“That was all that was left of my house,” he said softly. “You say that I take beautiful things with me. It’s true enough.” He could not tell her how much more he had left behind in his long years. Outside the window he could see the wavering flames of the torches on the walls, one or two of them sputtering in the rising wind.
“Oh,” she cried in quick sympathy. “You didn’t tell me. I assumed that you requested…”
“No.”
The thunder provided them both an excuse for silence. Saint-Germain felt his ancient loneliness as he looked at T’en Chih-Yü. He had lost so much more than beautiful things. And he had never been able to accustom himself to the loss. Memories sharp as claws tore at him and he turned away to conceal the pain that filled him.
“Hsing has received an offer of marriage,” Chih-Yü announced suddenly, and too loudly, as if she were embarrassed. Why was it so unpleasant a task to tell him this? He had never evinced anything beyond a mild fondness for Hsing. She decided it was his foreignness that perplexed her, though this, she sensed, was not the reason at all.
“Has she?” Saint-Germain asked with polite interest, nothing in his stance or his manner showing that her evaluation of his feelings for the girl was incorrect. He was aware of Chih-Yü’s eyes on him and he smiled enigmatically.
“As Warlord, it would be appropriate for me to make other provisions for you,” she said, letting the words dangle like a question as the lightning wiggled in the sky.
“Does Hsing like the match?” He could not look away from Chih-Yü.
“Gei’s younger brother has made the offer for her. Gei keeps the inn at the far end of So-Dui valley.” This was the larger of the two valleys guarded by the Mao-T’ou stronghold. “It is a much better proposal than she has ever hoped for. Considering how her life has been, she is very fortunate.” Her throat felt oddly hot, as if she had taken suddenly ill. She welcomed the thunder that boomed and cracked overhead. “I have given my permission to the match if it does not inconvenience you. From what Hsing has told me…” She faltered suddenly and looked to him for help.
“It won’t inconvenience me,” he said.
“I’ll be more than willing to assign you other eligible women. There are several who might please you. You have only to indicate your choice.” She wished now she had saved this discussion until morning. Here, in the night, with the storm gathering, she could feel a wildness growing in her, and the force of his dark eyes only fostered her abandon.
“Have I.” He was still, then bowed slightly, saying with absurd propriety, “Thank you, elder brother.”
She blinked, taken off guard, and then laughed. “Elder brother. You’re quite right, but…” Her mirth faded as lightning scythed down the air, followed almost at once by an avalanche of thunder. Chih-Yü put her hand to her mouth as the open shutters rattled. She forced herself to speak to the stranger on the other side of the table. “Is there a woman you would like?”
“Yes,” he said as the white glare of the lightning danced along the far end of the ridge, setting a little fire in the dry grasses. “Chih-Yü,” he said as he held out one small, beautiful hand to her, “can you trust me? A little?”
The thunder drowned her answer, but she put her hand into his and rose slowly to her feet. They stood, the table between them, and he spoke to her softly. “When you came to me in Lo-Yang, I was not what you wanted to find. You hoped for many soldiers and in the end were forced to settle for one foreign alchemist. I accepted your offer not because Mao-T’ou stronghold is important to me, but only because I had been warned that it would be wise for me to leave the old capital for a time. Since then, my home there has been destroyed, so doubtless my decision to come here was a sensible one. But now, do you know, I don’t regret my choice.” His penetrating eyes held hers. “I think my life would be the poorer for not knowing you.”
“Shih Ghieh-Man.” Her hand lay in his and she thought it odd that it was not shaking, for inwardly she trembled, restless as a flame. “But,” she protested rather breathlessly, “you haven’t answered my question.”
“I have, you know.” With his free hand he touched her cheek, so lightly that she was not certain she had felt it. “Offer me any woman here in this stronghold, in this district, in this empire, and I will choose you, T’en Chih-Yü. If you are willing.”
Raindrops spattered on the window ledge, and she was grateful for this distraction. She tore away from him and busied herself with closing and latching the shutters. Only when she finished did she realize her mistake, for now she and Saint-Germain were alone in the soft gleam of the lanterns, shut away from the wind and the splendor of the storm. She could hear a few shouts from the courtyard as the rain took the guards and revelers unaware. “But I am Warlord,” she said at last.
“Yes,” he agreed, coming across the room toward her. His Egyptian finery, though alien in appearance, gave him a majesty that surprised her. She watched him, fascinated, wondering how she could have missed seeing him clearly before.
“Hsing has told me…” she began, as if to fend him off, though he stopped a few paces away from her. “Would it be any different with me?”
His dark eyes were sad. “Do you mean would I take you as another man might? No. It isn’t in … my nature. But it would be different I promise you. If you will trust me. You know that I am not as other men. If you find that repugnant, you must tell me…”
“No,” she murmured, “not repugnant.”
“… so that I will not upset you.”
“But don’t all alchemists keep their seed within them, to lend its strength to their work?” She had heard that maxim of alchemy many times over the years, and knew that some men in an excess of dedication to their art had themselves emasculated in order to perform the work more perfectly.
“It is not a question of alchemy,” he said dryly as he stepped back from her.
“If not alchemy, what? Are you like the other Western Black Robes who vow to forgo the pleasures of the flesh?” Outside, the rain was falling more heavily and the thunder crashed along the ridges. The torches in the courtyard were out, as was the fire started on the ridge.
“No.” It would be wisest, he thought, to leave and let Chih-Yü select another woman for him, but he could say nothing to her. He touched the open neck of his black kalasiris, trying to remember how it felt to sweat.
“Then what are you?” As she asked the question, she feared he would be so deeply insulted that he would not be able to stay with her. She knew with a start that she very much wanted him to stay with her.
He looked at her gravely. “A vampire.”
“A vampire?” she repeated, not able to laugh at him. “A p’o?”
Saint-Germain shook his head, though he knew the legends well enough. “Not precisely,” he said carefully, watching to see if she was horrified or angry. “Didn’t Hsing tell you what I required of her?”
“You mean the blood?” She saw him nod. “Hsing described it as very pleasant, better than what other men had done to her.” She had been curious when Hsing had told her how Saint-Germain used her, and what it was like.
“Does that bother you?” He spoke lightly enough still, but the pain was in the back of his eyes again.
Chih-Yü considered her answer carefully. “I am a virgin, Shih Ghieh-Man. It is not through choice. My father was never able to find a husband for me who was willing to let me continue here as Warlord, and so I have never been promised. I’m too old now—twenty-four. I would like to know pleasure.”
“Only pleasure?” He had come nearer, and now reached out to turn her face to his. “Look at me, Chin-Yü,” he commanded her softly. “If it is pleasure you wish for, I will give it to you within my limitations as often or as rarely as you want.”
The yearning she had felt so many times in the past possessed her once again. Her body ached to be pliant, to be molded by passion. She knew, as most women did, what was expected of her in order to please a husband, but she had not been ab
le to account for the way her blood stirred at the thought. “What more is there?”
His face clouded with grief. “There is love.”
“I am not a depraved woman,” Chih-Yü declared.
Saint-Germain took her face in his hands. “No one has said that you are,” he whispered before he touched her lips with his. It was indefinably sweet to sense her response through his mouth and fingers, to feel her spirit waken, vital, eager. There had been too many complacent, passive women in the last few years. He did not know how unsatisfactory his life had become until he drew this woman into his arms and for the first time in many years felt his desire ignite with an ardor he had almost forgotten. This was no quiet creature, unable to meet his need with demands of her own. There was strength in Chih-Yü, and deep-burning fire.
“Shih Ghieh-Man,” she breathed as he drew back from her. Shamelessly she put her arms around him to prevent their separation. Her head was pressed against his shoulder, the fluted linen of his kalasiris creasing her cheek. There had been many times in her childhood when she had been told tales of amorous courtesans who were foolish enough to love the men who paid for them, and who were overcome by despair when their lovers proved faithless. Listening to these stories and the sensible injunction of her father’s two concubines, she had assured herself that she would never be so unwise as to be snared by so useless an emotion as love. Love was for the family and the empire, not for one foreign man. Her whole body trembled as his fingers loosened her belt to open her sheng go. “What will you do?” she asked so quietly that the muffled blast of the storm submerged the question. The legends of the p’o spoke of the malignant wandering spirit who would inhabit abandoned corpses in order to prey on the living. There was nothing of that in Saint-Germain, in his strength, his cradling arms, his dark eyes. “What will you do?”
His senses had warmed to her. “This,” he murmured as his hands slowly, persuasively caressed her shoulders and breasts, sliding her sheng go away from her, letting it drop to the floor.
“Shih Ghieh-Man…” She knew that her nudity should distress her, but found instead that she was proud of the excitement she felt.
“And this.” In one swift, easy move he had lifted her into his arms and held her close as he crossed the room to the low couch where it was her custom to receive official visitors. He lowered her to the silken cushions, pulled the long jade pins from her casually knotted hair and ran his fingers through those ebony tresses, as he knelt beside her.
Her heart was buoyant and the apprehension that had flickered in her as bleak as the lightning was stilled as she felt her need join with his.
“And this.” He was aware that Chih-Yü had never experienced fulfillment before, and it was a keen delight to rouse her gently, letting her experience each new sensation thoroughly. He showered kisses that barely touched the skin on her arms, the arch of her ribs. His tongue traced the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hip, the petal-soft interior of her muscular thighs. As he brought her desires to their first tumultuous peak, he touched her throat.
“And this.”
Neither Chih-Yü nor Saint Germain ever knew when the storm rolled over them and on into the fastness of the mountains. They were caught up in the joyous discovery of their rapture, and for them the world, that night, was far away.
A petition from the District Magistrate Wu Sing-I to the Imperial court.
On the second day of the Fortnight of Great Heat, in the Year of the Ox, the Fourteenth Year of the Sixty-fifth Cycle, from the Tribunal of Shu-Rh District.
To the Most August Wielder of the Vermilion Brush and Glorious Master of the Dragon Throne, with most profoundly reverential respect:
This most unworthy person has been honored with the task of serving as Magistrate of the Shu-Rh District. He was before the Magistrate of the Tai-Lon District and before that the Chief Tribunal Officer of Hsia-Jan. He has been favored by Heaven to be part of a most distinguished family whose members he venerates with every devotion of filial piety.
The Wielder of the Vermilion Brush must wonder, then, why this unworthy person has so far exceeded the sensible limits of society to address the August presence directly instead of proceeding properly through those Ministries and Secretariats most closely allied with the Dragon Throne. This most unworthy person seeks to assure the August and Elevated Son of Heaven that had not the need been overwhelmingly great, he would never have transgressed so far as to send this petition.
The Shu-Rh District has been under attack by Mongol raiders since spring, and there is no sign that this will cease until winter snows make such raids difficult and uncomfortable for the despised men of Temujin. Our district capital, Shu-Rh, was burned some time back, and there are no less than seventy-three communities which have fallen to the Mongol wrath in the last three years.
Though in comparison to the larger cities these villages seem little, yet it has been shown that the people there are as loyal to the Imperial Presence as any others, and their suffering is as great as the suffering of the people of Pei-King.
It came to the attention of this most unworthy person that one of the local Warlords had attempted to gain access to those personages who have power to deal with the army. It is most unfortunate that there were few willing to listen to T’en Chih-Yü and there was no aid granted us. That some officials in the capital do not take the time to familiarize themselves with the gravity of the conflict in the west is most lamentable, though with the current state of warfare demanding more forces in the northeast, it is understandable that some officials might, in their zeal to reclaim Pei-King, be unaware that the Mongols are also active in the west. This most unworthy person is not seeking to blame any person in Lo-Yang or in K’ai-Feng. He wishes only to state that only the judgment of the August Occupant of the Dragon Throne is sufficiently attuned to the will of Heaven to make true evaluations possible.
Therefore, this most unworthy person has dared to petition the Wielder of the Vermilion Brush directly, and begs that the Elevated and August Presence will be sufficiently compassionate to overlook the reprehensible lapse of the Magistrate and hear out the plea this paper carries.
This most unworthy person is desperately in need of armed troops. The people of Shu-Rh are subject to the most severe assaults and criminal uses by the troops of Temujin and though the local Warlords have done all that is possible with their militiamen, it is not enough. By numbers alone the Mongols are able to triumph. Where they have been, there are ruined crops and burned buildings and slaughtered families. No matter how much we try to resist, it is not possible for a fortress manned by one hundred militiamen to withstand six hundred mounted Mongols. All the men here have acquitted themselves most valiantly, and those who have lost their lives in the struggle have made good account of that loss. It is not a lack of courage that is the question here, but of numbers and equipment. The Warlord Shao Ching-Po of the stronghold of Tsi-Gai pass has been attacked not once but twice. Thus far he has been able to resist the onslaughts of the Mongols, but he is low on arrows and quarrels and bows and spears and pikes. Though he has barrels of pitch in reserve, the enemy has not come close enough to allow him to put those barrels to good use. His manpower has been reduced to thirty-two trained militiamen and eight armed villagers. Tan Mung-Fa of Shui-Lo fortress has been asked to lend a few of his fighting men, but has not been able to spare any because of the great danger of attack. T’en Chih-Yü was able to send arrowheads and twelve coats of scale armor, but that is not sufficient. Warlord Shao has said to this most unworthy person that he is aware that his stronghold will fall when next the Mongols attack. He has set many traps within the stronghold so that the Mongols will pay a great price for their prize. Warlord Shao is a man of great courage and integrity and his men are willing to follow him into battle against demons if he asks this of him. Warlord Tan has said that he will make every attempt to send troops to Warlord Shao’s aid when the next assault comes, but does not know if he himself will be in battle at that time. War
lord Kung has informed the Tribunal that he has armed his villagers, but does not believe that there are sufficient numbers of them to put up a significant defense should the Mongols attack in earnest. Warlord T’en has made excellent preparations to resist the Mongols, but her stronghold has only eighty militiamen at this time, and they are not all seasoned fighters. Warlord Hua has sent word to this insignificant person that he has lost more than forty of his men to raiding parties, and he suspects that there may be spies in this region. If we had even half a garrison here, such activities would cease, for it would be possible to enforce the edict that came from the Vermilion Brush regarding such acts. Warlord Suh has sent the Tribunal weekly reports on the stage of his preparedness, and though he has done well, he has depleted his stores, and unless there is aid, he will not be able to feed his militiamen through the winter. There is not time enough to devote more men to the harvest, and the women are not content to work the fields alone and exposed to Mongol raiders, who, as has been reported throughout the Empire, use women most savagely.
This most unworthy person therefore most humbly requests that the August Son of Heaven will be inclined to send troops to alleviate our desperate situation here, and assist us in turning back the soldiers of Temujin. Without such help, we must all prepare ourselves for honorable death at the hands of the most malific of enemies.
From the city of Bei-Wah, temporary capital of the Shu-Rh District, by my own hand with the most profound submission to the will of the Presence of the Dragon Throne.
Path of the Eclipse Page 13
