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

by T. A. Miles

  A figure appeared in the pavilion ahead of Xu Liang. He took a step toward it, stopping when a hand lightly took hold of his, as if someone had come up behind him. Turning around, he saw no one.

  He woke up in his bed, his thoughts of Shirisae.

  WINTER WAS NOT a prime season for digging. Walking the ramshackle avenues of the outer village with Alere and Guang Ci, Tristus felt little hope for their assignment. He would follow through to the best of his ability, but it seemed immediately impossible.

  “How are we to find fragments of bone that might have been walked over for months?” he asked Alere. By now, all of them were speaking Fanese more often than not. Occasionally, Tristus bridged the gaps with Yvarian words or phrases. This occurred particularly when he was frustrated.

  Still, he must have maintained a greater portion of Fanese, as Guang Ci answered. “The Blades will assist, and if we find a promising area, we’ll dig it up.”

  “The Blades will have to assist with that as well,” Tristus said. “The earth ought to be about frozen.”

  He knew he’d reverted to mostly Yvarian with his last comment, but Guang Ci caught it anyway, and gave a look over his shoulder that would have shamed Tristus, if he’d actually been complaining.

  Alere looked over at him as well, mostly to silently communicate that he also noticed Guang Ci’s continued bouts of lacking patience. They were primarily aimed at Tristus. He could only assume it was the Night Blade’s resent toward the Dawn Blade. It made him wonder, if the weapons came against one another, if they would repel as violently as the Night Blade and the Sun Blade had. Honestly, he would hope so, because if such a state of hostility arose between himself and Guang Ci, it would likely be in part owed to his berserker side and there would be no separating them until one or both of them was dead. He had gone some time without such an outburst and would like to continue avoiding it.

  Without further commentary, the three of them continued to the site Alere had been to previously with Zhu Meng and the city guards. The prefect had not been alerted to the morning’s expedition because it was based upon a dream of Xu Liang’s. He’d decided against involving others on such a basis, except for his fellow bearers. Shirisae was, of course, excluded, owed to her required period of residence away from her future husband. That aside, Xu Liang expressed that he would request her involvement if it was required.

  If the pending disaster happened to be another dragon…

  Though Xu Liang had not dreamt of dragons. He dreamt of…well, it seemed rather more like a demon, the way he’d told it to them. Necromancy was considered a demonic practice in Andaria, so such a relationship was not surprising to Tristus. The more alarming detail was the suggestion that it might have set a curse upon the Imperial City. Could a solitary spell truly have such a scope?

  The first time Tristus had asked that, verbally, Alere reminded him of the keirveshen. The point was taken, and now they were out in the bleak cold in search of fragments that the Twilight Blade might be able to drive the enchantment from.

  When they arrived at the lot that was avoided yet by the locals, Alere stalked the area a few times with his sword drawn, then crouched down at a particularly nondescript patch of snow. “It was here,” he announced, and set about dragging snow away.

  Guang Ci stuck Behel into the ground, point first, and knelt down to assist. Tristus decided to wander over the rest of the area, the end of the Dawn Blade held toward the earth. The area had already been turned over by the prefect’s men months ago. He suspected they had been quite thorough, which to him meant that if there were any missing pieces, they must have been carried off.

  While the thought was forming, Tristus scanned the surrounding area. As had become usual, the villagers were watching him and Alere. Their desire to halt all movement and stare blatantly had faded as they grew accustomed to the fact that outsiders were not only present in their city, but staying for an unspecified period of time. Among the observers, Tristus noticed a man of moderate size, compared to the average Fanese citizen. His clothing was not particularly poor, but not of the classes who tended to dwell within the city walls either. His hair was quite short-cropped—a style Tristus had not witnessed among anyone in Sheng Fan—and the most notable detail of him was his damaged eye. Even from a distance, it appeared flagrantly against the stranger’s features. More alarming was the manner in which the man watched Tristus with the undamaged eye.

  It didn’t occur to Tristus to say anything to either Alere or Guang Ci. Spontaneously, he found himself approaching the man. He loosely realized that he was, in actuality, stalking him.

  The stranger grinned. The expression only further marred an already damaged face, and provoked Tristus a good deal. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  The man did not answer him, in spite of the familiar language used. Instead, he drew a broad sword from a sheath at his back, and charged forward.

  Tristus took quicker steps meeting him, but braced himself before the space between them closed. He brought Dawnfire across himself to block, catching the significant weight of the stranger’s blow against the shaft. The Dawn Blade gave out a low ring that caused the air to waver slightly as a ring of energy radiated from it.

  THE CHIMING OF the Dawn Blade drew Alere’s attention from his task immediately. He quickly searched the area, rising to his feet even before he spotted the conflict between Tristus and a man who was in no way familiar. He rushed toward them, the sound of Guang Ci’s footsteps following.

  Tristus and the stranger were locked. They were too near to one another for Aerkiren’s projectile assault to be of any safe worth. Alere sheathed his sword and sought his bow instead, nocking an arrow and drawing back to fire in the span of a breath.

  The shot soared true. The attacker was struck near the collar region and during the response to the assault found himself off balance enough for the force of Tristus’ push against him to send him reeling. The man fell against a tent, bringing it down in the process.

  Alere jogged the last steps toward Tristus, laying a hand on the knight’s arm while he took a moment to recapture his breath.

  “I’m all right, Alere,” Tristus said. “His strength was tremendous.”

  Alere did not question the claim, watching as the attacker rose out of the wreckage of the tent he’d fallen into. The bolt that had struck him was grasped in a quick fist and broken off, the end tossed upon the ground before he left the scene without any delay over pain or injury.

  “We’ll report him to the prefect,” Guang Ci said.

  Tristus nodded, and Alere did as well. When they returned to the vacant site, they found it covered over with snow, as if it had freshly fallen in the moments they had been away. Alere started forward, but it was Guang Ci who reached out to stop him. He pointed to the ground with the tip of Behel.

  “Dear God,” Tristus uttered in Yvarian, while the three of them watched lines of darkness snaking through the snow, as if it were being churned by wormlike shadows.

  “AERKIREN HAS NO effect on it,” Alere said.

  “Whatever it may be,” Tristus added.

  Xu Liang watched the latter of the pair pacing across the office. Alere was seated across from Xu Liang and Guang Ci was standing near the door. Drawing in a breath, Xu Liang released it slowly, then said, “It may have been that the unidentified man activated a spell of some kind.”

  “He never set foot on the area,” Tristus said, hand directed toward the floor, as if the ground he spoke of were underfoot. “He stood staring at us—I don’t know for how long—and I went over to him. We were several paces from the lot.”

  “Perhaps he distracted us, so that someone else would be able to activate a spell,” Alere suggested.

  “Did you inquire of any witnesses?” Xu Liang asked all of them.

  “Yes,” Guang Ci replied. “No one claimed to have seen anything.”

  “It’s likely that they would be too afraid,” Xu Liang admitted, though he had hoped to hear otherwise.
/>   Gai Ping entered, bowing. “My lord,” he said, “Lord Zhu Meng has arrived.”

  “Bring him in, please,” Xu Liang answered. He stood while they waited for the prefect, walking to the window. The courtyard of his house showed the barren growth of the season.

  “Lord Xu Liang,” came the voice of Zhu Meng from the office doorway.

  Xu Liang turned to him and nodded.

  “I had hoped we had finished with this business of curses,” the prefect commented while he entered. Xu Liang noticed that he extended a nod of apology to Alere, in case the elf should feel criticized in any way by his comment of their potential failure.

  Alere inclined his head in return and the prefect continued.

  “The man that was described to me meets the appearance of a man by the name Guo Sen.”

  “And who is that?” Xu Liang prompted.

  Zhu Meng appeared somewhat uneasy, but answered. “Guo Sen was a man who dishonored himself and brought shame upon his fellow soldiers when he abandoned them during battle. Some believed he had taken payment to do so. Others believed it was for revenge. The unit he abandoned was met with disaster soon after he’d gone.”

  “How?” Tristus asked, before Xu Liang could. The knight had stopped pacing now.

  Again, Zhu Meng seemed to not want to discuss the matter. He looked uncomfortably from one man to the next, then said, “He was the commander of his unit. He led them to a mountain pass…where they were crushed beneath a rockslide of godly proportions. All but a few were killed.”

  “During which battle?” Xu Liang inquired. “I have not heard of this particular event.”

  Zhu Meng hesitated in a way that was nearly becoming intolerable. He seemed to sense this and bowed at the waist. Or perhaps the gesture was meant to provide him another pause. When he straightened, he said, “It was the Battle of Wang Pi. You would not have been born yet, Imperial Tactician.”

  “You were among the survivors,” Xu Liang guessed.

  “Yes,” Zhu Meng admitted.

  “That man was not so old as that,” Tristus remarked.

  Alere agreed. “He didn’t appear to be.”

  “He would be nearly seventy years old,” the prefect informed them.

  And Xu Liang said, “So would Lei Kui.”

  WINTER WITHDREW slowly from the Imperial City, drawing what should have been the fresher air of a renewed season. Instead it brought depression and strain. The necromancer’s cursed lot seemed unable to be fully counteracted. The crux of the matter seemed to be that no one had any detailed knowledge of the mystic interpretation of necromancy. No mystic at the city was willing to attempt to take on the enchantment, because none of them was really certain it was an enchantment in the mystic sense of the word and no one knew for certain—even if it had been—what taking on such a spell would do. Not even Xu Liang.

  So, the area was cordoned off and those who were already fearful of going near it were officially required to stay well away from it. Tristus had helped with watches now and then, hoping to catch sight of the man who was being called Guo Sen, but he never turned up. Alere tried time and again to negate the spell, but each time it seemed averted, some evidence of it would reappear, as if it renewed itself.

  By the first rain of the season, people had begun to get ill. Xu Liang’s dream appeared to be realizing itself. Word of plague began to spread. Word of curses followed…the curse that was upon the Song family.

  Tristus could barely contend with the stress it put upon Xu Liang, or on any of them. They were all affected by one another, and not even Shirisae would be spared in her separate residence, since the Empress was among those who showed symptoms of the disease. This unhappy fact brought Xu Liang to Song Da-Xiao’s side and Tristus as well.

  The healing spells of a cleric were not often sufficient against illness; they were more for injury. He helped as much as he was able. Primarily, the Empress suffered from fever and an inability to keep more than water. She was already a slight girl. Days without eating took its toll.

  “How many people are ill?” Song Da-Xiao asked him, her voice small and breathy.

  “I’m not certain,” Tristus answered honestly. “The doctors of the city, and the mystics are doing their best to do all that they can. Even little Taya is helping.”

  Song Da-Xiao showed a weak attempt at a smile. “Taya is very small.”

  Tristus offered a better smile in return. “Yes, she is.”

  “Won’t she become sick?” the Empress asked.

  “I wouldn’t worry,” Tristus said, though he couldn’t actually say for certain on the constitutions of dwarves. By the look of both Tarfan and Taya since the outbreak, however, he would have to say, “Dwarves are hearty creatures.”

  Fanese didn’t have a word for dwarves, or elves for that matter. They were words that were being introduced to them by way of Tristus and the other westerners.

  He felt a presence in the room and looked over his shoulder at Xu Liang, who wore a distressed look of appreciation. Tristus tried to smile at him, but it wasn’t as successful as the expression he had given the Empress.

  Xu Liang was entirely untouched by the illness. As far as Tristus could tell, so were all of the bearers, except for Song Da-Xiao. For Tristus it was the time to note that she never truly wielded the Sun Blade…so perhaps, she was not actually a bearer. Not in the eyes of whatever powers had granted the Swords. He would never put that to Xu Liang, not unless it was direly necessary. Xu Liang had his beliefs about the Empress, and there was simply no challenging them. It would be hypocritical of Tristus to not understand. As it happened, he understood very well.

  Standing from the bedside, he surrendered his place beside the Empress to Xu Liang. After only briefly watching the pair, he walked himself to the adjoining balcony. Shirisae had been positioned in the entry and followed him out.

  From the Pavilion of Ancestral Protection, where the Empress had been relocated during her illness—the Palace of Heavenly Peace was in view sprawled neatly within one area of the Court of Heaven. Virtually all that was in immediate view belonged to the middle court of the city. Beyond the centermost walls were the remaining courts, all equally large or larger. And beyond that, the outer city, and finally the attached settlements. There were hundreds of thousands of people, who could yet take ill. There may have been thousands among them who were ill already.

  “What can we do about it?” he wondered.

  Standing beside him, Shirisae said, “We stay prepared to do anything that may be required.”

  Tristus could only nod, because that was essentially all that they could do.

  SONG DA-XIAO had fallen asleep, which was just as well. She would require rest to recover. Xu Liang watched her for a long period, holding his fingers against the pulse at her wrist. In spite of her exhaustion and fever, her heart remained strong. In that way, she was like her father. Unfortunately, Song Bao had surprised them all by succumbing to a sudden illness. He had been seventy, yes, but his vitality was never in question. Their late emperor had procured a late child with his markedly younger wife just eleven years prior to his death. Some would say that it was at the time of Song Da-Xiao’s birth when the actively ruling family began to meet with disaster, having lost Song Jae He not long after. The Emperor followed, and then his son. His daughter had already faced considerable strife, but she had survived. Xu Liang felt assured that she would survive, because he would not submit to the rumors of a curse.

  Immediately, his own subconscious attempted to contradict him, reminding him of the dragon scale amulet. He argued by presenting himself with the simple fact that Song Da-Xiao had never touched it.

  He had touched it. For a short time, he had even worn it to satisfy Song Lu. But it had been returned to the prince after he died, and there would have been no cause for Song Da-Xiao to touch it.

  Detecting a presence, he looked over his shoulder at Song Bin Ce. She was also a member of the family, and had not been affected by the supposed curse. If
she had felt afflicted in any way, she had not complained.

  Feeling observed, Song Bin Ce lowered her head. “Is there anything I can do for her?”

  “Not beyond what you’ve already been doing,” Xu Liang replied. He looked once more to the Empress, then said, “Contact with the Empress will be prohibited by anyone not approved by myself. You will be the only handmaiden allowed to attend her. Myself and the other bearers will be in regularly, particularly Tristus. His skill enables him to alleviate symptoms.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Song Bin Ce answered.

  “Taya and the doctor are also permitted, but all guards are to remain outside of the room.” He turned around to look at her, emphasizing his orders with the primary reasoning behind them. “We must keep this from spreading, and we must not make it worse. You must speak immediately if you feel any symptoms yourself.”

  Song Bin Ce nodded. After a moment, she said, “My father…”

  “He is in good health,” Xu Liang assured her.

  She kept her head low to hide her expression of relief.

  It inspired Xu Liang to speak in less commanding tones. “I will continue to study this,” he promised her, fully aware that she had suffered with him and with Song Da-Xiao through all of the loss the family had faced.

  “I…” Song Bin Ce began, hesitating while her delicate features enunciated a concerned frown.

  Xu Liang waited for her to continue.

  “I feel…that Han Quan is responsible,” she finished. “He has such scorn for all of us.”

  Xu Liang nodded to acknowledge her concerns. “It is possible, that in some way, he is responsible.” He repeated, “I will continue to study.”

  Song Bin Ce bowed once more.

  The Courtship of the Green Dragon