Six Celestial Swords

by T. A. Miles

  “I’ll bet Alere didn’t know about this little lump of gold,” Tarfan grumbled.

  Tristus drew in a long breath and held it briefly. Then, as no one else seemed inclined to do so, he moved forward, following Shirisae. Whether they were following him or Xu Liang, he did not know, but he was glad when he heard their gradual footsteps behind him.

  The black-clad, flame-haired lady elf brought them to an open gateway at the base of a sleek, dark mountain. There had been no sources of light to illuminate the ancient characters etched upon the dark gray stone of the archway before the Blades drew near. Wide stairs, seemingly carved of the mountain itself, ascended from the gate, leading directly into the mountain.

  “It must be treacherous,” Tarfan muttered to Tristus. “If there are no doors or guards to stand against intruders.”

  “Someone else was here,” Fu Ran reminded. “Though I don’t see that other rider now.”

  “We’ll have to be careful.” That was all Tristus could think to say as his throat constricted, feeling raw and dry. And then he looked suddenly for Taya, almost forgetting that she had ridden on the only horse left to them other than Blue Crane. In the confusion of the ice giant’s attack, the supply horse had panicked and fled beyond recovery. No one thought to look for the animal immediately after Xu Liang had fallen. The last thing Tristus wanted to do was insult the dwarf maiden, but he didn’t want to lose anyone else, and so he spoke what was on his mind. “Fu Ran, will one of you ride with Taya? The way looks steep.”

  Following the words, he glanced at Taya, expecting a look of resent or indignation. He was glad when he saw the relief on her round face clearly. She did not complain when the older bodyguard Gai Ping climbed into the saddle behind her and took up the reins.

  The companions, now ten and possibly soon to be only nine, entered the world of the Phoenix Elves. And a strange, dark world it was; a network of enclosed corridors without torches or windows. In many places the shadows were too deep to allow any sense of dimension. Each wall, as well as the ceiling and much of the floor, were hidden from view. The companions saw only the wide stairs immediately underfoot, each step echoing off the darkness, penetrating a silence that not even the mountain wind was bold enough to invade. No one spoke.

  To Tristus’ left, Dawnfire glowed, tracing streams of gold in Xu Liang’s flowing hair, which sufficiently hid his face from view. Tristus thought that he still felt him breathing. That was the only way he knew the mystic was alive. That he had lasted this long was a miracle in itself. If he made it to any form of healing at all, surely he would pull through. If he’d lost his will, he’d have gone long ago. Tristus kept telling himself that. He made himself believe it.

  “One must follow what one believes in,” Xu Liang had said. “Whether it is reasonable or not.”

  Tristus heard the mystic’s voice in his head and blocked out all others, including those that might have warned him of the many eyes watching from the shadows.

  FROM A LOW lying ridge over the mountain pass, Bastien could just see the caravan come to a stop. He’d watched them linger for a bit before they started moving again, led by the strangers in black. Phoenix Elves. The former gypsy had heard plenty of tales about the flame-haired mountain folk. They were dangerous, but they seemed to have some use for the humans currently in their company. The worst assault they’d delivered so far was a fiery glare.

  Something was amiss, though. Bastien would have thought matters could get no worse after the berserker—though that did prove a convenient distraction, better even than simply disappearing in the confusion of battle—but then came the undead, the fire elves, and finally the ice giant. Even after activating the invisibility enchantment placed upon his cloak, Bastien had been just as much at risk of getting crushed as everyone else. It was that knight’s doing. The mystic should have let Fu Ran deal with him when he had a mind to. Now the berserker seemed to be leading the group while Xu Liang did a fine job imitating a corpse.

  What next? Bastien wondered.

  In a heartbeat, he had his answer. Something stabbed deep into his leg. He yelped and reflexively twisted to end the affliction, making it unintentionally easier for his attacker to get a firm grip on his cloak and to lift him upright so that his throat just touched the edge of a blade. Sudden light flared in his eyes, but he couldn’t close them as he stared in utter amaze at the elf glaring steadily back at him.

  “You...” Bastien’s voice lumped in his throat. He swallowed and tried again. “You saw through my spell.”

  “I smelled you,” Alere growled with disgust. “Blame Aerkiren for the shattering of your disguise. I meant to kill you, but since my random stab left you still alive let us not waste your final breaths. I want to know who you really are!”

  “My...name is Bastien Crowe. I’m a sailor aboard the Pride of Celestia, friend to Fu Ran and any who are his allies. After the battle with the Fanese bandits, I was wounded and staggered off to escape the berserker as well as to patch my injuries. I must have lost consciousness. When I came around everyone had already gone. I followed and decided to keep a distance after I saw the other elves...to watch them.”

  Alere’s eyes narrowed, as if in consideration. And then he said, “I told you once before; you’re a terrible liar.”

  Bastien smirked at the elf and his unflagging arrogance. “All right, I wanted to watch all of you. What are you going to do? Kill me over distrust? That seems to be a prominent art form with you, and you’re not even selective.” The blade slipped against Bastien’s throat, and he panicked. “Wait! Wait...just...”

  The elf drew back slightly, and Bastien sighed. He started thinking, wondering how long Alere had been on to him. He didn’t dare tell him everything, but he had to tell him something. It had to be something he would believe.

  “Xu Liang isn’t the only one looking for those Swords,” he hissed, more from pain than out of anger. His leg throbbed terribly, and the blood was soaking his pant leg, making him shiver. “There are other scholars, other factions, seeking them…seeking to understand them!”

  “The term gypsy scholar is an absurd contradiction in words,” Alere told him icily. “Whatever made you think I would believe...”

  “It’s true!” Bastien cried out, feeling the cold bite of the elf’s magic blade. “I’m no scholar. You’re right about that, but many of my superiors are very learned men and women.” Because Alere failed to kill him just then, Bastien continued. “Chaos is rising in the world. Those Phoenix Elves feel it, Xu Liang knows it...and you feel it yourself. Something must be done, but not just anything. I am member of a brotherhood that is committed to ensuring that Dryth maintains a balance. The forces of darkness are cleverer than you know. Sometimes what seems a good or just solution is actually the worst possible answer. Such matters have to be researched. We cannot have deluded and desperate people running about waking up ancient powers before anyone even truly knows which end of the spectrum they serve.”

  Alere regarded him with little expression beyond disgust. He said, “Aerkiren slays the shadows. That is all I need to know to be convinced as to its function in this world.”

  “And so you use the blade to slay evil, thus far without consequence.” Bastien spoke quickly, feeling the elf’s patience slipping away, like grains of sand in an hour glass. “But what of the others? What do you know about those weapons? Or the people who wield them, for that matter?”

  “I know more of them than I care to know of you. This conversation is at an end, Bastien Crowe.” The elf moved quicker than thought. The blade slid away from the gypsy’s neck less than a second before the pommel struck the side of his head. A blackness deeper than the fear-spell of the Keirveshen fell over him.

  THE STAIRS CAME to a flat span. The companions followed without straying from the general path created by Shirisae’s lead, uncertain as to whether or not they were in a great hall or on a bridge not much wider than the reach of their limited light. It didn’t help that Tarfan grumbled about tumbl
ing or being thrown into the Abyss every time he thought he heard something he didn’t like.

  “There it is again!” Tarfan hissed. “Do you hear that?”

  “All I hear is you,” Fu Ran answered.

  “You great lummox! Shut up and listen! It’s a skittering, scurrying noise, like rain or...”

  “Rain?” Fu Ran laughed. It was a tense sound. “I don’t hear anything. I don’t feel anything either.”

  “Now, look here, you...”

  “Does it matter, Tarfan?” Tristus intervened, his voice hinting impatience though he tried to maintain a calm, even tone. “Let me know if you see something. Otherwise put up with the noises, and let’s try to keep up with Shirisae. This isn’t the kind of place I want to be lost in.”

  “I don’t trust D’mitri either,” Fu Ran whispered, after Tristus unintentionally failed to mention the elf behind them.

  He’d actually forgotten about him. Now he wanted to look back to see if Shirisae’s brother was still there, but he refrained. They could have killed them at any time. What reason would they have for not doing so earlier, if that was their intention? The thought didn’t comfort him anymore than it would have comforted his friends. Following blindly didn’t feel quite so foolish when he’d been following Xu Liang. They were lacking leadership now. Not someone to physically lead them along, but someone to keep them calm and even uplifted, as Xu Liang had. The mystic had rallied them to his cause, made them all determined to stay with it.

  I fear I’m a poor substitute for an imperial tactician, Tristus thought to himself. The thoughts that followed were interrupted by the sight of a great doorway—it was clearly several stories high—glowing a fiery orange. Tristus wanted to stop and gawk, but he kept onward, following Shirisae into the light that somehow failed to illuminate the space around them. As soon as he entered the doorway the cold of the mountains abandoned him, and he felt as if he’d entered a furnace. A quick look around let him know that he had.

  “By the blasted hells,” Tarfan murmured in awe.

  “By them?” Fu Ran said. “We’re in them!”

  It certainly seemed that way. All around them, the smoothly sculpted walls were aglow with the constant light from a great pit of flame, its depth unfathomable. It seemed to span more than a mile ahead of them and untold miles in either direction, through two archways of equal grandeur to the first, though the latter seemed inaccessible by foot. Their purpose would likely remain a mystery. Beneath the first arch, the companions stood upon a wide ledge that narrowed into a bridge of stone spanning across the flaming chasm. The heat was incredible, but somehow no one complained of burning or sickness.

  “You are safe from the shadows now,” Shirisae told them, turning to face the companions before proceeding onto the bridge.

  “The shadows?” Taya asked, looking back to where D’mitri was just coming through the doorway.

  “They followed us this far, but they will not enter here,” Shirisae continued, speaking over Tarfan’s ‘I told you so’ to Fu Ran. “Our armor blinds them to our souls, but none of you are so protected.”

  She looked at Tristus. “It was the light of the blade you call Dawnfire that held them at bay. They fear it, just as they fear this fire.”

  Tristus glanced at the platinum spear still glowing in his grasp. “The demon I first encountered didn’t seem so wary of it, and the bearer at the time was surely far more skilled than I can hope to be.”

  “Nevertheless, here the shadows fear fire. The lower passages are infested with them, and it would have been almost impossible to lead you by this route if not for Dawnfire. We would have been forced to climb the exterior mountain paths. The time saved should benefit your friend.”

  Before Tristus could respond, Shirisae turned back toward the bridge. “Know that the path is still dangerous and that we still have far to go before we reach the city of Vilciel, New Home to my people.”

  “Why aren’t we melted to the bone yet?” Fu Ran asked. “I’m hardly sweating.”

  “Dwarven architecture, my friend,” Tarfan said, proudly but also irritably. “You’ll find none better. Even the dragons knew that. The great lizards didn’t take well to cold, but it was about the only place in Dryth they could exist in relative peace, and so they constructed furnaces to keep their cold blood pumping. Since the arrogant reptiles didn’t want their slaves roasted—and the slaves didn’t want to roast—a ventilation system was devised to draw the heat where they needed it, and away from those they needed working.”

  “Ventilation?” Tristus said. “This can’t be attributed simply to tunnels and shafts. It seems as if you could touch the flames themselves and still not get burned.”

  “Yes, well don’t,” Tarfan advised. “Dragons have been known to lay down an enchantment here and there, but I guarantee that a lot of the coolness has to do with the structure of this chamber and the ones surrounding it.”

  “Doesn’t anyone else wonder why the pit is still on fire if the dragons occupied this place hundreds of years ago?” Taya asked.

  “Let’s not worry about that just at the moment,” Tristus said, before Tarfan could blurt one of the alarmist ideas undoubtedly crossing his mind. “Our priority is getting to Vilciel, quickly, before we lose Xu Liang.”

  With that enforced, Tristus started after Shirisae.

  The others followed in somber silence.

  TAYA FROWNED UNSEEN, disliking these fire elves more by the second. If Tristus wasn’t blinded by friendship and his knightly duty to save an ally, maybe he wouldn’t have been so quick to trot after the proud, strong, elegant—and taller than a dwarf—Shirisae.

  “The way she looks at him is really beginning to burn me,” Taya complained to Gai Ping, who naturally said nothing, since he wasn’t linguistically equipped to carry on a conversation that wasn’t in Fanese. “I thought elves were supposed to be attracted to other elves! Not that I’m interested. Of course, I’m not. He’s a human, after all, and much too stretched out for one of my perfect stature, but someone’s got to look out for him and it may as well be me! You know I’m right, Gai Ping, so just sit there and be quiet.”

  The bodyguard glanced down at her upon hearing his name, but said nothing.

  “I’m getting a really bad feeling about this place,” Taya concluded, gazing warily into the sea of fire they were crossing.

  THE END OF the bridge proved only a brief reprieve. Another ocean of flame followed with another bridge to cross, just as narrow as the first. Tristus was beginning to have serious misgivings about this place, but there was nowhere else to go. Perhaps, if he’d been in Andaria, there might have been a master cleric to take Xu Liang to, one who knew something of more than surface wounds, who knew which prayers were most appropriate and how to speak them properly. Tristus’ training and skill lacked considerably since he’d abandoned his mother’s plans for the clergy in favor of knighthood. He hadn’t asked Taya, and because she hadn’t volunteered information that would contradict him, he doubted any herb was going to repair whatever damage had been done to Xu Liang as a result of his extreme exertion.

  “Do not be troubled, knight,” Shirisae said, looking back at him, slowing her mount to let Blue Crane catch up. “You are proving yourself worthy of our god’s attention. You passed through shadows and left them cowering in your wake. You cross fire and do not panic.”

  “I didn’t know the shadows were there.” Tristus said. “Not demons, at any rate. And I’ve a little too much on my mind for panicking.”

  “These flames have been known to drive humans mad,” Shirisae informed. “Many have thrown themselves in, simply because they could not take waiting to fall.”

  “Waiting can be difficult,” Tristus answered, glancing nervously at the erratic dance of the great fire. He thought of treasure seekers finding the endless gold of these flames and being driven to hysterics just from the disappointment. Tristus could not have imagined going through all that he’d gone through just for riches. To a greedy pers
on, finding that those riches were non-existent must have been the felling blow. He shifted his focus momentarily to Xu Liang and considered that he might have a worse disappointment ahead of him.

  “He will be restored,” Shirisae promised and he looked at her, wondering if restored was the proper word. Before he could say anything, the lady elf resumed her place at the front of the line.

  THEY HAD ONE more bridge to cross before they arrived at another staircase. It curved gradually, and after more than an hour’s travel, they emerged into the freezing night air. A second gateway stood at the edge of a wide, shallow ledge near the top of the mountain they’d been climbing on the inside. A wide, ice-covered bridge with a solid stone balustrade spanned to the next mountain, northward, where another gate awaited, along with a road of steps leading to a walled conglomeration of grand, frost-rimed buildings at the top.

  Tristus’ mouth literally fell open at the sight of Vilciel. Every structure, every detail was beyond natural scale. Icicles as long as trees were tall adorned immaculate colonnades. Smooth stone edifices were supported by fantastic columns big enough to mount the entire Eristan Citadel on the top of just one. Torches seemed as small suns hovering about the mountaintop. Windows were wide enough to line armies across. It was without question the most awesome setting Tristus had ever looked upon. He didn’t even consider that he would see its equal, not anywhere in Dryth.

  “Dragons lived here,” Tarfan said, sounding breathless himself.

  Tristus tried to picture it, but in the moment he required all of his imagination just to take in the city itself. Its former inhabitants would have to be envisioned later. “It must have been glorious,” he managed to say.

  No one answered. His companions were all speechless.

  “Come,” Shirisae instructed, and led them across the wide, mountain-spanning bridge.

  A depthless drop into cloudy blackness lay to either side. Flecks of ice swirled about in the air, a permanent dusting of snow fanning across the bridge, accumulating along the balustrades. The chill wind lifted strands of Xu Liang’s extremely long hair, brushing them across Tristus’ face. Balancing Dawnfire across his lap, he smoothed the dark locks back down and held them in place with the weight of his freed hand so that he could see. It occurred to him in passing that the mystic must have been quite proud of his mane to have grown it so long and kept it at such a length. The ends of Tristus’ hair just reached his jaw bone and he’d been thinking a trim was in order.