This time they entered the palace through a garden, or what was left of it, then a narrow door. The air here was not so foul, but tinged with the smells of herbs and onions; it must be near the kitchen. They ascended a flight of stairs, Jian fumbling, Dog lunging on the unfamiliar surface, Masou taking one steady step after another.
Their journey ended in a chamber much smaller than the throne room, warmed by a small fire. The rustle of fabric told Jian where the Emperor stood, likely turning now to face her. This time he wore cotton, she judged, not silk.
Diagonally behind Jian, Masou lifted a chair and set it down with a thump so she’d know where it was. She sat. Dog sat. The Emperor pulled up a chair, scraping one leg across the floor, and sat. “Masou warned you about the court appearance? I would not have insulted you in such a public fashion had there not been need.”
“I wonder the courtiers did not question why you summoned me at all,” she said dryly.
“I very much doubt any of them is thinking of anything beyond how much of his treasure he will be permitted to take away. I certainly hope not. Oh, they’ll grumble and gossip, to be sure, but they’ll look to their own. And I want all their thoughts on how their own concerns during the relocation.”
Jian thought, Abandoning the city is a feint. Then: The warlock—whose name had been forgotten, if he’d ever had one—was not omnipotent.
“All attempts to put an end to the warlock have failed. He has the wiliness and power of a demon.” The Emperor sounded weary, on the edge of grief. Jian almost heard his thought, And my people cannot survive much longer, trying to hold on to their homeland. “I…” a minute pause, barely more than an indrawn breath, “…consulted an oracle…”
Although Jian stifled her surprised reaction, Dog caught it, sitting straighter and leaning into her knee.
“…and I have learned how to break the curse. It’s not an easy thing, as you would imagine. One of us must journey to Black Mountain and confront him there.”
Black Mountain, home of bandits and worse. Uncanny things. A fitting home for the warlock. Sane men did not venture there.
She wet her lips. “And you want me to do this?”
A pause, a breath like a sob. “My daughter must be the one. The oracle was adamant on this point. I cannot deny—you know the curse took many forms? The sickness in the land, your own deformity?”
Jian nodded. Dog leaned harder against her leg. She raked her fingers through the thick fur.
“My daughter, Amaya, who as a child was so beautiful, so full of grace and light, was rendered… I cannot in truth say hideous, for I have not seen her face since that day. But every person who looked upon her in those early hours was turned to stone.”
What talk Jian had heard about the princess suggested she was either painfully shy or sickly, or perhaps as ugly as a pig, and that accounted for her absence from court. Not this.
Poor girl.
“I believe the oracle intends her to use the curse against the one who inflicted it on her. She is willing, she says. In fact, she is alarmingly eager to be of use after all these years shut away from everyone except a few exceptionally discreet servants. She can veil her face from the unwary, but she cannot venture alone into the wilderness surrounding Black Mountain. Will you help her?”
A blind woman leading one whose face is death to look upon? While Jian searched for an appropriately respectful way to point out the absurdity of the request—no, it was a command—Masou stirred.
“I will be your guide,” he said, “and lend my sword to yours. And Noro—remember him? He’s agreed to come, but only if you do.” He meant that Noro, who fought like a berserker, would face Black Mountain only if Jian—blind Jian—went with him.
The world had gone mad. The only possible response was to say yes. And when she had agreed, the Emperor informed her that they were to leave before dawn.
~o0o~
Night’s chill still clung to the courtyard, laden with a metallic taste near the ground. Jian touched each of her traveling companions in turn: Masou and Noro, two donkeys, and a horse for Princess Amaya. As expected, she felt muscled shoulders and palms calloused in the right places for sword work. The donkeys defied their heritage of stoicism, tense and restless. The horse was sweating already.
When Jian came to the princess, she touched only empty air. Beyond, a faint movement of air, swirled by a silken scarf, then the creak of stirrup leathers and a soft thump as a light body settled on a saddle.
Off they went, men and animals. While they were overshadowed by the city, Jian let Masou and Noro take turns leading, but as the wind freshened and the paved road turned to dirt, she and Dog took point. Dog guided her and told her everything she needed to know.
The day wore on and they halted for the night. While one man stood guard, the other set up a tent for Amaya, built fires whose smoke smelled wholesome, untouched by the curse, and tended to the donkeys and horse. In all this time, Amaya had not spoken, not to thank the men, not to Jian, and not to Dog. Jian had no greater impression of her than when they’d started out, except by omission, for if the princess did not offer thanks, neither did she complain. But the men were treating Jian as helpless, and that created a dangerous situation. She would have to convince them otherwise.
Jian needed little in the way of camp preparation, other than to unstrap her blanket from her pack. She sat down on the blanket and released Dog to investigate the site and its surrounding areas, perhaps even snare a bit of fresh dinner for himself. Trail work was hard on Dog, with the constantly changing terrain and need to watch for obstacles above his own eye level.
After a time, Masou approached, halting before her. “You want dinner?”
Jian did, given the smells arising from the direction of the cooking fire. “First I want to show you something,” she said, and whistled for Dog. She heard the pad of paws over beaten earth and felt the fleeting touch of a wet nose on the back of her hand, then the pressure of a furred shoulder against her knee.
“Um,” said Masou.
Jian adjusted her sheathed sword in her sash. “Stand very still. Don’t even breathe. Now move—any direction, any number of steps. When I say Now, attack.”
He was good, she gave him that. But her ears caught the faint rustle of his pants and she felt the direction Dog’s head turned. The air told her when Masou began to move, and where. She dropped, braced herself on her hands, and swept out one foot. Hooked his ankle, jerked hard. Spun around, keeping contact with her foot, then knee and thigh as she slipped her sword from its sheath and laid the curved, razor-sharp blade on his throat. He froze. She waited a moment, then got her feet under her and stood.
“Uff! You haven’t lost your touch.” He scrambled up in a barely-audible cascade of dirt grains. “How’d you do that? Being blind and all— I mean—”
“The word does not insult me.” Jian smiled wryly as she resheathed her sword. She held out her hand and Dog came, nosing underneath her fingers so that she touched the shorter fur between his eyes, then one of the velvet ears.
“Blanket,” she said, and Dog took her there.
Masou joined them a couple of minutes later. He touched the rim of a metal trail pan to Jian’s hand. Then he settled beside her. In the dish were chunks of hard trail bread softened in hot water, along with bits of smoked meat and fresh, barely cooked onions and cabbage. She had no idea where he’d gotten the vegetables. For once, she didn’t mind the mess of licking the drippings off her fingers.
Dog, lying with one hip against Jian’s thigh, began panting. Masou made a funny noise in his throat. “I believe,” he said, “your dog is laughing at me.”
“Yes.”
“Miss it, seeing things?” he asked after a time.
Jian considered. These days, she’d rather be alive, even if it meant living in near exile. She hadn’t always felt that way. In the terrible days after the warlock had done his work, she had crawled her way to the temple dedicated to the soldier-god. Death had seemed her
only hope. The god in his cruelty and mercy had refused her plea and given her a dog instead. She’d never named the animal.
Would I trade Dog for my eyes? She didn’t know.
~o0o~
The land rose and the trail wound between rocks and up steepening hills. In places they had to thread their way between boulders or scramble up slopes covered with loose, weather-shattered stones. Dog never put a paw wrong. The higher they got, the colder the nights. The quality of the air changed, as did the smells. There were more wild, green things here, and the clean scat of animals..
After a time, the trail joined another and then another, as the single route through this part of the mountains. Noro explained that to the princess who, as usual, said nothing. Jian was beginning to doubt the poor girl had a voice, or perhaps she understood that Noro was trying to flirt with her.
“Pay attention,” she told Dog, although it was not really necessary.
As the temperature fell, signaling day’s end, everyone was tired, even Jian. Dog alone never wavered, and Jian thought it likely that all places were the same to Dog, trail or camp. As long as they were together and outdoors, Dog was happy. Jian was therefore caught by surprise when Dog lowered his head—a tiny increase in traction on the leash, a tensing of the muscles.
Shivers prickled Jian’s spine. “Noro—” she called; he was walking at the head of their party.
Dog took a step diagonally in front of Jian, blocking her path, and froze. Had Jian not been alerted, she would have tripped over Dog. As it was, he anchored her. Then he moved so that Jian knew from which direction the attack was coming.
One of the men shouted for Amaya to get down. An animal screamed—the horse, Jian thought.
Jian moved without thought, with utter certainty and absolute trust. In one sweep, she drew her sword and swung it in a spiral path. The blade slid through air, kissed flesh, slowed for a fractional heartbeat, and continued on a slightly altered trajectory. Jian’s muscles responded, compensating, driving on.
She heard the scream of the man she’d wounded, the thump as his body hit the packed earth, the scuffling and grunting of the other fighters. Heard Dog’s alerting whine—pivoted, bringing the sword around, using its momentum—heard the swoosh of steel through air, felt the blade snag on bone—twisted it free—
Another body landed.
It was harder to judge distance and location with the struggle going on around her, a donkey braying louder than she’d thought possible, and terrified cries from the princess. Too late, Jian sensed the man approaching from a diagonal behind her. She was off balance, off guard—and then Dog bounded away. She felt the shove and release of his leap.
A man shrieked—more sounds of fighting—Dog’s yip—
—two sets of footsteps, one fast, one halting, both retreating—men panting—
—the reek of blood, a fevered heat in her veins.
Jian’s heart hammered in her temples. Her muscles ached to keep swinging, but the sudden emptiness surrounded her like a cage. Now came the touch of a nose on her hand, the pressure of a shoulder against her knee.
Dog!
Jian straightened from her stance, ran her fingertips over dense fur, felt wetness. Her breath caught in her throat. She probed deeper, but the undercoat was dry. Not Dog’s blood, then. A warm, moist tongue licked her hand. Relief bubbled up in her like a spring. She knelt, placing her sword where she could find it again, and began a systematic examination of Dog. Paws, legs, mouth—drool, but Dog often drooled when excited. The only thing she found was a swelling over an area of the ribs, most likely from a kick or glancing blow, which explained the yip. Dog winced, but it didn’t feel as if the ribs were broken.
Jian heard footsteps approach and halt before her.
“You okay?” Masou’s voice was husky.
Jian felt for her sword, picked it up, and got to her feet, all the while keeping contact with Dog. “What are we left with?”
“Noro’s hurt bad.” Masou gave a quick, indrawn breath. “The horse and one of the donkeys were driven off early on in the fight. We got two of them. One, yours. One you cut but not so bad he couldn’t run.”
“What’s your assessment? Will they return, the bandits—assassins—whoever they were?”
A pause while Masou considered. “Don’t think so. From what I could see, only one got away whole, plus maybe the one who run off the horse.”
Jian heard the weariness in his voice as adrenaline drained away. She could have insisted they find another site, but they needed to be ready to fight, and that meant rest. “I need a cloth to clean my sword. It’s in my pack.”
“I’ll see what I can do for Noro.” From the heaviness in Masou’s voice as he dropped the pack beside Jian, he feared it would be no more than to end his comrade’s pain more quickly.
Dog curled up at Jian’s side, back pressed against her. Try as she might to shut out the sound, she heard Noro struggling to bite back moans of pain, and failing. She found the cloth by feel, folded it over the blunt side of the blade, slipped it the length of the steel, then again… then again…
Noro was quiet now, although breathing raggedly. Masou rumbled syllables of comfort.
Footsteps approached the men. A young woman’s light voice: “What can I do?”
A moment’s silence, in which Jian imagined Masou peering up at the veiled princess, measuring her. All Jian knew was that voice, those words. Then Masou said, “Hold this,” and “wrap that,” and “get this other thing.” After a time came the sounds of a body being dragged away from the camp by two people, then another, and then the click of stone piled upon stone.
Jian put away sword and cloth. Her mouth filled with bitterness. All I can do is kill things. I can’t even help to bury them.
Dog whined and licked her hand.
~o0o~
Jian woke, lying on her side, Dog curled tight against her belly, one arm thrown over Dog’s shoulder. She no longer depended on brightness in the east to herald the approach of dawn. She felt it, tasted it. Her ears brought the sounds of birds, of insects, of the shifting of the remaining donkey’s hooves. A man snored—no, two men. Noro still lived, then. A leaf crackled underfoot near her, then a pebble rolled, still closer. Dog lifted his head. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry to wake you.” Ah, the princess. “The men were so weary, I thought it kindest to let them sleep.”
Jian sat up, touched sword sheath, boots, and pack, right where she’d left them. By the faint sounds and the change in angle of Dog’s head, Amaya had lowered herself to the ground only an arm’s length away.
“Noro was hurt in the fight.”
Jian kept silent. That much she already knew, even if she could not assess his injuries with her own eyes.
“He was almost killed, acting in my defense,” Amaya said. “No one forced him to come—I would know if my father had commanded it. It is my responsibility to make amends for the harm he suffered.”
“Are you a physician?”
“No, I know only what little nursing is permitted to women of my station.” Amaya stated the matter quietly, without either resentment or pride. “Noro looks no worse this morning. I believe a night’s rest has restored a small measure of strength. But we cannot leave him here, unable to defend himself, or find water or shelter if the weather turns bad. He cannot manage the return journey on his own, unaided.”
Jian nodded, impressed with Amaya’s practicality. This young woman, who sounded as if she were a mere child, might well be capable of ending the curse.
Amaya went on, “I would not have his service become a death sentence. Nor would I ask Masou to choose between his oath to my father and the demands of friendship, the loyalty of one soldier to another. All night, a thought has been forming in my mind, that Masou must take Noro back. That you and I will go on alone. I do not intend insult, but I must ask: Can we two attempt the mountain? Is it possible?”
And, came the silent question, are you willing to go the rest of the way
, just the two of us?
Not two. Dog.
Jian’s immediate response, that what Amaya proposed was impossible, downright suicidal, dissolved.
Then practicality jabbed Jian. “If Noro’s all that bad, he’ll need the donkey. That means you and I must carry everything we’ll need. We—” Jian stopped talking at the touch of Amaya’s hand on hers: fingers slender but not entirely soft, callus on odd places along the index finger and palm. She touched supple, well-oiled leather, then the harder edge of a boot top, and an unadorned sheath for a curved knife.
“Can you fight?” Jian asked.
“A little, and only at close range. Likely I’d get only one chance and so must rely on surprise.”
Surprise, indeed. Jian gave a soldier’s grunt of admiration. “Let’s hope it never comes to that. Dog can guide me over any terrain we encounter, but he can’t read a map. Any direction I can walk, trail or not, is as good as another to him. So you’ll have to be our guide up the mountain.”
In Amaya’s exhale, Jian heard a tremble. “I can do that.”
“Does Masou know of this scheme?”
“I—ah—wanted to make sure it was possible before I asked, I mean—told him.” Amaya didn’t want to command, she wanted a host of reasons to persuade.
Masou raised all the predictable objections, but without any real vehemence. He sounded weary in spirit as well as body; this had been a last-hope mission at best, and he hadn’t expected to any of them to survive, let alone succeed. Jian pressed the point that she and Amaya were going on, with him or without him. The only difference his own choice would make was whether Noro stood a chance.
When everything was prepared, Dog guided Jian to Noro, sitting on the donkey, not much higher off the ground than if he were standing. Noro grabbed her hand and squeezed hard.
“Live,” she said.
“Live,” he said.
“Let’s go,” Amaya said.
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