Four Barbarian Generals: Dryth Chronicles Epic Fantasy (Celestial Empire Book 3)

by T. A. Miles

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Join Our ARC Team

  Map: Dryth

  Map: Sheng Fan

  Map: The Imperial City

  Map: School of the Seven Mystics

  Legend: The Emperor's Star

  Prologue: The Seaside Fortress of the Crane

  One: Legacy of Chaos

  Two: Path to Peace

  Three: Departures

  Four: Discoveries

  Five: The Road to Fa Leng

  Six: Chasing Shadows

  Seven: The Torrents of Autumn

  Eight: The Fingers of the Earth

  Nine: Hounded by Vengeance

  Ten: The Clouded Path

  Eleven: School of the Seven Mystics

  Twelve: The Eighth Mystic

  Thirteen: Night's Movement

  Fourteen: The Southern Hills

  Fifteen: The Decision at Jin Fu Castle

  Sixteen: Hearts in Jianfeng

  Seventeen: Transitions

  Eighteen: The Withdrawal of Winter

  Nineteen: The Blight of Spring

  Twenty: The Courtship of the Green Dragon

  Twenty-one: A Tiger's Tail

  Twenty-two: Dance of the Crane

  Twenty-three: Heroes of the Empire

  Twenty-four: Expelling the Unworthy

  Twenty-five: The Fete of Summer

  Epilogue: The Shifting of Ancient Snow on the Mountains

  About the Author

  More from Raventide Books

  A Raventide Books Publication

  Ames, IA

  Copyright © T.A. Miles 2015

  Map © T.A. Miles 2016, map elements by Ignacio Portilla M.

  Cover Illustration by Charlie Creber: creberart@gmail.com

  Ebook design & formatting by Write Dream Repeat Book Design LLC

  Digital Edition: ISBN-10:

  ISBN-13:

  Four Barbarian Generals is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, along with all characters are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Visit Raventide Books at

  RaventideBooks.com

  WANT TO READ MORE BOOKS IN THIS SERIES BEFORE THEY’RE RELEASED? JOIN OUR ARC TEAM!

  RaventideBooks.com/welcometodryth

  IT WAS DURING the early Song Dynasty of Sheng Fan that the era of the Great Star began. It was the Emperor’s Star, made up of the five kingdoms of Ying, Ji, Du, Tzu, and Xun. All were powerful kingdoms under strong and intelligent rule. In five locations critical to the defense and upkeep of the land of Sheng Fan, they were the force of the Empire and the backbone. Along with the Emperor himself, they were the primary sources of light and guidance to the people and to the land. For many years there was harmony among them and the Empire prospered. Thus it was known for its title, Celestial Empire; a heavenly light in the darkness of the savage world that surrounded it.

  But, as Emperor Song Dai once said himself; Not even a star exists forever.

  —From the Hui Chen Annals

  The Seaside Fortress of the Crane

  HAN QUAN STOOD beside the railing of the Pearl Cloud, a small vessel of convincing beauty—convincing enough that one might imagine the captain’s audacious claims of the ship once serving as a marriage vessel for one of the Ganzan princesses to be true. Whether it was true or not, Han Quan could not be bothered to care. The vessel was run up and down the coast by extortionists now. They were the types of men who asked for gold over asking questions, but who somehow knew much and sold promises of silence to the unwise as an aside to the passage one might have already paid for.

  If the ship itself was anything of worth, it had likely been stolen, and would sooner or later be reclaimed as a treasure of the Empire. But that was not today—or any of the other days Han Quan had been aboard the vessel. He had been fortunate in this, that the cliff side towers were either derelict or those manning them had not been given any reason to believe that a fugitive might be aboard the ship passing below their watch.

  There was, in fact, little cause to give the Sea of Longevity excessive amounts of attention in the Empire’s recent years. Their nearest neighbor had sunk to the bottom of the ocean centuries ago, swallowed up by the Spinning Teeth of Fei Jung’s Wyrm. According to the legend, the maelstrom was an occurrence of mystery and terrible ferocity that was said to have been arranged by the Spirit of the Waters, as decreed by the Jade Emperor himself, that no son of Sheng Fan might seek to reach the world’s end. The physical plane extended west and north, and was for men to cultivate and nurture. The east was the portal to the Heavens and the south was the passage into the Infernal Regions. Sheng Fan existed as a natural testament to the divine map of legend. It sat cradled to the east and south by water that none dared to explore to any great distance.

  Of course, Xu Liang would have considered the possibility of an escape by sea—the waters along the coast were utilized regularly for transportation and travel between Ji and Xun. Without question, a pursuit was underway, but interception would be difficult, given the current obduracy of Xun’s governor. A conflict would undoubtedly ensue, should any member of the Empress’ fleet sail too far south.

  Ha Ming Jin had already promised safe passage into the Southern Kingdom for Han Quan. He had only to escape Ji, which had meant an arduous trek through great lengths of underground, a descent down rock faces that tested the remains of an old man’s endurance, and a meeting with men who had been paid in advance to provide him room aboard their vessel. They had been paid well, so that they might find it more profitable to dwell for a time along the Mai Gu cliffs. The arrangements had been made shortly after hearing of Xu Liang’s survival—that he had not been killed in the western realms. It seemed at the time of such news that Han Quan had paid heavily for failure, but perhaps he should have foreseen events.

  Xiadao Lu hunted only for glory; murdering Xu Liang was not personally important to the rogue. Ma Shou, he thought, would have been reliable, given that his prize would have been a surer path to the ranks of the Seven Mystics. That turned out not to be so, and Han Quan’s contingency measures had also failed to pan out as desired. Both of the enchantments he had sent with his agents had been spent with nothing gained. He presumed that both men were dead. His agents within the court—both secured and potential—had become more obstinate and more fearful. Even the peasants he had paid to spread rumors throughout the People’s City had accomplished very little when faced with the Silent Emperor’s supporters. The dragons had been the only true success.

  Han Quan had no interest in lamentation, however. Xu Liang was a formidable challenge and their game was hardly over. Staying competitive meant recovering quickly from setback. He was near to revealing his entire strategy. He would have to reserve some surprises for later, else the Imperial Tactician would surely devise a successful countering strategy, even against dragons.

  For now, Han Quan’s goal was to retreat. For that, he had never even considered a route by land. On land, there would have been no contest versus the immediacy and resources of the Imperial Center of Sheng Fan. There would have been far too many communities to avoid on the way to Xun. Roads would be unsafe for any enemy of the court and a carriage would have struggled over untended earth, ha
d he attempted the wilds.

  Han Quan had many long years left to him—he was certain—but his youth was behind him. He would not have suffered travel by horseback well. Movement over distances by foot was out of the question. His only recourse had been over water. Staying close to the coast and traveling primarily by night had aided in avoiding notice. There were many caves along the eastern edge of Sheng Fan that made for sufficient cover during the day, on the chance that any imperial ships had been put on the water. Han Quan had been witness to none throughout his travel.

  And now, finally, he had arrived at the shores of Xun. The southern land was gentler in its partnering with the sea than were the rocky shores of Ji. Bei Xo had come into view—the palace of the Xun governor—surrounded by high walls and stacked towers that were as artistic impressions of the mountains of the region immediately north. It could almost be viewed as a defiance against Ji—that the height of the governor’s palace stood as if it were a mountain, displaced from those adorning the landscape that surrounded the Imperial City. However, the castle had been built since well before the Five Kingdoms Resolution. There had been no need for such defiance before the foolishness of the Song. Bei Xo had been a summer palace of the Ganzan Dynasty, built high enough to look out to sea and possibly gain a glimpse of the Wyrm.

  Fei Jung’s beast was of no concern to Han Quan. The Sea of Longevity and the ruins of Sheng Li could remain in a doomed marriage for all eternity. Even if he had a mind to leave Sheng Fan again, it would not be by that route. But it would not be necessary for him to leave the Empire this time. Let Xu Liang have the accursed weapons of the gods; Han Quan had all that he needed in the living legacy of a dragon of the mortal realm. The end of the Song Dynasty was at hand.

  Legacy of Chaos

  FROM THE WEST battlements of the interior city of Jianfeng, Huang Je looked over the colorful angled rooftops of the People’s City, which radiated outward from Sheng Fan’s seat of power for a tremendous distance. The soft mountains of Ji stood along the horizon, like the seated forms of ancient oracles, looking down upon the land and predicting the fates of the people below them by observing their movements. It was a very different view than the Northern Kingdom’s sloping white peaks.

  Turning about, Huang Je carried himself to the opposite side of the wide wall and hopped onto the raised edge of it for an even different view. Below him now sat a series of fortified squares, the nearest of which lay in virtual ruin. Buildings and covered walkways had been toppled. The structures of those left standing were scored and broken on one side or another, the roofs sagging in some places and the columns scraped down to the natural color of the wood, if not splintered altogether. Huang Je tried to descry some pattern, or path, but the damage appeared too spread out. The flagstones of the west court had been raked from their earthen bed and strewn about. They were lying in chaotic heaps and scattered pieces beneath the arching bows of the trees that had been left standing. Strangely enough, less of the delicate foliage had been toppled than statues. But that wasn’t the strangest detail. That distinction went to the area near the west arches, which appeared to have been blasted by the fires of the gods. A lake of black ash lay across the section, like a toppled ink pot.

  Movement in the corner of his vision had Huang Je look over his shoulder, toward Lord Xiang Wu. The governor—bedecked in layers of deep blues and greens—had shifted on his feet, making room for the movement of another man who had been loitering in the vicinity among several others.

  The governor of Du hefted his boulder-like frame nearer to the interior side of the wall, frowning with interest at the wreckage below. Nearby were other officials—the governor of Tzu, an envoy from Xun, the Imperial Tactician, the Supreme General of the Empress’ army, the Imperial Minister of Policy, and the eldest son of the governor of Du. Huang Je observed the activities and placement of each one of the men, now that they’d shifted around, detected nothing immediately threatening to his master, and resumed his own study of what they had all gathered to survey.

  “A dragon,” grumbled Lord Xu Hong when his son arrived beside him. They mirrored one another in appearance, though Xu Hongfu was the younger portrayal by enough years that his hair had not yet fully grayed. Both had barrel chests and thick hair that fanned sharply outward, like bushy manes. Their eyebrows were heavy and low over their eyes, which seemed to peer out as if from dark caves. Their attire was largely brown and gray with images of coiling dragons impressively worked around their sleeves and perched at their shoulders in green.

  In response to his father’s comment, Xu Hongfu said, “Or a group of men disguised as one.”

  Xu Hong raised his brow—brief as the rise was, given the construct of his face—and glanced up at his mildly taller son as if Xu Hongfu had just carved brilliance from the stone in front of them. “Rioters taking advantage of an earthquake. Oh, I can picture it.”

  Huang Je could not, since all of the walls were still standing and none of the gates had been significantly damaged. There was no indication of anything—or anyone—having broken through the inner city’s defenses.

  “And what is that?” Xu Hong raised his hand to indicate a figure that Huang Je was already observing—the figure of one of Xu Liang’s companions that had been brought to Dhong Castle over a month ago. “An animal?”

  The figure, if he were animal, would have been a winter stag. But he was no animal, except through the eyes of the Fanese elite—with few exceptions in Huang Je’s experience. Huang Je knew that he was largely ignored for his years of proven service as bodyguard to an important official. The pale individual with tipped ears walking across the yard below would not to be so ignored. Nor, for that matter would the man with hair that hung in loose coils, who was jogging along to join his companion and the Fanese man who had led them across the yard to begin with.

  The three moved toward a site where workers toiled over one area of rubble especially. Huang Je would have considered the burnt section of the court to be of greater importance, but perhaps, after the fact, it was of very little value. It made him look more closely upon the mound of debris Xu Liang’s barbarians were approaching. He recalled from past visits that it had been the location of a temple. Currently, the building was spread in a rounded radius of broken pieces, surrounding a hole in the earth. Much of the opening had been covered with planks. Seeing the effort now brought attention to the fact that the hole itself was extremely large, perhaps large enough for a dragon.

  So, it would seem that Chaos had broken through its prison after all, and left its mark upon the Imperial City. Huang Je was almost willing to believe that, or to believe that something akin to that had happened.

  Nearby, Xu Hong continued to mock the idea of dragons and of barbarian warriors. And Huang Je continued to listen, sheltered from notice by his status and by half of his blood.

  “REMEMBER, WE’RE NOT to go too far yet,” Tristus said to Alere, crouching at the lip of the pit that once was the foundation of a temple.

  The elf had already hopped down onto the scaffolding that served as a more convenient route below ground than a gaping drop into hell. Alere elected not to give attention to Tristus’ comment, and Tristus lowered himself down without further comment, since he was going to be ignored. This would mark their third visit to the location from which had sprung a dragon, intent on tearing the Imperial City asunder with the force of its cries, if not the strength of its form. Their next visit was to be more of an expedition, once the strategy of it had been fully decided on.

  Behind Tristus was Guang Ci. Tristus stepped forward to make room for the man, setting himself directly alongside Alere, who was busily scanning the mottled darkness below them. There was a shard of jade beside the elf’s booted foot, and Tristus crouched to collect it. The piece appeared a snapped off end of what had once been a soft curve. It still felt very smooth to the touch, in spite of how violently all the components of the temple’s intricate lattice had been torn apart. Even the end that had been broken off
was soft, except at the very edges. It wasn’t a polished softness, but it had come off cleanly and the stone appeared to hold a natural satin quality.

  “What did you find?” Alere asked him.

  Tristus stood, holding the fragment up in the better light that came through the pit’s opening. “It’s a piece of the carved mural. Now that I’m looking at it, I think it’s a talon…or a—”

  “A piece of a dragon’s tail,” Alere said, recalling the lattice’s design better than Tristus in the moment.

  “I suppose it might be,” Tristus replied, then impulsively tucked it into his belt. “I think I’ll keep hold of this…as a token for remembering.”

  “The dragon?” Alere asked him.

  And Tristus said, “Jiao Ren.”

  The mention of the man who was all too briefly their fellow bearer drew a moment’s silence from them, one that ended when Guang Ci moved past them and down the narrow wooden stairs that would carry them into the dragon’s former lair.

  “I wonder how he’s faring?” Tristus said.

  Alere watched after the bearer of the Night Blade, saying, “There’s no way to ask him presently.”

  Tristus nodded, moving after Alere when the elf continued downward.

  Guang Ci seemed to be processing Jiao Ren’s death in relative silence since it happened—but then he processed most things in silence around those who couldn’t speak his language. Tristus wondered if he had spoken to Xu Liang about it at all, or maybe to one of his fellow guardsmen. At the same time, he didn’t actually know how well Guang Ci had been acquainted with the young general; maybe he had only to process what Alere and Tristus were working through, which was largely the shock of it.

  Jiao Ren had been swifter to his feet that day than either of them anticipated after the collision of the Blades that sent both him and Guang Ci reeling to opposite ends of the west court. Upon being alleviated of the worst of his injuries by a healing spell that was meant to spare his life—not further endanger it—Jiao Ren leapt up and was off. Tristus imagined it to have been a pristine state of devotion which had him charge to his end like that. Though he would not have expected the outcome, Tristus surely understood the deed.