Symphony of Fates: A Legends of Tivara Story (The Dragon Songs Saga Book 4)

by JC Kang

  “Madurans?” The shock in her wide eyes had to be genuine.

  He cocked his head. “Who did you think was invading us?”

  The princess pointed north. “The Teleri army, led by Emperor Geros himself, occupies Dongmen.”

  Dongmen? His men erupted in murmurs. She was pointing in the wrong direction, but still. It must be a trick, to throw him off-guard. The bonfires on the Great Wall and fire towers would have brought news within an hour. Even if no one heeded the signal, they would listen to the daily couriers out of Dongmen.

  Still, if she were telling the truth, nothing stood between Dongmen and Huayuan. The entire North was virtually undefended, while an incompetent ruled as regent. A perfect storm, caused in part by his own past actions. The Beauty would’ve been laughing at him right about now. She’d always predicted he would make a huge mistake. “Are you certain? There has been no such news.”

  The princess glared at him. “Of course I am certain. Lord Zheng was about to let the Bovyans in when I left.”

  A collaborator! That would explain it. Lord Zheng must have waylaid the imperial couriers and made sure the fire signals remained unlit. “Very well, Dian-xia. I will have one of my men send a warning to the palace now.”

  “You must let me go to the palace myself. I will take the risk. I will make them listen.”

  “Not so fast.” First, he needed to confirm it. “We must talk first. Come along.”

  “Allow Fang Weiyong to accompany me.”

  Liang Yu evaluated him with a quick glance. The doctor had shown no signs of fighting skill, and probably wouldn’t pose a significant threat. He also had the imperial plaque. “Very well. Your men are my hostages. Any sign of disobedience, and I will kill one of them, starting with your doctor.” Snapping his spear and knife back together into a walking stick, he held an open hand toward the warehouse office. “Please.”

  She cast him a scathing glare. “Who are you?”

  No sign of worry. He blanked his own expression. “I will answer your question, but in the privacy of that room. Please walk. The doctor first.”

  The doctor looked at the princess, and she nodded. He turned and led her to the office. Liang Yu followed one step behind. At the door, he darted to the side and opened it for them.

  Kidnapping her had made so much sense before. However, if what she said was true about the Teleri invasion of the undefended North, maybe she was the only one who could bring the country together.

  Without the least amount of fear, she walked into his office. It was time to ascertain if she was telling the truth.

  Kaiya took a deep breath. She’d walked blindly into a trap, duped as if she were Avarax’s fool again. Her hand strayed to Tian’s lockpick pouch. For now, at least, her escort was safe. If she could only figure out who these people were and what they wanted. She stepped into a small room, with a single window that bathed the room in afternoon light.

  A silhouetted figure stood on the other side of a bloodwood desk. He cradled what appeared to be a repeating crossbow in his arms. At least he didn’t point it at them.

  Fu gestured her toward the two bloodwood chairs in front of the desk. She glided over and settled on the edge of one, while Weiyong stood on her left.

  Seemingly unconcerned about the Teleri invasion, Fu walked by them and took a seat behind the desk, next to the other man. With the sun at his back, she couldn’t read his expression; not that she was good at it in the first place.

  “Now, to answer your question,” Fu said. “I am a spice merchant with the nation’s best interests at heart.”

  And a Moquan. Perhaps the renegade who had perpetrated all the attacks a year before. She pursed her lips. If he really had the nation’s best interests at heart, he had a strange way of showing it. “Then send a message to the palace. At least let them know of the Bovyan invasion.”

  “Of course.” He bowed, and then gestured toward the doctor. “You gave him an imperial plaque earlier. Give it to me.”

  The imperial plaque? What was he talking…

  The doctor cocked his head. “I—”

  She held up an open hand, silencing him. Fu must have mistaken Tian’s tablet for the imperial plaque. Now it was bargaining leverage. Blasphemous, all the same. “Weiyong, give me the plaque.”

  “But Dian-xia—”

  He was sweet, but he could be so dense sometime. Of course, she didn’t know where the real plaque was any more than Weiyong. In her frightened younger self’s haste to escape Iksuvius, she’d forgotten it. Maybe Emperor Geros had recovered it. She suppressed a shudder as a twinge of fear sparked, only to be smothered by the Tiger’s Eye. Keeping her focus locked forward, she extended her hand to the doctor. “You won’t be taking it to the palace now.”

  Understanding bloomed in Weiyong’s eyes. He bowed and proffered the pouch. Kaiya turned and received it in two hands. Fu’s henchman took a step forward with an outstretched arm.

  Fu barred his way with the walking staff. “Dian-xia, Little Song here needs the plaque to prove he is your messenger.”

  She glared at him. “I will not have an insurgent—”

  “Patriot,” Fu said. “Little Song cares about Hua. He is the son of the former Foreign Minister Song Henglin.

  At Song’s new angle, she could see his face clearly. Yes, it was Song Xingyuan, the son of Minister Song, who’d held the Chief Minister title for a single day…before it was revealed his son was an insurgent. She’d strongarmed the young man into giving her the Dragon Scale Lute, three years ago. Perhaps that disgrace had pushed him into rebellion. Maybe he held a grudge against her.

  Song dropped to one knee, head bowed. Fu, too, nodded in respect to the supposed plaque. Apparently, he still recognized the symbol of the Tianzi and the Mandate of Heaven.

  Summoning her tone of imperial authority, though not as effective as the power of her voice, she said, “For now, I will keep the plaque.”

  Fu smirked. “What keeps me from taking it from you?”

  “Mutual benefit. I could have sung the order for your men to kill each other.” She tucked the pouch into the fold of her robe. He believed she still had her power; would he believe her bluff now? If her frightened younger self could trick a dragon, her older self, armed with the Tiger’s Eye, could deceive a man. “However, if you are a patriot and the information about Lord Liu is true, then I will need you.”

  She kept her expression impassive as his eyes searched hers.

  At last, he leaned back in his chair. “I will bring a friend of yours here, one who can get into the palace with no proof of identity.”

  Kaiya pursed her lips. Who was he speaking of? “I do not want any more people kidnapped.”

  Fu grinned. “She will come of her own free will. Little Song, go to the Linshan legation and tell Lin Ziqiu I have a mission for her.”

  Apparently the Tiger’s Eye couldn’t suppress surprise, because Kaiya’s mouth must have been gaping. Had Ziqiu been spying on her in the past, using flightiness as a disguise?

  Chapter 16:

  Cherry Pairs

  Thirty-three days. Feneyas estimated more than a cycle of the white moon would pass before he ever learned his identity, just because the wild elves insisted on maintaining pretenses with the humans. He could’ve gone straight to the Maki village himself; instead, the woodland messengers would go and deliver instructions for the shaman to come visit the sacred pool.

  Sacred, indeed.

  As if blue sand and exfoliated elf skin made the pool magic. It was almost a joke among the elves. Dior laughed, recounting how he had tricked a shaman and his two young children when they had visited a half a year before, by whispering in the wind and tossing rocks into the pool.

  In the meantime, life went on. More weapons practice, more hunting and foraging. Though restless, Feneyas at least had a chance to learn a little about woodcraft from Kiri and the others. Dior taught him the finer points of archery, though it did little more than earn the laughter of the elves wh
en they watched.

  Well before dawn on the eighth day, Feneyas jerked out of sleep and nearly tumbled from his hammock.

  Kiri stood just ten paces away, frozen in her approach. She flashed him a mischievous grin. “No one can sneak up on you, even in your sleep. Now come, there’s a dawn-blooming everblossom I want to harvest.”

  Feneyas shook the fog out of his mind and lumbered to his feet. Following Kiri through the other hammocks of sleeping elves, he made his way down the tree steps to the ground.

  Little Kala beamed at him from the bottom, while Dior yawned. The bow and quiver strapped across his back did not seem suited for the task at hand.

  Feneyas poked Kiri in the back. “Do we really need four of us to pick flowers?”

  She batted her eyelashes. “No, but eight baskets carry more than four.”

  They set off down a path, with the three others barely making a sound. It helped that they could see in the dark. Then again, that was no excuse. He made plenty of noise traipsing across the forest paths in broad daylight.

  “What are the everblossoms for?” Feneyas asked in a low whisper.

  Kiri chuckled, but didn’t answer.

  Dior leaned in. “Women’s issues.”

  Before long, they arrived on a low ridge overlooking a clearing in the trees. Broadleaf plants covered the ground. Kiri motioned for them to stop, and pointed at the shrubbery. Kala crouched and stared at the closed sepals.

  The sky began to fade from black to dark blue, and the forest erupted with birdsong. Pink formed on the horizon, heralding the arrival of the sun. The groundcover burst forth in an explosion of yellow and white blooms.

  Kiri squeezed Feneyas’ hand, looking up to meet his gaze. Her smile was refreshing and happy.

  His stomach fluttered. Perhaps who he was didn’t matter, just that he belonged somewhere. All sounds of the forest quieted in that moment.

  In the distance, metal jingled.

  Feneyas spun in that direction, then back to meet Dior’s eyes. The elf’s ears twitched. His bow was already in hand.

  As the sounds grew louder, Dior motioned them off the ridge and into some bushes. Huddled by Kiri’s side, Feneyas lifted his head and ventured a glance out.

  A squad of Metal Men, all wearing black surcoats over chainmail hauberks, pushed through some brush and paused on the path Feneyas and the elves had taken. They stood just fifteen feet away.

  At point, a Kanin tribesman took a step and squatted, pressing his hand to the ground. The soldiers, eleven in all, gathered up behind him. Some passed a flask around and took swigs.

  One, with spiked shoulder guards and a steel breastplate, pushed forward toward the front of the column. He stood only as tall as his companions’ chests, but might have been just as broad and muscular. Shaggy black hair jutted out from beneath his half-helm, setting him apart from the others’ close-cropped coifs. Unlike his comrades’ longswords, this one had a wicked broadsword hanging at his side.

  He turned in Feneyas’ direction, revealing turquoise-colored skin in the early morning light. His squat, blocky face was so ugly, Feneyas probably would’ve remembered had he seen a more hideous person in his past life.

  Kiri dug her fingers into Feneyas’ arm as she shrank behind him.

  The guide bobbed his head over and over again. “Sorry, sorry,” he said in the Metal Men’s language. “I lost the half-elf’s trail.”

  Half-elf…they were searching for Kiri. Feneyas shifted over, as if it would protect his friend.

  Turquoise Man turned back and smacked the guide across the cheek, sending a loud crack echoing through the woods. He let out a series of foul syllables that could only be a curse.

  One of the Metal Men shoved the guide in the back. “If you don’t pick up the trail, we’ll chop your children to pieces. See if your legendary tracking skills can find them all.”

  The tribesman’s voice trembled. “Only two, not easy. And dark. Too dark to see.”

  “But fresh.” Turquoise Man seized the guide by the shoulder and yanked him to his feet. So strong.

  Kiri tugged at Feneyas. He looked at her.

  Let’s go, she mouthed. Her eyes glistened with tears. Her other hand clutched Kala’s hand. Kala’s free hand covered her mouth, and her eyes were squeezed shut. Dior… Dior was nowhere to be found. Kiri let go of him and started to stand.

  Feneyas grabbed Kiri’s wrist and shook his head. Fleeing would give away their position. She squeezed his wrist back.

  The guide pointed toward the forest floor. “A track. Smaller human. Went that way.” He now pointed past Feneyas and the others, toward the ridge.

  The Metal Man shoved him in the back. “Then lead us.”

  Kiri’s grip tightened as the column jingled and clanged single-file past their hiding place.

  Feneyas held his breath.

  Kala burst into tears. She jumped up and bolted in the other direction. Kiri scrambled to her feet and ran after her.

  “Look! The half-elf!” More armor clinked as bodies turned this way and that, swords sweeping out of their scabbards.

  Turquoise Man jerked his head in Kiri’s direction, then lumbered through the underbrush after her. Despite his short legs, he moved fast. Two Metal Men followed.

  A bowstring twanged somewhere to the left. An arrow thwipped through air and lodged into a nearby Metal Man’s throat. Another brute collapsed into a heap nearby with an arrow through his eye. The fletching marked it as Dior’s.

  “Trap! Take cover!” the first Metal Man blurted.

  His comrades had already broken toward the cover of the trees, heads twisting every which way to find the source of the arrow. One poked his head out, only to take an arrow through the mouth.

  Three enemies fallen, the others pinned down by Dior’s marksmanship.

  And three in pursuit of Kiri and Kala.

  Feneyas leaped up and took off after his half-elf friends. Turning a corner on the path, he nearly tripped over one of the Metal Men, throat slashed with blood gushing out.

  Kiri’s scream tore through the forest from down the path. Oddly calm despite the chaos, Feneyas broke into a run.

  After several seconds, a trail of black blood appeared. The sounds of metal on metal clashed louder. Then, there they were.

  With his right arm hanging at his side, Turquoise Man leaned against a tree. He swung his broadsword in vicious arcs, keeping Kiri at bay.

  How had Kiri gotten the upper hand against an armored warrior?

  Not only that, she had changed her clothes? Gone was the doeskin dress, replaced by tight black clothes. At least, they might’ve been black if not for all the mud splattered on them. She’d apparently found time not only to change her clothes—and where had she stashed the new ones?—but to roll around in the dirt as well.

  “You can drop your weapon and answer some questions,” Kiri said, “or you can die.” She could speak the Metal Man’s language! And speak it well, even better than her proficiency with Kanin. Had she been keeping that a secret the whole time?

  Still brandishing his sword, Turquoise Man burst out laughing. “Come on, Orc Slayer, see if you can get close enough to make good on your empty threats.”

  “Okay, have it your way.” Kiri reached into the fold of her shirt and whipped out three biao. Biao? The name came to him unbidden, foreign and familiar at once. They whistled through the air and lodged into Turquoise Man’s face, neck, and gut. With a squelch, he collapsed to the ground.

  Feneyas coughed. Where’d Kiri gotten the clothes and the foreign weapons?

  Kiri met his gaze. Her eyes widened as large as greywood tree leaves, and she stumbled back two steps. “H-Heavens!”

  She could speak his native tongue.

  From Feneyas’ right, another man crashed through the bushes, longsword raised. Feneyas spun to his attacker’s right, and would have broken the man’s arm had the assailant not skidded short, mouth hanging slack.

  “Heavens!” His would-be attacker’s voice sputter
ed in shock and awe. Gawking, he lowered his sword. Apparently, the People Beyond the Wall enjoyed invoking the Heavens.

  The man had also spoken in Feneyas’ native language, and at cursory glance, he had the same honey skin, black hair, and almond-shaped eyes. He held a Metal Man’s sword.

  “Heavens…” Warrior Kiri took a tentative step toward him, hand trembling.

  The second Metal Man burst out behind Yellow Man and hacked down with his longsword.

  Feneyas reached out and raised Yellow Man’s arm, angling his sword so that the Metal Man’s clanged into it. The weapon jarred from Yellow Man’s grasp.

  Feneyas caught it underhanded by the hilt, and swept it up into the arc of the Metal Man’s back stroke. Its edge smashed into the flat of Feneyas’ sword with a clank. The reverberation wrung his hand, but he kept hold of the weapon. He butted Yellow Man to the side with his hip and drew his knife with his left hand.

  The Metal Man transitioned to a strong thrust.

  Brushing it to the side with his own sword, Feneyas spun in and slashed down with the knife, across his enemy’s throat and to the inside of his left wrist. On the upstroke, he cut the inside of the Metal Man’s right wrist.

  Yellow Man lunged and tackled the Metal Man from behind. He pushed himself up, favoring his right arm, climbed on the Metal Man’s back, and ripped off his helm. He then repeatedly bashed the hapless soldier’s head into the ground.

  Apparently satisfied with his handiwork, Yellow Man looked up, his mouth agape. “Heavens! You are alive!”

  Yellow Man must have known him. On closer inspection, they had similar features. Unlike the diversity of elf faces, maybe the People Beyond the Wall all looked the same? Feneyas found his tongue, his native language stumbling out of his mouth after an eternity of non-use. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

  Yellow Man rolled his eyes. “Heavens! Stop being silly. I am bright—"

  Dior appeared on the path, prodding the Kanin tribesman along.

  Then, another Kiri peeked through the bushes. She took a tentative step out, pulling Kala along with her. She wore the same doeskin dress as before.