Five Kingdoms

by T. A. Miles

  “So quickly?” Han Quan replied.

  “I don’t like to leave matters waiting,” the general told him, in a tone that could only be answered with a polite bow of acknowledgment.

  Within the Empress’ Court, there were three seats of true power beneath the throne; they were the Imperial Tutor, the Supreme General, and the Chancellor of the Court. Intellectual, Military, and Administrative command, overseen by the Empress herself. They tended to temper one another, though it was always the Imperial Tutor who held the most power to act, and to act above all save the Empress. His role was uniquely connected to her interests as her supreme advisor and strategist. There was but a reed’s breadth between what could be considered the Empress’ will and what may well have been the Imperial Tactician’s design. Han Quan knew that well, for he had been in the position himself under Song Bao. The brilliance of youth had replaced the wisdom of age—a timeless scenario for countless myths.

  “I learned that there was no context for your complaint of his arrogance,” Yuo Shang continued. “Jiao Ren is young, but he regards his duties with the severity of his eldest peers. He admitted to making brash statements and apologized, which is evidence of his humility.”

  “That seems a fair conclusion,” Han Quan admitted to the general, though he cursed the failing of his efforts to obstruct Xu Liang’s young conspirator. He considered pressing once again upon the importance of the fact that the Imperial Tutor had given detail of the sequestering only to men who were each stationed beneath the both of them, but he had heard the defenses related to the argument enough.

  The Minister of Ceremonies was designated the primary administrator of all events involving ritual, which Xu Liang had called upon in no small amount in order to prepare himself and the Empress for their spiritual union as adoptive siblings before his departure. And in the defense of the Empress and all of her palaces, temples, pavilions, and buildings of administration within the Imperial City, it was the first responsibility of the Fortress General to command. Had either Han Quan or Yuo Shang interceded, it would have been viewed as preemptive and insubordinate.

  Their Silent Emperor had spoken, Han Quan thought bitterly to himself.

  “It’s the barbarians that concern me,” Yuo Shang said next, folding his hands behind his back while he observed the soldiers moving routinely along the wall. “I intend to speak with the Imperial Tutor about the matter tonight, and about Fa Leng.”

  “Then I was not the only one to witness how swiftly Xu Liang turned a topic of military significance to his obsession with tools discarded by the ancients,” Han Quan said, and felt a surge of internal satisfaction at the deep frown that settled upon the Supreme General’s features.

  Winds from the North, Fires from the South

  The day was concluding by the time Xu Liang returned from the People’s City. His audience with the prefect would not be until the following day and though rest—as well as to reconnect with his guests—would be prudent, he had a meeting that was less formal, but no less important to attend. Upon returning to his house, he instructed Guang Ci to rejoin his fellows while he took Blue Crane and rode through the Imperial City’s quieting avenues toward the West Court, which was overlooked by the Gate of Heavenly Protection.

  He observed the early moon as it appeared fresh and large over the wall, contemplating the safety of the city. What they faced immediately was not an army. War had not yet completely broken from the reins—there were yet many hands working together to hold it back. Chaos would not come to the Gate of Heavenly Protection, nor any of the other gates of the city. At least, not for some time. It was something else, something internal that was the immediate threat. He would learn specifically of the rioting during his meeting with Zhu Meng, though he suspected that it was merely a branch off of a greater threat. And if, still, the greater threat was war, then he would address that matter as well when he met with Yuo Shang later that night. Normally, he would have delegated some of his duties to secretaries of his office, but he would save delegation for now…at least until he had resettled and fully assessed every situation the Empress faced.

  The consequences of having been absent from the court were extensive.

  A mounted figure waited beneath the darkening sky at the base of the steps beyond the Imperial City’s west arches. Xu Liang guided Blue Crane down the wide, flat series of steps and bowed his head to the Minister of Ceremonies.

  “I must tell you again, Xu Liang, how glad I am that you’ve returned,” Huang Shang-san said, touching Xu Liang’s arm briefly before they continued together to the Temple of Divine Tranquility. Lantern light and the interior glow from windows rapidly became all that lit their way along the flagstone paths as the hour grew late. “After the Empress awakened out of her meditative connection with you, I was certain the worst had happened.”

  “The worst has happened,” Xu Liang replied while they made their way between rows of willow trees, boxed in stone engraved with depictions of the Blue Dragon of Ji. “My own nightmares seem to be coming true. A week is not sufficient time to understand the Dragon. There is little I would be able to do about it from Fa Leng. Even if the battle can be won quickly, by the time I return, Chaos may have manifested and swallowed up the Imperial City. I fear that the rest of Sheng Fan will follow. Perhaps, in that event, Han Quan would be justified in placing blame upon me and seeing to my execution himself.”

  “Han Quan has made a roost for himself upon the Empress’ shoulder,” Huang Shang-san said. “He whispers in her ear constantly since she’s come out of the Palace of Imperial Peace.”

  “Lord Han Quan has taken offense over my departure,” Xu Liang believed. He expressed that belief verbally, not in search of confirmation, but because he wanted it known that he was aware. He was not a fool. He had received warning from Xiang Wu, and now from Huang Shang-san as well. Someone had been speaking against him. While he valued the wisdom and talent, and what he believed was the friendship of Han Quan, he understood that he had not included his fellow mystic in all of his plans and that exclusion may have been viewed as a breach in both etiquette and protocol, as well as a slight against the elder’s office as Chancellor of the Court.

  Though Xu Liang regretted the sentiments it had incurred in his absence, that exclusion had been deliberate. He would have included only the Empress, but that Huang Shang-san held experience in the outer realms—in the northern lands, where it was believed both the Sun and the Moon Blades had come to be at one time, before their discovery within the boundaries of Sheng Fan. Supporting that theory now were the writings of Cai Shi-meng, who had come from the north wielding the Spear of Heaven.

  Han Quan had never held faith in the Celestial Swords, and would not have supported Xu Liang’s quest. Though he had asked about them, the elder did not share in Xu Liang’s enthusiasm that they had been brought back and in that regard, the clear choice for collaboration and confidence had been Huang Shang-san. Apart from that, the Minister of Ceremonies was a man of unflagging loyalty, something that appeared a family trait; Xu Liang still had not forgotten the watchful presence of Huang Je, the son Huang Shang-san would not openly claim, but who had claimed him by name. Perhaps it was the similarity between Huang Shang-san and Xu Liang’s own natural father that opened up such a pathway of trust. Perhaps, in light of the illegitimacy of both men’s situations, he should have been warier. He could not be, though.

  And now it was time to learn all of what had happened within the Imperial City since his departure. “What were you able to discover in my absence?” Xu Liang asked while they both drew their mounts to a stop.

  “I hope to show you.” Huang Shang-san replied, and they each dismounted.

  A water garden and a network of covered pathways surrounded the Temple of Divine Tranquility. Xu Liang and the Minister of Ceremonies followed the path of bridges that were lined with red columns and low lattices, and in some places with partitions topped by
jade engravings. The boughs of trees draped over the edges of the roof tiles, as if reaching for their aquatic counterparts, which covered the surface of each area nearly completely. The wide leaves of water lilies brushed the framework of the bridges, as did the lingering blooms of many of the plants during the day, though the season for that particular layer of beauty was nearly over.

  Huang Shang-san stepped ahead when they arrived at the temple, leading Xu Liang into the building by way of a tall pair of painted doors, the details of which Xu Liang deliberately did not take in. His dreams of the Phoenix were ever near. He had no desire to dwell on the details of any of them at the moment.

  Once indoors, Huang Shang-san’s manner became almost grave. He looked about the front hall nervously, virtually jumping when someone moved at the opposite end.

  “Forgive me,” the individual said, coming forward with a torch in hand. “I arrived early and merely thought to light our way.”

  “Thank you for coming, Jiao Ren,” Xu Liang said to the young man.

  The general nodded once. “I’ve been waiting for an explanation from you. The events carrying on here have been far too strange and after the Empress emerged from the Palace of Imperial Peace...” A glimmer of deep concern shone in his eyes. He shook his head as if to be rid of disturbing thoughts, then said, “I know you’re right. I only need to know how right, before my sanity leaves me.”

  “The floor shudders beneath our feet, even worse than before,” the elder among them said, waiting for Jiao Ren to guide them before moving any further into the temple. “And at times, there is a tremendous heat, a suffocating heat that fills the air and wraps around the body, like a smothering spirit.”

  “It’s worst in the Jade Hall,” Jiao Ren informed, glancing back as he walked ahead of them.”

  Xu Liang nodded. “Yes. My nightmares reminded me of what I had felt there myself before leaving. Huang Shang-san, have you any theories as to why this force should concentrate its efforts there?”

  “I believe it is actually concentrating its efforts on the central chamber. However, neither Jiao Ren nor myself have been bold enough to explore to the innermost parts of the temple.”

  “I have,” Jiao Ren contradicted. “Recently, Lord Huang Shang-san. I didn’t tell you.”

  The elder’s brow lifted and he held his hand out momentarily. “Go on, General,” he invited with no umbrage.

  “I couldn’t sleep three nights ago, and decided to come here,” Jiao Ren continued. “I’d been having dreams that the Empress came here and that while she was inside, the temple collapsed to rubble.”

  Xu Liang listened intently, taking none of this lightly. “What did you find?”

  “Nothing,” the young general replied. “The chamber was empty and at that particular time the floor did not shake, nor did the air feel abnormally warm.”

  The three of them entered the Jade Hall—which looked more black than green in the current cast of shadows—and then they all stopped, as if waiting for something. Xu Liang was recalling the living shadows from his nightmares, the sleek black arms of the keirveshen reaching for him with clawed hands. He stared into the jade traced darkness and thought of enemies coming at him, many of whom he would not have expected. He recalled the conditions of Jiao Ren’s anger in the first dream the Phoenix had share with him and was comforted, for many reasons, in knowing that the Empress was alive.

  Jiao Ren drew in a breath and started forward again, using conversation to lift some of the weight of the gloom that had fallen upon them. “These...people you brought into Sheng Fan. Two of them have the appearances of devils, as the rumors said. Are you quite certain about their intentions?”

  “They are called elves, Jiao Ren,” Xu Liang answered with more patience for the younger man than he’d had earlier in the day. “And I am sure of their intentions, that they are honorable. It is by the power of elves that I am here now.”

  The young general glanced back at him, questioning.

  Xu Liang supplied an answer. “It was my near death that jolted the Empress out of her meditative state. Of the creature that attacked us, I will say only this: I am grateful that they do not gather in force.”

  “Then I am left to assume it was a dragon,” Jiao Ren guessed incorrectly. “I didn’t realize they existed in the barbarian realms.”

  The topic of discussion changed with the sudden sensation of heat in the passageway. It was as stepping out of a chill winter day into the glaring light of the summer sun. It quickly felt as if they were stranded beneath that sun without shade.

  “You feel it,” Jiao Ren said, apparently taking notice of the perspiration that began to bead on Xu Liang’s skin as well as their elder’s.

  Before anyone could answer, the floor seemed to shift underfoot. Xu Liang maintained his balance and reached out to Huang Shang-san, taking the elder by the elbow and guiding him close. He looked to Jiao Ren, “I think perhaps now we ought to investigate the central chamber.”

  And it was then that the room behind the green latticework which formed the upper half of the inner wall began to glow orange. It was as if a fire had been struck at the heart of the chamber, one that began to spread rapidly. Xu Liang watched the vigorous energy expand only for a moment. He felt weak in the rising, unbearable heat, but he had the presence of mind to draw Pearl Moon and to summon its protection before the fire shot through the openings in the wall, like a dragon’s breath.

  The unexplained flame crashed into the dome, reminding Xu Liang too vividly of the two most terrifying moments of his life: the ice giant’s rage and the Flame of Ahjenta. He withstood the soul-rending agony of his memory, even as it stirred physical pain inside of him and listened in horror as the fire scorched the outsides of the dome. The pale blue magic of Mei Qiao resisted the consuming power of the unnatural fire, but for a moment the lights mingled and became as one. Ripples of interwoven blue and orange cascaded over Xu Liang and the others, toward the floor, where the fire skittered through a pool of blue radiance, like brightly scaled serpents over water.

  The attack lasted only a few moments, but it seemed that an eternity had passed and when it was over, Xu Liang lowered the Moon Blade slowly, his thoughts reeling. At some length, he found his voice, and said, “No one enters here.”

  Jiao Ren started to argue. “My lord, the Empress must—”

  “No one enters here!” Xu Liang shouted, startling even himself. He took a moment to get control of himself, to still the unexplainable fear that was suddenly gripping him, even after the fire had gone. “The Empress needs not look upon this to understand it. I will bring this concern to her attention myself...and pray that she acknowledges it.”

  “I cannot blame her if she does not,” Huang Shang-san whispered, breathless after the terrifying assault. “I... scarcely believe what’s happened, with myself as a witness.”

  “It happened, Lord Huang,” Jiao Ren said, much to the comfort of the two scholars present. “Unless the three of us have lost our hold on sanity at once.”

  “If that is so, then we have nothing to fear,” Xu Liang concluded.

  Over the years, Song Bin Ce had been very economic with her time allowance for trips outside of the inner city. Song Bao had been firm friends with Zhu Meng, which was how her marriage to Song Lu initially came into being. Even though she was being taken into the Song, the late emperor had no desire to deprive a father of his daughter. Still, there was form and protocol to consider. Frequent trips to the outer city could have formed rumors of dalliances with men who were not Song Lu. It was an unfortunate aside to life in such a populated and important city as Jianfeng. Since the Chancellor’s rise of internal tyranny, Song Bin Ce had exercised even more caution, and gone many long periods without seeing her father at all outside of the court. For that reason, her sudden request for leave so soon after Xu Liang’s return was nearly an act of foolishness. She could tell that the Imperial
Tutor had been dismayed by her choice that evening, to near blatantly follow him into the People’s City. He could not have known about Han Quan’s threats—at least not yet—so perhaps he would view it with even more censure later. She had very nearly delivered herself into Han Quan’s marked and posted trap. But she had become desperate. Barely a day went by without he Chancellor pestering her to contribute to his conspiracy. She hoped that Song Da-Xiao would not be deliberately misinformed by the elder and make assumptions, but Song Bin Ce had also hoped to protect herself by first promoting the Empress’ visit to her brother’s tomb, with Xu Liang.

  A part of her wanted to encourage the Empress’ interest in so suitable a husband as Xu Liang, but she could not do so and continue to honor her deceased husband and father-in-law. She doubted that their hopes for Song Da-Xiao would ever have culminated in marriage to an official with the charisma and talent to overtake her as Sheng Fan’s ruler, not even if that official was Xu Liang.

  Upon returning to the palaces, Song Bin Ce was directed to where the Empress was currently located. She was escorted by two guards, who passed her along to another set before she was released into the company of the Empress’ flock of handmaidens. The long journey through paneled rooms and painted corridors, past terraces and ultimately to a pillared chamber that was a veritable shrine to Mei Qiao had been strenuous after an evening already spent largely on her feet. She endured without expressing complaint, though felt grateful to return to the luxury of the young women she helped to oversee. She was absorbed into their ministrations, as if a pebble on the beach, taken by a gentle surf. Her robes were taken and she was ushered to a low bath behind screens painted with images of the moon. A statue of the moon goddess formed the greater part of a fountain, her slender arms cradling an urn from which water streamed into the bath, by way of plate-shaped stones, as if from the heavens. Her hair was unbound and combed out, then oiled and wound once again, in a style appropriate for what would soon be time for sleep.