SHIANG

by C. F. Iggulden

  Hondo could see the man was recovering. He had never before witnessed the sort of power he had seen used in that yard on that day. He was astonished to have survived even to that point. Men were fragile when great forces moved. Hondo had no illusions about his own skills. He had been the best of a hundred thousand. He was said to be the greatest swordsman Shiang had ever produced. But he had not been able to match the speed of the one who carried the Yuan sword. It had been all he could do to read the man’s muscles and stay out of the way of his blade. Even that had not been enough. Every time he had blocked, the bastard had struck out like a hammer. The world had swung upside down and Hondo could see blood wherever he looked.

  He had made his peace. Hondo knew Je was dead. He had seen it happen and been ashamed at the manner of it. No warrior should be held and burned like an animal. Whoever they were, the three men of Shiang had no honour. Sadly, Hondo did not expect to live long enough to teach them the cost. He advanced slowly on the broken figure, squinting to focus, wondering if he could take the man’s head off before he passed out.

  As Hondo came to within a dozen paces of Gabriel, he saw the Yuan sword lying on the ground. The blade was still perfect, though it had been flung across shingle and rubble. Hondo hesitated. He could not leave the royal sword of Shiang in the dirt.

  As he bent down and closed his hands on the hilt, he saw soldiers running at their position. Hondo had no idea how long he had been fighting, but it seemed Lady Sallet had decided to commit her reserves. Yet instead of engaging the enemy, they formed a defensive line, with shields facing the Bracken house. The last of the green warriors was gathered in amongst them and moved back.

  Hondo shook his head in confusion. He saw the big officer shouting at him, but his ears rang and he could not hear him at first.

  ‘… back. Fall back, sir. Please. We can’t hold this spot.’

  ‘He’s down,’ Hondo said, trying to point. ‘One of them – the leader. He had this sword.’

  He held it up to Captain Galen to show him, but the world swayed and Hondo staggered. Galen took him in his arms then and bore him backwards. The Sallet soldiers retreated in good order, leaving chaos and flames to take hold behind them. There would be no saving the Bracken estate, that much was clear. Thick smoke poured from the windows from whatever had caught fire inside.

  Hondo saw the two who had killed the twin walk across the yard. He watched them as if through glass, understanding that he had been battered witless by the leader, but unable to make his thoughts settle. He was being carried away with armed lines retreating before him. Without warning, Hondo wrenched out of Galen’s grip to vomit. He felt his mind grow a touch clearer as he saw Lady Sallet. She met his eyes and her expression was terrible. Hondo shook himself, trying to stand on his own. He felt both swords prised from his grasp and did his best to help as one of them was placed in the scabbard on his hip, first the wrong way and then with much fumbling, sliding home with a satisfying click. Both twins were dead. Bosin had been ruined. Hondo could not understand why he was still alive.

  ‘Fall back in good order,’ Lady Sallet said. ‘Let Regis and De Guise have the street.’

  Hondo looked to where she was glaring and saw ranks of red and black marching down the main road to that position. Cheers could be heard from some of the windows all around.

  ‘Come with me, Master Hondo,’ Galen said to him. ‘You have a broken jaw. I’ll have Burroughs look at you.’

  ‘Not Canis,’ Hondo said. He realised then why his words were so strange and not what he heard in his head. Yet Galen seemed to understand.

  ‘Not Lord Canis, no,’ he said, leading Hondo away.

  Taeshin advanced along the line. He held a big stone in his fist and he knew the path the king would take to encourage his men. He had watched it many times and the pull to join them had grown to a great ache. Only the dreams of his old life kept him apart – and perhaps his desire to keep Marias safe. He would not let her down. The thought of giving up and just sinking into the ranks tugged at him, as blissful sleep calls to a weary man. He longed for it, but he could not give in, not then.

  The king was looking over the army as he rode. He showed no awareness of Taeshin standing in his path as he cantered along the line. A ton and a half of armour, man and mount was a frightening thing to have bearing down at speed, but Taeshin had tried everything else.

  He waited as long as he could and threw the stone in his hand. It flew true and hard, striking the king on the helmet and rocking his head back. The man looked for what had struck him in puzzlement and it seemed he would ride on even then. Taeshin swore and leaped at him, yanking hard. He brought his full weight to bear on the king, wrenching him over to one side. The man’s boot stayed in its stirrup, but the other flailed in the air, so that he hung upside down. For a few breathless instants, Taeshin hung on, terrified of going under the hooves. Then something snapped and they crashed down together. Before the eyes of the astonished army, Taeshin bounced to his feet and watched as the king rose up, his eyes like flint. As Taeshin opened his mouth to speak, the king drew a great sword.

  ‘Oh, son, I’ll have your head for that,’ the man growled, advancing on him.

  22

  Regis

  Gabriel staggered as he made his way back across the broken gates and twisted ironwork surrounding the Bracken estate. Flames and smoke poured out of every window by then, so that he joined Thomas and Sanjin with the world on fire at their backs.

  Ahead of them, they could see roads filling with marching men. Gabriel looked at Thomas, who seemed wild, his eyes gleaming. Sanjin was a different matter. His wound was terrible.

  ‘Let me heal you,’ Gabriel said to him, though even the thought brought a wave of sickness. He’d used almost everything he had just to keep himself from death. For the first time since entering the city, he felt they were overmatched.

  Sanjin sidled up to him, his gaze on the streets around the Bracken house. Despite his own pain, Gabriel placed his hand in the bloody mess that was Sanjin’s face and concentrated. He felt the flow of blood ease and the gash seal itself. A scar appeared under his hand, as if he drew it with a finger. With a grunt, Sanjin pulled away.

  ‘Little bastard tagged me while I was distracted. Those green things …’

  He did not need to explain. Gabriel unwrapped the Bracken Stone as Sanjin spoke. They all looked to it as it was revealed, seeing the depth of purple, flecked in gold.

  ‘Can you take more?’ Gabriel said.

  Sanjin put out his forearm in response and he pressed the stone to it, edging the gold discs into place with his fingers until Sanjin gasped and closed his eyes, breathing like a woman in labour.

  ‘There it is …’ Sanjin whispered.

  Gabriel and Thomas watched the ranks assembling. The last of the green warriors had been borne away by its owner. He could not sense another stone in the area.

  ‘We could get away,’ Gabriel said.

  Sanjin’s eyes opened and he removed the Bracken Stone, fixing it like a leech to Thomas in turn.

  ‘To where?’ Sanjin said as Thomas stiffened. ‘They know this city better than we ever could.’

  ‘I don’t know – to hide, to heal. Somewhere. We came for more stones and we have this one. I can’t feel another … wait … over there.’

  He pointed to the right of the assembled ranks, to the rear. He could see a man dressed in black, carrying a leather bag as he climbed down from a carriage of the same colour. For Gabriel, it was a smudge across his vision, as if a spot of grease had appeared on the lens of his eye. He could feel the presence of a stone, as perhaps it was aware of him.

  ‘Power calls to power,’ he murmured. ‘They’ll come to us.’ He had no desire to see what other artefacts the city of Darien had created for its defence. All he wanted was the stones themselves.

  Thomas waved his hand and Gabriel pressed the Bracken Stone to his own arm once more. He had only closed his eyes for an instant when he felt it pouring int
o him, filling him with light and life and raw power, to be turned any way he wished. His healing accelerated, so that he felt bones knit and muscles grow where they had snapped. He breathed more easily.

  ‘Tie it on, brother,’ Thomas said, looking at him.

  Gabriel raised his eyebrows.

  ‘You are sure?’

  ‘You can use it – better than the man who had it before. All three of us have the Aeris Stone in our blood. We can call on the others, but I want to survive long enough to see the rewards.’ He looked at the soldiers marching down the road towards them and shook his head. ‘We are not meant to be in this world, Gabriel. I think to stay here, we have to fight, to cling on with teeth and nails and everything we have. So spend it all. Let there be no limit. We stand here and we break these people. Or everything we’ve done is for nothing.’

  Gabriel put out his hand and Thomas shook it. Sanjin laughed, cracking his neck in his hands.

  ‘I know my choice,’ Sanjin said. ‘I will burn this city to ashes before I go back.’

  Gabriel tore a piece of shirt and wrapped it round his arm. He felt the stone against his skin, trickling power into him. He nodded to Thomas.

  ‘Very well. Let’s take them on.’

  Walking with a Sallet Green had its advantages, Tellius thought. The armoured warriors were legends in Darien. Marching ranks got out of the way for one of the massive Sallet artefacts. Even the patchwork one. The workshop men of the Sallet estate called it that for the shifting colours of green and grey. Ever since it had been drained and then burned two years before, the suit had been too badly damaged to use. Yet with two others fit only for scrap, it meant that Lady Sallet’s people had ruined suits to work on, for the first time. They’d understood so little of how the suits were made that at first they’d been like children in a workshop, not daring to touch the machines for fear they’d destroy them. They had learned a great deal from taking them apart. The patchwork suit was not as powerful as the others, but the day green had bloomed again along its panels had felt like a victory.

  Tellius looked back to the thing following him, feeling like a child himself as it towered over anyone else in the road. He did not know who Bosin had been before his healing. The man he was at that moment was utterly focused on the task at hand – learning how to use the armour. Tellius had thought he would have to persuade the Shiang swordsman, but Bosin showed no indecision or fear of the thing. From the first moment he’d seen it waiting for him, he’d been coldly appreciative.

  As Tellius looked back, he saw Bosin rotating the wrists and lifting the legs high, so that he stamped and twisted at the waist, a hundred different movements to mimic his own. The green panels flickered, so that he sagged for an instant. Before Tellius could do more than curse, the man was up once more, jumping in place with enough force to crack the stones of the road. The green sword on his back was still there. In one huge gauntlet, he carried his own sword, the long blade of a master.

  Tellius could see flashes of light and drifting smoke ahead of them. He fretted as he walked. The street was full of the militia forces, all pressing forward. There was no sign yet of Sallet guards, nor the only one he wished was nowhere near that place. If he could have forbidden her presence, Tellius would have done it. Yet Win was the head of the house and her guards, even sensible men like Galen, would not refuse her orders for those of her beloved companion, regardless of him being constantly, continuously right. It was infuriating.

  Tellius breathed in relief when he glimpsed Sallet colours ahead, though his expression became sickly as he saw the Bracken house burning. The sun was going down and the short winter’s day was coming to an end. Yet flames and heat bathed them all. He caught his breath when he saw Lady Sallet standing with Hondo and Captain Galen. Tellius went forward in a rush then, relying on the presence at his back to clear the path.

  Lady Sallet glanced up with all the others. Her eyes widened.

  ‘You brought Patchwork?’ she said.

  Tellius smiled tightly. He did not like her using the term as a pet name for the thing. The Sallet Green may have been damaged, but it was not a faithful hound, nor a child’s toy. It was still an artefact of extraordinary offensive ability – and if it had its weaknesses, well, he had put a Mazer swordsman inside it, a man trained from childhood in every aspect of combat. He’d worried Bosin would be too big to get inside, but the suit had adjusted as it had for others, settling ten thousand rounded metal heads against his flesh. As he moved, they moved, and the suit amplified it all.

  Tellius felt his eyes widen as he took in the carnage around the Bracken estate. Two Sallet Greens were down and the one nearest him was still leaking blood from the man inside. As he watched, Galen’s men brought a flatbed cart and began loading the armour onto it. They made no attempt to remove the man within, not then, with too many eyes around to report their secrets.

  Facing the street, Tellius saw the same three men he’d seen entering the city. As he watched, they stood close together, clearly discussing tactics like any team about to face another assault. He reached back and patted the patchwork armour on its arm, not that the man inside could have felt it. The huge figure at his side seemed to lean forward and the armour creaked threateningly.

  ‘Hold here,’ Tellius said. ‘Wait for my order.’

  Bosin stood like a statue then, peering over the flames and scattered bodies. Tellius kept a wary eye on him as he looked for Captain Galen and Win.

  Hondo came through the crowd of Sallet soldiers. They parted for him as they would have done for Bosin, and Tellius understood why as the man stopped in front of him. Hondo was marked in blood and soot from head to toe. He’d rolled and dodged and been struck hard any number of times. Tellius saw he held two swords and he gaped as Hondo bowed and presented one of them to him.

  The hilt of the Yuan sword was filthy, the red and black sharkskin ruined. Yet the blade was perfect, a silver length unmarked. Tellius raised it in awe.

  ‘I saw this last … when my brother wore it. Can you believe that? Before his son. It is like looking into the past.’

  ‘Stand back, salads!’ a voice came.

  Tellius looked to the source and raised his eyes as he saw Lord Regis approaching, surrounded by a hundred or so of his soldiers in dark red. The man carried the Regis shield on his left arm and wore a short sword on his hip. Tellius was interested in the shield, but he found the man himself unbelievably irritating.

  ‘Be polite, Tellius,’ Lady Sallet murmured at his shoulder.

  ‘There you are,’ he replied as quietly.

  He reached over without looking and touched her hand for the briefest of moments before they let go. Lord Regis was bearing down on their position and Tellius braced himself. Win never seemed to notice the barbs Regis managed to include in every exchange. ‘Salads’ was just one example.

  ‘Evening, master consort,’ Regis said. He frowned at the patchwork armour looming over them all and bowed to Win. ‘Lady Sallet. Bit of a fracas! Thought I’d help out.’

  The man was red-faced, broad of chest and loud, but Tellius was convinced he only played the part of a brash and stupid man. No actual idiot could have managed to get under his skin so effectively, he was almost certain.

  ‘Defending the city, my lord, yes, as you agreed you would, in council. You are very welcome, of course. I …’

  ‘Brought De Guise here,’ Regis said over him, as if he’d wearied of Tellius already. ‘Old Geese and his sword. Your fresh salads can stand down, I should think.’

  ‘These men are very powerful,’ Tellius said. As much as he would have enjoyed seeing Regis brought to his knees, the shield was an asset that could be useful, even if the man who carried it was a moron.

  ‘Those three dear young maidens?’ Regis said, peering into the flame-light around the Bracken estate. The evening darkened further every moment and Tellius wondered how he would prevent the invaders just disappearing into darkness.

  Regis did not look particularly imp
ressed at what he saw.

  ‘I’ll block them with the shield. De Guise will bring up the sword in my shadow and that should be about it. Anything else I need to know?’

  Regis seemed to be preparing himself to attack. He edged away, glaring at the three enemies. Tellius spoke quickly before the lord could rush off.

  ‘Hondo, you’ve fought them. Advise Lord Regis, would you?’

  Tellius was furious at the sense of rush that had been forced upon him. Regis gave the impression of being the most impatient man alive, as if everyone else was just kicking their heels against a wall, while he was the only one who wished to act.

  Hondo bowed and Regis raised an eyebrow at the state of him. The sword saint had bandages wrapped right around his head, supporting his jaw. Every part of him that could be seen was scraped or gashed. One eye was almost completely red and he had lost some of his teeth. He spoke carefully, slurring the words.

  ‘One uses air somehow – to choke and tighten. Or as a shield. Two of them seem able to produce fire without fuel. I think they burn the air, though I could not see how it was done. They are all fast – faster than me, or any other man I have ever fought.’

  He was panting and took deep, ragged breaths as he stopped talking. For once Regis was silent, perhaps out of respect, or awe at the man’s injuries.

  ‘They are not particularly agile, nor skilled as swordsmen,’ Hondo went on. ‘I would say they are merely competent, though their other gifts make them hard to engage. Nor are they invulnerable. I saw one of them shot with your guns, more than once. He bled, though he did not fall and seemed to heal himself. They are clearly … allies and will rescue or defend one another if they are overmatched. Yet the one who stands in the centre now is the leader and commands the others …’ He trailed away, rubbing grit from one of his eyes as it streamed.

  Some of the bounce seemed to have gone from Regis at the exchange, Tellius noted. Those marching to battle never enjoyed the sight of those coming away from it. Yet even as Tellius had the thought, he saw the lord’s chest swell, his confidence return. Regis didn’t learn from the experiences of others. How could he, when he was always proved right in the end? It was infuriating, but they still needed his shield – and perhaps a fearless man to carry it.