by T. A. Miles
Atop Blue Crane, Xu Liang performed a brief half-bow. “The outcome has already been decided.”
Whether he meant by fate, or his ancestors, or his own planning, Xu Liang didn’t specify. Tarfan didn’t asked him to, but only cast a sidelong glance at Taya, who contained as much of her ensuing sigh as she could. She definitely did not like this separation.
“If you’ll excuse us, friends,” the mystic said, guiding Blue Crane around them. “We must join with the troops awaiting departure at the Gate of Celestial Might.”
“Take care, Taya,” Shirisae said in passing, raising herself into Kirlothden’s saddle and directing the great beast of an animal into Xu Liang’s shadow.
“Behave,” Taya mumbled with another sigh, watching as Gai Ping, Shi Dian, Cai Zheng Rui, and Wan Yun followed after the bearers of the Moon and Storm Blades.
SHIRISAE WAS TOO young to have ever witnessed the full forces of the bygone Empire of the Elves. She imagined that if she had, it might have looked something like what awaited them in the south court of the Imperial City. She had never seen so many rows of armed men aligned in a single area. And this was only reinforcement to a force that had already traveled south.
Her gaze traveled over an orderly array of upheld pikes, spears, and banners. Some sections of the soldiers were mounted while many of them would be making the journey on foot. At the head of the army were a series of horse-drawn chariots, each with less than four passengers. The men in them appeared officers and tacticians who likely held a supporting role to Xu Liang and the handful of armored men with brighter or slightly more embellished armor spaced among the squared off units of troops.
“How many are there?” she asked Xu Liang while they made their way to the very front of the army.
“Twenty thousand to join the sixty that departed ahead of us,” the mystic answered.
Undoubtedly, there were many more soldiers housed within the Imperial City and more still throughout the kingdom of Ji. And this was a mere fraction of the forces within Sheng Fan. This would draw significant pause in the west, Shirisae thought. Were the warring factors of elves and men south of the Yvarias made aware of what lay sleeping in the east…
“You have an honorable reputation begun by your efforts against the dragon,” Xu Liang said, drawing her away from her thoughts. “I know that I’ve already told you that, but I believe it important to reiterate now. These men are aware of your skill and not able to question the intent behind your presence, owed to what was reported and the Empress’ decree, which has given you both rank and title. Unfortunately, it will be an unwillingness to disobey the Empress that first impresses proper behavior upon them. You have the means and the opportunity to shape that, Shirisae, and to earn their respect as fellow warriors.”
“I understand my position,” Shirisae answered truthfully. She had no illusions about the swiftness with which men could forget or come to question deeds of valor, particularly when performed by elves or by women. She was both. She would be twice as vigilant at establishing a presence that could earn and retain their trust and loyalty.
She couldn’t help but to think that D’mitri would be more confused by these men, and less tolerant. But he was the son of the Priestess of the Flame. A female among their own people had never had to prove herself ahead of being granted the same respect known to the males of Vilciel. Gender mattered only in regard to inheritance and was most important in the role of what Shirisae now fully understood was the curator of the Phoenix’s waning phase. It was the lengthiest part of the Phoenix’s cycle, the consistent smoldering of the Flame, enduring only momentary rises enabled transition from one priestess to the next while it lay ultimately in wait for the Flare.
And now the Phoenix was a Flare, living in what would become its most pronounced state through Xu Liang. Shirisae wondered for the first time who had been in the role of D’jenti before now…and what had become of him.
XU LIANG BROUGHT Shirisae and his guards to the head of the troops. The unit generals finished their final inspections and came to join them. They each bowed in passing while aligning their mounts to either side of the small entourage Xu Liang had with him. He had not felt the need, nor had he felt there was time for hiring more bodyguards to replace those that had been lost to him. For now, the veterans currently with him would suffice. He set his sights on the task ahead.
“Today,” he said, projecting his voice toward the troops, which had been quieted by his arrival, “we embark on a journey for justice! The Empress has been betrayed! The Governor of Xun abuses his authority and seeks to claim the southern provinces for himself. It is likely that he is housing the fugitive Han Quan, who had set the dragon upon the Imperial City. We must let no one threaten the peace! We must let no one defy the Mandate!”
At the end of his statement, Generals Zhou Biao and Hei Xue issued the final rally; “To Fa Leng!”
The troops cheered the words back with enthusiasm. It appeared that they were riled by recent events, but not discouraged. Undoubtedly, the defeat of the dragon—in spite of the great cost—had inspired courage and the energy to fight. Xu Liang would pray to the ancestors that their enthusiasm last throughout the journey south and to the end of the battle ahead. He turned Blue Crane toward the Dawn Gate, one of three inner gates which cordoned off the city’s south entrance. He would lead the troops through the Dawn Gate and ultimately through the Gate of Celestial Might. From the Sun Gate, which overlooked the yard on the north side, the Empress and members of the central court would observe the departure. A river of armed men would temporarily flow through the gates, which would be open as if to channel such a body of water.
In his mind, Xu Liang observed the event in advance, having witnessed such occasions when troops departed for battles he would not take a present role in. There came a helpless amount of pride with observing the strength of the Empire, but also some measure of chagrin with the fact that it also represented the Empire’s weakness.
This unrest will end.
The thought entered his mind in the moments his near entourage passed over the broad and ornate Spirit Dragon Bridge, resting at a low arch alongside its brighter twin, the Celestial Dragon Bridge. They left toward conflict. They would return beneath the illumination of a better peace and cross over the bridge dedicated to the lights of the Heavens.
Discoveries
TRISTUS RODE WITH Alere, Guang Ci, Huang Shang-san, and Tarfan across the various districts of the inner city, from the north court to the west. All the while, the sounds of morning played before a backdrop of clamor that Tristus recognized as the movement of troops. Judging by the duration of it, it was no small number of soldiers. Of course, Tristus would have rathered he and the others accompany Xu Liang and Shirisae, but they did have a sizable task ahead of them within the city—or, below it, as it turned out. Jianfeng had been attacked by a dragon that had dwelt beneath the stonework of the city’s yards for what could have been any number of years. Tristus would not presume to know the full size a dragon could get to, but it did seem fully adult to him and if they came larger…God help mankind, should they choose to arise as the last one did.
I suppose that Dawnfire is God’s help, he reminded himself. It seemed so spectacular to be involved in such a task that he tended to overlook just how specifically important it may have been. It was a sort of pulsating light within him, waxing and waning in such a way that it managed to keep him humble most days, yet filled him with enough divine purpose to not question when he was called to action as one of the bearers. He considered often that he had received the spear from an angel. He would never forget that.
As to the dragon…there were also the offspring to consider. If they survived, that would mean more dragons in the world, but—as they’d all lately witnessed—there were dragons already, so the ramifications were unclear. The beast that had emerged from the underground was particularly aggressive. If its progeny were as well, then they could create quite a danger, especially if they grew to adult
s. Many of them—if not most of them—had been killed without ever reaching the outer city. Their bodies had been collected and burned—apparently there was enough ill portents about the arrival of these creatures that precluded making use or trophy out of any part of them. Undoubtedly, some of them had been incinerated by the Sun Blade’s brilliant and lethal demonstration and were mere patterns in the ashy stain that had been left behind. It was hard to believe that an entire dragon had been within that vast smear. It had been entirely expunged from the face of Dryth. Scarcely a bone remained as evidence of its presence.
“What do you think we’ll find in the further tunnels?” Tristus asked Alere.
It was Tarfan who answered first. “Further tunnels, I hope. And not much else.”
Tristus glanced over his shoulder at the dwarf riding behind him upon Sylvashen’s back. “You survived one, Master Fairwind. I’m willing to believe you can survive one more, should we come across it.”
Tarfan’s expression was rather unamused. Tristus couldn’t help but to smile a little over it.
“There have been no tremors felt or reported since the felling of the dragon in the west court,” Alere pointed out.
And a valid point it was. “That’s true,” Tristus said. The relief the realization inspired had him repeating himself. “That certainly is true.”
It was then that Alere looked over at him. And now it was he who smiled with some amusement.
Tristus could not be embarrassed over it. “I’d rather not find a population of dragons below the city myself.”
“That’s understandable,” Alere replied in his manner of speaking that would have been taken for complete arrogance, if not for knowing that it was largely innocent. The elf stated what appeared to him to be plain fact, more often than not.
Be that as it may, Tristus did happen to know that Alere had an edge tucked between the layers of tacit information he preferred to dole out. He supposed that it was really only that the elf didn’t know what to say most often, given a lack of social interaction that came of being a Verressi hunter. Conversely, Tristus was accustomed to—and much preferred—being in the company of others. He would rather anyone than no one. Apart from the desperate rambling the latter could—and had—lent him to, he believed that conversation was one of the more useful skills he had acquired. Again, he would be glad to know the language of Sheng Fan. He was glad to know Yvarian, else it might have been considerably more difficult to adopt Fanese with neither of their current teaching options having any words at their disposal in Andarian. Andarian had very little in common with Yvarian, barring some few shared root words that had evolved differently in both countries. Treskan, on the other hand, had been derived from Andarian and had even become the predominant language of all peoples not elven, who existed south of Callipry and above the Sea of Oslan. Had Tristus come from any further south, language might have truly seemed a barrier.
They passed beneath one of three openings that constituted the west arches, over scorched ground that would require much effort to restore. The whole of the Court of the Sun would require a singular effort. Entire buildings had been leveled by the dragon. The destruction of the Temple of Divine Tranquility had also eradicated all traces of the water garden that had surrounded it. Now the stream that coursed through two of the city’s courts ended at a makeshift basin near the remains of the temple, a measure taken to prevent the water falling into the underground while men were at work cleaning and restoring.
“The stench remains vile,” Tarfan muttered.
“I think it’s become worse since the ground has been open,” Tristus replied.
Tarfan made a sound of agreement.
Moving past the ruins of a row of houses, Tristus looked to the Gate of Heavenly Protection, which they had passed through initially upon their arrival to the Imperial City. Given some of what had been said to them about their outsider status, Tristus wondered if some people didn’t look upon their initial passage across the west court as some form of curse or defilement which had contributed to the tragedy that had taken place there.
The sound of cheers rose in the distance. Tristus presumed that to mean that the troops on their way south were making their way through the outer city. How fantastic that sight must have been.
Tarfan tapped Tristus’ elbow before he could become lost in the reverie. So prompted, he guided Sylvashen to a halt alongside Breigh and the other two horses. Huang Shang-san rode upon a dark brown steed while Guang Ci had retained the black animal provided to him at Vilciel. It was a larger breed, similar to Shirisae’s Kirlothden. Though Sheng Fan didn’t seem home to such creatures, undoubtedly Guang Ci and his fellow guards had grown accustomed—if not attached—to the animals that had carried them from Yvaria. Guang Ci gave no indication, and had not given much indication of anything outside of the disturbance he evidently felt with Jiao Ren’s death since the dragon.
Tristus waited for Tarfan to lower himself from Sylvashen, then dismounted himself and found a place to tie the red steed off, since activity tended to inspire restlessness in him. A surviving pillar belonging to a half collapsed covered pathway seemed ample and out of the way. Huang Shang-san and Guang Ci followed suit and the lot of them—including Breigh—proceeded toward the pit that had formerly been a temple, once they’d collected their gear. Among them, they’d brought packs to carry on their own backs and otherwise would have only what small amount of storage Breigh had available in her saddlebags. Tristus couldn’t help but to feel that it wouldn’t be an overly long journey, but on the chance that it turned out to be, it was better that they entered prepared.
THE WEST WALL was peopled only by soldiers, Alere noticed while they returned to the underground entrance. During their last visit it had also been occupied by Xu Liang and officials—the governors of the other kingdoms. They had done a good amount of observing, as had the man from the north who had ushered them to their veritable cell during their stay at Dhong Castle. He seemed odd, not only in his appearance among other Fanese people, but in his manner. Alere felt inclined to distrust him, though for no readily placed reason. It may have simply been that watchfulness begot watchfulness.
He led Breigh on foot to the scaffolding leading underground, where some of the men looked on with uncertainty. At times their expressions erred on protest, but it was Huang Shang-san who spoke to them in diplomatic tones of assurance, and no one interfered. Room was made for the mare and her rider. The others of the company charged with exploration of the underground followed afterward.
The scaffolding was sturdy, a feat of architecture that the workers may have been slighting by questioning Breigh’s passage, if it was her weight they were worried about. The shifting of the levels of planks and steps was negligible—no worse than it had been with more than one elf or human body upon them. It had been built to take weight in the form of workers and material, so Alere suspected their urge to deny passage had merely to do with whom was passing with the animal, over the animal itself.
Huang Shang-san incidentally, and innocently, let Alere know that he was the uncharitable party when he said, “They were unsure of the horse’s safety. I promised them that the horse was…”
“Not an ordinary horse,” Tristus finished while the elder hedged upon words that were less familiar to him.
Alere paused internally, but otherwise said nothing and did not look back at any of them. An acute desire to be alone assailed him, and it was nothing he wished to let onto. His suspicious nature was well known to him, but lately he had noticed that he was being attacked by sensations of intolerance and anger. It had grown worse since he consciously stopped trying to direct the majority of those feelings at Shirisae. Even without speaking to Xu Liang about it, as he had done weeks ago, he knew it was not a correct frame of mind to be in. Shirisae was not directly responsible for anything that had affected him adversely, not even Tristus’ insistent distance. He knew that she was a target for his past loss and anger that he had homed in on upon meeting bot
h her and her brother. He had yet to overcome those retaliatory feelings, even after the near loss of both Aerkiren and Firestorm. Trying to do so was spreading his anger onto others. He had left before it could come to that the last time. He had left while Xu Liang was dying and set off on his own to somehow benefit the mystic. He had also done so to distance himself from Tristus, who was clearly and completely dedicated to Xu Liang. It had resulted in being followed, and in pushing his feelings onto Tristus. He had resented Shirisae’s presence there as well, though for other reasons, all of which—past and present—amounted to jealousy. He understood now that he had been wrong and rectifying the tension he had caused was more than difficult. It was distressing. And it was that detail which he could not fully comprehend and which made him want to be alone.
“Gardens planted in bitter soil are sure to fail.”
Alere believed that Xu Liang was right, but he had already done the planting and was unsure how to repair what he had already set on a path to ruin. Trying to cast a better light on his previously dour view had been successful only for mere moments at a time and seemed to be quickly dashed by unhappy turns of events, such as Jiao Ren’s death. He’d barely known the general, yet he was held in a state of mourning over the loss. He would not have done that before taking up Xu Liang’s quest. Versus a creature of such magnitude as the dragon it seemed inevitable that one of them would perish. In the past that would have felt as if it were a pragmatic view, but now he realized it was callous and he didn’t view it that way besides. Instead, he relived Jiao Ren’s demise in flashes that unsettled and angered him, because the bearers weren’t protected by their unity and that meant that all of this could be broken.
The glow of Aerkiren pressed through the orange light of the lanterns hung throughout the workspace. Alere looked down at the sword, bringing Breigh to a halt. His instinct was to look for evidence of the keirveshen, but then a second glow swelled in the periphery of his vision; the morning gold of the Dawn Blade while Tristus arrived beside him. Looking back, he saw Guang Ci also near, a vaporous indigo hue escaping from beneath the sheath of Behel.