by T. A. Miles
While Xu Liang could not argue that he thought of marriage now—though the topic had been kept in reserve between himself and Shirisae for the sake of maintaining the important focus of the campaign—he also could not deny that he felt offense at the manner in which the men had been satisfied to assume all blessing save for the Empress’. It seemed that some of the troops were prepared to believe that Xu Liang had traveled, not into the outer realms, but to the Heavens and been married by the Jade Emperor, Himself. The notion could only be offensive to Xu Liang. It was his sincere intention to seek the approval of Song Da-Xiao. He had hoped to be delicate over the timing, considering all that had transpired, but now he could see that he would have to bring word to her himself before the rumors carried ahead of him.
The considerations brought depth to his frown that he could feel. He paused deliberately, closing his eyes and returning his focus to the matter at hand. When he looked at the writings before him again, he bypassed worry over the castle itself and put his attention onto the region’s prefect, Miao Yuntai.
He came to a quick decision. “We must send an envoy to Jin Fu.”
The words regained the attention of the generals.
“You believe you can convince Miao Yuntai to change loyalties?” Wen Xiu said. By his tone and expression, he seemed to believe that it was less possible than a successful attack on the castle.
Xu Liang found himself less open to the challenge presented by doubt at the moment. He said, “All loyalty in Sheng Fan should be to the Empress. There should be nothing to change.”
The tent grew quiet. Wen Xiu undoubtedly felt reprimanded. Tian Qi appeared to agree and Zhou Biao and Hei Xue were potentially among those supporting—if not propagating—rumors of a certain marriage. Of the latter, that may have meant that they possessed strong faith in the success of a siege battle, believing that they were, under the circumstances, unusually blessed.
“We will send an envoy to Jin Fu,” Xu Liang decided, and he left them with that.
ANOTHER EVENING HAD come to an end. Shirisae sat upon her bedroll, which had for the duration of the journey south, always been located tactfully distant from the area of the tent Xu Liang occupied. His personal effects were arranged in the space between, including a table, a long box which the Moon Blade was typically kept in overnight, a box containing various scrolls and manuals, and the items the bodyguards were specifically responsible for. Gai Ping saw to do most of the actual attending of Xu Liang, as he had done throughout his travels with his master, as far as Shirisae had witnessed. Wan Yun, Cai Zheng Rui, and Shi Dian tended to do all of their work in stages that had them rarely within the tent itself, unless the weather was especially challenging. These were the arrangements Shirisae was already used to, but there was a definitively more formal air about them now.
In some ways, it put a sensation of distance between her and Xu Liang, but it was minor and she was not offended by it. Not as she would have been, had she been left at the Imperial City. She suspected that any space she was aware of between them now had more to do with increasing anticipation over what else may develop. Surprisingly, she was developing a remarkable amount of patience about all of it. She saw no cause to rush. The Phoenix was present, rising into its Flare through D’Jenti. D’Jenti was a mystic of Sheng Fan and the foremost strategist of an empire’s army, who was in no hurry to leap toward any godly deeds. It occurred to Shirisae that he might not ever do such a thing; that it all might be considerably less dramatic than she ever would have dreamed.
From her bedding, she continued to watch Xu Liang across the near distance. He was writing a letter, because he had a mind to end this altercation peacefully. Though he seemed to not want any elven titles, he would always be shandon to her; wise beyond his years.
Her eyes began to burn with exhaustion that no amount of staring at such a serene image was going to resolve. She laid herself down and eventually gave in to sleep.
THE LETTER TO Miao Yuntai took considerable time to compose. Xu Liang preferred to not use methods of blatant intimidation, but could not exclude the fact that more than seventy thousand troops were prepared to move on the prefect’s stronghold. Information that had been gathered indicated that there were no mystics among the forces at Jin Fu. There were two present on behalf of the Empress. There were also accomplished generals, vast amounts of veteran soldiers, and two of the weapons of the Ancient Gods.
Xu Liang included no such inventory in the letter. Instead, he relied upon the importance of his cause; the restoration of peace under one banner. Though he was tempted to state a long-winded case against the Five Kingdoms, he did not. He merely reminded Miao Yuntai that his late governor had been in support of Emperor Song Bao and that, by extension, that loyalty now belonged to the Empress, in spite of the challenge imposed by the current governor. He reminded of the stipulations of the Five Kingdoms Resolution; that no governor should seek to possess or control supremely, lands belonging to the Empire. Annexation of new territory in the name of anyone other than the Empress was forbidden. No kingdom boundary was to be adjusted and no realm of authority reconfigured except by the Empress. He reminded that the kingdom governors were leaders by appointment, not entitlement.
After detailing the key points of policy, Xu Liang then went on to appeal to Miao Yuntai’s humility, as a son of Sheng Fan. The Mandate was uncontestable and Ha Ming Jin stood in direct defiance of it as well as of the Jade Emperor, whose designs were not demonstrations of power, but applications of wisdom. The Song had been chosen to rule and guide Sheng Fan. Ha Ming Jin’s rebellion was an act of treachery and of foolishness. Xu Liang implored his colleague to reconsider his position and to return to the Empress’ side.
He pushed the letter aside when he was finished. Eventually, it was rolled and sealed, to be delivered by envoy the following morning. Miao Yuntai would have only hours to respond. The troops would move by midday.
For that, a tremendous amount of strategy would be required. The thought inspired him to reach for one of the war manuals he had brought with him. The bound sheaf let go a blade of grass while it was opened. Except it was not merely a blade of grass. Xu Liang lifted the narrow stem of the poppy Shirisae had brought into the tent weeks ago, examining its incidentally pressed petals before he looked over at the sleeping elf.
Though Shirisae said nothing, he realized that she was correct in the statement she made unconsciously. He placed the flower back onto the pages and closed them gently over it, then blew out the lantern flame and retired to his pallet to sleep. Tomorrow would be a day of much decision.
MA SHOU HAD stopped trying to sleep. He at times fell helplessly into unconsciousness, but it never lasted. The dreams were too many and too dark. He had begun to believe that sleeping was as leaving an open door through which Lei Kui or someone—or something—associated with him could reach in and pull him out. The safety of the soldiers of Ji was beginning to wane, but he would not leave. He could envision no place safer. He wasn’t certain what he would do when he arrived at the conclusion that there was no place at all safe from the illness of the necromancer. Perhaps that would be when he would die.
He huddled in the center of the tent, contemplating what the true end might be for him. At the back of his mind was the tugging sensation of Lei Kui’s reach, and of a ghost lurking in the folds of the darkness behind him. He felt that she was watching him. Always.
MORNING BROUGHT the assignment of the envoy. The letter had been sent and now began the wait for Miao Yuntai’s response. In the process of waiting, the troops would take formation. The siege towers had been prepared, the catapults readied, and the rams and equipment for both scaling and digging arranged for transport to the threshold of Jin Fu. If Miao Yuntai did not respond favorably, a siege would commence. If conditions were favorable, and if all tactics were successful, it would be possible to take the castle.
If the Empress’ forces were far enough ahead of the arrival of Xun’s reinforcements from Bei Xo, it was likely tha
t Ha Ming Jin’s men would retreat in order to strengthen the defenses of their next stronghold. They would behave as if Ji intended to march on to Bei Xo, but they would be wrong and Ha Ming Jin would know that. By the time reports were delivered and orders issued, Jin Fu would be well on its way to being an established base for the Blue Dragon. The Crane would have lost its advantage and a goodly portion of its territory. Ha Ming Jin would have no option but to reconsider his rebellion. Officially, he would be ordered to stand down and to resume his duties with dignity, and he would be ordered to deliver Han Quan into custody. His fate following that imperial command would largely rest upon his response.
Xu Liang watched the sun rising in a smear of red and orange through the early haze that hung over the trees of Fa Leng. The gray of predawn rolled back across the hills, making way for the day’s events.
Shirisae stood beside him, her hair haloed in deep orange that radiated down the length of her braid. It added an even warmer glow to her face, tracing the edges of her features while the rest was veiled in shadow. It created a sense of warmth and stillness to match the setting of Fa Leng. In that moment, it became a tangible concept that she was not an outsider to anything except the culture of Sheng Fan. The land welcomed her, and would have welcomed her, even if his people had not.
In the serenity of the moment, their fingers touched, though only briefly.
Tian Qi climbed the shallow hill toward them. The youngish general bowed. “The troops are ready to move on Jin Fu Castle.”
Xu Liang bowed his head appreciatively. In the corner of his vision, he saw that Shirisae performed a similar gesture. Her manner was perhaps assisting in the regard she was receiving from the troops. She emanated the dignity of a woman of stature, which contradicted any notions of an outsider’s lack of civilization. Paired with her independent, yet loyal nature, it was not entirely in wonder as to why the men had come to consider her in a celestial sense. At the very least, she was a blessed mortal, but it was clear that allowance had been made for the possibility that she was a goddess.
JIN FU CASTLE was a series of ornate blocks sprawled across a clearing. It stood beneath the golden glow of the early parts of the day like a barrier, there to deny passage to travelers, or in this instance, an army. That army had created a formation which curved the north face of the clearing, like a moon encroaching in the hours before an eclipse. The banners of the Blue Dragon tumbled on the breeze, as did the lengths of Xu Liang’s hair. He and Shirisae were positioned at the front now. As Shirisae understood it, the presentation was a statement. Xu Liang would not be advancing on the castle in the event of a siege, but lingering back with his immediate staff—which, in its way included her—to command the battle and put his tactical plans into action.
Across the field, the enemy troops had lined the battlements. Flags of red with the white images of the Crane billowed in slow waves against the sun-washed walls. It had no moat, but sharply angled fences had been arranged in tight rows along the base. The gates were shut tight, standing half the height of the north wall and reinforced with iron detail. It would be no easy task getting in. Undoubtedly, there would be bowmen firing down upon the advancing force, along with other projectile tactics.
Looking to Xu Liang, she could see that he appeared undaunted. It was a state she had grown accustomed to. He seemed immune to panic, which had likely served him well throughout his career.
The Phoenix was beyond intimidation. She recalled its presence clearly in the face of the dragon below the city, and she recalled how Xu Liang’s temperament matched. She had not known much of him before the resurrection, but she was willing to believe that it was no transformation brought about by the Phoenix, but a natural state, which had earned her god’s notice. It made her believe he had been put into the world to fulfill the role of D’Jenti, and that events could not have gone otherwise. Somehow or another, Xu Liang would have been in Yvaria at the start of the Phoenix’s rising phase, regardless. The Phoenix had not been selecting a candidate among those present, but rather had responded to the arrival of its sole choice.
She had not presented much of her recent speculations to him—she suspected he might not subscribe to them and it was difficult to know whether or not a difference in opinion on that topic was just that, or if it was the Phoenix telling her that she was incorrect. In the event of the latter, it would only illustrate how much she had to learn from him. It sat before her as a bridge, leading from what her mother had taught her and what she had decided based upon Ahjenta’s teachings, toward discovery through the guidance of D’Jenti that would build upon her foundation, so that she may one day fulfill the role of Ahjenta herself. Looking at it that way allowed her to see the full cycle, and how the Phoenix was freshly born through each phase.
She watched Xu Liang’s gaze catch on something specific, and followed it to a mounted figure coming from the castle. The soldier was alone, bearing the flag of Xun. He was intercepted not far from his own base by soldiers of Ji.
“An envoy?” Shirisae guessed.
“Yes,” Xu Liang answered.
They observed the process of the soldiers establishing control of the situation, exchanging words with the Xun envoy which sooner than later resulted in the man being escorted further across the field, to Xu Liang.
Shirisae watched the man from Xun pass a scroll to one of the Ji soldiers, who promptly issued it to Xu Liang. While Xu Liang took it in hand and began to read its contents, Shirisae noticed the Xun envoy take several glances in her direction. She made eye contact with him only briefly, as he hurriedly looked elsewhere.
Xu Liang lowered the scroll within a short while and an exchange began in Fanese, one which resulted in the envoy departing with a particularly low bow in the saddle. The Ji soldiers followed after him, and Shirisae looked to Xu Liang.
The mystic kept his eyes on the retreating form of the envoy, and said, “Miao Yuntai has surrendered Jin Fu.”
THE CHENG GORO forest had begun its yearly fall. The Sun God’s hold slipped away from the hand of his lover, and the world would enter into its longest, bleakest phase while the two were apart.
Jun Kai watched the moon go into hiding over it, sliding low along the horizon and behind the clouds. Mei Qiao’s heart would not recover until spring, when she would blossom in her renewed hope of her lover’s return. In summer, their union would commence yet again and there would be celebration throughout the lands beneath the Jade Emperor. Jun Kai had never been more aware of the seasons than when he began his life outside of the walls of any fortress or temple.
Crouched beside the brook that wound passed the tree he had selected for his present shelter, he contemplated such things. He observed the movement of the fish over the stream’s pebbled base, which only further inspired the trailing of fallen leaves upon the surface and considered that, in the moment, it symbolized a model of movement that occurred elsewhere. Such movement he was not interested in.
The water showed the reflection of a man over his shoulder. The lightly armored messenger held out a scroll, reminding Jun Kai why he had come.
Jun Kai ignored him, following the water visually toward an ornate growth of roots over the brook. It had required a month of sessions in meditation to coax the roots into the pattern they’d achieved, which was a rounded lattice formation open enough to allow the passage of creatures through it. There was no functional purpose to it; it was merely an expression of a mood. He felt that it had accomplished a certain aesthetic, though he doubted his visitor would take interest.
“Master Jun Kai,” the man prompted, as if to prove the thought true.
Jun Kai was not a master of anything, except himself, but he accepted the polite address, and the fact that the man had not come to discuss root sculptures. Most tended to be confused by the role or station of mystics not actively teaching or actively serving, so the man’s mundane politeness was understandable.
“I said that I was not interested,” Jun Kai eventually said to the man. “You
may tell your lord that you made your best effort, only to be met with refusal and a message in return stating that all future endeavors will be similarly received. A verbal message.”
Jun Kai glanced over his shoulder to ensure that attention had been paid to the last part of his statement.
The man accepted. “If that is your position, then I must leave.”
Jun Kai nodded once, affording a second look in the man’s direction, which allowed him to see the scroll being placed down upon a tree stump from which Jun Kai had been coaxing fresh growth. Permanent change was difficult to bring about in a lasting sense, except through patient and deliberate effort.
When the man returned to his horse and departed, Jun Kai closed his eyes and made a slow, sweeping gesture between himself and the tree stump with one hand. Within moments, the scroll was delivered into his hand by a narrow shoot that had not only matured in that span, but that arced toward him in the process.
Jun Kai stood afterward, watching in the direction the man had gone, then looked down upon the scroll in hand, which was marked with the seal of the Crane.
MIAO YUNTAI WAS a sparsely featured man of reasonable years. Ha Sheng had been the prefect’s senior, but Miao Yuntai was old enough to have a son in Ha Ming Jin’s age group, which also included Xu Liang’s. As it turned out, the prefect of the region had several daughters and confessed that he would look to adoption to satisfy the matter of an heir, either through an ideal betrothal of his eldest or through selection of a suitable man in need of sponsorship. Xu Liang found him refreshingly easy to get along with, in spite of the circumstances and disregarding his previous misguidance. In his offices, Miao Yuntai confessed that he was not committed to Ha Ming Jin’s way of thinking, and that Xu Liang’s letter filled him with optimism that the Empire would regain its internal stability.
