Five Kingdoms

by T. A. Miles

  Agreement rose throughout the room, even among those who normally did not support him. It was possible that Han Quan’s boldness had startled them and they wanted to ensure that they were in no way associated with his actions.

  “What of the possible escape route beneath the temple?” Huang Shang-san asked.

  “It seems a very dangerous route for a man of his years to navigate alone,” Tian Qi said.

  Xu Liang agreed. However, “It is not impassable. It must be investigated.”

  “And if it’s the entrance to a dragon’s lair?” Yuo Shang asked.

  “Yes,” another officer said. “What if it’s as the Empress has dreamed?”

  “I share your fear,” Xu Liang admitted to all of them. “I have also dreamed of a dragon beneath the ground—a true ancient of this world. I have also dreamed of its progenies.”

  “More than one dragon?” said the Minister of Agriculture, and discussion became instantly urgent among the officers of the court.

  Xu Liang held his hands up to quiet them. When stillness had returned to the chamber, he said, “Many of you doubt my motivations and my departure into the outer realms. It was for this reason—this threat that we now face—that I left the Empress’ side, though I remained with her in spirit. I was separated from her briefly, but now we are joined by others…others who may unsettle you, but whose honor will be proven, by challenging whatever lays beneath the Temple of Divine Tranquility.”

  Sounds of concern and disapproval rose within the chamber.

  Xu Liang silenced them again. “This is why the Swords were set down upon this world. It is our assignment, to defend ourselves against Chaos. And we will do so.”

  “Should I have seen his intentions?” Song Da-Xiao asked from the terrace of her study.

  Xu Liang stood beside her, looking out across the lights of Jianfeng. “Perhaps we all should have. Though none of us can predict what is to come. That is for the oracles.”

  “I sometimes believe that you are one,” Song Da-Xiao said, turning her face toward him enough that the moonlight caught several of the stones set in her headdress. “I sometimes believe that you might be anything.”

  The comment reminded him that they were both still touched by their earlier conversation. “I am a man, and a servant,” he told her with one of the many smiles he felt that he owed her, after years withholding them in the name of safety. “All that I am is devoted to you.”

  “Not all,” she said, not argumentatively. She seemed to have come to a level of contentment with having demanded his affection, at least in the spectrum of oathbound siblings, if they could have nothing more. “I know that we’ve discussed this subject, but I have not yet repositioned my thoughts on the matter. Not entirely.”

  Xu Liang found that both understandable and fair. She had been denied many things as a daughter of the Song family. “You are young, yet,” he said to her. “Your heart yearns, just as the heart of any young woman, though you are not like any other woman your age.”

  “No,” she replied. “I understand why. I know that I was selected by the Heavens to assume this role, and to follow the path of my ancestors. But is it really the duty of an empress to remain alone?”

  “You are never alone, my Empress. I apologize if I have contributed to such feelings in my dedication to your safety and protection.”

  The Empress excused him with a nod, turning her gaze back to the city. After a moment, she said, “Xiang Wu spoke of the advantages of marriage.”

  Her words held Xu Liang to a brief, tense silence. He had already held misgivings about the angle of Xiang Wu’s loyalty. This news only confirmed them. “There is no advantage for you in marriage, beyond romantic,” he told his empress. “A union of that nature would only compromise you.”

  “My brother was married,” she pointed out.

  And Xu Liang reminded her, “His position was not as delicate.”

  “Because he was a man.”

  “Because you are young.” Xu Liang stressed the words, and the facts that followed. “If your ages had been reversed, and it was Song Lu at your age standing before me, I would still advise against marriage. I would do it for fear of an ambitious father-in-law. In your situation, it is for fear of an ambitious husband.”

  She nodded again, this time in the manner of one who no longer wished to discuss the matter.

  Xu Liang provided further explanation anyway; it was a stance he would not easily step away from. “Marriage will give you enemies someone else to look to for guidance, and wrongly so. Xiang Wu’s suggestion was an attempt to undermine you and the Mandate.”

  The words seemed to depress her, but he could see that she had listened. She and Song Lu shared a familial trait in their dislike of a topic, but their ability to hear and understand it, in spite of their reluctance. They both formed a similar, beleaguered expression before ultimately acknowledging it by way of a resigned nod.

  When that nod was finally given, Xu Liang felt secure in returning to the topic of the former Chancellor. “As to Han Quan, I can only assume that he’s been plotting to weaken your image politically and socially, so that those in doubt or opposed could feel justified in rebelling. I believe that he planned to lead the rebellion with the stolen Blades in his control.”

  “Why is it that they can be wielded by those with dishonorable hearts?” Song Da-Xiao asked.

  “Only the gods who forged them know the answer to that,” Xu Liang answered. “I believe that the Blades have a certain path, but that men are not certain and therefore that path is made unclear…obstructed. I also believe that these obstructions are merely delays, and whether for the better or worse, the Swords will eventually find their way. Whether that way is to slay a dragon, or to inspire men to glory in a time of war.”

  “And if it’s both?” Song Da-Xiao presented.

  He had been wondering that himself. In answer to them both, he said, “We won’t know until each task is upon us, though I believe we stand at the edge of both now.”

  A longer silence passed. Eventually, Song Da-Xiao drew in a breath and drew herself up more in the process. “How will you advise me in this, Xu Liang?”

  He was most proud of her in these moments, when she faced her destiny boldly. “Assign a champion to bear the Sun Blade, and grant your blessing to all bearers—that they might all fight on behalf of the Empire, and for the people.”

  “The governors will fight,” she predicted.

  Xu Liang nodded. “They will. If Chaos is not a dragon, it is surely the Five Kingdoms.”

  Xu Liang returned to his home feeling reasonably assured that he would be permitted to act on what he believed to be—and what in his opinion was—a significant threat against the Empire. Of course, he could not say whether or not a dragon would be discovered within the catacombs, or if he would merely find Han Quan. It seemed probable that the betrayer would defend himself as devotedly as he had laid his plans against the Song.

  He made his way to the rooms where his guests stayed—where they might stay for the duration of their time in Sheng Fan, depending upon how events to come transpired. He had failed to fully envision all of this when he left for the outer realms.

  At the entry to the bed chamber shared by Tarfan and Tristus, he was reminded once again that he had entirely failed to anticipate a knight of Andaria. He would never have presumed to know what that meant, had he been aware of the term before meeting Tristus. He knew now that at least one of his order upheld their reputation as men of honor. Xu Liang would not take guesses on whether or not those who had dismissed Tristus were equally honorable, or wholly iniquitous. When faced with threat and in defense of one’s home or kingdom, one must do what they must. It seemed plausible that his fellow Andarians had no better idea of how to contend with the murderous spirit of a demon than the people of Sheng Fan were prepared to deal with a god dragon.

&nbs
p; Looking upon Tristus now, however, there was no noticeable sign of the being that stalked savagely around him when it wasn’t hidden within him. Xu Liang took that to mean that it was, for the time being, hidden and in that it left Tristus appearing quite harmless. Fortunately, the mere act of taking injury had not riled the demon. Xu Liang would have liked, still, to rid him of it, but their spiritual encounters had thus far been fruitless. The demon was no more afraid of Xu Liang than he was of it. He suspected that ultimately it would have to be the knight himself who banished the creature possessing him.

  It was in that moment that Tristus opened his light eyes and looked to the doorway.

  Xu Liang bowed. He remained so for an extended moment, in an attempt to show the depth of his gratitude. He understood that an expression of his appreciation was past due.

  “Please,” Tristus said to him. “I can’t accept that level of gratitude for something that any of us would do for another of our company.”

  Xu Liang straightened, then asked, “Do you believe that any of us would?”

  “I would not have said it if I didn’t,” Tristus answered, and Xu Liang believed that to be honest. He believed that the expression that followed was erring on distress.

  Xu Liang attempted to quell it by saying, sincerely, “I believe that as well.”

  A moment of silence preceded a smile of relief from the knight.

  Before Tristus could say anything more, Xu Liang asked, “How are you feeling?”

  “Sore,” the knight replied. “But well enough. I think that it surprised me more than anything.”

  “Yet you were the only one in the room prepared for it,” Xu Liang contradicted. “Enough to have thrown yourself into the stone’s path.”

  “I suppose it was reckless,” Tristus answered. “It was only that the elder appeared so…well, he appeared very put out, and with you in particular.”

  “I’ve come to realize that I have misplaced my trust in Han Quan. I believe that it was his goal to be rid of me and claim the Swords for his own purposes.”

  “You mean he meant to use them against your empire,” Tristus guessed.

  Xu Liang nodded.

  “Is it possible that he could do such a thing?”

  “In the interest of honesty, I cannot say for certain.”

  Tristus accepted that. “Well, we’ll not have to worry about that now.”

  His tone seemed to question and Xu Liang provided confirmation by nodding. “Han Quan has been declared an enemy of the Empire.”

  Tristus appeared glad of that, closing his eyes as if the words had brought him some solace.

  Xu Liang stood witness to two opportunities; one to leave, thereby prolonging their strain…and one to remain, and to potentially alleviate that strain. The silence only grew, however. Xu Liang had prepared no words for this, and while it was true that he had not done so for his empress, there were many advantages to knowing her from a young age—as his beloved ruler’s daughter, as his dear prince’s sister, as his own sibling by the familial love they shared. That he did not foresee what his empress had shared with him regarding her heart lacked insight. That he had no words for someone who he had shared purpose and sacrifice with seemed to lack humaneness. His thoughts became as a small bird against the wind; try as he might, he could not fly against such force.

  Ultimately, Xu Liang turned away from the resistance in his mind, through which he was not able to express himself. He was decided, once again, on maintaining his silence. He could only be reminded of Song Lu, whom he had also loved as a brother and a friend…and who had claimed to love him beyond both. He felt ashamed for having denied and avoided that claim, rather than face it and assert himself. He felt worse shame now, because he had been touched by Song Da-Xiao’s statements of love. Her gentle demand for his attention inspired a better response from him than Song Lu’s insistence, that had fallen short of command. His prince had been a man of impetuousness and entitlement, of commitment and bravery that would have served his role as an emperor better than it did his role as a friend. Song Lu wanted to love many, selfishly. While Tristus was not Song Lu in that way, Xu Liang could not share his interests. He had avoided speaking the words directly to Song Lu because he was his prince and, for a remarkably brief time, his emperor. Xu Liang’s reluctance to yield in action had put needless strain on both of them. He could see that it was happening with Tristus as well, gentler in personality thought Tristus may have been.

  The stress made him feel physical tension in his hands, which began to tax him in other ways.

  Eventually, Tristus noticed his lingering, and looked at him. “Is something the matter?”

  Xu Liang didn’t answer immediately, aware that he was in the grip of fear…not of Tristus, but of the past.

  I look at your silence as a betrayal!

  “Are you unwell?” Tristus asked next. Even without details given, Tristus seemed to detect the urgency and severity of the matter Xu Liang faced internally. He pushed himself up somewhat in the bed. Mild strain showed on his face against the pain of his injury.

  Xu Liang noted that he was not enough sign of discomfort to inspire preclusion of the level of exertion that was to come with the coming together of the Swords and their ensuing work. And it was the topic of the Swords, and of the future of Sheng Fan, which pulled him from his internal paralysis.

  “Continue to rest,” he told the knight. “We will wait until morning.”

  “For what?” Tristus asked before Xu Liang could leave.

  “For the Sun Blade, Tristus Edainien,” he answered, feeling exhausted by his stress. “For its bearer, whom the Empress will soon assign.”

  Enemy of the Song

  Xu Liang dreamed of Han Quan’s success. He dreamed of dying at the elder’s hand, murdered by stone, and helpless to aid the Empress, or his allies from outside of Sheng Fan, who one by one were killed, victims to sudden cruelty in a land that should have shown them both honor and wisdom. He believed he was made to look upon these events so that he may perceive a threat that he continued to veil; that of his own home. Sheng Fan, as an empire, was falling. He believed in the Song, that they would be enough to restore the decay that Ganzan Li had begun. He still believed in them, though the strength of their line lay with a very young woman, whose nearest familial ties were either dead or distant. Many of the family had gone into hiding, made themselves discreet…abandoned their clan. Death had chased them from the light, and now chaos would cast all of the Empire into darkness. Was there no way to make his people see salvation?

  They would never see it in an outside source…. Not one of flesh, nor of fire.

  The last comment was so tangible as to seem deliberately spoken, by him and to the Phoenix.

  The jade light of the passages within his mind and away from his body swelled into being. The silver of the god from the west loomed over him, wings outstretched and a trilogy of tails curled above the passage, streamers of bright white flame pouring into the center darkness.

  Xu Liang felt an undeniable reverence for the being before him, and deference to its ancientness, just as he had the Dragon. He bowed, but did not remain in the pose. Straightening, he looked into its fiery gaze. It hovered there, in its strength and its arrogance, speaking to him in silent tones of destruction and loss. In spite of past attempts to rationalize and to come to terms with the Phoenix, it now seemed to be telling him that it had, indeed, brought him back only to show him failure.

  “What would you have me do?” he asked of it. And in the next, he demanded to know. “What would you have me do!”

  The Phoenix pumped its massive wings of flame, generating a brief rush of warmth that moved through Xu Liang. His hair fanned in a minor wave of black, rimmed with blue—the glow became apparent in the corner of his vision as several strands hovered erratically in the volatile air.

  “That is no answer,” Xu
Liang told the god-beast. “You’ve continuously provided no answer, only confusion!”

  His protest earned him clarity, in the form of fire. The Phoenix lunged into its terrifying dive—the same that had plucked him from death—and sent its power surging through him yet again. In defiance that swiftly became pain, he forced himself awake. His hand went immediately to his chest, grasping impotently at talons that could not—and that would not—be displaced from around his heart.

  In spite of the suffering, he did now hold something new. He did have clarity—in fire, yes, and in revelation. Drawing his hand slowly away from his chest, from the place where an amulet had briefly been years ago, he suddenly knew. His flight from his bed was barely felt, even as he hurriedly added an extra layer of robes and seized Pearl Moon from its stand, all but running from the room.

  It was the sound of commotion that drew Shirisae from a restless sleep. Looking across the room, she saw that Taya seemed awake as well. The girl dwarf was sat up in her bed with a look of worry on her childlike features.

  “What’s happening?” Shirisae asked.

  “I don’t know,” Taya answered. “I heard Xu Liang’s voice. It sounded like he was arguing with his guards.”

  Shirisae climbed out of her bed. She hadn’t dressed down much since earlier that evening, finding that she was in no mood for sleep, so she quickly organized herself and put shoes on. The Fanese style she’d been provided was less comfortable than her boots, but quicker to get on.

  “Where are you going?” Taya demanded in a tone of near panic.

  “To see what’s happening,” Shirisae answered on her way to the door. “Don’t follow.”

  The young dwarf mumbled some form of complaint that was formed more of worry than protest, and Shirisae continued out into the common room. She expected to find Alere ahead of her, as he so liked to be whenever possible, but he appeared nowhere in sight. Perhaps his concern over Tristus had overtaken his incessant suspicion. Regardless, Shirisae was not interested in confrontation or explanation where the mountain elf was concerned, and made her way swiftly to the suite’s entry.