by Dave Gross
It was logical, if incorrect, for Master Li to assume I had learned my spells by stealing in to peruse tomes hidden within this forbidden district. Either Master Li was unaware that Jade Tiger was a wizard, or else he could not imagine the eunuch’s sharing knowledge with a temple novice.
If I remained silent and accepted the punishment for trespassing, I need not betray my co-conspirator. Even if Jade Tiger failed to resume our tutorials, now I knew there were other spells within the temple grounds. Surely one of them would allow me to contact Radovan. My sense of relief tempered my anticipation of punishment for my imagined offense.
“You have frightened half the life out of him, Master Li.” Su Chau mistook my expression for simple fear. “Let his penance be to assist us in the ritual. As a favor to me, do not let Wu chop him up as firewood.”
Master Li frowned more deeply than ever, the corners of his mouth threatening to separate his chin from the rest of his face. I wondered what he was thinking but immediately decided it was better not to know.
“It is settled, then,” said Su Chau. He stood and slapped me on the back, a vulgar and unwelcome gesture of camaraderie. “Come, Brother Jeggare. Let us disturb Master Li no longer. He must contemplate your atonement, and I foresee many copied pages in your future. Has he yet given you the Record of the Four Regents? If you have trouble sleeping, I can recommend no more potent remedy. It is said that the Monkey King once read a page by mistake and slept for eighty-eight years.”
I eluded Su Chau’s grasp long enough to bow to Master Li and back out of the room. Once outside, I joined the mystics as they strolled across a little bridge to the west bank.
I interrupted Su Chau before his next opus could gain momentum. The suspicion that Jade Tiger had not fulfilled his promise to contact Radovan had been growing in my mind.
“Pardon me, Elder Brother, did you say you are traveling through Lanming?”
He nodded.
“On my journey to Dragon Temple, I was separated from a traveling companion. We agreed to meet in Lanming in such an event, but my vow to the temple masters prevents me from leaving the grounds.”
“Yet it did not prevent you from sneaking into the Persimmon Court and stealing a peek at the arcane scrolls?”
I gazed at the ground in hopes that he would leap to the wrong conclusion. “Let go of your worldly concerns, Little Brother. If your friend is half as resourceful as you, rest assured that he is cheerfully breaking the rules of some other master.”
I wished to protest, but it was futile. Su Chau had already done me a kindness, and he meant to collect the return by quizzing me about my life in Avistan. It fell to me to oblige as the three of us strolled along the shade of the western wall.
We paused from time to time beside some legendary or historical image graven into the wall. Wen Zhao made a study of each, pretending to ignore us as Su Chau unleashed a barrage of questions, each time interrupting my answers with a laugh and an anecdote of his own, often based on the subject of a nearby carving. Wen Zhao cast his gaze to heaven, as if he had heard all of his companion’s tales a hundred times before.
No doubt he had.
Su Chau held forth for hours, until the dusk became dark. At last, Wen Zhao interceded.
“Brother Jeggare will miss his curfew.”
Su Chau sighed, reluctant to release me. “Very well. Let us return to our quarters.”
He led the way to the Peach Court gate and opened it with a key. We descended to the southernmost quarter of Dragon Temple. Its walls contained six houses standing independent of the walls, each a miniature manor fit for a noble. The royal spearmen stood before the largest. By the lantern light I saw their eyes follow our movements as we walked to the small house set aside for the visiting monks.
“I trust you can find your way through to the Cherry Court,” said Su Chau. He nodded toward the walled garden that separated the visitors’ quarters from the novices’ court. “I understand you are quite the climber.”
Despite his patronizing tone, I could not help but feel affection for this gregarious wizard-monk. In some ways he reminded me of Radovan. I bowed my thanks in the Chelish fashion, an oddity that delighted Su Chau and left his junior shaking his head in wonderment.
I hoped that a shortcut through the garden would afford me another glimpse of the princess. There was no sound of her lute, but as I vaulted the southern wall onto the nearest tree branches—a feat I could not have imagined performing just a few months earlier—I detected low voices. They quieted at my approach, and I heard a disturbance of branches on the opposite side of the garden. I dropped from the peach tree and surveyed the area.
The princess sat beside the pond. Her fingers arched over the strings of her guqin, but I sensed pretense in her posture. She had not been playing a moment earlier. Her sword lay beside the instrument, but there was no sign of the person with whom she had been speaking. I imagined they had heard my approach and separated, she feigning that she had been alone all the while.
There was no sign of Jade Tiger. It seemed prudent to warn him of Master Li’s discovery of my flying scrolls and his mistaken assumption of my source for the magic. I could not think of a reason why the eunuch would conceal himself from me—not unless he wished to avoid perpetuating our relationship. Yet I knew a man of his station had only to command me to cease imposing my company upon him. There was no reason for evasion.
Unless he had laid a trap for me.
I granted myself one minute to consider the possibility, controlling my breathing as I imagined scenarios in which my apprehension or death could benefit Jade Tiger. The last time I had seen him, he ignored me in favor of Kwan. Both men had proven themselves to be subtle, yet I was at a loss to envision a motive for my destruction. If Jade Tiger had indeed withdrawn at my approach, then Princess Lanfen had to be aware of his stratagem.
My minute expired, I deferred my misgivings for later contemplation.
Despite my certainty that she was aware of my presence, I emerged from the shadows and approached Princess Lanfen openly so as not to startle her. The tune she played faltered as she saw me, but again I detected art in the gesture. She had known I was there from the moment I set foot upon a branch. No matter. I smiled and bowed once more in my native style, then again in the local manner, down to the ground as befits a disciple of Dragon Temple greeting the royal presence.
“You are brave to risk the wrath of Master Wu again.” Her tone was light. I could not tell whether she was mocking me.
“The lure of your music is irresistible.”
“You must be a great lover of music.”
“And of beauty.” If I had gone too far, she made no sign of it. If anything, she appeared impatient or bored. I took her indifference as a challenge. “In my country, there is no more glorious expression of emotion than the opera.”
“I have been to the opera. It is a fine amusement for the lower classes.”
“In Cheliax, the opera is first performed for the pleasure of the queen. Entire palaces are devoted to the art, and the singing is ...” I almost said that the singing was far superior to that which I had heard in Tian Xia. It was true, yet it was impolitic to make such a comparison to a princess of Quain.
“Demonstrate,” she said.
For the third time that day, I felt I had walked into a trap.
“Your highness, mine is not an operatic voice. I can barely—”
She struck a discordant note on her guquin. “You refuse?”
“No, of course not. Yet—”
“Excellent,” she said. She began to play a tune I barely recognized. It might have been something I heard during our all-too-brief stay in Bosan, but I could not name it.
I gestured to her instrument. “If I may, your highness.”
She barely moved, but she nodded at the guqin. Her remaining so
close was an invitation or a dare. Either way, I accepted, reaching across her shoulder to pluck the strings. She turned her head, and her breath warmed my cheek. I reached around the other side to fret the strings and began to play.
The result was an approximation of the opening strains of the lover’s regret from The Lay of Gundra and Her Defender. So close to the princess, I sang softly in my native tongue.
Under the moon I sang the nightingale’s promise,
Never to leave you, never to leave,
Yet morning’s choir sings to me of duty,
And I must return, I must return.
So give me the sword that I lay by your bed,
And kiss me, my love, kiss me for love.
Cover the mirror and pray to Shelyn,
And kiss me again, kiss me goodbye.
“How strange,” said the princess.
I felt a pang of shame. “My apologies, your highness. The original language—”
“No,” she said. “I do not understand the words, but I feel great sorrow in them.”
“Yes, that is it exactly. Many operas are performed in languages foreign to much of the audience, but it does not matter. A great singer conveys the meaning without words.”
“Then you are a great singer.”
Heat surged into my cheeks. There was no danger of mistaking her compliment for an informed opinion, but I felt foolish and tongue-tied. I babbled some feeble protest but stopped as I heard leaves stir in a nearby branch.
There had been no breeze this evening.
I interposed myself between the sound and the princess. “Your highness, you must withdraw.”
She did not retreat. Instead, she grasped her sword and stood behind me. A whisper of steel told me the blade was in her hand.
I held a flying scroll between my fingers. As I reached for another, my moonlight vision perceived a black-swathed figure dropping from the nearest peach tree. A chain-knife in his hands, he ran directly toward us.
I sent a volley of force bolts hissing toward the attacker. They struck the four quarters of his torso but barely slowed him. Rather than await his charge, I stepped forward to intercept him.
He thrust the blade at my heart, but I stepped inside his guard and caught his wrist. He wrapped the chain around my throat and drew it tight. I choked as he turned the dart at the other end of the chain toward my face.
The princess leveled her sword at the attacker’s eye. I could barely see the blade. Even motionless, it was a blur, like a smudge of pigment on a hasty sketch. The princess spoke with the voice of royal authority. “Release him and surrender. Otherwise, you die.”
The assassin hesitated for an instant, all the time I needed to fling my flying scroll and clutch his free arm.
Lightning crackled through his flesh. The current lashed back at me through the chain around my neck. My head jerked, serendipitously smashing his nose with the back of my skull. I was dazed as much from the force of the blow as from the surge of electricity, but the chain that choked me fell slack.
The attacker staggered a few steps away, his limbs jerking involuntarily. My body sympathized with his convulsions.
The princess stepped past me, her sword aimed at the assassin’s throat.
“Who sent you?” she demanded.
Before the man could speak, darts flew past the princess and sank into the assassin’s throat. The man fell to the ground and released a final breath.
The eunuch moved with uncanny speed. One moment he was across the pond, the next he had run over its surface and stood beside her. He took another step to interpose himself between us.
“I am well, but I wished to question the assassin,” she said. “You have made that impossible.”
Jade Tiger bowed to the ground. “Your highness, I did not—”
The princess gestured to me. “If not for Brother Jeggare—”
“Brother Jeggare must return to the dormitory at once.” Jade Tiger spoke without looking at me. “The alarm will sound at any moment. If he is found here, I doubt Master Wu will be lenient.”
“Yes.” The princess spoke only to Jade Tiger. To her I had become invisible. “Of course, you are right. He must go.”
Jade Tiger turned his gaze upon me. He snapped open his fan to cover his mouth with the side I had not previously seen. Upon it was the snarling visage of a ferocious tiger.
Without further protest I ran across the garden and scaled a tree near the wall. Moments later, I slipped quietly into the dormitory and sought my pallet. As I went, however, some sixth sense caused me to pause as I passed Kwan’s pallet. His breathing was steady, but too measured for genuine sleep. I took a moment to inhale deeply before laying my body down in my own place.
It took me almost an hour to fall asleep. During that time, I pondered the implications of the scent of peach blossoms emanating from First Brother Kwan.
Chapter Fifteen
Whispering Spider
We ran through the forest until Judge Fang stood on my back, pulled on my ear, and pointed out our destination.
It was a ruined temple covered in flowering vines. The fat moon chased us through the trees. Sometimes it winked through a sheet of gossamer hanging between the branches.
Fireflies danced all around, but there was something strange about the big ones near the temple. They moved too fast, and they changed colors as they chased each other through the stones. There was a strange song near the temple, but I couldn’t hear it in my ears. I felt it buzz in my bones.
I began to think the fireflies weren’t really fireflies. The fur on my neck rose, and Judge Fang fussed when it got into his mandibles.
“Slow down, you stubborn wolf!” cried the Goblin Who Swallowed the Wind. He had been running behind me since we picked up the trail. He could not keep up when I ran. I didn’t like his calling me a wolf, so I did not slow down.
Just behind the Goblin were the nine little foxes that had joined us when the moon was dark.
At first it was only one big fox who agreed to Judge Fang’s invitation to join us. She did so in exchange for our help slaying the ogre that had killed her mate.
Judge Fang devised a scheme. I would lure the tattooed ogre out of its cave. Gust would shock it to make it run in the right direction, and the Goblin would blow it into a pit of spikes.
It would have worked, but despite Judge Fang’s careful plan, the Fox could not resist running in to bite the ogre once. Before it fell into the pit, it struck her with its great mace of skulls. The blow smashed the Fox into nine pieces.
I howled my despair. Gust wept, and the Goblin cursed. We had lost the ally we hoped to gain.
Judge Fang just lit his pipe and sat on a big yellow toadstool to wait. “Look,” he said. “There is no blood.”
He was right. The nine pieces of the Fox each looked like nothing more than a piece of her bushy tail. As we watched, the nine fuzzy patches began to stir. Each was a tiny baby fox, blinking in the sunlight as if just born. An hour later they were big enough to hunt mice. The next morning, their legs were long enough for travel.
As we approached the temple, the foxes nipped at the Goblin’s heels, urging him to run faster.
Above us, Gust laughed. I liked the way Gust smelled when she laughed. She smelled like spring, even in summer.
The Goblin did not like Gust’s crackling laugh. He stopped shouting at me and cursed his nemesis. I felt bad for Gust, but I was glad the Goblin forgot about me. He had been shouting at me all day.
He was angry that I would not let him ride on my back, and he kept calling me a wolf. I didn’t like that because my parents taught me to hate wolves. I was a dog. It made no sense to call me a wolf.
Judge Fang told me goblins do not fear wolves as they do dogs and horses, who live with men. The Goblin would
never ride a dog, but he would ride a wolf. He was tired of running, so he pretended I was a wolf.
Judge Fang said I should refuse because the Goblin could not be trusted. I was not afraid of the Goblin, but I did not want him on me because he smelled worse than Judge Fang’s pipe. Besides, if I carried both Judge Fang and the Goblin, we could never catch up with the Hopper.
The Hopper was the reason we traveled to this forest full of streams and cobwebs. Somewhere among the trees we would find a kami who could see through illusions. Judge Fang said we would need its help in gathering the rest of our army. When we had gathered enough kami and beasts, we could finally go to my master in Iron Mountain.
The only other things I knew about the Hopper were its smell and its footprint.
Its scent was different from any I’d smelled before. It was like a chicken without dander, but also it was like a snake, so I had no idea what it would look like. It left no droppings behind, so I couldn’t even tell what it ate.
Its footprint didn’t help me know how it looked. It was round, like a hoof, but the edges were not so sharp. Also, there was only one print, always the same.
The Hopper had only one leg.
Ahead of us, something leaped over a puddle and vanished inside the temple walls. I barely saw it. It had a body as round and orange as a pumpkin. Its fur was as thin and puffy as a dandelion’s head just before the wind blows it off.
“The temple wards have faded,” said Judge Fang. “Follow it inside.”
I leaped over a hollow log and landed covered in gossamer. It was invisible in the air, but on my fur it was white and sticky.
Behind us, the Goblin jumped up on the log. He pointed at us and laughed. He slapped his rump and stamped on the log until his foot went through the rotten bark. He disappeared with a puff of mushroom dust.
The fox cubs yipped and ran over the log. They had grown no bigger since the day after we met them, so they were too light to fall into the crumbling log.
Judge Fang jumped off my back to tear off the gauze. I rolled on the grass. Most of it rubbed off.