Six Celestial Swords

by T. A. Miles

  Still petting Blue Crane, Xu Liang bowed slightly, accepting the elf’s terms for now. There was not much else that he could do.

  “There is one more thing I would say to you,” Alere announced before leaving. Xu Liang waited and the elf said, “I saw what you did for the knight.”

  “Did you?” Xu Liang replied, holding the elf’s gaze in wonder at what he might say next.

  “I saw you challenge Ilnon, and defeat him.”

  Xu Liang thought back uneasily on the thing his spirit had faced in Tristus Edainien. He could still feel the painful intensity of its anger as he reached out of himself to calm it. At length he said, “It was no defeat, but a negotiation. I cannot even be certain if it succeeded beyond the moment.”

  Alere stepped closer. “You did not negotiate for Tristus, though. You did it because you had to, after inciting the rage within him.”

  Xu Liang frowned and Alere continued.

  “Tristus was not the only one who heard your spirit calling out in desperation when the Blades locked,” he said. “I heard your panic as well, and it occurred to me also, though not immediately, that only one possessed by the spirit of a god could challenge the gods and survive the encounter. You and I both knew that, through sheer force of will—the unmatched determination of blind rage—the Blades would be recovered.”

  Xu Liang said nothing, still meeting the elf’s cold gaze. The son of Sheng Fan, servant of the Empress and counsel to the wise, was insulted beyond measure by this ‘barbarian’ creature’s undertones. However, the scholar and explorer, who had recently become leader to a strange but endearing band of allies, absorbed the elf’s concerns with understanding.

  Unaware of this internal debate, Alere continued. “You did it for the Swords, not for the bearers, of whom Tristus may yet be one.”

  Xu Liang showed the elf nothing of the sting he’d just delivered. He said quietly, “Now I understand your opening comment. It is you who has lost respect for me.”

  Alere stood silent in the following moments, revealing nothing. At some length, he said, “It was my action that forced yours, Xu Liang. And it is always consideration for others that inspires Tristus. Even in what seems like self-pity, I have come to realize that his regret is more for those he has been told he cannot protect than for himself, even though he was rejected by those same people. I believe,” the elf concluded, “that I have lost respect for us both.”

  Having said that, Alere left and Xu Liang let him. There was nothing more to discuss. An argument would satisfy only pride, pride that was damaged further when Fu Ran finally showed himself.

  In the shadows cast by the torches posted among the tents, even one of Fu Ran’s incredible size could conceal himself. It angered Xu Liang at first to think that such had been the former guard’s intention. However, he quickly realized that any stealth on the giant’s part was not to eavesdrop, but to have the advantage over Alere if he’d been forced to confront the elf physically. Xu Liang sighed almost inaudibly and took a moment to regain control of his emotions. He didn’t realize how much he would miss actual sleep until he’d gone this long without it.

  “He’s wrong,” Fu Ran said, and Xu Liang questioned him silently. The former guard explained himself. “Whatever you did—just as everything you do—it was for the Empire.” Before Xu Liang could decide how to take his disapproving tone, the larger man added, “You’re killing yourself for Sheng Fan and what has it done for you?”

  “It has given me life, Fu Ran,” Xu Liang answered without hesitation.

  “Xu Hong and Xu Mi gave you life,” Fu Ran contradicted, and it was clear in his expression that he had no idea what to make of the sudden, caustic expression that came to his former master’s face.

  “Xu Hong gave me the ambition to serve at the Imperial City,” Xu Liang told him. It was a rare instance of escape from the respect and decency that was not only expected in Sheng Fan, but that was also one’s moral obligation to uphold in matters of family. The mystic, who would have been severely reprimanded if Emperor Song Bao had been alive to hear such words, caught himself on the brink of sharing the Xu family’s most guarded secret, and fell instantly silent. Remorse filled him, followed by shame as he realized that none of it was for Xu Hong.

  Fu Ran placed a hand lightly on Xu Liang’s shoulder, and it was all the mystic could do to refrain from shrugging away from him. Fu Ran said, “You told me you didn’t want me back as I was, and the more I think about it, the more I remember why I can never serve you again.” He lifted his hand, perhaps unaware of the needling pain even that cautious weight had inspired, and folded his tattooed arms across his broad chest. He remembered not to smile when he added, “I didn’t come here to be one of your drones, Xu Liang. I came here as your friend.”

  The gesture did not go entirely unappreciated, but Xu Liang needed to meditate. He had expended far too much energy without putting enough effort into recovery.

  He gave up Blue Crane when Gai Ping came for him, and also took the opportunity to leave. Bowing politely before the former guard, he said, “Forgive me, Fu Ran, but I must rest.”

  “WHY WERE YOU following, or rather leading us along, for so many days?”

  “A prophet among our people spoke of a Great Awakening,” Shirisae said to Tristus and the others who had gathered to hear his question answered, which thus far only included Tarfan and Taya. “I and my brother D’mitri were sent out to understand this awakening, to learn as much as we could about it, as it reflects the resurrection of our own people, hundreds of years ago. However, whether this is a good reflection or a sinister mockery, we are as yet uncertain. Thus we look upon all strangers to this region with interest. It just so happens that we were on our return to Vilciel when we came upon your company, and so we observed and guided you until it finally became necessary to show ourselves.” She paused, glancing about the Fanese tent with interest. “You are an odd assortment of people. We weren’t sure how to take you, whether as friend or foe.”

  “We still would not be certain,” D’mitri said, “but that Firestorm has never been touched by an enemy it hasn’t slain.”

  Tristus looked to the taller of the pair, whose hair was just as red as his sibling’s. While Shirisae wore her raveled locks about her head like a fiery crown, D’mitri wore his own braid bunched at his neck. Not a trace of it had shown while the pair wore their helms, which were detailed with sleek, aquiline features—much like the regal faces the helms hid. They cast an unexpected chill, for fire elves, Tristus thought in secret.

  “Our people would have been lost without Firestorm,” Shirisae said, drawing Tristus’ attention back to her. “It is the instrument through which our most revered god speaks to us. It has been passed from mother to daughter for centuries. It glows with white fire, the truest fire, when those worthy of trust are near.” She seemed to hesitate, then added, “It has never shone so brightly as it did when we encountered you.”

  “With the ice elf in your company, you can imagine our alarm,” D’mitri added, his tone sounding more of disgust than alarm.

  It was, of course, just then that Alere entered the tent. The argentine eyes of one elf met the golden gaze of the other, and Tristus felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He was going to blurt a question to avert the pending fight, but Xu Liang’s entrance stole his attention—and fortunately everyone else’s as well.

  While Alere stalked off, Xu Liang greeted everyone with a slight bow.

  Tristus inclined his head respectfully and watched the mystic retreat to his side of the tent. His gaze lingered on Xu Liang, until D’mitri distracted him.

  “Deshra en totharen, shenra en nodara,” brother muttered to sister.

  “What does that mean?” Tristus asked pleasantly, though he didn’t like D’mitri’s tone.

  Shirisae said, either honestly or convincingly, “My brother says that your priest has the body of a young man and the mind of an old one. He means no disrespect. It is simply an observation. Among our peop
le the very young may be gifted with superior intelligence, but not often wisdom to rival the elders among us.” She looked over her shoulder at Xu Liang. “We have been watching that one. He bears the burdens of many great minds before him.”

  “He did say that he was guided by his ancestors,” Tristus remembered, looking at the mystic again. Xu Liang sat still and silent, his eyes once again closed to the world immediately around him. “He isn’t really a priest, though. I think he prefers to be called a mystic.”

  A brief silence followed.

  “It is late,” Shirisae finally said, standing. She smiled at Tristus, who returned the gesture, then added, “You and your companions must rest.”

  D’mitri rose as well, but his expression remained disdainful. “By tomorrow night you will be in Vilciel, enjoying the hospitality of friends.”

  “Friends, are they?” Tarfan muttered after the fire elves had taken their leave. “It seems to me they fancied us their prisoners before Alere brought the wrath of the gods down on everyone.”

  Tristus opted not to remind the old dwarf that there was only one God that had anything to do with what went on the night before. He understood that many people were slow to accept the truth of things when those things pertained to religion. In Tristus’ mind it was best said: ‘To all realms, a king.’. In other words, even if there were other powers in Heaven, they must all answer to a single ruler, the Father of Heaven, King to all, including other gods. The theory had been put forth by a highly respected priest of the First Order as a diplomatic way at spreading Andaria’s faith. Some outside of Andaria saw it as arrogance. Some within Andaria viewed it as foolish and absurd, believing that truth need not be explained or justified. Tristus never questioned his faith in that truth, but there were times—all of them recent—when he wondered about the different faiths of others.

  There were at least three, if not four, different religions among the companions he’d joined, and yet they all followed one cause. Tristus only wished he knew precisely what that cause was. He had a peculiar feeling he would have to hold Dawnfire in his hands again to completely understand. Not that it mattered. Even if he never saw the angel’s glorious spear again, he would go with the others, to Hell if that was their destination. The Order may have cast him out, but he knew now that God had not. He had been summoned to this journey, wherever it may take him and in his short time with them, he’d come to respect, and even to care, about each of these people, including the surly dwarf. They had become the family the Order should have been to him. He would serve them until death prevented him doing so.

  SITTING BESIDE THE knight, Taya felt invisible. Something had come over him, something worse than the daze and confusion he’d been in when they discovered him half-buried in the snow back in the mountains. It started after his first berserker rage—which was bad enough in itself—and had only become more apparent after his second attack of utter madness, that fortunately resulted in no one getting killed. Suddenly her forlorn, charmingly—if not somewhat confusedly—virtuous, breathtakingly handsome knight, had gone strangely quiet. He hadn’t shed a tear since the night after he’d single-handedly taken down almost all of the Fanese bandits, and while that should have seemed a good thing, Taya didn’t like it. Though his tearless blue eyes were still deep pools of emotion, that emotion seemed to have direction now. Taya believed she preferred his emotions spilling out of him every which way, especially now that there was a beautiful, taller woman around for his newly acquired focus to home in on. If Taya had to prepare breakfast by herself one more time, it wasn’t Tarfan who was going to get hit with the soup spoon.

  AFTER A LONG NIGHT watching the others sleep, guarding the tent from within while Gai Ping and the others did so from without, Xu Liang rose and emerged into the coldest morning yet. It was cold, but the sky was changed, clear while the rising sun failed to penetrate the freeze of the northernmost edge of Lower Yvaria and therefore failed to create a mist of the melting snow. The snow that had fallen in the night, and in the nights previous to their arrival, remained and beneath dawn’s glow, it shimmered with a pink hue, like the blushed petals of a plum blossom. It made Xu Liang think of the lower regions of Ying, and an intense yearning for home tugged at his heart. His eyes felt suddenly warm against the chill air.

  “Where are the fire sprites?” Fu Ran asked as he came outside.

  Xu Liang could almost hear the man’s big muscles yawning with him as he stretched his massive frame. Undoubtedly, he longed for more demanding exercise than simply plodding through the snow. Xu Liang hoped he would not transform his restlessness into recklessness.

  “They made their own camp just south of our own,” Xu Liang finally answered.

  Fu Ran looked in the mentioned direction, then laughed. “Herding the oxen to slaughter!”

  “I do not believe so, Fu Ran,” Xu Liang said, more sharply than he might have weeks ago. He was rapidly growing weary with this small-scale turmoil. Give him rebellious kingdoms and their vast armies to deal with. He had taken about all he could of bandits and shadows, and individuals assaulting one another. These people knew nothing of war. They knew nothing of its art or its etiquette.

  Just before Xu Liang resorted to measuring these realms and their people in varying degrees of savagery and ignorance, the knight who’d personally paid tribute to barbarism in its purest example not so long ago, stumbled sleepily out of the tent. He slipped in the deep snow, but kept his balance and looked at the sea of blushed white shimmering beneath the morning sky as it spanned in all directions, as far as the eye could see.

  The knight actually gasped, and said softly, “It’s beautiful.”

  With those two words, Xu Liang looked again at the Flatlands of Lower Yvaria, and wondered how long he’d been blind to so simple a fact. He’d been affected by the difficulty of this journey far worse than he’d let himself believe. And now his hand ached for a brush. However, as he looked closer at the featureless beauty of the landscape, he realized that even with a brush in his hand and a tablet before him there might be no way to recapture such a scene. Of course, the grace of his painting was in fewer brushstrokes, but there would be so very few to make in this instance. He decided to commit this sight to memory and to leave it at that.

  To the man who had reopened his eyes, he said, “Yes, it is.”

  THE SUN CONTINUED its rise, the warmthless light intensifying as it shone unobstructed downward, making the surface of the snow seem as a great mirror, reflecting the brilliant light back at the sky and virtually blinding the companions. In such intense whiteness all eyes tended to divert from both Alere and Tristus—one dressed all in white and the other in highly reflective layers of metal—who only worsened the glaring effect. It was easiest simply to keep one’s sights set on the black-clad elves at the front of the caravan. However, that also became annoying as Shirisae’s spear—clearly the Storm Blade—continued to glow brightly in the company of its sibling Swords.

  Even with his eyes closed, the sun’s glow invaded Xu Liang’s vision, hampering his concentration. He meditated as long and soundly as he could, then suffered with the others, glad to see the small ridge of hills suddenly along their path with dark rocks and what appeared to be gnarled tree limbs peeking through the snow. They must finally have been reaching the northernmost end of the Alabaster Range. The last of the mountains stretched sparsely out from the greater mass that dominated much of the realm, like fingers reaching for the cold, distant sea that separated Upper Yvaria from Lower. The path would not ascend quite so high as it did before, but there was meaning in the name Skytown.

  In a time too ancient to be considered anything more than myth, Vilciel was said to be the City of Dragons. Unlike the dragons of Sheng Fan, these beasts were more lizard than serpent, with great wings and also great egos to match their tremendous intellects. Such creatures held themselves above mortals, but also among them as they lived in a society rather than as a mystery. They built cities, like Vilciel, perhaps with assistanc
e from enslaved or befriended creatures who could be considered abler craftsmen than them. They also collected wealth, reared families, and waged war with anyone who threatened their way of living, or simply strayed too near. The dragons of the western world were not gods and they were alarmingly civilized, according to legend.

  All this, Xu Liang learned from Tarfan and from Tristus, one who spoke of bedtime stories told to young dwarves to make them behave—lest they be captured by the dragons and forced to build them castles—and the other who told of long dead adventurers who sought the riches of the dragons of Vilciel and were never seen again. Naturally, there were conflicts of opinion.

  “Have you cracked?” Tarfan blurted. “You scatter-brained pup! You can sit in the broad light of day, telling us about angels with magic cattle prods and—”

  “Dawnfire...isn’t a cattle prod.” While the knight clearly wanted to maintain a proud, scandalized expression, laughter tried to break through.

  The dwarf continued as if Tristus had said nothing, wagging a finger at the mounted knight while he walked below, his cheeks red from more than just the cold. “And utterly fail to acknowledge the possibility that some of those scaly slave-drivers might still be lingering about that city!”

  “You don’t know they were slave-drivers,” Tristus said.

  “And you don’t know they weren’t!” the old dwarf barked.

  “Aren’t,” Xu Liang corrected. “I believe that was the focus of your argument. Whether or not they still exist?”

  Tarfan turned his head sharply to glare at the rider on the other side of him. “Don’t you get started, too! You weren’t in on this argument from the start, so you can’t get involved now, mage!”

  “He’s the one who asked about the dragons in the first place,” Tristus reminded.

  “And he’d have a straight answer if you’d keep your mouth shut!”

  Taya, sitting behind Tristus, giggled, understanding—undoubtedly better than any of them—that her uncle would never give in.