by T. A. Miles
Xu Liang nodded. “You do, yes.”
He watched her walk toward a long chest at the end of the room’s bed. She pushed up the lid and began sorting through the box’s contents, soon pulling out a wooden scroll case. She stood again, brushed the glossed, engraved container off, and carried it to Xu Liang.
He frowned with instant curiosity. “What is this?”
“A small treasure of Fanese origin,” Yvain answered proudly, insisting that Xu Liang take it. “You’re the first person I’ve met from Sheng Fan educated enough to understand it.”
“Am I?” Xu Liang wondered aloud, carefully taking the casing into his hands. He studied the object, fingering the characters that had been carved and then painted onto the wood before being lacquered over. He read the inscription aloud. “Cai Shi-meng. It’s dated spring, in the year 184 of the Celestial Calendar. This is almost one hundred years old.”
“Significant?” Yvain queried.
Xu Liang felt a chill as history settled in his grasp and suddenly felt too heavy to hold. He managed by pulling the scroll case close to his body and taking a moment to recover himself. At length, he said, “Cai Shi-meng was an Imperial Scholar, during the reign of Emperor Ganzan Li, whose assassination at the hands of his own brother-in-law paved the way for the first Song Emperor. For a time after Ganzan Li’s death, Cai Shi-meng disappeared. During the year 184 he would have been absent from the Imperial Court. There were several rumors as to his fate—some insisted he’d gone mad—but many who respected him believed that he simply refused to serve another master.
“He resurfaced many years later, allied with the governor of a strong rebellious province and wielding a weapon of Heaven, it was said. How it came to him, no one was certain, but after heading several successful military campaigns against the late Ganzan Li’s brother-in-law, who’d named himself emperor, he was known as the ‘Scholar General’. It was a young Song Dai, grandfather of the Empress Song Da-Xiao, who defeated the brilliant Cai Shi-Meng in battle and made off with the blessed weapon. Impressed, the sonless ruler adopted Song Dai and named him his successor. Even though he later had sons—some of whom would protest Song Dai’s position—the Song Dynasty came into being and the weapon wielded against the Empire, called the ‘Spear of Heaven’, remains in the hands of the Song family to this day.”
Yvain held a child’s glimmer of wonder in her bright eyes. She indicated the scroll case and asked, “Do you think this might detail how Cai Shi-meng found the weapon?”
“It may,” Xu Liang answered, looking at the ancient encasement once again. “More importantly, it may indicate whether or not he knew of the others.”
The Aeran woman blinked. “Others?”
“Since the time of the ‘Scholar General’, another blessed weapon has been found. The ‘Pearl Moon’, a keen sword of mysterious origin, believed to have been wielded by Liu Dan, the God of poetry and song. As a man, he was a great warrior, renowned for his awareness of the battlefield and his graceful fighting style. It was said that his enemies were felled in a ‘dance of death’. The legends speak of the blade and how it glowed in the company of its siblings.”
“Siblings?” Yvain breathed. “Is that...are you looking for the others? Is that why you left Sheng Fan?”
“Yes,” Xu Liang answered quietly. “I have cause to believe that such weapons as these would not all be found in the same place.”
“But if the legends speak of them being together...”
“The legends refer to them as siblings. Born of the same source, perhaps, but drifted apart as many siblings do and drawn together in times of need, as many siblings are.”
Yvain might have had more questions, but Xu Liang held up his hand.
“Please” he said. “That is all I feel comfortable saying on the matter. I do not yet understand all of it.” He lifted the scroll case. “But perhaps this will help. Would you mind if I took this to my cabin to study?”
Yvain shrugged then shook her head. “No, of course not. That’s why I showed it to you. I’d like to hear more about it, though. I adore Fanese myth and lore.”
Xu Liang bowed. “It would be my honor and my pleasure, madam. I thank you for your trust and generosity.”
Yvain bowed in return and Xu Liang took his leave.
THERE WERE TWO scrolls in the case. At first it seemed nothing more than a detailed accounting of Ganzan Li’s ‘execution on behalf of the people of Sheng Fan whom he’d come to tyrannize, and for the sake of the land, which he’d come to neglect’. Of course, Cai Shi-meng called it rather bluntly murder, ‘a heinous assassination motivated by jealousy, hatred, and a desire for power, committed by immoral parties who will bring ruin to the Celestial Kingdom’.
The Celestial Kingdom. Sheng Fan had not been referred to in that way since the Five Kingdoms Resolution came into effect. Perhaps it never would be again.
Xu Liang found it easy to sympathize with Cai Shi-meng. However, the bitterness and displacement the Scholar General felt read through clearly in his words and while it was understandable, it was not to be taken as anything more than that. Xu Liang belonged to the Song Dynasty. Their enemies were his enemies and their allies were under constant scrutiny to ensure that no such removal as what Ganzan Li experienced would be enacted upon them.
It was a difficult struggle. There were many who did not agree with Song policy or the Songs themselves, but Xu Liang had seen their virtue and he had vowed to uphold the rights of those mandated by Heaven to guide and govern the people of Sheng Fan. Fate had not been with Ganzan Li, who might have impressed virtue upon Cai Shi-meng, but who also weakened the Celestial Kingdom with his vain palace-building campaigns and his lack of attention to the invasive ambitions of outsiders. It was because of his neglect that the Five Kingdoms Resolution became necessary.
Xu Liang could never forgive him that, as it had also led to the struggle the Song family currently faced, and to the death of his beloved prince, intended heir to Emperor Song Bao, slain by bandits while away from the Imperial City. It was no random attack and it was no expedition that had kept Xu Liang from the heir’s side then.
A few short months after the Emperor’s passing to illness, an assault on both the southern and western territories of Ji commanded their separation. Song Lu had always been too headstrong and insisted that Xu Liang go to the south to make battle plans against the sophisticated forces of the rebellious Xun Kingdom while he went west to put down the impudence of a band of rogues. He intended the action to bolster his favor among the people, saddened and confused as they were by the Emperor’s sudden demise. Xu Liang shared his misgivings with Song Lu, but the young heir would not have them and, with a confident smile, he promised that he would return to the Imperial City before his trusted counsel and friend had completed his own task in the south. Song Lu was unable to keep that promise.
Xu Liang had returned from another success against the persistently defiant Southern Kingdom just in time to shield Song Lu’s young sister from a fate similar.
Unworthy men had surrounded the princess, and browbeaten her in Xu Liang and Song Lu’s absence nearly to the point of a self-imposed exile. Officials who were not so bold against Song Bao had suddenly revealed their treacherous nature and tried to force Song Da-Xiao away from the throne of Sheng Fan. They had failed and it was a difficult task in the following years to ensure her safety.
With her confidence and purpose renewed, the princess-become-empress would not abandon the Imperial City or her duty. Thus her enemies began to consider assassination. Xu Liang’s service to the Songs had never been so demanding. It continued to tax him, but he would not rest until the Song Dynasty was secure. He would certainly not have expected the late Cai Shi-meng to be of any assistance.
And yet, not only had the Scholar General found the Spear of Heaven to begin with, but he had mentioned it in his writings.
‘The Song will pay for their treachery. I shall destroy those who killed my lord and all who support them. I have be
en given the tool necessary to exact my revenge and to restore order to the land. At last I have discovered one of the Celestial Blades that Ganzan Li had long sought. The Spear of Heaven, the blade wielded by the mighty Sun God Cheng Yu, forged in the blazing heat of the Celestial Dragons’ breath, a weapon against the chaos of the land. As the Emperor is the life essence, the scholars the mind, the warriors the armor, and the commoners the backbone, the Celestial Blades are as the sword arm of the land, cutting back all intruders and opposition. Only they can still the chaos that has been stirring since man’s first step upon the land. This blade coming to me is an order I cannot ignore, a command given to me by the gods to expel the unworthy and restore peace. I shall fulfill this task and welcome the others to it, should our paths cross. Though the blades have traveled in their time, I do not believe that I wield one alone.’
Indeed, Cai Shi-meng had not. The sword Pearl Moon had come to Xu Liang from the quick and deadly hands of an opponent who very nearly killed him and impressed him a great deal in so doing.
After years planning the siege of Jang Bai—a Ji stronghold annexed by none other than Xu Hong of Du—there were still imperfections. Perhaps it had something to do with the enemy being the very man who’d raised Xu Liang—who had earned no mercy for that in this instance, but who understood well just who would be opposing him. The soldier wielding Pearl Moon had found a way to penetrate Xu Liang’s frontline and the main defenses with only a small troop. He cut his way across the battlefield and struck down two of Xu Liang’s bodyguards before Xu Liang fully realized what had happened. With unforgettable resolve in his dark eyes, the warrior announced himself and struck out.
Even with a wind barrier, the force of the blow felled Xu Liang from his mount. He saw a glimmer of blue on his way to the ground. The remaining bodyguards attacked the enemy warrior. Only two survived, and they had not been the victors that day. Xu Liang had the belated awareness of a stand of bowmen to thank for his survival. The would-be assassin fell at his feet with multiple arrows stuck in him. He relinquished the blade only after informing Xu Liang that fate had chosen him. Fate had selected Xu Liang to live and, he slowly realized, to take up the Celestial Blade that had been delivered to him, though perhaps its delivery did not turn out quite as the enemy had intended.
Jang Bai was eventually taken, the ambitions of Du and Xu Hong were again smothered, and Pearl Moon was acquired. More than the victory, Xu Liang cherished the blade, which enabled him to further the research he had been conducting since very early into his service under the Song. It was only recently, however, that he understood its significance.
Upon the second scroll of Cai Shi-meng, battle plans had been drawn. Xu Liang studied them with fascination, admiring the complex tactics that had earned Cai Shi-meng’s forces a stunning victory at Yan Xing; the historic battle was said to have lasted only a few weeks.
Xu Liang had known little of swift victory. The commander Xu Hong had placed at Jang Bai held out for eight months before being overwhelmed by Ji’s larger forces, which Xu Liang had hesitated to reveal in order to lull the enemy with false hopes. What were then the Emperor’s troops had arrived in stages from the base camp hidden in the tall emerald hills overlooking the river valley and in amounts large enough to limit the mobility of the enemy, forcing them to concentrate almost solely on defense. Cai Shi-meng, driven by his anger, might have devised a quicker way, but Xu Liang was better known for his patience.
Xu Liang laid the second scroll flat on top of the first, upon the blanket he had spread over the hard wood of the cabin floor. Two candles were placed to either side of the blanket upon which he sat cross-legged, illuminating the small windowless room with a soft orange glow. The scrolls did not appear to say much of immediate interest pertaining to the Celestial Swords, but they spoke worlds to Xu Liang, who recognized the words’ underlying meaning—meaning that Cai Shi-meng himself may have overlooked in writing them. Xu Liang felt as if the scrolls had been delivered to him, deliberately. It was otherwise a strange coincidence that the dragon should arrive and inspire Yvain’s vision, which in turn reminded her of the scrolls.
Xu Liang sighed with a sense of accomplishment and closed his eyes. And that was when he felt the intruders.
THE FANESE SHIP came out of the darkness like a wraith drifting over the water, enshrouded in lingering tendrils of mist. In the blackness of the night, no one had seen the fog encroaching until it was too late. The enemy was upon them and it was time now for the Pride of Celestia to live up to its name.
“Damn,” Fu Ran cursed, grinding his fist unconsciously into his hand. “They caught up with us after all.”
“And much sooner than I would have expected.”
Fu Ran glanced back at the mystic as he arrived on deck. “You should stay below. This is no place for scholars.”
Calmly, Xu Liang said, “You seem to forget that I have seen battle.”
Fu Ran was forced to take a second look at his former master. Seen it, yes, but from the rear of hundreds of thousands of troops, safely out of the range of everything except for catapults…or from the seclusion of a hidden base camp, receiving reports and issuing orders or advice. Xu Liang himself was like a specter, an otherworldly being floating through the world with virtually no physical aspect to him save that others could see him and—if they dared—touch him. It was with touch that Fu Ran recalled that Xu Liang was no spirit, but human, and a particularly frail one at that. In spite of their rough reunion at Ti Lao, it seemed to Fu Ran that the wake of a blade alone, even if the weapon utterly missed the sorcerer, would deal him a mortal blow. It seemed that way, but he’d made the mistake of underestimating Xu Liang before and if he honestly believed him so defenseless he would never have sparred with him at Ti Lao.
Just as his confidence in the mystic was beginning its pendulum swing, Xu Liang touched his arm lightly. With the faintest smile, he said, “You must trust me, Fu Ran. I have not held my position at the Imperial Court this long through carelessness.”
He was right, as always. Fu Ran nodded, swallowed his old sense of duty as it came up, and turned his attention to the Fanese vessel drawing too near. “Who are they?”
“I do not know,” Xu Liang admitted. “But they are more persistent than I anticipated.”
“Bastards,” Fu Ran grumbled, and watched Aeran archers line up across the deck.
The pale northern men were skilled hunters, trained with a bow almost from the moment they could hold one. Tonight men would be their game. The shapes of the raiders were just visible in the trace light of Fanese-style mounted torches— ‘fire baskets’, the Aerans called them. The way the pirates were gathering made their intentions all too clear.
Fu Ran’s lips curled upward. “I don’t think a wind is going to carry us away from this fight.”
“No,” Xu Liang agreed, missing Fu Ran’s sarcasm or ignoring it. “There isn’t time and besides, with the ships this close, it would carry both.”
Fu Ran nodded, though he was absent from one concern as another came up. “I know you can cast a quick spell when you have to, but I think I’d feel better if I knew you were carrying that fancy blade of yours.”
“I have it,” the mystic answered with no enthusiasm.
Fu Ran drew his great sword from the harness at his back and a grin peeled slowly across his face. “Let them come.”
They did.
It began with grappling lines. Xu Liang forced two back with a quick burst of wind and one failed to reach on its own, but three were successful, their metal ends digging into the wooden railing of the Pride of Celestia. The ships drifted closer and the men aboard the Fanese vessel readied a wide plank to lay across the shrinking distance. The Aeran bowmen fired and were fired upon. Ensuing cries of pain indicated that they had hit their mark and also been hit themselves. The survivors on both sides continued, but it wasn’t enough to prevent the plank coming down, clattering against the deck. The ruckus continued as the first wave of boarders trod over it.<
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Fu Ran was there to receive them, swinging his enchanted blade in wide arcs, sweeping several of the enemies overboard at once. Those that landed on Pride’s deck were intercepted by others of the Aeran crew, including their captain, who wielded her light blade expertly against two slightly dazed but nonetheless dangerous Fanese bandits.
XU LIANG LIFTED Pearl Moon, watching the pale, sleek blade glimmer along the edge, as if with anticipation. Somehow it knew when it was needed, and it was eager to answer the call to duty. Perhaps too eager, but there was no choice. Xu Liang was well aware that he had brought this danger upon the Pride of Celestia. He would defend her, by whatever means necessary.
The bodyguards shifted around Xu Liang, preparing to receive a handful of oncoming bandits that had evaded Fu Ran’s welcome. Blades crossed. Xu Liang fell into an unnatural stance that somehow felt natural to him while he held Pearl Moon in his grasp. He had never been fond of fighting, not even in practice, but he had accepted his training as a youth because Xu Hong would have it no other way.
‘A brush and ink pot will not save you from an assailant,’ his father had said more than once, long before his frail, studious son had even considered taking up a study in magic. Even so, Xu Hong would not have been satisfied relying on any element other than iron or steel to shield one of his clan. Today, as so many days before it, Xu Hong’s insistence proved worthwhile.
A bandit crept around the occupied bodyguards and came at Xu Liang. Xu Liang closed his hand tighter around the hilt of his sword and caught the green and blue tassels swinging in the corner of his vision as he blocked the high blow. The pale magic glow radiated from the edge of the blade and hummed as it deflected the common iron used by the bandit.
A space was put between combatants. Xu Liang took advantage as he saw another of the man’s allies coming, cutting low before the bandit could strike again. The man fell to the deck and Xu Liang spun away from the next attacker, feeling the air separate with the bandit’s fierce swing, just missing him. Xu Liang did what the moment commanded, then moved on to the next foe, giving himself to the blade’s fervor, recalling a proverb inspired by the Goddess Mei Qiao: When the Moon rises over darkness, she does so fiercely and without remorse.
