by T. A. Miles
In his considerations, he began to feel a peculiar sensation of isolation. It inspired him to pull his concentration from the Night Pavilion, and to look at the surrounding yard. There were people present, but somehow the air felt extremely still, as if there was no one.
Gradually, even his visual awareness of others drifted away. And it was then that he noticed a red rope upon the snow. It was stretched across the ground, between the foundations of the pavilions before him, and toward an unseen location.
Xu Liang guided Blue Crane forward, following the rope through the buildings and…to the threshold of his house. He came to a full stop, one that was so abrupt that it alerted him to the fact that he had wandered in mind, if not spirit. The people and sounds of the north court returned, and the Night Pavilion was again in front of him.
Looking to the snow, he saw that there was no rope.
HAO FENG NOTICED Xu Liang enter his office. The Imperial Tactician appeared somewhat paler than normal and a little removed from his immediate surroundings. Hao Feng went to him discreetly while the other ministers of the court were involved in preliminary conversation.
“Are you well?” he asked.
Xu Liang inclined his head, though his gaze seemed to have a distant focus.
Hao Feng touched the younger man’s arm, gesturing toward the others. “We’re ready to begin.”
Those words seemed to draw him back. Xu Liang thanked Hao Feng and crossed the polished floor toward its center. Pillars framed the dimensions of the office. Chairs were arranged along the periphery as well, though none were presently occupied, all of the officers preferring to stand in their lingering agitation over the collective attitude of the governors.
Overhead, relief work in the scrolling shape of clouds was accented by a series of well-placed tiered lanterns. The colors of the room were predominantly blue and white with accents in gold and green. At the far north end of the office a desk and shelves were arranged, along with a number of planted pots and urns. There had been no alteration of anything since Han Quan’s occupancy as former chancellor, with the exception of any writings that had been confiscated during the early investigation after his flight.
It disturbed Hao Feng somewhat that Han Quan sat in such a tranquil office, meant to stimulate deep consideration and thoughtful service, and contemplated designs on treachery.
“We’ve succeeded at Fa Leng,” Xu Liang was saying to their colleagues. “But at the potential cost of further aggression from Xu Hong, whose interest in rebellion seems to sway in relation to whether or not the Empress’ attention is on more than one challenge. It would appear that he prefers to have her undivided interest.”
“So, he has threatened assault?” someone asked.
“No,” Xu Liang replied. “But I suspect he will, particularly if his demands are not met.”
“He’s not made his demands clear,” Hao Feng pointed out, his irritation renewed. “He merely complains about whether or not we put trust in the outsiders.”
“It’s not trust, I think, but power.”
While Xu Liang formed the words, Hao Feng saw the point that was being made and conceded to it.
“He often complains about the amount of territory he governs,” Xu Liang continued. “And he has shown marked interest in claiming the Moon Blade for himself since the Battle of Jang Bai.”
Hao Feng nodded while the Imperial Tactician spoke. No one was better aware of Xu Hong’s ambitions and tactics than his own son.
“But what can we do?” Er Chiong asked. “Surrender blessed artifacts that have not been earned?”
“Of course, we will not,” Xu Liang assured patiently. “The Empress had considered expanding his territory—Ying does extend quite far, though most of its outlying areas are scarcely habitable.”
“But how would that sit with Xiang Wu?” another officer wondered on behalf of many of them.
“Poorly,” Xu Liang stated with immediacy that he explained with his following words. “Governor Xiang Wu has threatened to withdraw his support. He is displeased with what he views as the disregard of his advice, and is opposed to the integration of the Barbarian Generals.”
Hao Feng suspected Xiang Wu was opposed to the union between the Imperial Tactician and one of the Barbarian Generals specifically. But it was not entirely secret that he had demonstrated an interest in a union between Xu Liang and the Empress. He saw strength in Xu Liang—and Hao Feng could not criticize him for that, since many did—and he intended to focus so wholly on that strength that he would fail to see the talent of the Empress. More and more, the governors were proving that they had more faith for the father, even after his death, than they had for the daughter. Their faith in Song Bao had transferred directly onto Song Bao’s prodigy.
Hao Feng sympathized, somewhat. It was tempting to believe that if Xu Liang had been Song Bao’s son, they would have far fewer struggles as an Empire. A man like Xiang Wu sought to usher Xu Liang into the Song family anyway. It seemed he would resort to force.
“I will not worry over Xiang Wu’s threats at this time,” Xu Liang said. “I prefer to discover Xu Hong’s demands and to ascertain Yuan Feng’s loyalties.”
“There’s been no word from your agent,” Er Chiong inserted.
Xu Liang accepted that with a nod, concluding. “For now, I advise that we should wait, unless the Empress decides otherwise.”
The other ministers agreed.
THE VISITING GOVERNORS were housed in the Palace of Extending Peace. Considering the current political environment, it was becoming more an irony than appropriate.
Upon entering the rooms of the governor of Du and his accompanying officers, Xu Liang was greeted with a familial tone that tended to make him wary. It was first issued by Xu Hongfu, his brother—senior by seventeen years—and his father’s heir apparent. It was as being greeted by their father’s double.
Xu Liang suspected that Xu Hong and Xu Hongfu’s interests had been cultivated alongside one another for as many years as Xu Hongfu had been able to properly comprehend his father’s station. It let him know that, in the event of Xu Hong’s passing, Xu Hong would in actuality remain and continue to be dealt with.
The thought directed his mind briefly to Han Quan, who was of an age to have been born very near to the year of Cai Shi-meng’s passing. It would seem to support the possibility of reincarnation, though that was not a widely documented or even tolerated event in Sheng Fan. Such an occurrence was believed to be inspired by the same elements and forces that spawned ghosts and other tormenting spirits. Even what Xu Liang had undergone would have been frowned upon or feared had it not been overseen by a god that the people of Sheng Fan also recognized. Men were not to extend their presence beyond what time had been allotted to them, not through their own force of will or through the efforts of other men.
Undoubtedly, it was a fear of promoting defiance against the gods that led to the shunning of the necromancer. Still, Xu Liang believed there must have been a purpose behind such a skill being granted to men. Like the Night Blade, the darker elements were the most difficult to understand and to accept.
It reminded Xu Liang that there was no real darkness about any of the governors. They were men, with the ambitions of men. At times their motivations tended to be greedier or less humane, but—as Xiang Wu—most men believed that their point of view was the surest path to stability and peace.
“My son,” came the voice of his recognized father. It was accompanied by a broad smile while he gestured for Xu Liang to enter into the sitting room of his guest suite. “Come, let us talk.”
Xu Liang bowed in deference to the man who had raised him, then took a seat at the table where Xu Hong had been enjoying a meal. His father continued to eat, fitting words between bites. “So…you’ve decided to marry.”
That the topic went immediately to Shirisae put Xu Liang helplessly on edge. He felt suspended in a mixed state of relief and some puzzlement over the acceptance she—and now they—had been receiving
. The state was buffeted by some anxiety that he had somehow mistaken what he’d witnessed and persecution would begin.
In response to Xu Hong, he said simply, “I have.”
“A woman from the outer realms…one who doesn’t appear entirely as a woman…”
Xu Liang did not wait for him to speculate on Shirisae’s race. “The elves are represented by many groups outside of Sheng Fan. In many ways, they are precisely as humans.”
Xu Hong looked to him with some unambitious doubt. That must have meant that he was less interested in the ‘barbarian’ aspect of the arrangement. His next words supported the idea.
“Let us talk about…the blade she carries.”
Xu Liang would have preferred to not discuss it. He stated what his father might already have known. “She carries the Storm Blade. It has been a treasure of her people for many centuries.”
Xu Hong said nothing for a moment, continuing to eat…demonstrating how disinterested he was in how the weapon was connected to Shirisae.
And then, with a shrug, Xu Hong said, “She will be your wife. She will have no use for weapons. It will be adopted into our family, along with her.”
“No, it will not,” Xu Liang replied at once. He could not appreciate Xu Hong’s support when it was lined with ulterior motivations.
Xu Hong paused to look at Xu Liang, but raised his shoulders once more. “Keep the wild woman’s blade. You will present me with the one you carry, which should have been returned to me at Jang Bai.”
Xu Liang found himself unwilling to return to that aged debate. It must have been present in his expression, since Xu Hong’s was beginning to show tones of offense.
“You yet question it?” his father said. “It was my officer who wielded it.”
“He delivered it to me at the time of his defeat,” Xu Liang reminded. “What a slain or imprisoned enemy holds in his possession is subject to confiscation. That has been true throughout the warring ages of Sheng Fan.”
Xu Liang suspected his father had not truly known what his officer possessed at the time, else it would not have been in the man’s possession at all. Xu Hong placed material value onto such an item above magical and would have allowed his officer to wield it in order to increase prestige and morale. He argued now, because he had begun to see that the artifacts he had scoffed at in the past were of better value than their beauty.
Xu Hong stood. “As my son, it was your obligation to deliver that weapon to your liege and father!”
Though the resurgence of argument between them brought a felt frown to Xu Liang’s face, he replied calmly, “I am a servant of Ji before I am a servant of Du, and my liege is the Empress Song Da-Xiao. None of the Swords will be passed into your hands. I apologize.”
“You apologize?” Xu Hong roared. “Your words are not accepted! Distribute the power of the Swords as it should be distributed, or I will move my forces, and take what I’m entitled to!”
“You are entitled to your station as Governor of Du,” Xu Liang told him, standing now himself. “Rewards are given to those who perform their duties heroically, and for years of loyal service. You have been neither a hero nor a loyal servant.”
Xu Hong’s eyes lit with shock and rage. “Reconsider your selfishness, or be prepared to defend Ji’s borders come spring! I will rest on hope for a bountiful future no longer.”
“I have long feared that profit was your sole purpose in sponsoring me,” Xu Liang said, feeling helplessly bitter since his exchange with Xiang Wu. It would seem in this moment, he was no one’s son, but only a token by which to vie for position in the Empire.
“You have long decided that it was,” Xu Hong countered, stifling Xu Liang’s rising determination to pity himself. The statement drew attention to a different perspective than any Xu Liang had previously taken on the topic of his illegitimacy versus Xu Hong’s ambition—that one always seemed to be a bargaining token for the other. His father concluded, “I have fulfilled your expectations. You have fulfilled none of mine.”
The words finished breaking apart the foundation Xu Liang had built the majority of his relationship with Xu Hong upon. And for the second time in less than a day, a father of his stormed from his presence in disgust and anger. Xu Liang felt immobilized by conflicting sensations of confusion and irony. He understood the turn that had been performed against him emotionally, but at the same time, he couldn’t make sense of it in a way that would push him through the moment and which would set him on a determined path to in some way remedy the dysfunction. At the moment, he found himself blind to all solution.
HUANG JE NEVER tired of visits to the Imperial City, even in winter. He had often taken pleasure in the snow-covered landscape, not only of Ying’s year-round variety, but also of Ji’s overtaken low hills and barren forests during only certain parts of the year. The experience was somewhat less enchanting traveling with Lord Xiang Wu’s young son, but Xiang Wei was growing steadily older, and the time had arrived for him to partake of more of his father’s political affairs. He was a beautiful young man, as Xiang Wu’s sons tended to be, though Huang Je found the bastard child to be of a fairer nature than the legitimate one. It might have been that Huang Je identified somewhat, since he and Xu Liang both lived under the carefully hung banner of indiscretion.
Riding alongside the governor’s carriage, Huang Je regretted to leave the Imperial City so soon. He would have liked to have gotten a better glimpse of the Barbarian Generals, but Xiang Wu had managed to not cross paths with any of them when in Huang Je’s presence. He had gone with a sense of assurance that he would be able to expand upon his proposal of a union between the Imperial Tactician and the Empress. The details of the anticipated negotiation were not known to Huang Je—his information came primarily from the comfortable unguardedness of his lord whenever there were few other than family members present—but it was evident that Xiang Wu’s plans had been thwarted. And now he talked about the possibility of arranging a marriage between the Empress and his youngest son.
The Song were low on heirs, particularly they were without popular heirs. Xiang Wu aspired to create his own assurances that the Empire would have strong leadership, that the kingdoms would be dissolved, and that Sheng Fan would focus on its outer borders with focused prefects in place, over bickering governors. Huang Je noted that Xiang Wu, in sacrificing his kingdom, would yet secure his legacy through his sons, one of whom he was determined would become the next emperor.
Huang Je would rather it be his eldest, so that peace would be the focus over potential expansion. While Huang Je had felt compelled to connect in some way with his own father, he had no desire to contribute to the conquest of his mother’s home to the north. He did not fully trust Xiang Wei, though he understood the youth had time to learn. Perhaps, if Xiang Wu successfully arranged his ascension, he would take guidance from Xu Liang, though Huang Je would not hold out hope for that. Thus far, the heir of Ying had demonstrated a growing sense of competition and jealousy toward the Imperial Tactician. Perhaps that would change, now that his father’s focus would shift to him.
The Blight of Spring
XU LIANG DREAMED that he was in the north court again, outside of his home, where the knotted end of a red rope lay vividly against the snow layered upon the stones. Once again, he was faced with emptiness, as if there were no other occupants within the whole of the Imperial City. He felt only the presence of cold air, and heard only the breath of snow.
On foot, he followed the uncoiled rope. It carried him in fewer steps than were actually required to the east court and the Gate of Eternal Balance. It stood with exaggerated presence—even beyond its known formidable construction. The height of it loomed as mountains did. The doors were suitable in scale for giants twice the size of those that walked the Flatlands.
The rope snaked across the Bridge of Eternal Balance and through the gate, which was open only enough for a man to pass through. Xu Liang did, with no conscious crossing of the bridge. Passing through the gate
brought him to the base of the Chi Hao Mountains, covered in snow. The rope extended along the plank road, like a vein following the form of a white serpent, resting just beneath the scales.
Xu Liang continued to follow. The Red Carp Bridge came in a matter of moments, its structure impaled by the roots and branches of a white tree with red leaves growing off to the side of it.
He passed through, stepping over and around the obstruction, and found himself at the threshold of a labyrinth of natural passages. The rope had divided and ran in every direction.
Xu Liang thought of the boy, Lei Kui. “If you’ve nothing to show me,” he began, and turned back toward the bridge.
The tree extended its form, blocking the route with a dense wall of limbs.
Xu Liang looked over his shoulder at the maze. There was only one rope. He turned around once more, and followed. Moving through the passages of rock, he noticed black striations eating across the frosted surface. And then the white haze of winter took on the greenish cast of the Flame. The Phoenix had announced its presence, perhaps in response to the Spirit of Death.
The corridor came with relative swiftness to the gateway which fronted the road to the top of Ding Fa. The rope continued to be present, lain over steps that wound to the top without taking into account the bridged gaps, lateral ledges, and occasional shelters.
At the top, the school lay in ruin. The pavilions were dilapidated as if from years of neglect. The wood showed decay or signs of burning, the metal was corroded, and the rock broken—to dust in some places.
At one of the highest points of the school, the Bone Tree had risen even further above the Death Pavilion. It loomed like some great skeletal creature, its shadow cracking across the mountaintop to the moaning of an ill wind.
“I will spread my curse,” a voice whispered. “Far and wide…plague will take hold…blighting the trees, tainting the waters, replacing wisdom with madness, so that men turn fire on one another, and iron as well. They will bring down fortresses of stone…and all for naught; for the wind will carry disease…and they will die.”
