Six Celestial Swords

by T. A. Miles

  When the mare arrived, he sheathed Aerkiren, then swung himself swiftly into the saddle, looking down upon the humans with impersonal disdain. Their foolishness was a fault of birth first. “I suggest, however, that you hurry. The camp is not far from here, but I sense we will be leaving shortly.”

  WHEN FU RAN arrived, understandably he was not in the best of moods. After Alere explained his altercation with the peculiar strangers and gave his description of the ‘giant’, Xu Liang decided to wait for him. It was clear when the elf and giant saw one another again that there was no favor between them whatsoever, nor was it likely that anything resembling it would develop. The forthright elf showed no signs of being truly offended or threatened by the larger human, but he watched him with distrust in his eyes. It would have been unacceptable to Xu Liang, but for the Twilight Blade and the fact that Alere had cleared their path of demons the night before.

  “Why didn’t you announce yourself at Nidwohlen?” Xu Liang inquired of Fu Ran, finishing up a painting of the upcoming mountains that he had begun while waiting for the elf to return.

  Fu Ran paced behind him, stomping off the anger. “We wanted to keep an eye on that rabble at the inn without them knowing it. If we’d have caught up with you in the woods...but that sudden wind. We lost you when the lanterns went out.”

  “And this message that you have for me?”

  “Bastien and I have been tracking you from Nelayne,” Fu Ran sighed. “The day after Pride docked we noticed the ship that pursued us from Sheng Fan coming in. It left in a few hours, but not before letting off a small troop of men, maybe a dozen. I recognized one of them...from Ti Lao.”

  Xu Liang lowered his brush, frowning. “And the others?”

  “There were two men evidently of some rank or station. The rest were common fighters. Bandits, I suppose. Assassins. Don’t ask me how we managed to overshoot them.”

  Xu Liang ignored the last statement and asked quietly, “One of them was large with a proud face, wearing blue?”

  “Yeah,” Fu Ran answered. “Do you know who he is?”

  “He is the man who ambushed us at the village on the Tunghui River. Our disagreement began there, and we discussed our differences again when those pirates boarded the Pride of Celestia. I would not say that we came to a comfortable resolution.”

  “He’s the one that injured you,” Fu Ran guessed. Xu Liang heard the big man’s fist hitting his open palm. “Bastard!”

  “Perhaps they have given up by now,” Xu Liang suggested, though he recalled the determination in Xiadao Lu and doubted it. For Fu Ran’s sake, he said, “I have encountered no one unexpected from Sheng Fan, other than you. Once we get into the mountains, it is unlikely that anyone will be capable of easily tracking us.”

  “The Dragon’s spine,” Fu Ran said suddenly, and somewhat wistfully.

  Xu Liang glanced back to see him gazing at the Alabaster Range.

  The former guard looked at the brush painting next and sighed, “I guess your theory turned out to be correct.”

  “The elf carries the Twilight Blade,” Xu Liang confirmed, feeling strangely happy and depressed at the same time. In a moment, he added, “It seems like I have already been gone for so long, Fu Ran. I have only to find three more, and then I can return, but then there will be a worse struggle as I rush to understand what I know so very little about.”

  Fu Ran knelt down, not to bow but to rest a hand upon Xu Liang’s shoulder in friendship. He said gently, “You’re doing all that you can, more than I think even Emperor Song Bao would have asked of you. I know why you’ve come this far, but no one, nor any blade can truly stop a god. I don’t care what the legends say.”

  Xu Liang agreed. “History is written in eras, and this may be a dark one. The Dragon is a symbol of that darkness. I think the Swords will help to unify the people against it, as they are symbols of balance and protection. That is why I must find them, and bring them to our…to my Empress.”

  Fu Ran broke a smile and effectively lightened the mood by saying, “It’s probably better that the elf can’t speak Fanese, then.”

  MY BELOVED EMPRESS, as my spirit reaches yours, my body enters the frigid mountains of this fascinating land. We have found the Twilight Blade, or rather, it has come to us from the colder regions even farther north along our journey. It has wandered from Upper Yvaria, where I suspect we will still find one other, the Night Blade. I believe we will discover those once wielded by Cheng Yu’s servants in the plains on the other side of these mountains. Perhaps my return will be sooner than I predicted. With the Swords in Sheng Fan you will be triumphant over those forces which threaten to destroy it. You will bring peace to the land and your dynasty will be fortified upon that harmony. Hold strong, my Empress.

  THE INTERIOR PASSAGES of the Hall of Imperial Peace had been made off limits. The order had been put forth, not by the Empress, but by her unofficial guardian—the Silent Emperor, whose private ambitions may have been hidden from some, but not from others.

  Han Quan stood at the end of a deceptively empty corridor, studying the random circular patterns in the stone. Han Quan pressed his hands together and closed his eyes. He spoke softly, repeating the same verse over and over, until strain textured his features and beads of perspiration formed across his brow.

  “Curse you, Xu Liang,” he muttered tersely at the end of his ineffective chanting.

  He calmed himself, then spoke one more word of magic and spread his hands apart, turning his right over to catch the pebble he’d formed of the air. He flicked the stone into the corridor ahead of him and watched the unseen, unheard winds catch it and spiral it violently about the passage. His frown slowly lifted as he watched the pebble hit a void and fall dead to the floor.

  “Ah, that is new.” Han Quan chuckled to himself. “This will not last, Xu Liang. You will soon learn that a young, pampered whelp such as yourself is no match for one of my wisdom and skill. The Empress will be eating out of my hand long before you return from your hopeless quest and together we will decide your fate, and the fate of Sheng Fan.”

  Han Quan turned from the Wind Corridor and headed back to the outer passages and courtyards. He knew there were other ways to the central hall, other corridors that would be similarly trapped by the younger scholar-mystic, who distrusted his colleagues, even after his since-famed purging from office of all who struck him too rebellious. An upstart surely, a child without question, but even a rebellious child could hold power and Xu Liang’s was not to be taken lightly. He, like all true sorcerers of Sheng Fan, had been mentored by his ancestors in this calling and by the gods themselves—in Xu Liang’s case, the gods of the winds. The aeromancer’s youth was no statement of his talent, but only a promise as to how much greater it would become if he were permitted to live so long.

  If only you would be gracious enough to die in the barbarian lands, Han Quan thought with a small grin. But that would hardly befit your reputation.

  There were many in the Imperial Court who took their young superior for vain and, of course, he would have to be in some measure. Xu Liang’s excessive beauty was no secret—to himself least of all, as it had been the source of much unhappiness for him. This, he had confided to Han Quan, believing his older colleague to be a firm Song loyalist…and he was, he simply was not a supporter of what may soon be the Xu Dynasty, if the Empress did not obtain a new tutor and advisor. It was upon the Song Dynasty that Han Quan’s would be built.

  Fortunately, Xu Liang was still young enough himself—and vain enough—to be persuaded by flowery words and flattering behavior. He did not suspect his elder of any ill intentions against him and he would not, so long as he didn’t return to the Imperial City.

  With that thought, Han Quan closed his eyes, feeling the anger behind them burning his eyelids. Xiadao Lu! Why do you continue to fail me? Bring me Xu Liang’s head, if you value your own!

  SLEEP ENDED abruptly.

  Drawn to consciousness by the threat of danger, Xiadao Lu took
up the weapon lying beside him and rose quickly to his feet, prepared to gut the intruder. He found no one in the tent and dove quickly into the night beyond to find it empty as well. He heard only the crackling of two torches that kept the small camp lit and the day-old mountain snow eerily aglow. Past the reach of the firelight there existed nothing but deep shadows. Against the starless sky, one could not even make out the silhouettes of the sharp mountain tops surrounding the cliffs. Far below the treacherous landscape was a river canyon with no route down to it—none that could be found, except by accident in the night. Such was the main reason they had elected to make camp shortly after the sun had set, bleeding its last red light over the freezing earth as it dropped out of view. The only way Xiadao Lu coped with the delay was in believing that Xu Liang’s group would have to stop as well, else risk plummeting to their deaths in the canyon below.

  Still, they had fallen more than a day behind. Ma Shou’s sorcery had limits. If they lost too much ground, he might never be able to locate Xu Liang’s trail again. Sadly, Ma Shou was not as devoted to his craft as his fellow. He would not give up food and drink, and real sleep for a taste of pure water every third day and a purified soul.

  Ma Shou also claimed that, while such strength of spirit would likely bolster his ability to locate Xu Liang, it would undoubtedly attract Xu Liang’s attention as well. The Imperial Mystic would sense the strong presence behind him, and he would look over his shoulder and ponder the matter until he understood it. A confrontation would probably result, and while Xiadao Lu would welcome one, Ma Shou reminded him that Xu Liang had not been made Imperial Tactician on a whim, or by a child. It was Emperor Song Bao himself who had recognized the man’s skill at defeating an enemy long before a single soldier stepped foot onto the battlefield. He stressed that they must use the element of surprise while it was theirs.

  Xiadao Lu did not agree, but he accepted the circumstances for now.

  ALERE WOULD NEVER have guessed to find himself in the company of others on his quest for revenge, least of all one quite so large as the motley troupe he’d been traveling with for nearly three days now. A Fanese sorcerer, a small army of Fanese warriors in demon armor, two dwarves, a wandering giant, and a gypsy sailor. It was strange, but somehow not unsettling to an elf who had fortified his strength in loneliness. The loneliness of being orphaned, of living in a stranger’s home, and of the battlefield. He had been prepared to face his hunt alone for as many long years as it took and all too suddenly, he’d found a stranger whose sword spoke in familial tones that Aerkiren answered with equal warmth. Not only that, but there were others as well.

  Alere marveled at the idea of the Swords being the product of the gods’ inspiration. That those same gods might have been summoning them together, calling upon their bearers to take up this war against the evils of Dryth that had been breeding unchecked for far too long. He considered these things with a flute to his lips. The perfectly carved white wood resonated with his mood. His fingers shaped a haunting melody of the somber tone that was carried high and clear on the cold, crisp air.

  “It is said that where a mountain elf plays, Keirveshen wail in torment,” someone said when Alere’s song had ended.

  Alere lowered his flute and said, “Your people nurture many foolish myths.”

  The once-gypsy made no sound, but Alere could feel his dark eyes on him.

  In a moment Alere added, “The Fanese guardsmen are handling the watches. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

  “I have trouble sleeping on land,” Bastien admitted. “I have not forgotten the stories told by my people, many of which are not myth.”

  “Only garishly adorned reality.” Alere replied. “The Keirveshen need no embellishment. They are hideous enough as they are. They fear an elf’s music because only an elf can make it, and they know that a hunter of their kind is near.”

  “Why do your people hunt them?”

  “Humans fear them too greatly. They would rather hide from them and tell tales by firelight, collecting coins for retelling the horrors endured by others.”

  “And elves don’t fear them? Not in the least?”

  Alere glanced back at the dark-skinned human. “My people are a doomed race. Our numbers dwindle. Our life spans are beginning to be measured in decades rather than centuries. Long ago, many of us fled the mountains for new regions because of the shadows and those of us left are too few. The shadows are too many for us and yes, my people fear them. While they make corpses of men, they make ghosts of elves.”

  Bastien frowned softly. “What do you mean?”

  “An elf’s spirit cannot be taken by shadow. They are left behind when their bodies are destroyed. That is partly why they fear us. Whatever plague attacked Yvaria centuries ago, or longer, elves were immune. Men became twisted shadows of themselves. They became the Keirveshen. Elves survived, and as much as they are resented for it, they are feared for it. The demons attack us in legions when they dare and it is a brutal slaying on both sides that takes place.” Alere turned around and lifted his gaze to the blackened sky. “For many long years, because of elves like my father, the shadow folk were silent in the Verres Mountains. We had finally reclaimed our home. A bright time lay ahead of us. Our populations would replenish in the peaceful days that followed. We lived as other people and warred with other mortals only when they dared to attack our lands. And then the Keirveshen returned, stronger and fouler than they were before.”

  “They killed your father,” Bastien deduced, speaking quietly. “Didn’t they?”

  Alere did not answer. He lifted his flute once more and resumed his song.

  NO STARS AGAIN this night. Such darkness...will it never end? Even Dawnfire is having difficulty penetrating it.

  Tristus glanced at the platinum spear given to him by an angel of Eris. The weapon had begun to glow two days ago—not as intensely as it had against the shade demon, but it glowed nonetheless and there were times when the white-gold hue seemed to intensify. A few moments ago the spear had shone so brightly, Tristus could feel the heat from its magic, but it seemed to be fading now as he proceeded through the night, unable to sleep as he pursued his unknown quest.

  Andaria was far behind him now, but the mountains stayed with him. They were colder this far north. The snow fell as stinging bits of ice and the winds raked over the skin like clawed fingers.

  In truth Tristus was afraid to sleep, for fear of not waking up after the bitter cold embraced his idle body and seeped beneath his skin, freezing his blood and his heart. He was rapidly losing interest in the mountains and had begun to consider heading east or west to escape what seemed like an endless path. He’d begun to hear things as well. A strange bird that seemed to weep rather than sing. It sounded close sometimes and made him think of death, the angel’s death in particular, as if its fellow winged creatures were mourning its passing.

  Thinking of the angel made Tristus reconsider the demon it had slain. Could there be more of them? Would he be able to wield Dawnfire and save himself, or would those haunting yellow eyes burn into him again and there would be no one like the angel to stay his death?

  Death? Tristus wondered, or was it everlasting torment the demon promised? He suddenly felt less concerned.

  I already have everlasting torment, don’t I? Perhaps there’s nothing to fear of demons, after all.

  Even as he formed the thought, Tristus felt the tears of despair warm his dry, frozen eyes. The memories always came swiftly, threatening to rush over him with tidal force.

  “How long will this last? How long before what is left of my heart can rest?”

  He heard the eerie birdsong again. The dreadfully soft melody compounded his sadness and he felt compelled to shout at it.

  “Be silent! You foul, heartless creature! Can’t you leave me in peace!”

  In the next instant, he choked on his voice and lowered it.

  “Please stop reminding me. Please...God, let me show you my remorse with my blood rather than my tears. I
cannot bear this isolation, this lonely exile.” He looked up at the starless sky. “Give me an enemy if you must, but I can’t be alone anymore. I can’t…”

  His answer came with silence. Even the mourning bird had ceased to weep.

  Tristus stopped and lowered to his knees, exhausted, the harsh winds of endless winter swirling about him.

  “WHY HERE?”

  Silence filled the passageway within the Temple of Divine Tranquility; the Jade Hall, it was called. Jiao Ren looked from one section of carved green stone to the next, and at the flickering firelight that shone through the panels of jade tracery separating the hall from the innermost sanctum of the temple. And then he looked at the older man in rust-toned and pale blue-patterned robes and bonnet. The shade of the official’s wardrobe was not truly the deep blue of Ji’s banner, but it was often only the military who implemented strict adherence to the color code. Scholars, mystics, and other officials weren’t often at the risk of being mistaken for an enemy by their own on the battlefield, given that they were rarely seen in battle.

  “Lord Huang Shang-san,” Jiao Ren prompted respectfully as the silence continued, following his question to the elder.

  Huang Shang-san looked up from the polished wooden floor he’d been gazing at, as if entranced, then took up a study of the dark rafters overhead. He said thoughtfully, “Why not here? Isn’t that what we should be asking, General Jiao Ren?”

  Jiao Ren regarded the Minister of Ceremonies with patience. “I’m not sure that I follow you.”

  “The Temple of Divine Tranquility is in a more centralized location than the Palace of Imperial Peace. In the past, this is where the Seven Mystics gathered to attain the level of utmost solitude required to summon their most powerful spells. They have not done so for many years. It is as if they no longer feel at peace here, and even Xu Liang shies from its shelter, placing our Empress instead within the Palace of Imperial Peace during his absence.” An abbreviated laugh escaped on the official’s breath as he contemplated this. “The palace is more a hall of ceremony than a temple. I do not understand it.”