by T. A. Miles
Alere was decided for now that he would commit himself to accomplishing the goals Xu Liang had given him and when they were all safely returned to the Imperial City, he would make further decisions on what he wanted and what he should have. It had all been considerably easier when he could justify every decision with the fact that the keirveshen had to be vanquished from Dryth altogether, and that he’d been given the responsibility to act, by his sword as well as by circumstance.
Circumstances had changed more than he would ever have imagined.
XU HONG WATCHED from the balcony as Xiang Wu’s offspring departed toward the gates of He Jung’s primary palace. He may have been the consequence of Xiang Wu’s indiscretion, but he had been Xu Hong’s gain. Xu Hong never trusted that the traits of the Peacock would be concealed or unrecognizable, so he had made it clear to the child that he had been taken in and claimed by the Green Dragon. He had pushed him, in some ways harder than he had pushed his natural children, and he’d had no hopes for sentiments of happiness between them. Those sentiments were optional. Respect was not.
Finally, thirty-three years after the insult his wife and Xiang Wu had served him, he had gained proper respect from what could have been the doom of both parents. He had been acknowledged, and it was his hope—his ambition, even—that Xiang Wu had been dismissed. In that case, Xu Hong had earned victory over him, not through manipulation or pampering, but through stern guidance and honesty. Finally, the Imperial Tactician was his son. Now, Xu Hong would present him with pampering. Let him have his barbarian wife, let him have his magical artifacts, let him have his child empress…
Xu Hong would work on gaining greater favor, on strengthening his kingdom, and on weakening Xiang Wu’s.
His eldest approached, and he looked back at him before returning his gaze to the departing forms of the imperial entourage. “We will tell Yuan Feng that we hold no interest in his talk of curses and rebellion.”
“Will we send forces to support Ji?” his son asked.
“We will send enough to reinforce our own borders,” Xu Hong answered. “If the fighting draws too near, we will assist the Empress’ troops.”
“I still think Brother Liang is attempting one of his famous political ploys. It has taken him too long to show you such sentiment, Father.”
Xu Hong frowned at once. “You have thought about it enough. Go attend to the envoy from Tzu.”
His eldest departed and Xu Hong decided that he had thought about the matter long enough as well.
THERE WERE MORE men at arms behind Tristus than he would previously have cared to imagine being in a single place at once. Such an amount in Andaria would have been the sum total of both armies involved in a battle, not of a mere unit belonging to one. And all of these men were to take command from him. Thankfully, he had the assistance of two fellows who were seasoned veterans. Zi Shu and Ye Huo were their names. Tristus hoped to remember them accurately, and hoped to utilize his newest language articulately.
There was little point in worrying much beyond the first hours of travel. By then he had gone too far to even dream of turning back. And headed even further from him was Alere, whose once bold declarations seemed to have sunk into withdrawal. Tristus knew that it was partly—if not largely—his blame for the intense and unnecessary focus and hope he had put onto Xu Liang. He could not have sought to rectify that sooner after Xu Liang and Shirisae’s betrothal without seeming callous in rushing to turn to the only option. Alere was more than an option, besides.
Tristus tried to let the matter go. There was an army marching behind him, toward the southwestern borders of Ji. Red was the color given to him once again; a full-sleeved shirt boasting a pattern of clouds beneath the breastplate he would not let go of. The rest of him was layered beneath leather armor—some of it quite hard and arranged in a scaling pattern—plainer shirts and dark pants in a Fanese style. He felt that his was much less coordinated than either Alere’s or Shirisae’s. Alere’s outfitting had been entirely in a Fanese style, only without any armor beyond a light leather treatment. The flowing white shirt had been impressive, particularly with the tiger stitched upon it also in white, in such a way that it appeared a relief on the fabric. He was reminded that Alere was—as elves tended to be—very beautiful. And he was nearly on the topic of Alere again, but that one of the men riding alongside him began a conversation.
“Zhi Shen is our destination for base camp,” Ye Huo said, garbed in layers of blue. His features were quite broad and his hair had largely gone gray.
“I remember,” Tristus answered. “After the regional forces have drawn together, we’ll be entering Tzu.”
The Fanese general nodded. “We’ll wait for word on whether or not Du will support us. That will determine how many forces we leave along our path to Xun.”
“If Yuan Feng feels properly antagonized, he’ll keep within his jungles and only observe our passing.”
The words were delivered by the more starkly featured Zi Shu. Tristus was not given the chance to respond before the man’s colleague spoke.
“If a tiger feels its tail is caught, it will turn to strike.”
“That much is true,” Tristus inserted, only he was thinking more of Alere. Perhaps it was he who should have come west to face the Tiger of Tzu, as it was called. The moment of lightness had nowhere to settle, since none of Tristus’ familiar companions were near. He decided not to add to the comment. He also decided that he would have a lot of studying to do to ensure that he could respond well to events as they might unfold when the battling began. Zi Shu was the unit’s assigned tactician, but he would be submitting his plans to Tristus for approval. He hoped that he would not have to rely too heavily on Ye Huo’s command experience.
“I’m told that you have the blessing to heal,” Zi Shu said to him.
Tristus nodded. “Yes. Among my people, many are so blessed.”
Zi Shu’s brow lifted and he bowed his head, seeming impressed with the idea. With a smile that appeared taut on his features, he said, “I am a mystic of fire. That is my blessing.”
Tristus decided not to make mention of his past experience with a pyromancer and said, “I look forward to working with you.”
The statement brought another head bow and even a smile, so Tristus felt he must have chosen the best words. During his studies it had often been stressed that comments of praise and optimism among officers were among the most socially and professionally acceptable. He hoped that he was making a good example. And he hoped that Shirisae and Alere were as well. Their ability to learn the ways of Sheng Fan and to demonstrate what they had learned was paramount in ensuring that they would be able to continue aiding Xu Liang and his people.
A LARGE PORTION of the day had been spent searching the village of Tiong Zhong. The configuration of the buildings was not precisely as Xu Liang’s notebook detailed. That was to be expected, but Shirisae was surprised to not be able to find a house that was in some way like the one he had envisioned. She felt that the only way she would truly be able to confirm anything, or to learn anything, would be to find the emblem of the Bone Tree.
She’d kept Pang Xizhi with her while she searched. Since the girl had been sent so that they could, in effect, look out for each other as females, then they may as well satisfy propriety and stay together. And in the process, the girl’s curious eyes might catch something that Shirisae’s had overlooked. This type of assignment was probably better suited to Alere; Verressi hunters were known widely for their observational and tracking skills. It was said that they might notice a fragment of glass amid crystals of ice at a glance. Shirisae didn’t know whether or not that was true, but she found herself far less patient about sifting through inanimate details and wishing that Alere was with her.
For some reason, the storm had never fully arrived and they had only experienced a small amount of rain before it moved off altogether. Beneath the sun, there were long shadows cast over desolate earth. The puddles reminded her of what Xu Liang had
described. She wasn’t aware how much, until she noticed Pang Xizhi kneeling beside one and thought of the ghost. She envisioned it appearing where the girl was, maybe even reaching its arms out of the water, as it had out of the sphere at the school. In three long strides, she was at the puddle and pulling Pang Xizhi away from it.
The handmaiden came without much struggle—nothing beyond what instinct required—but she appeared thoroughly shaken by the suddenness of Shirisae’s actions. She began to bow in apology, but Shirisae assured her that she had done nothing wrong.
Wan Yun happened to look across the yard at her as he was coming out of one of the houses. Shirisae said to both him and Pang Xizhi, “The puddles are dangerous. Stay away from them.”
“Yes, my lady,” Pang Xizhi replied, bowing once more.
Wan Yun only gave a nod and moved off, presumably to warn the other guardsmen and Tarfan.
“Stay directly beside me,” Shirisae said to the handmaiden afterward, then looked for a house where the front stoop might be somewhat aligned with the puddle—which may or may not have been dangerous. It felt safer to assume that they were.
She was able to locate a house where the raised doorway was so aligned. The stoop looked to have been broken and half sunk beneath the ruined ground.
“This way,” she said to Pang Xizhi, and walked with the girl behind her, toward the darkened doorway of what was primarily a featureless house. Nearly every structure in the village looked identical, one to the next. The unique building among them would be one containing the emblem.
Within the entryway, the smell of must and fungus were prominent, as they had been in every building within the forbidden village. The sound of water running in drops and small threads was eerily resonated within the walls after the rain. After only a moment or two of the sound pervading Shirisae’s senses, she was overly prepared to reach back for Pang Xizhi’s hand when the girl suddenly drew in a sharp breath. She didn’t have to ask why; her own gaze quickly located the outline of a seated individual in the room across from the entry.
The form was not a shadow. There was some color to it, and movement while it appeared to work over something with its hands. It seemed impossible that anyone could actually live in such a place, but perhaps someone desperate enough for shelter had decided to squat where they would not be bothered.
“Excuse me,” Shirisae said. “This village is dangerous. You should not be here.”
The individual seemed neither to see nor hear her. Stepping forward, she began to speak again, but let the words go when she noticed the emblem on the sunken floor.
“You must not ask me to leave,” came a woman’s voice. “I will not leave.”
It was a breathy voice, but not a particularly strained or alarming one. Shirisae didn’t know whether or not it would be the latter, even if the figure turned out to be a ghost. She reminded herself that the ghost in Xu Liang’s dream had not spoken when he’d witnessed it, and the disembodied voice he had heard had been a whisper. So, perhaps it was only a woman.
Shirisae looked back at Pang Xizhi, who seemed wary, but not on the verge of panic. She gave her a nod with the hopes that it would offer some assurances, then kept the girl’s hand while moving carefully forward. With Firestorm in her other hand, both of them would be safe.
“I will not leave,” the woman repeated.
Shirisae looked down at the mosaic of a tree made of bone fragments on their way by it. It did nothing, but remain on the floor in as threatening a manner as an inanimate thing could, which should not have been threatening at all. Under the circumstances, Shirisae found it intimidating, representative of something that promised harm through means that could not be combatted except through knowledge of it. And it did not want to be known.
At the doorway on the other side of the main floor, Shirisae kept Pang Xizhi partly behind her, and looked upon a woman of indeterminate age, who sat weaving coarse threads with delicate fingers, her eyes looking down and a somewhat serene expression on her face.
“Who are you?” Shirisae asked her.
“My children will come back,” the woman answered irrelevantly. “You must not ask me to leave.”
“Who are your children?” Shirisae tried, an ill sensation forming inside her.
“I don’t know where my children are,” the woman replied. “I hid it, so they would not find it.”
“Hid what?”
Pang Xizhi tensed behind her. Shirisae looked back, first at the girl, then at what had alarmed her.
In the main room, beside a toppled kettle was an unfurled scroll with things moving across it. At first they appeared wormlike shadows, but Shirisae came to realize that it was the movement of characters that had been painted onto the parchment. Still with Pang Xizhi’s hand, Shirisae went to the item. The girl came less willingly than before, but quickly resigned herself to the fact that she was in Shirisae’s custody until all of the potential dangers of the house had passed. As well, Shirisae could not read Fanese, which meant that someone else would have to.
“What do they say?” she asked the handmaiden.
Pang Xizhi hesitated, but then began to recite, at least what she could catch among the shifting symbols. “It says there was a man here who didn’t belong. He stole something…a weapon, and then he murdered someone. He murdered a girl.”
“Who?” Shirisae asked.
Pang Xizhi shook her head. “It doesn’t say. I can’t read it.”
“My daughter was murdered by Cai Shi-meng.”
Shirisae turned at the voice, finding the woman out of her chair and standing in the doorway. Her robes were tattered and threadbare, her hair touching the floor as it hung limply down her back. Her eyes yet looked down, or perhaps they were closed.
“My son,” the woman continued. “He tried to save her…and now they are together.”
She stepped down from the room a step above the main part of the house, and Shirisae began directing Pang Xizhi out.
“My children will come back,” the woman said.
An expression of anger began to form on her face, and Shirisae turned Pang Xizhi toward the front entryway, so that she would not see the eyes if they opened. She did not look long herself, but caught a glimpse of wholly black orbs before separating herself from the handmaiden long enough to strike the woman down with Firestorm.
The woman collapsed as if she’d never possessed the strength to stand in the first place. It would have been alarming, except that Shirisae had seen it before, when Zhen Yu went down. Like Zhen Yu, the woman did not move again.
“Let’s go,” Shirisae said to Pang Xizhi.
They both moved toward the door, but Shirisae stopped long enough to look at the scroll. On the far side of the room, it appeared only a fluttering piece of parchment now. Shirisae went to the emblem and thought about kicking it apart before she thought better of the action, and set the Storm Blade’s energy upon it instead. The response was a crackling of the bone fragments as the silver strands raced over and through them. And then the entire area of floor blossomed with fire that was the greening silver of the Flame.
Shirisae stepped back from it and proceeded outside with Pang Xizhi. In the village yard, the bodyguards and Tarfan were gathered, seeming prepared to attack something. All of them were facing the house. When they saw Shirisae and the handmaiden, they relaxed.
“A black mist had formed over the door,” Wan Yun explained, gesturing toward the door, which Shirisae looked at. There were no traces of any such thing, but that did not surprise her just now.
“We came to think that something from the hells was manifesting,” Tarfan added.
And Shirisae said, “I think something was.”
Dance of the Crane
THE WALLS OF JIANANG lined the eastern cliffs of Sheng Fan on one side. Its various yards and exactingly aligned palaces, administrative buildings, and houses were sprawled in all other directions, amid tall grasses. Off the high coast lay great mounds of green—stony earth too steep to
be of any significant use except to birds, which flocked in number.
Alere knew that communication between the seaside city and the Imperial City had been frequent and explicit, so the people knew to expect one of the ‘Barbarian Generals’, as he and the others had been titled. Still, knowing of an elf with coloring that was opposite to the majority of the population was not the same as seeing one. He was much observed. It was as arriving at the Imperial City all over again. The significant difference lay in the fact that by now he and the others from the west had established a reputation. In this particular city, it was that of heroes and the reception, in spite of the observation, was largely friendly and hopeful. It had been mentioned to Alere that among their primary purposes in becoming generals at all was to encourage morale. Foreign heroes, possibly sent by the gods, were on the side of the people of Sheng Fan. It was not the foundation Alere had necessarily expected Xu Liang to establish, but he would rather work from that than from a platform of suspicion and potential violence. He did happen to believe that it was Xu Liang’s influence—perhaps, even above the Empress’—which had opened the way to their successful integration and action within Sheng Fan.
From an east-facing turret above the sea and its curious green islands, Alere looked down upon extensions of the wall built precisely down the cliff face, giving access to the water, and to a fleet of ships. Their fin-like sails were white against the green and blue ocean. Many blue banners were strung from lines and the masts, bearing Fanese characters and also images of dragons. There were three ships in particular that appeared quite large, like floating castles of wood upon their bases. At first, Alere wondered if they had been stationary structures, but with further inspection, he was able to see that they were only connected to the docks by gangway and by lines.
