This time a silver coin lay in one hand.
The Jehangli lord nodded in understanding; the creatures would be tricked. “You’re certain they will come?” asked Jhanun.
“Yes,” Baisha replied. “They will come, the noble fools.”
“So be it.” He studied this, one of his three most faithful and trusted servants.
Pale skin, yellowed now, wrinkled and lined; a bald head fringed with thin white hair bleached by the powerful phoenix of the sun. A baisha, a foreigner indeed.
The Jehangli lord went on, “I raised you from slavery. I covered you with the hem of my robe though you were not one of the children of the Phoenix. I gave you what your own people denied you.
“Now I give you this task. The journey will be long and hard, the task difficult. Do not fail me.” A final fold, a last crease, and a paper lotus of a certain style lay before Jhanun.
“It will be done, lord. I will bring you the required number of Dragonlords.” Baisha rose and bowed. His eyes burned with fervor. “I know what will bring them. I won’t fail you.”
Stirred by such devotion, Jhanun rose from his desk and came around it. Bending slightly, he rested his fingertips on his servant’s shoulders, a mark of great favor. “I know you will not fail. Now go; there’s much to be done.” He let his hands drop once more to his sides.
Baisha bowed once more, backed the three required steps, then turned and strode to the door.
With a satisfied smile, Jhanun folded his hands into his wide sleeves.
It was beginning.
Shei-Luin fanned herself as she watched the tumblers with their trained dogs and monkeys performing in the open space between the two gazebos. She sat by the railing of the Lotus Gazebo in the choicest spot as befitted her current status as favorite concubine. Her eunuch Murohshei stood at her left shoulder, keeping the lesser women from crowding her.
The Lotus Gazebo and its companion, the Gazebo of the Three Golden Irises, stood in the heart of the Garden of Eternal Spring. Winter never came here; the leaves of the plum and peach trees never withered with the cold, the bright green of the grass never turned sere and brown. The might of the Phoenix ruled here, a gift to its royal favorite, the Phoenix Lord of the Skies. Or so said the priests who chanted here at the solstices.
To one side sat the Songbirds of the Garden. A group of boys and young eunuchs chosen for the incredible purity and beauty of their voices, their sole purpose was to sing for the emperor whenever he chose to visit the Garden. They were silent now, except for giggles as they watched the performers. They were, after all, just boys.
Shei-Luin hid a smile behind her fan as she glanced at the youngsters. Many rocked back and forth, holding their laughter in lest it disturb his august majesty in the Gazebo of the Three Golden Irises. One boy eunuch, Zyuzin, the jewel of the Garden, had both hands clapped over his mouth as he doubled over in mirth; his three-stringed zhansjen lay forgotten on the grass before him as he watched.
For one of the tumblers ran in circles, waving his arms and crying exaggerated pleas for mercy as a lop-earred, ugly, spotted dog chased him. Each time the dog jumped up and nipped at the man’s bottom, the man would grab his buttocks and leap into the air, squealing like a pig with a pinched tail.
The Songbirds giggled and pinched each other in delight.
A loud, braying laugh shattered the air. Shei-Luin winced delicately, careful that no one should see it, and looked into the opposite gazebo.
Xiane ma Jhi hung over the railing, laughing as the ugly dog persecuted its master. He called encouragement to it, slapping the shoulder of the man standing by his side and pointing at the tumblers. The man grinned and said something in return.
Shei-Luin’s heart jumped at the sight of the second man. Yesuin, second son of the temur of the Zharmatians, the People of the Horse, the Tribe. Yesuin, once her childhood love and now hostage to his father’s good behavior. How she’d cried when he first came to the palace, knowing what it meant to him to lose the freedom of the plains. She’d remembered all too well what she’d felt when the walls of the imperial palace closed around her. But his misfortune had become her salvation.
Between the Phoenix Emperor and Yesuin was a certain resemblance; the concubine who had borne Xiane had been a woman of the Tribe.
Yet such a difference! Yesuin was all fire and grace; Xiane … Bah; Xiane does not bear thinking about, Shei-Luin told herself. He looks like a horse and brays like an ass.
As if he sensed her thoughts on him, Xiane looked across the lawn into the gilded structure where Shei-Luin sat with the other concubines and their eunuchs, the only males allowed there beside the emperor himself. Their eyes met. He made a great show of licking his lips and leering at her. Shei-Luin’s stomach turned; she knew that look. Unless he drank himself into oblivion, he would come to her chamber tonight.
She pretended modest confusion and hid behind her fan, gaze lowered. Later she would send Murohshei to bribe Xiane’s cupbearer into seeing that the Phoenix Lord’s wine bowl was kept full.
The other concubines tittered. Shei-Luin considered ordering them all flogged. But no; she had not the power for that yet. She must become noh, a servitor of the first rank; she must give Xiane an heir.
An heir that he could not give himself. But she had found a way; for she alone knew the ancient secret of the palace. And then …
The scene before her changed. The tumblers and their animals gave way before the female wrestlers that were Xiane’s current mania. Shei-Luin sat up straighter.
Not because she enjoyed the wrestling. Far from it. She thought these women hideous beyond belief. They were as ugly as the women soldiers who guarded the harem; big women, solid as oxen, and muscled like them, too.
But this was the fourth troop of wrestlers in the past span and a half of days, and if Xiane remained true to form … She watched the women, naked save for loin cloths and breast bands, grapple and struggle with one another, and waited as patiently as she could.
At last! Xiane stood up. A servant ran to take the robe he shrugged from his shoulders. The loose breeches beneath came off next and the Emperor of Jehanglan stood only in his loincloth. He vaulted over the railing, calling over his shoulder, “Let’s have some fun!”
Laughing, the other young men in the gazebo followed suit. For once they were freed of the restrictions of the imperial court where every move was ancient ritual, every word and glance noted, debated, dissected for insult or weakness.
Only in this garden and among the troupes of entertainers that he delighted in, could the Emperor of Jehanglan, Phoenix Lord of the Skies and Ruler of the Four Quarters of the Earth, relax. Shei-Luin felt a momentary pang of sympathy. The Phoenix was cruel, setting this man upon the Phoenix throne instead of making him a performer.
But that moment was lost as she watched Yesuin run lightly across the lawn to stand beside the emperor. Her heart hammered in her chest; it was a wonder that all could not hear it.
They might almost be brothers, they look so much alike standing together!
But similar as the men were in build, it was the thought of Yesuin that thrilled her. The memory of Xiane’s body on her’s made her feel ill. It amazed her, how differently she could react to two men so much alike.
Neither was tall but both were well made and athletic. Xiane’s skin was the paler legacy of his imperial father, and smooth; Yesuin’s scarred here and there from the battles he’d fought before coming to the Imperial Court as hostage. Some of the courtiers cast glances of mixed admiration and disdain at the sight of the scars; when those gazes fell upon the Zhar-matian’s thigh and the brown birthmark there, they were pure contempt.
So the People of the Horse don’t kill their children for every little blemish, Shei-Luin thought fiercely, dismissing those contemptuous glances with an unconscious flick of her fan. They’re not the cowards you are. They don’t fear your demons.
She watched him, and him alone, as he wrestled first with the women, then with an
y of the courtiers brave—or foolish—enough to challenge him. She knew what was to come.
It happened all in a heartbeat. Yesuin and Ulon, one of the courtiers, rolled across the lawn as they grappled; Yesuin caught his opponent in a choke hold. As if by chance he looked over Ulon’s head and into the Lotus Gazebo where no man’s gaze but the emperor’s might fall. Shei-Luin was ready.
She dropped the fan. Tonight, she mouthed, quick as a thought. He blinked. Then Ulon twisted, and he and Yesuin rolled away once more.
It was enough. She would be ready.
Chapter Three
As he warmed himself by the brazier at his feet, Haoro, priest of the second rank, received the messenger in the outer room of his private quarters in the Iron Temple.
The man bowed to the small image of the Phoenix that adorned one wall of the plainly furnished room before kneeling to Haoro. Reaching into his wide sleeve, the messenger carefully withdrew something.
It was a single sheet of rice paper, folded in the form known as Eternal Lotus. A red lotus. It was exquisite. Every graceful line spoke of a master sh’jer’s touch.
So, Haoro thought as the man held the message out with both hands, careful to never let it sink below the level of his eyes, it is time.
He took the paper lotus and held it up, admiring it. His uncle had exceeded himself this time. He would have to congratulate Jhanun. With eyes only for the flower resting on his palm, Haoro tossed the man a token and intoned a brief blessing. “You may refresh yourself at the inn of the pilgrims,” he said negligently. “You also have my leave to attend the dawn ceremony tomorrow in the inner temple if you wish. Tell the lesser priests I said so.”
Joy spread over the messenger’s face. To be allowed to hear the Song without having made the full pilgrimage beforehand was a rare privilege. The man knocked his forehead against the floor three times. “Thank you, gracious lord!”
He crawled backward, touching his forehead to the floor now and again, until he was at the door. Then the man stood up and left.
The moment the messenger was gone, Haoro cupped the paper lotus in both hands.
By this one’s color, he knew its message as if it had been set before him in the finest calligraphy.
Be ready.
So—the time had come for the realization of the ambitions he and his uncle shared. And what, Haoro pondered, has my revered uncle devised for his part?
No matter; he would find out when his uncle made his pilgrimage to the Iron Temple. Jhanun would never set his schemes to paper; this would be for Haoro’s ears alone. Again he wondered what his uncle had planned. Whatever it was, it would be bold.
The priest looked once more at the lotus. Had the messenger guessed the import of what he’d borne? The Eternal Lotus was by custom worked only in paper of the purest white. Therefore, this one could not exist.
With a thousand regrets, Haoro let the masterpiece drift into the brazier and watched it burn.
Many spans of days after he started his journey, Baisha stood beside a crude dugout canoe on a desolate beach on the northern shore of Jehanglan. He rubbed his forehead as if he could rub away the lingering effects of the illness that had delayed him. Damn that he’d ever caught the shaking sickness! It had made him late to leave Jehanglan.
“You are certain the Assantikkan ship will be leaving shortly?” he said to the trembling man the temple soldiers had forced to kneel before him. “Answer me or they die.” He jerked his head.
“They” were the man’s terrified family—a wife and a babe in arms—standing behind him within a ring of more soldiers. Swords pricked the hostages’ throats.
“Yes, lord,” the man stammered. “They never stay very long—a few hands of the sun. You must hurry.” He tried to look back at his family. A soldier seized his long black hair and yanked his head around again. Tears of pain filled the man’s frightened eyes.
It mattered not to Baisha. He looked over to the priest from the Iron Temple. “Did your master give you what I need?”
The priest nodded and reached within his robes. When he brought out his hand again, a crystal globe filled it. Inside floated a golden image of the Phoenix. The captive whimpered at the sight of it.
Baisha took it and hid it away inside the ragged and salt-stained robes he had donned a little while ago. “The rest?”
Once more the priest reached into his robes. This time he brought forth a jar of ointment. “Smear this upon your face and hands, and all other exposed flesh. It will redden and irritate the skin so that you’ll look as if you’ve spent days drifting in the boat. Remember to smear some upon your lips, as well; they must be swollen and cracked as if from lack of water.”
Grimacing, Baisha took the jar and removed the oiled paper lid. So he must look as wretched as he felt. With a sigh, he scooped some ointment out and smeared it on his bare arm. The priest signaled the acolytes who flanked him to aid.
Soon Baisha was ready. He stepped into the dugout; two soldiers ran to catch the sides and push it out to sea. Baisha picked up the single paddle and set to work, cursing under his breath. The damned ointment was doing its work quickly and too well.
The priest called out, “What about these cattle?”
Baisha barely glanced over his shoulder. “Kill them, of course. We want no witnesses.”
He ignored the anguished screams behind him and bent to his work.
Chapter Four
To rule the heart of the Phoenix Lord—that is power. Yet what is power if one lives confined? Though the bars of the cage are of carved jade, banded with gold and hung with silk, they are still bars.
Shei-Luin noh Jhi turned from the screened window. Her silk-shod feet padded softly against the floor as she went once more to read the message on the desk.
Such an insignificant bit of paper; the merest strip that would fit around the leg of a fast messenger pigeon. But all the world hung in its words.
The emperor is dying. Come at once—Jhanun.
Shei-Luin studied it, tracing the words with a long, polished fingernail. Her finger paused over the signature: Jhanun. Just that. No title, no seal, not even an informal thumb print.
Were I as stupid as you hoped, Jhanun, it would have worked. And you would have wrung your hands over my death, vowed vengeance against whoever used your name, and grinned like the dog you are in private.
She could well believe Xiane claimed he was dying; that did not surprise her. A stomachache from green mangos and Xiane ma Jhi, august Emperor of the Four Quarters of the Earth and Phoenix Lord of the Skies, squalled that he was poisoned.
She’d seen it too often to be frightened anymore.
But whether Xiane were dying or not, it would mean her death to approach him before her time of purification was over. Which was exactly what Jhanun wanted. He had lost much of his former influence over the Phoenix Emperor since Xiane had become enthralled with her.
Was Jhanun mad that he thought she would obey—or did he think her a fool? No matter. He would learn. She was not to be taken by such ploys. Fool he was, to place such a weapon in her hands; if Xiane saw this, Jhanun would not escape banishment a second time. She would keep this safe to use one day if necessary.
But that the emperor’s former chancellor thought to order her as though she were still a simple concubine—that was arrogance.
And arrogance was not something she need tolerate. Not even from one as powerful as Jhanun nohsa Jhi—Jhanun, second rank servitor of the Jhi. Not when she herself was noh, first rank. Not when she was the mother of the Phoenix Lord’s only “heir,” born just three weeks ago.
A cloud of black hair spilled over her shoulder as she bowed her head at a sudden thought. Her hand clenched on the fan beside the note.
Was all well with her son? Xahnu was with his retinue in the foothills of the Khorushin Mountains, sent there to avoid the lowland fevers that carried off so many children every hot season. He should be safe. Even those as ambitious as Jhanun or the faction he headed would never
dare harm the emperor’s heir—the Phoenix would destroy them.
Even so, she wanted her baby by her side. Tears pricked at her eyes.
No! She must not be weak. Her breath hissed through clenched teeth. She must be the coldest steel—especially if the emperor were truly dying. There would be a throne to seize if that came to pass. A throne that Shei-Luin already had ambitions for.
And Jhanun must be taught a lesson. That he thought to fool her by so transparent a trick angered her. He must be removed from the game that was the Imperial Court. Without him the Four Tigers would be masterless, scuttling in every direction and none like a centipede with its head chopped off. They would cease their endless attempts to manipulate the weak-willed emperor. More importantly it would end their attempts to depose her.
“Murohshei!” she called. Her voice rang in the airy pavilion like a bell. At once she was answered by the slap of bare feet against the polished wood floors of the hall as her eunuch obeyed the summons.
Murohshei—slave of Shei. Idly she wondered if even he remembered what name he had carried long ago, before being given to the then child Shei-Luin for her own.
The eunuch entered the room. He fell to his knees before her, forehead pressed to the floor. She stood silent a moment, pale hands clasped before her, holding the fan of intricately carved sandalwood and painted silk like a dagger.
“Murohshei.” Her voice was clear and sweet.
The eunuch looked up at her.
“Murohshei, I desire the head of Jhanun.”
“Favored of the Phoenix Lord, Flower of the West,” Murohshei said. “It shall be done. However long it takes, it shall be done.” He touched his forehead to the teak floor once more.
Shei-Luin smiled. She imagined Jhanun’s head on a pike outside her window. It would look very well indeed.
Then, as it had done all too often of late, the earth trembled violently. Shei-Luin staggered, would have fallen had not Murohshei sprung to her aid.
The Phoenix was angry once again.
The Last Dragonlord Page 47
