by T. A. Miles
SEVERAL FEET AWAY from Xu Liang, Fu Ran roared with laughter that put hesitation into the movements of his multiple opponents. He batted three more into the sea with the flat of his blade, hearing the crack of at least one ribcage. He elbowed the skull of another attacker who was attempting to jab his side while it was left momentarily unguarded by his swing. The man dropped to the deck and Fu Ran turned his head just in time to catch a blur of many colors rushing by him as a bandit leapt down from the deck railing.
“You missed!” Fu Ran gloated.
His grin became a frown when he felt warm moisture running down his arm. He wheeled around to face the man just rising behind him, dressed in green trousers decorated with many gold serpents and held at the waist with a wide belt. His arms and bare chest were home to several tattoos of scaly creatures. From head to toe, there was a wild look about him, bordering on crazed, enhanced with cunning. He carried a broad one-handed sword with a curved blade and a gold hilt, probably stolen.
“You must be the Laughing Devil,” the bandit said with a smirk. He lifted his weapon. “They call me Zhen Yu.”
“The River Master,” Fu Ran recalled, his smile returning as he tasted the forthcoming challenge. “What brings you out to sea?”
“A lot of profit,” the pirate answered and he came forward, performing a series of stark, precise slashes that threatened to pass Fu Ran’s heavier blade.
The extra reach provided by the enchanted tassel spared Fu Ran the embarrassment. He stepped back and swung out.
Zhen Yu leapt out of harm’s way and darted back in, again attacking almost faster than his larger opponent could block. Fu Ran paid attention to the man’s timing, and surprised him by lunging forward when Zhen Yu pulled back to swing at the start of a fresh series of attacks. Fu Ran utilized his own momentum, ramming his large bald head square into the smaller man’s tattooed chest.
Zhen Yu flew backwards with the assault, knocking over two other bodies in his path.
Fu Ran grinned and slowly let go the silk tassel dangling from his sword’s hilt.
WITH HIS BACK to the plank, the Laughing Devil missed the coming of several uninvited boarders, including Xiadao Lu, who’d spotted his quarry before even crossing between ships. Sorcerers made a bad habit of revealing themselves with their magic. He followed the erratically swelling blue light to the mystic, cutting down the opponent Xu Liang was engaged with to announce himself.
Xu Liang looked at him, eyes narrow and gleaming softly, like a pair of pallid moons in a heavy sky. Magic filled the Imperial Peacock, but that did not trouble the warrior come to destroy him.
Xiadao Lu held the shaft of his weapon in both hands. His stance was light and balanced, prepared for anything this time. “This is where your journey ends. I will kill you now!”
The mystic appeared undaunted. “Even if that were so, it would not be the end of my journey, but the beginning of a new one. However, I do not think that you will be the one to show me that path.”
“We shall see!” Xiadao Lu retorted and lunged forward, into a series of strikes that were deflected and returned, and blocked again. The pattern continued for several moments with only brief pauses between the combatants during which one glared softly while the other issued a vicious scowl.
To say the least, Xiadao Lu was surprised. He had expected more sorcery from the official of the Imperial City, and would never have anticipated such swift, dexterous—and even aggressive—movement from one who looked as if he would break if he walked too heavily. Perhaps more than an ornament. Still he was no match for a warrior of Xiadao Lu’s accomplishment and skill.
“What is it you hope to gain in this?” Xu Liang asked while their blades locked up.
“More glory than I anticipated, judging by your skill with a weapon,” Xiadao Lu answered through his teeth.
“Is that all?” the mystic wondered with disappointment a student might expect from a tutor whose point he’d completely missed.
Xiadao Lu didn’t care for the reproach and, with a growl, he unlocked their weapons and shoved the mystic back several steps.
Xu Liang caught himself and assumed a defensive stance. “Tell me. Who was it that interested you in this hunt for glory?”
Xiadao Lu answered with his blade, striking swift and sudden at the mystic. He failed to disarm the smaller man, but managed to send him reeling back, exposing his neck and chest as his sword arm flung back. Xiadao Lu chose a target and dove in for the kill.
He felt the jolt against his weapon before he saw the flash of steel that preceded it. Sparks shot off the momentarily fused blades and his sword-axe skipped off the unexpected obstruction, veering too high, but still drawing blood. Xu Liang went down. That was all Xiadao Lu had time to see before an armored man unleashed his fury on him in a vain attempt to right a situation that, in the guard’s mind, had gone horribly wrong.
Xiadao Lu concentrated solely on protecting his vital areas as one bodyguard was joined by another, and another…as if they all suddenly realized what had been going on behind them. Xiadao Lu waited for them to exhaust their immediate rage that was mixed with panic. Then he held his weapon across his body and lunged forward with an enormous surge of power, forcing them back far enough to hold them off balance and unable to attack for the few seconds he needed to make his escape. It would be far too risky to fight them all in their crazed state, even with the protective enchantment cast upon his armor. They could be dealt with later, if Xu Liang managed to survive.
SORCERY HAD ITS place, but in a confined battle aboard boats one who focused primarily in pyromancy was wise to resort to other methods of defense.
Ma Shou was not defenseless without his magic, and he proved that by blocking a random attack with his twin short blades crossed in front of him. Afterward, he pushed the assailant back and slid the sabers apart, cutting swiftly at two barbarian opponents nearby. His movements were calm and ordered, efficient and seemingly effortless to anyone watching, he believed. Some men would claim that they had never seen Ma Shou break a sweat, not even in the most heated of battles. Some would attribute that to the nature of his craft, concluding that he was immune to heat. He let them believe what they wished to believe, just as he allowed Xiadao Lu his disdain. He had not been put upon this world to impress the likes of him, an overgrown ox who knew nothing of grace or patience. Ma Shou had seen the fruits of that one’s labor. He was currently up to his neck in it as dozens of ill-bred men tried to sever his head with their crude weapons and crude tactics.
The fighting had spread onto both ships, as barbarians trying to keep the pirates at bay pushed them back onto the deck of the Jade Carp. The smirking pirate captain had scrabbled over like an eager rat for a morsel of food when he heard the mad laughter of the giant who had succeeded in making Ma Shou look like a fool back at Ti Lao. He was still embarrassed by the whole affair, from the instant of shock he felt as his own man came flying at him, to the fall itself, and especially the pathetic muffled groan that emitted from his own throat as he went over. The art had been taken out of the battle. There was no choice left but to retreat.
This fight was rapidly getting ugly as well.
Ma Shou remained on the deck of the Jade Carp, helping the others to keep the wandering barbarians back. They were strong and there were a lot of them. Zhen Yu may finally have come upon a ship he couldn’t take.
It was a stupid plan anyway. Pirates never considered subtlety, and men like Xiadao Lu were always too eager to rush headlong into any battle. Against an enemy they knew so very little about, it was doubly stupid. They should have taken Xu Liang in Sheng Fan. If not for the mystic’s luck, they would have. And what were his chances for success anyway? Long centuries had passed since the Celestial Swords were last witnessed together. They could have strayed anywhere, to unexplored, uninhabited regions, to the bottom of the sea…the belly of a volcano…
It was an endeavor for fools.
But I am surely in the midst of foolish men, Ma Shou thought, a
nd struck back another opponent. A bellow of laughter from the other ship made his spine shudder. There was a sound he wished to silence.
“HA!” FU RAN roared as he knocked the pirate to the deck once again. “Is that the best you’ve got?”
Zhen Yu sprang up, then leapt into the air and slammed the pommel of his sword into Fu Ran’s skull, sending his brain for a spin. The smaller man sneered like a malicious child. “Better still than what you’ve given!”
Fu Ran lifted his hand to his head to steady it. With the other hand still gripping his sword he managed to prevent the pirate’s next attack from piercing his heart. And now he was angry. Still somewhat dazed, he stomped forward and brought his elbow down fast and heavy onto the pirate’s unprotected shoulder.
Zhen Yu sank to the deck like a dropped sack of grain. In the instant that followed, Fu Ran heard someone shout and something struck him behind the knees, felling him like a great tree.
“We leave now!” someone shouted, and Zhen Yu scrambled to his feet.
The pirate grinned, still with his wild confidence. He looked over his shoulder and hollered, “Everyone! Back to the Carp!”
Those that were able backed out of their battles and headed for the Fanese vessel.
YVAIN CAUGHT ONE of her men by the arm as the pirates departed. “Don’t pursue. I think we gave them a second thought. Let them go lick their wounds. We’ll be docked in Nelayne by the time they’re bold enough to consider a second strike.” She then gave the same command to stay put to the rest of Pride’s crew, kicking the intruder’s makeshift bridge into the water herself when enough of them had fled. The stragglers threw themselves overboard while individuals on both sides cut the grappling lines, allowing the ships to drift apart.
“What did they want?” Fu Ran asked, appearing beside her, pressing the ball of one hand to his temple.
Yvain watched the distance between the ships grow, then said, “I don’t know. Apparently their aim wasn’t to sink us. Maybe they wanted to steal something, though I couldn’t guess as to what. It’s not as if we’re a treasure ship…if there is such a thing.”
Fu Ran dropped his hand, suddenly forgetting about his head wound.
Yvain watched him step around her and jog toward a knot of people gathered not far away. He began immediately shoving people aside. She sighed and went to see what the matter was, stopping along the way to issue an order to a milling crewman. “Find Yendrick and bring him up here. Tell the healer he’s got a long night ahead of him.”
The crewman nodded and left, and Yvain went to join the others, where Fu Ran was on his knees beside Xu Liang, his head bowed in evident relief. The mystic wasn’t standing but he was alive and upright, pain distorting his fair features while he clutched his hand to one slim shoulder. Blood seeped between his fingers, looking redder against his opalescent skin. He didn’t look accustomed to pain, but he seemed to be handling it well enough. “How bad?” Yvain asked him.
Xu Liang’s words came out strangled. “A mere scratch for some...a serious injury, I fear, for one such as myself.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
While the bodyguards looked at her with varying measures of disdain, Fu Ran lifted his head and explained. “He doesn’t eat when he meditates. It strengthens his spirit, but it weakens him physically.”
“Our healer will look at you,” Yvain promised.
Xu Liang shut his eyes tightly for an instant and then shook his head. “I thank you, but no. I cannot allow it.”
Yvain frowned at that idea. “If you think you’re going to sit there and bleed to death on my deck...”
The mystic looked up at her suddenly. “You do not understand,” he snapped, surprising everyone but his statuesque guards with the sudden edge in his tone. “No healer’s hand or medicine must touch me! I can accept nothing from him, or anyone else.” He relaxed somewhat and added softly, “I must be left alone and allowed to rest.”
“He’ll be fine,” Fu Ran finally said, slowly standing. He wasn’t convincing and didn’t seem convinced himself.
He turned eventually and drew Yvain away from the others. “You can’t interfere. He’s entered a state—magical, spiritual, whatever you want to call it—that can’t be corrupted. I’ve never seen him go this far before, but I can promise you that whatever inspired him to do so is serious to him, more important than life. He’s probably been meditating at this level since he left the Imperial City. If we interrupt him now, he’ll lose whatever focus he’s been trying to hold onto and depending on what that is, it could be the same as killing him.”
“So we let him die, then?” Yvain asked caustically.
Fu Ran shook his head with patience that was not typical for him, squeezing her arm gently in his large hand.
Yvain hadn’t even noticed his touch until then. It was at moments like this that she thought deliberately about their long-standing friendship and the many near encounters they’d had with something more. And it was in the midst of a thought like that, that Yvain dismissed romance for common sense. She opened her mouth to continue her argument against letting a Fanese official die on her ship.
Fu Ran spoke first. “Just as his meditation has endangered him, it can save him. The meditation taxes him, but his magic sustains him. He’ll be all right by morning.” Fu Ran’s hand slipped away as he looked over his shoulder at the mystic. In a moment, he added, “And if he isn’t...to the Thousand Hells with his magic. I spent too many years of my life protecting his to see it end now.”
XU LIANG’S BODYGUARDS patched up their own wounds, which were relatively few, and otherwise spent their time standing watch around their master, who’d yet to leave the deck where he’d fallen. At some point he shifted from his knees into a cross-legged position and held his hands together in front of himself. The torn sleeve of his robe—both the under and out layer—was heavily stained, defacing the elegance of the long-tailed birds embroidered into the silk, just as the minor ruination of his once perfect skin offended the mystic’s gentle beauty. The blood appeared to have stopped flowing, but the skin was still broken and greatly bruised. It made Yvain’s stomach turn to look at it, even though she’d seen far worse. The wound just seemed so out of place on Xu Liang. The pain he had shown after the battle had drained from his expression and he now looked like a delicate stone idol, marred by a blasphemous hand. Yvain understood the devotion of his guards…the same devotion Fu Ran evidently still felt, even years after abandoning Sheng Fan and his master.
“He is doing well,” someone suddenly said, speaking Fanese.
Yvain’s gaze darted to the bodyguard who’d spoken to her. He was an older man with black hair turning white, on his head as well as in his neat beard and mustache. She just noticed the way each of the bodyguards’ hair was bunched at the top of their heads in a uniform fashion. They had taken their helmets off, but were otherwise fully armored in Fanese tradition, and probably roasting in the afternoon sun that was shining down on the deck. Their ages were indeterminable with the exception of two; the elder and one who looked to be just out of his teens. The latter sat rigidly, either trying to seem imposing or stay alert. Yvain couldn’t decide which.
She approached the old one facing her. “It’s all right to speak? We won’t disturb him?” She indicated Xu Liang with her eyes.
“It takes more than simple talking to disturb my lord,” the guard replied.
Yvain accepted that with a nod, then asked, “What happened the other night?” She hoped after speaking the question that she hadn’t just offended the man by seeming to question his ability to protect the mystic. What she truly wondered was how the sorcerer had failed to protect himself, and she didn’t necessarily mean from the attack.
The aging guard did not indicate umbrage. He said neutrally, “My lord suffered for his bravery and now he suffers for his sorcery.”
Recalling what Fu Ran had said, Yvain asked, “Did you know he’d taken it this far?”
“No,” the guard
answered honestly. And then a smile crept into his aging features. “My lord knows that I worry about him.”
Yvain returned his smile. “How long have you been with him?”
“Nine years.” The man sighed. “Perhaps now my lord will think I’m getting too old.”
“I doubt it,” Yvain offered. “All of you fought well and bravely.”
The bodyguard bowed his head in a manner that seemed more friendly than simply respectful.
“We’ll be arriving at Nelayne soon,” Yvain informed. “We only planned to stay docked for a few days, but we’ll stay as long as you and Xu Liang need.”
“My lord will be ready,” the guard said with confidence and nodded again.
Yvain left him to his duty.
NIGHT GREW DARKER as a storm approached.
From a balcony several stories up, Alere Shaederin watched the starless black mass encroach upon his home. A chill wind preceded it, billowing the observer’s ivory-blond hair and snapping the fabric of his shirt.
It would be fierce this time. Worse than any of the other storms that had invaded the Lower Verres Mountains of Northern Yvaria this season. Soon the steep towers, grand balconies, and elaborate bridges of the castle would be glistening wet as the rain sheeted down and sporadic strands of lightning leapt across the sky, weaving webs among the clouds.
Once Alere had marveled at such spectacles of nature, particularly as the warmer storm season was so brief in this region. Recently, he had begun to fear them, as he wondered now at their source. They seemed only to herald misery, with a determination that could not have belonged to nature.