The Magnolia Sword

by Sherry Thomas

  I swallow—there is a vehemence to his tone that I have never heard before. “All right. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Tuxi’s surname isn’t Tuxi. It’s Tuoba. His name is Tuoba Xi, and he is my second cousin and the emperor’s son.”

  My lips flap but no sounds emerge. I blink and try again. “Is—is he the crown prince?”

  An emperor’s successor is almost always appointed from among his sons rather than decided by mere seniority.

  “No, he is styled Prince Anzhong of Luoyang and he is not the crown prince,” Kai says quickly. And then, after a long silence, “Here’s something else you are to tell no one. The crown prince is ill—very ill and deteriorating. Or at least he was when we left the capital. To my thinking, that is the reason why those bent on treason are acting now. Without a strong heir, the emperor is weakened. And should the crown prince die—which is almost inevitable at this point—the jostling among the other princes would distract everyone at court and undermine the unity necessary to handle the Rouran.”

  I thought I was beyond any further shocks, but I still flinch in dismay: He is saying that Tuxi may be conspiring with the Rouran to forcibly improve his own position.

  I don’t need to ask why a son might wish to overturn his father’s rule. Such examples abound in history. Crown princes grow impatient for the reins of power. Princes lower in the pecking order depose their fathers and brothers because that’s their best and sometimes only chance at the throne.

  “Does anyone else know that he is with us?”

  “No one. Not my father, not even the emperor, who thinks he’s away from the capital on a different errand.”

  “No, I mean, does Master Yu know who he is?”

  “Tuxi has yet to visit me at home—he has less freedom of movement than I do. I used to go to the palace to study and train with him, and later we met in noodle shops and other such places, when he could get away.” Kai sighs. “He wanted to come with me on this mission, and I—well, I was glad to have him because his presence made me less afraid.”

  And now his presence complicates our already complicated situation.

  I rub my temples. The night air bites into my fingers. “Do you really believe that Prince Anzhong of Luoyang would betray his father?”

  “Don’t use that name—don’t even think it. And yes, he is capable of coming up with such a plan. As for why, the emperor can be a harsh father, and he has long underestimated Tuxi, believing him to be unsuited for greater tasks. This would certainly be one way of changing the emperor’s opinion.”

  My brain feels like a piece of paper over which someone has spilled a whole bucket of ink. It’s too much. It’s all too much. I am not meant to be dealing with matters of such gravity and magnitude. I’m a mere fighter, and not even a reliable one at that.

  For Heaven’s sake, I’m just a girl.

  Patience, echoes Father’s voice in my head. Concentration.

  I can’t concentrate and there isn’t a moment to lose! I retort.

  And then, for the first time, I understand what he wants me to do. He never meant that I should be patient while I wait for my opponent to make the next move, but that I should not become so jumpy and anxious that I lose focus.

  That instead of letting my thoughts run wild and take over everything, I can leave some room to allow for the return of concentration.

  I breathe deeply, in and out. I am not just a girl—no woman is. And if Heaven has deposited me at this time and place, then I am meant to deal with these problems, no matter their scale or consequence.

  I inhale again. “Yes, Tuxi possesses the intelligence and meticulousness it takes to formulate an ambitious, comprehensive scheme. And so do you.”

  “What?” says Kai, his response barely audible. Then, “What?”

  His voice has risen. His breaths turn irregular. I can almost feel the effort he expends to restrain himself so that his next sentence is only a heated whisper. “If I’m behind it, then why would I be telling you about this conspiracy?”

  “Because if I suspected you, I could prove a formidable opponent.”

  “So you do suspect me?” His voice does not shake, but it sounds right on the edge of doing so.

  “No. I’m sure your aunt made certain you never had time for any such thing.”

  He lets out a long breath of air.

  “You can’t suspect everyone because they could do it,” I go on. “I could be in on the conspiracy too—it’s possible! I could hate you and your family and want to bring down this dynasty so when the new Rouran overlords take over, the whole lot of you will perish.”

  He stares at me, then lets out a soft snort. “In theory my family and I could pledge our allegiance to the Rouran, and thereby save our necks. But I see what you are saying: My fear is overwhelming me again.”

  I slump against the rock face in my relief. When I pulled myself back from my own incipient panic, I realized that he too was on the verge of tipping over—and that before we could do anything else, we must both be able to think clearly.

  He scuffs the bottom of his boot against the stony ground. “If you were in my place, what would you do, Hua Mulan?”

  He has called me by my name twice before, shouting at me to get away from the bandits. But this time, he makes it sound as lovely as a magnolia in full bloom. It takes me a moment to remember what we are talking about. “You said yourself that the two of us alone cannot hold back the tide. So we have no choice but to trust more people. Let’s start with your father. You’ve known him all your life. Do you think he would betray his country? Not whether it is possible, but whether he would.”

  Kai takes a moment to think, then shakes his head. “No. He’s a soldier because he must be, but he hates war above all else. And my aunt would put a sword through his throat if he not only got himself into such a scheme, but also endangered me in the process.”

  “Then we trust him—and if we can trust him, then I think we can trust Yu. Now onto Tuxi. How long have you known him?”

  “All my life.”

  “Would he ally himself with the Rouran to overthrow his father?”

  Silence, then, “Highly, highly unlikely. He is a scholar at heart. He wants to be the court historian far more than he wants to be the emperor. And I believe him when he says that he values peace. He is a great admirer of the philosophical flowering during the Spring and Autumn period—and laments often that the political instability of the past few centuries has slowed the development of new ideas.”

  That accords with what I know of Tuxi. “So now it’s just Kedan we have to worry about.”

  Kai sighs. “I met him the day you did. I don’t know anything about him that doesn’t come from what he himself has said.”

  “Well, he said he’s a hunter and a tracker. And he’s proved himself to be both. And he has done his best to help us find the Rouran encampment.”

  “He could have done it because he wants to see Captain Helou again.”

  “Remember how upset he was when you sent Captain Helou away? If he knew they’d reunite in a few days, he wouldn’t have been that dejected.”

  “He might have been only pretending.”

  I throw my hands up. “By Heaven, you really are suspicious.”

  “A fearful mind finds a way to feed the fear,” he says, sounding apologetic.

  I shake my head. “How do you get anything done if you’re so afraid of everything all the time?”

  “Well, you know how sometimes something is so delicious you eat and eat and eat—and then one more bite and suddenly you are completely sick?”

  “Too much food is something only princelings have to worry about,” I mutter. But I can see, theoretically, that twenty lotus seed paste buns in a row might make me sick.

  “It’s like that with me and fear. My fear will spiral and spiral and spiral, and then all of a sudden I’ll be so sick and tired of being frightened that I have to restrain myself from doing something stupid.”

  I can’t
help myself. “Well, I happen to think you are brave. Exceptionally brave.”

  What is courage but strength in the face of fear? His fear might be great, but his strength is greater still.

  He looks at me, the weight of his gaze a warmth on my cheeks.

  Hastily I switch the subject. “Anyway, we were talking about Kedan. I know you still harbor doubts about him, but consider his theft from the Rouran scout. That was done out of mischief and pique. It’s not something he would have tried if he were on the same side as the Rouran.”

  “I don’t know if that’s enough to prove his innocence.”

  I sigh. “What would you have done if you had evidence that your father was actually working with the Rouran?”

  His hand briefly tightens into a fist. “The right thing, I hope.”

  “If you are willing to put the safety and security of your country above your love for your father, what makes you think Kedan won’t do the same with Captain Helou?”

  He does not answer, but at least he signals that we should head back.

  We grope along for some time before he says, “If this is a chess match, then the conspirators are the only ones who know where all the pieces are.”

  “They don’t know where we are,” I point out. “So if this is a chess match, we have just become the chariot—the spoiler of games.”

  When we get back to Yu, he is, as I expected, wide awake, and rises to his feet to greet us. Kai takes a deep breath and thanks him for his tireless work. A moment passes before Yu responds. His words are all the expected ones about devotion to service, but his voice is hoarse with suppressed relief.

  Through the rest of the night, we take turns holding watch. Shortly after first light, Captain Helou is escorted into Yucheng Khan’s tent. After the time of half a meal, he exits, accompanied by a number of Rouran, presumably the same generals and dignitaries from last night.

  Someone brings over a Dayuan horse for Captain Helou. There is talk, followed by a small ceremony—perhaps of oath-taking—that ends with everyone drinking from the same wineskin. Then Captain Helou rides out with a company of twelve, all on Dayuan horses. After he leaves, a number of messengers set out on their own Dayuan steeds, probably to inform Rouran cohorts farther east and west along the Wall to step up their attacks.

  I expected Yucheng Khan’s decision the night before to hold. Still, I feel as if I’ve been punched in the kidney: There is no averting this war now.

  When all the messengers have gone, the camp reverts to its normal activities. Men practice fighting with one another, horses are exercised, and more yurts are erected in anticipation of reinforcements arriving. When it becomes clear that further observation will not yield us additional information, we gather our things and depart, Yu to where he stowed his horse, Kai and I in the direction of the valley where Kedan and Tuxi spent the night—and where Yu will later meet us.

  When we reach the bottom of the ravine, we take some time to study the steep incline opposite, searching for the easiest route up. My throat is parched, but my waterskin is almost empty. I tilt it back and drain the last drop.

  “Here,” says Kai, handing over his waterskin.

  I hesitate.

  “There is a stream on the other side,” he says.

  I take one swallow and give it back. “Many thanks.”

  “There’s still more.”

  Only because he’s been saving it. I shake my head firmly. He takes a smallish sip and glances balefully at the steep rock face we must negotiate. “When this is all over, I’m never climbing another hill. I’ll demand to be carried up every incline in a palanquin.”

  “I’m giving up horses,” I say, only half joking. “And outdoors. Definitely outdoors.”

  “Cold, for me. I shall sever all ties with cold. Maybe settle permanently in Hainan.”

  Hainan Island was once the farthest southern reach of the Han Dynasty. It’s said to be a beautiful place surrounded by warm turquoise seas, with exotic fruits falling off trees into one’s hands. I nearly burst with longing, but I say, “Pah, what’s Hainan? Java, that’s where I’m moving to, as soon as I can find sailors who know how to get there.”

  He grins, only to glance at the rock face again and sigh. “All right, up we go.”

  “Once we get over and tell Tuxi and Kedan what we’ve learned,” I say, testing a toehold, “we’ll all be able to discuss what to do. It won’t be just our responsibility anymore.”

  And what a relief that will be.

  Kai seems to barely need toeholds, scaling the rock face with the ease of a cat climbing trees. “But we still don’t know enough. I suppose I could send Tuxi down to the encampment tonight, but given that they came to a decision last night and set their plan in motion this morning, the Rouran may not hold another discussion so soon. And of course, given who Tuxi is, I’m loath to put him at risk.”

  I understand what he is saying: We know just enough to be paralyzed. “How far are we from the capital?”

  “I’ve never ridden this way directly from the capital. My guess is three days or thereabouts, depending on the terrain.”

  “What if we all return to the capital? Even if Tuxi isn’t his father’s favorite son, his words must carry some weight at court. Let him warn the emperor that the forces of the central commandery cannot leave the capital. And since the Rouran don’t have enough manpower to overcome us head-on, as long as your father’s men remain in place, the Rouran are stuck here, depleting their rations, waiting for a signal that will never come. In ten days they’ll run out of food and won’t be able to fight anymore.”

  Kai shakes his head. “First, the Rouran commander understated the quantity of supplies they carry, to give Captain Helou a greater sense of urgency. Before you woke up this morning, I spoke with Master Yu, since he pilfered from their stores last night. He agrees with me that they can hold out for twenty days and still be in shape to ride and fight.

  “Second, I have thought about doing what you suggest. While it isn’t a bad strategy, it only keeps us where we are. We won’t even be able to apprehend Captain Helou for questioning—he will realize the scheme has failed and choose to remain beyond the Wall.”

  Keeping us where we are seems good enough to me: No war and everyone gets to go home. I maneuver around an outcrop. “What do you hope to accomplish, then?”

  “Remove the weed by the root. Captain Helou’s master at court needs to be exposed and eliminated. We will accomplish that only if we allow their plan to proceed.”

  I groan. “For somebody who is afraid of the wind rustling the grass, when did you become so intrepid?”

  “I’m just more afraid of the alternative—to go on knowing that such a traitor is among us, lying low and waiting for another opportunity. I don’t know that I can take that sort of tension. I might die from it. And you know I’m afraid to die.”

  He smiles as he says that, and my heart lurches. “I need to say ‘I’m afraid’ more often. Apparently that is the way to otherworldly courage.”

  He slithers up another body length. “I’d trade otherworldly courage for some otherworldly astuteness right now. If only I could figure out who Captain Helou’s master is …”

  On this I can’t help him at all. I’ve known Captain Helou all of … eleven days? Twelve? “What do you know about him?”

  “My father met him at the Mayi garrison several years ago and thought he was a man of great potential. He was hardworking, well-spoken, and intelligent. An accomplished martial artist. Not to mention he looks like a hero from the old tales. My father brought him into the fold, believing he could be a future commander. Possibly a future general.”

  He tests his weight on the exposed root of a small gnarly shrub that I just used to pivot myself higher. “I haven’t known him for as long,” he says. “When I was growing up, my father made sure that I got out of the capital periodically, whether to see for myself what life is like in remote villages or to go with my uncle to the South. But because my aunt insis
ted that the duel was my first priority, he didn’t put me to many soldierly purposes.

  “That changed this past winter, when our agents north of the Wall noticed greater movement among the Rouran. My father wanted to make sure all the garrisons under his command were at maximum preparedness—and he wanted me to be his eyes and ears where he could not be. My aunt was reluctant to let me go, with the duel breathing down our necks, but she agreed in the end that national peril outweighed personal enmities.

  “For three months, Captain Helou and I traveled far and wide, inspecting garrisons, supply chains, and royal granaries. But I’m afraid I don’t know much more about him than I did when we first met. My aunt always told me that a man shouldn’t say anything unless he has something of value to say. Well, I didn’t feel I had anything of value to say before someone like Captain Helou. So I never asked him how long he was at the garrison where my father met him, whom he served under before, or any such questions—and now I could slap myself for that oversight.”

  And here I thought his silence on those long rides was simply tremendous self-containment.

  “It still puzzles me how he managed to keep abreast of the development of his master’s scheme. We were constantly on the move, and since we made surprise inspections, he couldn’t have had letters sent to our upcoming destinations—that would have alerted me that he wasn’t keeping our itinerary a secret. We were always together, from morning to night. If he were to meet with his master’s other agents, when could he even have—”

  He stops climbing, thunderstruck. “Heavens, the pleasure houses! I have no proof of what he actually did on the evenings he went out for that purpose.”

  I am equally flabbergasted, and have to refocus my attention to haul myself up to a slight ledge. “I’ve heard of men using many ruses to go to pleasure houses. This might be the first time a man has used going to pleasure houses as a ruse!”

  He swears. “Next time anyone I know pulls that out as an excuse, I’ll interrogate the madams the next morning to make sure he actually went.”

  I laugh. Ah, my naïve superior. What if Captain Helou did use pleasure houses as meeting places? I’m about to suggest that to him when my attention is caught by something rolling around in the back of my mind. An idea? No, a memory of some kind. A memory that has faded to almost nothing because what I saw and heard held no significance for me at the time.