by T. A. Miles
Of course, Tristus wasn’t getting by without any curious stares directed at him. He felt like he was in a festival performance—as a dancing animal, or some other spectacle. It didn’t help the way Xu Liang now rode well ahead of them, leaving just two of his guards to take up the rear, possibly to keep them on course or to keep back anyone who might be too curious about the strangers. He had a feeling Alere might view this differently. Rather than a freak, the mountain elf might have felt like a prisoner, being marched into his enemy’s city. These people didn’t appear hateful, though. They simply looked inquisitive.
Tristus looked over his shoulder at Alere after the thought, and with some hope that his friend was taking the transfer from the wilderness better than he had imagined. The quiet frown on Alere’s face confirmed that he was not. Tristus pulled back lightly on Sylvashen’s reins, waiting for the elf to reach him before resuming a normal pace. “I understand what you’re thinking, my friend, but try to consider it from these people’s perspective.”
Firstly, Alere cast Tristus a look that appeared to challenge the claim of understanding his thoughts. Secondly, he said, “You realize they outnumber us by at least one thousand to one, in the outer settlements alone.”
“You’re very military-minded,” Tristus sighed.
“And you’re not,” Alere noted. “Yet you’re a soldier.”
“My father was a knight,” Tristus replied, looking ahead of them while he reiterated what was a common subject whenever he had acquired an abundance of personal focus. “Isn’t that every son’s wish, to be like his father?”
“Not yours, I gather by the inflection in your voice.”
“Oh, it was,” Tristus said emphatically. He didn’t want any of them to mistake his commitment to order. “It just didn’t turn out as I had hoped. I’m not like you, Alere.”
“No, you’re not,” the elf agreed. “I’d have killed ‘that fat cleric’.”
Tristus’ eyebrows lifted when the elf referenced conversation that was now weeks past—a conversation he’d had with Xu Liang over the manifestation of his berserker side. “You heard that? When I tried to explain about my past to Xu Liang, you were listening?” When Alere said nothing, Tristus smiled, simply because there seemed to be nothing else for it. “I suspected you weren’t unconscious then.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Taya said suddenly, reminding Tristus of her presence. “You might have let someone know you weren’t on the verge of death, you.... elf!”
“It would not have mattered,” Alere said to her. “I was beyond your aid.”
“You’re beyond all aid, my friend,” Taya muttered.
Tristus reached a hand back to silence her. “Taya.”
She nudged his elbow in return.
“There will be trouble at the next gate,” Alere informed while they passed beneath one of several complicated archways that had been leading them deeper into the city’s interior. The architecture of each gate was sensational.
Tristus looked ahead, through the banners and canted rooftops, at the gate Alere had referred to. This one was a massive structure of stone and painted wood looming over the fringes of the innermost city. It had been erected in three distinct sections, all connected by the grand architecture that crowned it. Behind it lay a massive bridge of stone and another gate beyond the crossing—mate to the first. The city was a thorough fortification by the look of it.
As to his friend’s prediction…
“How can you know that?” he asked Alere, because it didn’t seem possible to discern trouble from unfamiliar at this point. There were guards, yes—abundantly so—but what royal seat wouldn’t have that?
“The mystic’s authority is not absolute,” Alere replied cryptically.
“Now I’m scared,” Taya said nervously. “I can force myself to not think about the crowd, but Alere’s never been wrong about his eerie feelings and now I’m getting one of my own. I don’t like this.”
Tristus sighed and cast Alere an admonishing look before reaching back to comfort the dwarf maiden. “It’ll be all right, Taya. I promise you. Xu Liang said that he would protect us. And remember he said that his people weren’t unkind or malicious. Everything will be all right.”
“Perhaps if we bow,” Alere suggested dryly, displaying a rare moment of humor at just the wrong moment.
“You’re not helping,” Tristus told him, finding Taya’s hand and squeezing it reassuringly. “You’re with me, Taya. I won’t let anything happen to you. You have my word.”
The Gate of Heavenly Protection was drawing open as Xu Liang and the others approached. He did not appreciate the bowmen who were staged upon the parapets, taking aim at the outsiders among his group. There was no reason to show such apprehension. Even if they were a threat, there were only five of them, and the guards must have known that Xu Liang, of all people, would not have been so careless as to lead a band of ‘dangerous barbarians’—as they would have it—into the Imperial City without having taken some measure in advance. It was an embarrassment as well, that they should look so concerned over a handful of outsiders. Apparently Jiao Ren did not have as much control over his men as he believed, else he was responsible for this display himself and ought to be ashamed.
I have been gone too long, Xu Liang realized. Once through the gates, he remained atop Blue Crane, waiting while Jiao Ren approached on foot.
“Lord Xu Liang,” the young general greeted respectfully. “We have been waiting. It’s good to see you safely returned.”
“Thank you,” Xu Liang replied. “Though, clearly, I have not returned alone. I request that the others in my company be treated with courtesy and respect. They are to be guests here, not prisoners.”
Jiao Ren peered around Blue Crane at the assortment of outsiders at the gate. “They are armed, my lord. I ask that you allow me to confiscate their weapons.”
“I will see to the proper handling of their weapons,” Xu Liang informed, turning when he heard too much scuffling behind him after the gates had been drawn closed. “They are not to be harmed!” he said to the guards who were closing in on his company with spears ready. When the men stopped their advance and it seemed clear that none of his companions planned to retaliate—particularly Alere—Xu Liang returned his attention to Jiao Ren. “What rumors have you heard? Why are your men so agitated?”
“We have heard many things, including that an officer of the Imperial Court traveled the countryside in the company of devils.”
Xu Liang was disgusted and, in his weariness, unable to hide the fact. “These men are not leaderless rabble. You will take control of your troops.”
“I will see to it,” Jiao Ren promised, bowing his head. “Please forgive me. In my concern over your long absence, I must have contributed to their unease.”
Xu Liang felt remiss for having snapped at the younger man and lightened his tone. “Within hours, gossip of what has been seen will spread throughout the city to add to what has already been heard. It might be necessary for someone to address the people and ease their concerns.”
“I agree,” Jiao Ren replied cooperatively, but still with some unease as his gaze strayed once again to the others. “I trust you will prepare what needs to be said.”
Before Xu Liang could answer, someone else said, “I trust you will speak those words to those of us within the court first. This is most distressing, Lord Xu Liang; that you would leave us for so long, hide our empress from us, and now return with these menacing looking outsiders.”
Xu Liang felt a sudden icy pain lance through his heart when he looked at Han Quan. The elder approached with the same courtly respect he had always shown his colleague, but memories of a dreadful nightmare surfaced anew with his presence. In the terror of those remembered dreams, friend seemed suddenly enemy. Not only Han Quan, but Jiao Ren now as well. It was as if the other mystic served as the catalyst to reawakening the
terrible visions Xu Liang had been avoiding since leaving Vilciel. He felt a relapse of the burning and the weakness brought on by his near death and by the Flame that had brought him back. His mind seemed to spin, and as he attempted to lower himself out of Blue Crane’s saddle, he nearly fell.
Jiao Ren caught him and steadied him. “Lord Xu Liang, are you ill?”
Han Quan came forward, taking hold of Xu Liang’s arm with one thin hand, offering his support as well. He said to Jiao Ren, “The Imperial Tactician is unwell. The strain of his travels has been too much. We must get him inside, out of this sun.”
Jiao Ren agreed and started guiding Xu Liang gently away from Blue Crane. Han Quan’s hand—skeletal, in the wake of memories—shifted to Xu Liang’s back, as if in reassurance. Xu Liang envisioned the man’s cold, thin fingers as sleeve darts springing into his flesh. The needling sensation in his imagination forced a muscle spasm and an instant of panic that made him wheel around and glare at Han Quan. Accusations of betrayal flew up from his pounding heart and hovered on his lips, stayed in the last instant by reason.
Xu Liang lifted one hand to his swimming head and calmly refused Jiao Ren’s assistance. “I thank you for your concern and I apologize for worrying you. I am fine.” He beckoned Gai Ping and the old guard came at once. “Take our guests and their weapons to my residence. Separately,” he added, noticing the distress and disapproval that was apparent in both Han Quan’s and Jiao Ren’s expressions. “Take your fellows with you. Our guests are to be watched constantly. I leave you in charge.”
“Yes, my lord,” Gai Ping replied. Then he went to carry out his duty.
“I will see the Empress now,” Xu Liang decided.
“You are scarcely presentable,” Han Quan protested. “You are weary and...”
“I will see her now!” Xu Liang snapped. He forced calm in the next moment and reached out to the elder, lightly touching his arm, recalling that Han Quan had always been a loyal supporter of the Song family and an ally to him, personally. To doubt him now, at the urging of a nightmare induced by outside magic, was not only ludicrous, but reprehensible. He corrected his behavior immediately. “Please, my friend. I know this must seem confusing to you, but trust that all will be made clear.”
Han Quan’s old face pinched with concern, and a strong distaste for Xu Liang’s escape from protocol and discipline. Finally, he nodded tautly. “Very well. But I must insist that you are at least transferred to fresh clothing. The state of your robes will only further trouble our Imperial Highness.”
Xu Liang knew that he was right and admitted to it with a nod. He turned to Blue Crane and withdrew the scroll case that had traveled with him from Ying, then returned the steed to Shi Dian, who was in the process of leading the animal away to join the others. Han Quan demanded the guard’s attention long enough to instruct him to send a servant to the offices of imperial administration with clean robes. Afterward, both Xu Liang and the Chancellor of the Court were borne by sedan toward the middle court—the Court of Heaven, which contained the residential and administrative offices of the Empress herself.
In a chamber not far from where the Empress waited within the Hall of Heavenly Peace, having received word that her highest officer had returned and requested an immediate audience, Xu Liang knelt behind a short table, studying recent writings while Han Quan stood over him, relaying events that had taken place in the court during Xu Liang’s absence. The elder spoke of the Empress’ temporary illness, how she was carried out of the Palace of Imperial Peace by guards who had heard her weeping. He mentioned also that doubts had risen among her officers and that even members of her own family had begun to question her abilities to rule during her prolonged meditation. No one had understood the sudden, lengthy ritual—save the few individuals whom Xu Liang had given an explanation to—but they understood well that Fa Leng was being taken, that Xun was rebelling more forcefully than ever and getting away with it. They understood the disquiet among the people as the Imperial Court seemed to sit idle, doing nothing while security slipped in what should have been Sheng Fan’s safest city. Rumors spread like summer wildfire and crime escalated as the iniquitous took advantage of the court’s apparent indolence.
“Why?” Xu Liang asked quietly while he finished reading a letter from the city prefect, Zhu Meng, whose charged districts had suffered numerous riots in the past two months. “Why would all levels of government cease to function in my absence?”
“And the absence of the Empress,” Han Quan added.
Xu Liang shook his head. “No. She was always present. One does not need to look upon her grace to know it exists, or her authority, for that matter. The policies that were to be carried out during her time of solitude were standard, mundane duties that are carried out every month, every week—every day by all who hold office.” Xu Liang lifted the parchment unfurled before him. “Why should Zhu Meng, who has always excelled in his handling of local affairs, seek advice from me on how to deal with peasant uprisings? He must know better than I why they are disgruntled and he must know what is necessary to quiet them.”
Even as Han Quan delivered his answer, a servant begged entrance and was allowed in. “A tremendous unease has been affecting all cities,” the elder said. “We at the Imperial Court are no exception.”
Xu Liang stood while the servant from his own house approached with armfuls of silk in light shades of blue and green bearing images of birds with long, fanciful tails. It was not the peacock—a symbol he often avoided for the sake of his family’s secret—but the bird that had adorned many of his fabrics; the phoenix. He often paid little attention to the selections his tailor made outside of his ceremonial robes, which always included blue dragons, and often depicted clouds in relation to his station as a mystic of the winds. But now it became apparent that he was again faced with the Phoenix. There was no shelter from its presence, not even within his own home, or his own attire.
His apparent interest in the pattern caused his servant to hesitate. Xu Liang dismissed concern and returned his attention fully to the discussion at hand, providing minimal assistance while the middle-aged man from his home went about undressing and redressing him. He listened carefully to Han Quan’s words, knowing that as the other spoke, the Dragon was rising. Where else had this unease come from? He was certainly not in the habit of announcing his movements to the general populace and yet, shortly after he’d departed from Sheng Fan, the people began to react with unsureness and fear, as if they knew why he had gone. But only in the Imperial City. Why?
“It is as if a terrible hand grips the heart of the Empire,” Han Quan continued, seeming percipient to Xu Liang’s thoughts. “It seems to grip the Empress herself. I have seen the fear in her young eyes.”
“The nightmares have returned,” Xu Liang said, not asking, but stating what he had feared.
Han Quan nodded. “She has confided in me that her dreams are filled with dragons.”
Xu Liang frowned curiously, trying to remain patient while the arranging of his new robes persisted, followed by the detangling of his long hair. “Filled with dragons?”
“Dragons, both dark and light, battling each other, until in the end only one remains.”
“Chaos,” Xu Liang uttered unintentionally.
The elder inclined his head, as if in confirmation. “I too have thought of the old legend.” He glanced at the beautiful sword set upon the table in its lacquered scabbard. “I also understand the significance of that sword. The barbarians you brought with you had some impressive looking weapons of their own. Should I assume...”
“Yes, Han Quan,” Xu Liang replied without hesitation. “The Celestial Swords do exist. I have brought them back. With the Empress’ permission, I will unite them all with the entire court in witness. We will have the blessing of the Heavens—of the Jade Emperor himself—to confront this darkness.”
“To confront the rebels from Xun perhaps
,” Han Quan said. “They are a physical threat, but here, we do not know what we face.”
“Then we must learn, Chancellor,” Xu Liang told him. “We must seek the source of what troubles the Empress. For surely that is what troubles the people.”
Tests of Trust
“This is fantastic,” Tristus said while he stood in the center of a square room decorated in tasteful, artistic simplicity. The placement of the elegantly carved tables and stands, the lamps, censures, small statues, delicately painted vases, and graceful indoor trees all seemed to work together to invoke an atmosphere of calmness, a serenity that embraced the visitor upon his entrance and drew him inside, inviting him to relax and to think nothing of the world outside. The strangeness of it was that the outdoor area had inspired the same feeling of tranquility within Tristus, as if it were all part of an extended garden.
After seeing that Xu Liang was all right, that he was walking himself from Blue Crane after nearly falling off of the gray steed, Tristus went willingly—almost eagerly—with Gai Ping. He wanted to explore this wondrous inner sanctum of the Imperial City. He wanted to see every detail of it, to drink it all in and savor the sweet, vibrant, and calming taste. After enduring the harshness and hardships of their journey through the Yvarias, he would have thought that the others would want to as well, but when Gai Ping gestured for them to surrender their weapons, the elves and dwarves hesitated. Taya, understandably, was afraid. Tarfan had his dwarven pride to blame, wanting to feel in control of the situation even though he wasn’t. Shirisae was accustomed to giving orders, of course, not receiving them. And Alere was suspicious, wary after the heart-stopping episode of a dozen spear-toting Fanese warriors coming at them.
