by T. A. Miles
Song Da-Xiao appreciated the concern from her officer and acknowledged that with a small smile. The expression fled quickly, however, while she considered what had inspired Xu Liang’s excessive protection. “Do you believe the Dragon is real, Chancellor?”
Han Quan remained bowed at the waist for a moment longer, then straightened, tucking his hands into his robes. “Have your nightmares returned?”
That was not an answer. Song Da-Xiao doubted she would receive one without commanding it. Either the Dragon was real, and her scholars sought to protect her from that truth or it wasn’t, and her scholars refrained from speaking in terms that would seem to contradict her, or her senses.
“They have,” she said of her nightmares.
“At the very least, the sequestering seems to have eased your suffering in that regard…while it lasted,” Han Quan replied. “It is unfortunate that Xu Liang may no longer be able to assist you in such a manner.”
The words brought immediate and helpless tears to her eyes, though she made a specific effort not to shed them. Before the subject of appointing a new Imperial Tutor, or perhaps of reappointing Han Quan to the position, she dismissed the elder with a reminder. “I have given my order regarding the current absence of my supreme advisor.”
Han Quan bowed. “It has been taken to heart, my Empress. I’ve asked Zhu Meng to submit his reports concerning the riots. I shall bring them to you personally tomorrow, along with the latest word from Fa Leng.”
Song Da-Xiao accepted his words with a nod, then summoned the attention of servants. Four of her handmaidens came to help her collect the many layers she wore and to accompany her to her chambers. Four guards would fall in step along the way, and she would be properly escorted and protected. Xu Liang had not considered that proper protection when he left. He seemed at the time to only trust himself with her safety, and while she knew his reasoning and preferred his protection to others, had anything happened to her during the sequestering, he would have been viewed as the danger. Criticism in the court had already become volatile. It would give birth to defaming rumors if Xu Liang did not return soon with evidence to support his strategy for the current year, one which seemed to neglect the ongoing rebellion of the Southern Kingdom.
Passing through the corridors of the administration palaces, Song Da-Xiao noticed her Fortress General. Jiao Ren stopped customarily before their paths crossed, and bowed while her entourage passed. She looked behind her afterward, and noticed the young general making his way in the direction she had come from, perhaps to meet with Han Quan. If her station permitted her to entertain impulse, she’d have followed him. She was curious to know what was said among her officers in private, particularly after the sequestering. However, she did not doubt or distrust them, and did not wish to seem as if she did. For that reason, she refrained from halting Jiao Ren and inquiring of his destination.
The White Tiger of the Mountains
Morning came without incident beyond what Xu Liang faced most nights since his exposure to the Phoenix. He and the others were preparing for departure when Xiang Wu entered the courtyard, trailed by his personal bodyguard. In his hand was a sealed scroll, which he offered to Xu Liang.
“My regards and my reply for the Empress,” he announced.
Xu Liang accepted the letter with a momentary bow of his head.
Xiang Wu did not relinquish the item immediately, and for a small space they held the scroll together. “I delayed this,” the lord of Dhong Castle said privately to his eldest surviving child. “Now that you have returned, I feel that I may continue to pledge my support to the Song.”
Xu Liang inclined his head once again, in acceptance to the terms of the Ying Governor’s loyalty.
“Though some would try to pry the Empress’ young trust from you, in an attempt to seize control for themselves, there are still many who have invested their faith in you,” Xiang Wu said next, and the words seemed to hold a certain amount of familial intimacy.
Xu Liang had not expected it, and lifted his gaze to meet his father’s.
In that precise moment, Xiang Wu said, “I am among them.”
Though the tone was something Xu Liang had longed for, the implications nearly offended him. He said neutrally, “We must all put our faith in the Empress. In doing so we also place trust upon those who serve. Your continued support does not go without notice or appreciation, Governor.”
Xiang Wu released the scroll, and Xu Liang set about placing it carefully within his personal pack. In the process, he took note of the young boy and a woman beside the child, both observing the exchange from a balcony overlooking the courtyard. Each of them possessed the abundantly fair features of the Peacock of Ying. Xu Liang knew that they were his siblings.
Xiang Wei and Xiang Bozheng appeared to be aware themselves, at least of Xu Liang’s station, if not of their shared blood connection. They watched him blatantly, the daughter of the governor deciding first that they should retreat indoors. Xiang Wu’s adolescent son continued to look upon the individuals in his father’s yard. He had concentrated almost solely on Xu Liang, but in departing he seemed to take sudden notice of those in Xu Liang’s company as well. The boy craned his neck in order to see the elves, dwarves, and western human standing in open defiance of Sheng Fan’s culture.
Xu Liang raised himself into Blue Crane’s saddle, aware of the look he had also been receiving from Alere. The mountain elf seemed—as was expected—to hold a certain lack of trust in those he did not know, or whose virtues he had not witnessed in uncontestable performance. It was a volatile seed Xu Liang had planted by bringing outsiders into Sheng Fan. He could only hope that what grew from it would not bear ill fruit.
Though there was a fast-growing state of civil unrest within Sheng Fan, it became apparent to Xu Liang that the reactions to unrest had remained at a slower boil. At the time of his departure to seek the Swords he had only come upon one incident of notable danger, and that—he had later learned—was not an act of defiant unruliness or spontaneous banditry. Xiadao Lu and his men had been sent in pursuit of Xu Liang. It had been an act of betrayal. While that concerned Xu Liang a great deal, he could see that the roads and forests, fields and river paths were still safe for the citizens of Sheng Fan. When war grew to a fuller scale, that would undoubtedly change, but it was Xu Liang’s hope that the flames of war would not be so fanned. For the time being, fire was Xu Liang’s most paramount adversary; the fires of war, the fires of malcontent, and the fire of the Phoenix.
“Was that fortress the home of your family?”
Xu Liang had not noticed the arrival of Alere, until the mountain elf was riding alongside him, asking his question. “What would have you ask that?” he inquired, not through any hope to deny, but merely out of curiosity.
“It had the atmosphere of a place you had returned to, after a long absence,” Alere stated in his customary manner of plainly offering information.
Xu Liang looked to the road ahead, which wound gradually out of the mountains and into warmer forests. “Yes, it was,” he eventually said in answer to Alere’s question. He felt it important to add, “However, they are not my recognized family.”
“Why not?” Alere asked.
It was a secret Xu Liang had long held onto, whether the resemblance might have been as easy for others as it evidently had been for Alere, or not. Xu Hong had claimed him as his own son, and he had done so within his rights, under Imperial law. To publicly recognize Xiang Wu as his father would be considered an attempt to disown Xu Hong, something that—without due cause—would be viewed critically by Xu Liang’s peers. He had no desire to shame or disregard Xu Hong, but at times he felt as if there was little point to attempting to hide what was plainly obvious. Regardless, he also felt that Alere would have no interest in promoting rumors regarding Xu Liang’s family, and likewise was not equipped to do so linguistically, even if he did harbor such an ambition
.
Still, his response was not delivered without some tailoring on Xu Hong’s behalf. “I was adopted by the governor of a different kingdom.”
Whether or not Alere understood, he accepted the answer in silence.
By evenfall, camp had been established in the as yet snowbound lower reaches of the mountains of Ying. Their path had them currently aligned to pass between Ti Lao and Li Ting, which was precisely the direction Xu Liang desired to be headed in. They would save time by crossing the Jung Ho Bridge at the point where the kingdoms of Ying and Du connected at the Tunghui River. From there they would skirt north of Yan Xing, through the green hills of Ji, and proceed directly into the Imperial City.
Outside of the tents, which fluttered in the crisp breeze of a semi-permanent winter, Xu Liang looked to the lower lands along the darkening horizon. He envisioned the evening he and his guards had passed through Li Ting, the evening he had been confronted by Xiadao Lu, a man of might but not of scruple. The rogue warrior—claiming no kingdom’s color or banner—had challenged Xu Liang in open defiance of the Empire and the Empress, and under the employ of a traitor. That traitor would have to be exposed upon Xu Liang’s return.
In reminding himself of Xiadao Lu and his unidentified master, Xu Liang remembered also the pyromancer in league with him. There had been no sign of the other mystic yet, none that even Alere had descried. Did that mean their pursuer would not find them, or that he was no longer looking?
Xu Liang looked to the west, in the direction such an enemy would likely have been approaching from. In the process, his gaze caught on Alere. The elf was sat on a felled tree some distance from the tents. He perched there as still and silent as a hunting owl. Were an enemy to come, they would perhaps be swooped down upon with similar grace, and a lethal silence. Xu Liang would not argue the value of a Verressi hunter as an ally. If only the hunter were not of Verressi origin. Again, Xu Liang was reminded of the task ahead of him.
“Time for supper, lad!” Tarfan announced from within the large, circular tent they had been provided by the governor of Ying.
Xu Liang looked over his shoulder, catching a sudden whiff of the food that had been smoldering within their canvas enclosure. He found the scent less desirable than he might have at a time well before his departure from the Imperial City and the start of his journey toward many unexpected events and individuals. The fasting he had done in order to stay connected to the Empress on a spiritual level would have left him without appetite on its own, but since his encounters with both the ice giant of the Yvarian Flatlands and the Phoenix, he struggled to regain a proper disposition for food.
“I will go and tell Alere,” Xu Liang volunteered, if only to avoid the meal of rice and hare for a few moments longer.
“Off with you, then,” Tarfan replied, throwing one arm out toward the periphery of their camp. “And hurry back, lad. You’re waning!”
Xu Liang paid the dwarf’s comment no special attention, and proceeded toward the white elf. The snow underfoot was firm beneath a shimmering and lightly shifting surface. The wind formed patterns, as if a rake through white sand, and lifted thin veils that swirled gently toward the sky, as if the earth itself were the source for the stars. The thought reminded him of a painting of the Goddess Mei Qiao, knelt beside a shining pool, scooping the stars out from it and pouring them over her hair, which formed the panorama of a night sky, her face pale and beautiful as the moon.
It was not so long ago that Alere had shared his perception of the Moon Goddess with Xu Liang. To the mountain elves, the glittering sky was represented by the goddess’ veil. It was a protecting veil; perhaps that was why Alere felt so secure beneath the open night sky. And perhaps it was his loyalty to the moon which had led to his being chosen to bear the Twilight Blade. Alere’s loyalty was a force in its own right. Xu Liang recalled the feeling of personal failure at the possibility of having compromised it.
“Come no closer,” Alere said just then, halting further thoughts on the matter before they could manifest.
Xu Liang drew himself to a stop, his eyes on Alere, who looked directly ahead from his perch. Following the elf’s steady gaze, Xu Liang observed only the deepening darkness of the forest…the mountains losing their staunch shapes beneath the falling curtain of night…and particles of ice drifting erratically across a canvas of shadow and light. It took some amount of deliberate searching for Xu Liang to finally spot the animal in the snow. When he did, he felt a mild but pronounced start. Alere had spied a tiger.
The beast crept low through the shade-mottled snow, its black and white pelt blending so precisely that it was no wonder at all how the unwary traveler might fall victim to such a creature. Dangerous, though it may have been, it was also an animal of tremendous beauty and auspice, particularly this one. The white tiger of the mountains was renowned for being as patient as it was fierce, and also for appearing at the resting places of fallen warriors. The tiger of legend would appear at such places to collect the scars of the warrior who had passed, when his deeds were especially worthy. The scars would manifest on the tiger’s white body in the form of its stripes. It would then take the markings—the glories of one warrior—and bring them to another. The warrior who was visited by the tiger was said to be divinely blessed. He would walk a path of glory.
Xu Liang considered the legend, and whether or not the creature before him had arrived merely to investigate the scent of roasted hare and the bodies passing through its realm. He considered also that moments ago he had likened the elf to an owl, but perhaps…
In the moments that followed, the tiger appeared to lose interest in whatever had drawn it, and raised itself to a full stand, carrying itself across the snow and into the trees.
Dinner was consumed at a peaceful pace and to the quiet of a company that was in many ways tired and anxious. Everyone anticipated what would come in their own ways. Xu Liang expected that included Alere, though he and the elf had not spoken of deep matters for some time and they had mutually decided—by evident omission from current conversations—not to speak of the encounter with the tiger. It was not unusual for the large cats of the mountains and forests to investigate the activities of men. Though not abundantly common, it was also not unheard of for tigers to attack the unwary. The creature that had visited them that night appeared to be of the former persuasion; a curious guardian of its realm. It had been neither offended nor threatened, and so it left as quietly as it had arrived.
In spite of summarizing the encounter as harmless in his thoughts, Xu Liang retained the experience at the front of his thoughts as one of meaning. After all he had observed and experienced, especially since his quest for the Swords had begun, he would be a fool to disregard such matters.
“You fire a fairly grand stick of meat, for a homesick pup!” Tarfan said to Tristus while peeling strips of hare from his portion with a stout knife. The strips went into his mouth before he’d finished speaking, drawing a look of disgust from his niece.
The complimented knight accepted the comment with a modest shrug. “Campaign training presented the opportunity to learn more than merely survival.”
“Campaign training,” the dwarf repeated with a thoughtful noise filtered through his chewing. “Precisely what were you lads training for?”
Tristus began to answer instinctively, but then seemed to hear the entirety of the question and hesitated with a glance toward the old dwarf.
While the knight might have been carefully considering an answer to give, Tarfan continued, “As I’ve been hearing it as of late, Andaria has no griefs with anyone in particular. I believed your lot to be more ceremonial and—patrol for your own lands. Campaign…well, that suggests…”
“War,” Xu Liang finished for the dwarf.
Tarfan looked toward him, and gave a nod. “War, yes.”
Tristus gave a glance around the tent at anyone who might have been paying attention. He appeare
d mildly embarrassed, which was not untypical of him, so Xu Liang, at least, gave it no heed.
“Perhaps your leaders felt threatened,” Shirisae suggested. “The shadow folk have been creating much chaos for the lands north of your realm, a fact which both my people and Alere’s are surviving testament to.”
The comment drew a flicker of Alere’s gaze in the fire elf’s direction, but he made no comment.
In the silence that followed, Tristus poked and prodded the fire that had not only cooked their meal, but that maintained some warmth and light in their shelter. He drew in a breath before speaking. “It’s not…well, it isn’t precisely the demons from the north that have the Order wary. That is to say, we haven’t been fully alert to them. I’d never completely believed in them until I encountered the one in the mountains.”
“Alongside your angel,” Tarfan said.
“Would you stop bringing that out?” Taya huffed in reply. “If that thought were a physical token, I’d snatch it and chuck it out of this tent.”
“It’s a lofty claim, and you know it,” Tarfan began.
It was Tristus who interrupted them. “It is. Believe me when I say that I know how fantastic and potentially dangerous my claim—and my experience—happen to be. I’m not ignorant of that at all, Master Fairwind. That said and realized, I intend to stand with it.”
Tarfan frowned with bubbling argument, but again Tristus interrupted.
“But that isn’t an important topic right now. You asked about our campaign training.” The words recovered the full attention of the dwarf, and of the others in the knight’s company. He said next, “The Church fears the fulfillment of a prophecy that would threaten to bring down everything it represents and defends. It’s an ancient foretelling—ancient enough to virtually be myth by now, but the Order Masters have been watching for signs. A sign that we observed came in the form of warriors we believe originated from the south, from Caleddon. The people there are notorious for their weird ways, and their peculiar practices involving worship of animal deities with dark and savage agendas.