slap into the arms of Tallis’s men. He wiped them out, and mopped them up.”
The legendary Captain Tallis. Oh yes. Another medal? “I’m not due for a court martial?”
Lepo guffawed, “You’re a sort of hero. Clever ploy, I must say, but a bit dangerous to pull off. Let’s get you out of here.”
I was undeservingly grateful. Not joyful. Not relieved. I breathed, and I was dead. And still dead, even with that which should have delighted me beyond my dearest dreams.
In the visitors’ antechamber, Michalla waited for me. She, who I had longed for with my soul. That, I did remember.
She was smiling, until she saw me. Then came that sweet, wise frown.
“You are very sick,” she murmured. She touched my cheek with one finger.
Through cold lips, I said: “Why are you here, Michalla? Your father will be so angry with you.”
She took my ice-cold hand in her warm one.
“My father is a human being. And you, sweet Rudek, give up too easily.”
She smiled, her heart-face a diamond among the black hair. Then she did two things. She walked a complete circle round me, brushing me with her body. And I felt nothing. I had scarcely a heartbeat. She then stood tall, and taking my face between her hands, kissed my frozen lips with her rich scarlet mouth. I felt not a flicker. Her face grew thoughtful. She stared away as if searching for the invisible.
“Ah,” she said at last. “You have no idea, my Rudek, what you have tangled with. I know swords. They are demons, who come and go, who pierce their way through into the world of humankind. They do harm and have their way with beautiful people like yourself. They come disguised in light, bright sun-of-the-morning, but they are raised and strengthened in darkness. One such fell from heaven long ago. One touch, and you are theirs, unless someone who has the knowledge comes to defend you. I was given this wisdom by the one who schooled me to fight. I know your pure heart, Rudek, and I love you. I am wise. In my ancestry there is also a sword, but one that was wielded by a saint—hence my name. Now, let me be sure how much damage has been done to you.”
She opened four emerald clasps on her bodice and I saw the roundest, whitest breasts, sweeter than roses, sheer founts of desire. And I was utterly unmoved, and still.
I began to cry silently. Fastening her dress, she turned to leave. “It is not your fault,” she said, and she was gone.
They brought me my clean uniform, and let me out. Dreary and bereft, I went to my quarters. Nothing was real, or ever would be. I sat on until late afternoon, then I went into the city. I would go to the place where I had been happiest, where I might recover my life, or perhaps end my troubles there. Or have them ended...
The whole city was in festival mood. I thrust through crowds, and someone shouted. “Hero!” at me, which I saw as irony. There was a small man in a smart livery who for a while I thought was following me.
The Great Court of Arms was empty. Through the high windows the day’s light gleamed its last. I walked the length of the hall, counting out the lozenges.
On this spot had I first seen her. Beauty.
On that spot had I first seen him. Cruelty.
I reached the far wall and leaned my brow, and heard a voice like whispers from a tomb.
“So you have returned, little Rudek!”
I moved from the wall to look at Luce, and he started towards me, with his seducer’s smile. The sunset shivered a glowing nimbus about him, and his eyes were flames.
I asked: “Do you come here to hurt me?”
“I have already hurt you.” In falling dusk he seemed to shine brighter, as if he had himself drunk the sun. “Now, after all that, will you come to me?”
I answered, “Never. Not for the world.” It seemed a great effort. I felt a blackness advance out of his red and gold, as if an entity detached itself. The tempest of his anger began to engulf me.
“I do not brook a second rebuff, little Captain. This time, you will not recover.”
The soft voice had altered, had become a thunder of murderous rage. Its fury rolled around the vast hall. Soon, it would swallow the world.
The big door opened with violence, crashing back against the wall.
Michalla was here in the Great Court. She had sent her servant to tail me, for she knew, as my protector, that harm was due to befall me. She came in running, in her fighting suit with her black hair in a tight matador’s pigtail, and with her rapier in her hand. She had heard the raging voice of Luce, and I knew from some buried instinct that they were ancient enemies.
She halted between us. Then with the tip of her sword she drew a complete circle around me where I stood. I heard her say:
“I have touched him, and he is mine.”
Luce looked at her with unmistakable horror. Without haste, she aimed her blade at his breast.
He made no effort to draw on her his diamond-headed sword. Instead, his whole body began to grow upwards, taller and thinner each instant, and his shoulders to broaden and straighten out, quickly assuming the nature of gold, not flesh. His form continually elongated. He became the sword, shining bright as fire. The place around his heart was the very last to remain flesh, and to this Michalla set her weapon’s point. Then smoothly, almost lovingly, she pushed it in.
The blade penetrated to its whole length. He did not bleed. He did not fall, but crumbled into a pollen-like gold, while all the light in him was extinguished, leaving only his essence. Slender, tall and beautiful. Fragile and deadly. Becoming dust, that dust lasting only instants, while from the disintegrating hilt the gilded tassels curled and blackened as if cast into a furnace. The diamond rolled down to hit the floor, swiftly carbonising back to its source. A brisk wind arose, and whirled the black and gold dust away.
Then it was that my heart began to pound. It thundered in my chest, as if suddenly woken from a deep sleep. It shook my whole body. It danced for joy.
I was more alive than I had ever been. More man, more warrior, more lover. Engorged with love, I stepped from the circle she had drawn, saying, “Thank you, my darling, dearest, my love,” and took Michalla in my arms. She sighed a deep luxurious sigh, and wound her arms around me. I kissed her mouth, I tasted the honey of her lips, her eyes, her throat. I loosened her lovely hair and buried my face in it.
I bared her breasts so I could kiss and suckle their fair white goblets, while she shivered and held me closely. And then, clutching her to me, I
kneeled to open her breeches and find what I had dreamed was there. The velvety black heart, its cleft sweeter than roses under my mouth, and already dewed with the diamonds of desire.
Dragon Wind
by Mary Rosenblum
Mary Rosenblum has been writing science fiction and fantasy since 1990, with a mystery as Mary Freeman from time to time. The author of eight published novels and more than sixty short stories, she has been a Hugo finalist and a nominee for many major awards. Currently, her SF novel Horizons is available from Tor Books, and Water Rites, a compendium of a novel and three prequel novellas, from Fairwood Press. She taught at the Clarion West writers workshop in 2008 and when she’s not writing, she lives sustainably on her small acreage. Find out more about her at: www.maryrosenblum.com.
About “Dragon Wind,” Mary writes, “In early 1400s, the Ming emperor on China’s Dragon Throne, Yongle, sent out his trusted admiral and close friend, Zeng He, at the head of a vast Treasure Fleet. This powerful armada explored much of the world, including Asia, India, the Persian Gulf, Arabia, Africa, and very possibly the Americas. But Yongle’s health began to fail and he became obsessed with the Mongol threat on his northern border, calling home the Treasure Fleet. With the Yongle’s death and the decline of the Ming Dynasty, China’s mastery of the seas ended.”
Zeng He leaned on the railing of the First Ship, watching the nervous fisherfolk gather along their shore. Frowning, he surveyed the shabby docks, lined with small fishing vessels, their sails furled, nets still tumbled on the deck. The fishermen had raced home like frightened birds as they caught sight of the Xiafan Guanjun, the sixty-three ships of the Foreign Expedition. Afraid. Zeng He shook his head, sighed. Rumor preceded them and flew with the wings of untruth.
“Your lordship, the boat is ready.” An Hu, his First Commander bowed, resplendent in a jade green brocade surcoat over a blue underskirt. Court clothes. Zeng He smiled to himself as he followed Hu to the rope ladder. Court clothes with careful padding underneath. In case of ill-thought arrows. He swung his leg over the side of the ship and climbed quickly down. Already, the rest of the landing party waited in their boats, swords at their sides.
A few townsfolk had taken to the water in their paltry fishing boats although they kept a careful distance from the landing party, pointing and exclaiming at the Treasure Fleet. Well, Zeng He thought with a moment of fierce pride, it was impressive—sixty-three ships, over four hundred paces in length, nine masts soaring above each ship like tall pines. The horse boat had docked at the end of the largest pier and a man-at-arms held Zeng He’s muscular black gelding, his eyes on the gathered townsfolk crowding the rise above the boats.
Ah, the local lord was arriving. If you could call the petty tyrant inhabiting a tumble down stone compound a lord. Zeng He swung onto his horse, paced it up the beach, his lieutenants flanking him, their formal robes (carefully padded against arrows and daggers) brilliant as gems in the sun. The lord waited for him, a handful of fearful men clustered in a ragged formation at his back, awkwardly clutching rusty spears. The lord’s robes had been put on hastily and needed a good cleaning, Zeng He thought with distaste. You could read the menu of the last formal banquet on the faded silk.
“Greetings from the Emperor Yongle, the occupier of the Dragon Throne.” Zeng He halted his gelding. Behind him, his soldiers would have spread out, alert, their weapons and padded armor without blemish, brilliant in the sun that was making him sweat. “I bring you offers of his friendship.”
He nodded and his servant stepped from the ranks behind him, carrying a small box of red leather with a gilded clasp. He approached the ruler, who looked if possible even more frightened than before. “This is a gift from the Dragon Emperor, a token of his friendship and his protection for your people and your land.”
The servant flipped back the lid of the casket and the ruler’s eyes gleamed. He fumbled the gold and jade necklace from the red silk cushion, held it up to the sun.
“We are honored by your visit and this offer of friendship from the Dragon Throne.” The chubby man spoke faltering Mandarin. “I, Tsong Qua, son of Tsong Bao, and ruler of all this land between the sea and the mountains, welcome you. Whatever we can do to fulfill the Dragon Throne’s friendship we will do.” He glanced again at the gold and jade in his hands.
The fat ruler’s obvious greed soured Zeng He’s stomach. The fishing fleet was decrepit and the people had the edged, bony look of hunger.
“We are a poor people, living by the generosity of the oceans.” Tsong bowed, his expression oily now. “What can we offer the Dragon Throne that will cement his love for us?”
The power of the Dragon Throne was a valuable commodity, Zeng He thought. It meant your neighbors would not dare to attack you. It meant you might dare to attack your neighbors with that shadow behind you and they would capitulate. This petty tyrant squabbled with his neighbors for no reason and kept much of the tax money for himself, if the rumors were accurate.
It would serve him right, Zeng He thought, if we simply marched in here and took what we wanted. But Tsong would not stand on the front lines. This type of man always sent others to stand in danger’s way for him. And they were innocent.
“The Emperor Yongle, the occupier of the Dragon Throne has one request of you.” Zeng He touched his gelding with one toe and the animal tossed his head suddenly, snorting, so that the golden ornaments on his headstall rang with the sound of weapons being drawn. He did not smile as the ruler edged backward. “The Emperor Yongle has heard of the marvelous beauty of a woman who lives in your lands. He has sent me to ask for her hand in marriage. She will be an enduring symbol of the friendship between the Dragon Throne and your people.”
A murmur like the wind that precedes a storm swept through the assembled people. Apparently, a few of them understood Mandarin. Zeng He felt his warriors tense and again he toed the gelding. This time, Tsong stepped back quickly as the horse pranced closer.
“A...an honor like this...” He licked his lips, his eyes darting from side to side, as the murmurs grew. “It would make any daughter prostrate herself with grateful delight. But our maidens are simple women.” He spread his hands, his eyes fearful. “Surely none of them could interest an emperor with his choice of beauty from the ends of the earth.”
Obviously, they all knew whom he meant. Interesting. “Ah, but the emperor has heard much about the dragon daughter living within your lands. He has sent a rich bride price, of course. Commensurate with her preciousness.”
On cue, the servants stepped forward, four of them, bearing a carved teakwood chest inlaid with mother-of-pearl and ebony wood. A gasp replaced the murmur of disapproval rumbling through the crowd as one servant lifted the lid.
Carved jade, gold, and rubies from the Hindi lands lay atop folded silk brocades, and a breath of frankincense and myrrh wafted out. The treasures of the fleet, Zeng He thought and kept his lip from curling with an effort. He didn’t need words to know Tsong’s answer. It came in the rubbing of his hands, the light of greed in his eyes as he stepped toward the heavy chest, no longer, apparently, afraid of Zeng He’s war horse.
“Don’t take her!” A tall man with graying hair and straggling chin whiskers stepped forward, dressed in a frayed loin-wrap. “She is our healer,” he said in fractured Mandarin. “She saved my son, when he burned with the bleeding fever.”
He had the knotted muscles and scarred hands of a fisherman and his ribs showed under his sun-darkened skin. Zeng He met his eyes, pity knifing through him before he banished it. “It is a great honor to your people.” He spoke slowly so that the fisherman could follow his words. “You will find another healer and the Emperor will be forever your friend.”
“The emperor will be forever the friend of him. Not of us.” The man spat on the sand, in Tsong’s direction.
“Guards! Seize him!” Tsong straightened, his chubby hands full of gold, red-faced. “A hundred lashes with a knotted thong for his insolence.”
“No.” Zen
g He urged his horse forward to block the four men who advanced on the fisherman. “Words have no power. They are not stones.” He turned his stare on the ruler. “Damage to his man for his honest distress would tarnish the beauty of any woman.” He forced Tsong to meet his gaze. “Do you understand?”
“He is too insignificant to waste my time on.” The ruler waved a hand, but his eyes had slitted with anger. “I merely wished to punish his disrespect to the Dragon Throne.”
“The Emperor Yongle felt no disrespect.” Zeng He watched the petty ruler flush even more deeply. “Your generosity here will be reported to the Emperor and he will be impressed with that generosity.” It was a threat, and he watched Tsong’s flush fade to pallor.
The man who had spoken out said nothing, simply turned away, shuffling down the beach toward the patched boats. The others began to trickle away, murmuring among themselves, casting dark and doubtful glances back at the soldiers and horses, at the tall ships filling the mouth of the small harbor.
We are taking the only thing they have of value. Zeng He quieted the gelding as the animal shifted restlessly beneath him. And they will receive nothing for it. Ah, my Zhu Di, my emperor, my...friend. He closed his eyes briefly. I would stoop to do this only for you, to save your life.
“I will send my soldiers to bring her to you.” Tsong stepped forward, greed like lust shining in his eyes.
“I will accompany them.” Zeng He stared down and watched the ruler’s eyes shift aside. “To make certain that no violence tarnishes this gift. Meanwhile, we beg your permission to replenish our water and trade for fresh food from your peoples’ fields.”
“Of course.” The ruler straightened, waved his hand as if he sat the Dragon Throne himself. “You have my permission.”
A fair trade for the healer with dragon blood, Zeng He thought staring down at Tsong, would be to cut this man’s head off here and now and leave the treasure for the people. “I thank you for your permission,” he said mildly. “Have your people guide us to the dragon daughter’s home.” He reined his gelding into a rearing pivot, so that the ruler had to leap back to avoid the animal’s hooves.
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