by T. A. Miles
An inaudible gasp escaped Xu Liang’s throat, and he watched with renewed interest as the man held his arms out as if to display the weapon’s length.
“A great platinum staff with a marvelously crafted blade,” the knight said. “What’s happened to it?”
“We found no such weapon with you,” Xu Liang offered, but the knight wouldn’t have it.
“That’s impossible!” he shouted, tears filling his eyes and quickly spilling onto his flushed cheeks. “I didn’t let it go!” He brought his arms in toward his chest, as if in demonstration. “I was clutching it just before I…just when...”
Xu Liang studied him with a sensation of puzzlement and a deliberate administration of patience.
The young man dropped his arms to his sides. “I’ve failed,” he said.
And there he stood in utter dejection and a misery so profound it angered Xu Liang as much as it inspired pity within him.
Taya moved from the place she’d been standing out of the knight’s way and gingerly touched the young man’s arm. He covered his face with both hands and began to weep.
Xu Liang tried to take his eyes from the spectacle of grief, but he found himself unable in his dismay at what he was seeing. He had seen such weakness and self-blame once before and it was nothing he wanted to see again. And yet, he was mesmerized, trapped in this bitter reflection of the past.
“Now what?” Tarfan said, breaking the spell. “If he’s not mad...”
“I know,” Xu Liang said. “We must learn more about this spear, if it actually exists.”
“I’m not mad,” the knight suddenly announced. “I’m not. I swear to you!” He did nothing to support his claim by saying next, “The spear was given to me by an angel, who saved my life.”
TRISTUS DIDN’T EVEN believe himself. When he came to consciousness in a warm place beneath the gentle gaze of the most beautiful woman he thought he’d ever seen, who changed into a man no less fair right before his eyes, he was sure he’d lost himself in a dream. And then he realized he was awake and he reached for the angel’s spear, and came away with the stranger’s arm…and things only went worse from there. He felt like a lame animal, the way the dwarf medic stared at him, and he’d felt like a foolish child the way the man in the strangest cleric’s robes he’d ever seen scolded him. And he was withering in Xu Liang’s quiet gaze now, while panic slammed in his chest and festered in his stomach. He felt ill and he must have sounded like a lunatic.
He set his teeth on edge, listening to the debating of the others; a titan of a man with peculiar tattoos on his arms, a male dwarf, and now an elf as well. The latter had appeared almost without notice. By the look of him, he was Zaldaine, one of the war-loving breed. But if that were true, what was he doing in the company of humans, and this far north?
“Could it have been stolen?” the large man asked. “He obviously fell asleep. Or maybe he was hit on the head.”
“There were no tracks,” the elf informed. “But, depending on how long he was unconscious, the late snow might have covered them.”
“I wasn’t hit on the head,” Tristus told them. “There was no one around. No one!”
He backed off, thinking of how he’d prayed last night for the loneliness to end. His prayer had been answered. They weren’t enemies; they were worse. They were people who couldn’t help him that were trying anyway. Pity motivated them, and Tristus felt so ashamed he could scarcely contain himself.
“It was only darkness,” he murmured. It’s always darkness.
The eyes of the man Taya claimed to be Fanese flashed with interest at his last statement. Tristus caught his gaze and dared to hold it for a few seconds, reasoning why any of this should matter to a stranger. He couldn’t think straight and gave up before he’d actually begun. What difference did it make? Dawnfire was gone. He’d failed. He’d failed the angels and lost all hope of restoring whatever honor he had left. Everything the Order Masters had said was true and he had nothing now. He wanted to die, but he didn’t even deserve that mercy, and knew with a fresh wave of despair that he would be forced to live. He didn’t even have the will to lift his own sword against himself. Even if he did, these people that had been sent to torment him would stop his suicide, he was certain. He would fail even in that final effort.
“What is your name?” Xu Liang suddenly, finally asked.
The question caught Tristus off guard and he hesitated before finally stumbling through his answer. “Tris-Tristus...Edainien.”
The beautiful man digested the information, nodding slightly. Then he asked, “Can you tell me what brought you here, Tristus Edainien?”
Tristus drew in a breath and nearly choked on it, but managed eventually to breathe somewhat evenly and with his eyes set on Xu Liang—seeing none of the others—he gave his account of everything that had happened to him since he’d left Tesina. Most of it had been uneventful travel alone with his depression, but rather than dwell on the obvious, he described his personal quest without giving the specific reasons behind it and, as his stomach slowly began to unknot, he spoke of his encounter with the angel and the demon. He described Dawnfire as he’d yet to describe the weapon even to himself in his own mind, leaving none of its glorious detail out. And when he was finished, he expected to be either ridiculed or pitied.
Surprisingly, he was neither. The space inside the tent took on a very serious air in the moments following his story, and now the worry was in his audience instead of just himself.
Xu Liang closed his eyes while the others began to murmur amongst themselves and with no one to notice, Tristus took a moment to study the first human he’d set eyes on since leaving Tesina. Strangely, he felt that the angel was a more realistic sight. Such perfect fairness as what stood before him now he had never witnessed before—in a man or a woman. Statues of marble were carved this smooth, so flawless. Every aspect spoke of unerring grace, from the eyes and ears, to the nose and chin...and the mouth. Tristus’ stomach knotted again. Warmth needled his heart and he looked away instantly, flushed with embarrassment.
“The spear you call Dawnfire must be found,” Xu Liang finally said.
“Yes,” Tristus said on an unplanned breath, keeping his eyes on the rug beneath him.
“It’s begun to snow,” the elf reported. “We should leave at once.”
“Xu Liang,” the dwarf said, “It’ll be tough for anyone alone on foot to make it out of these mountains. He has his gear, but it’ll be heavy. Should we spare the lad a horse?”
Tristus almost fainted in his shock. He looked up quickly, pleadingly, forgetting to be angry. “What are you saying? You can’t just send me away! The spear was given to me. I’ll look for it. I’ll find it. I must!”
The dwarf came forward sympathetically, laying a strong hand on his shoulder—or as near to his shoulder as the stout creature could reach. “Lad, don’t you think you’ve been through enough? Go back to your home, back to your family in Andaria.”
Now the anger came. He pushed the dwarf’s hand away. “I have no family in Andaria! And no home to go back to! This is all I have. This hopeless journey through barren ice and rock that you seem to think I’ve seen enough of.
“Trust me, old one, when I say I have seen far worse. I have seen horrors the likes of which most men cannot even imagine. Do not misinterpret the youth you see before you, for I am no boy playing at soldier and I am no fledgling knight! My fear stems of a darkness so deep...and so terrible...”
The anger began to wane, quickly replaced with tears. Tristus stopped himself and looked around at his startled audience. He pulled in what he might have said next and drew back into his previous slump of depression and worry.
A long silence settled. And then Xu Liang said quietly, “He is right. The blade came to him. It may come to him again.”
The dwarf threw his arms in the air. “It’s your quest, mage!” He left in a bluster of unintelligible curses.
Others filed out shortly after him. And then Xu Liang sai
d something in what could only have been Fanese—it sounded so exotic—and the two strangely armored men at the tent entrance, whom Tristus had overlooked somehow, performed a quick, respectful bow and left. The large tattooed man lingered a moment before deciding to exit himself, and at some point the elf had already gone. Eventually, Xu Liang lifted himself up and headed for the tent entrance.
“Wait,” Tristus beckoned.
The man, whose silken mane was almost as long as his robes, stopped without turning back. He glanced over his shoulder at Tristus.
“Won’t you tell me what your quest is about?” Tristus asked. “What has it to do with Dawnfire?”
“Perhaps nothing,” Xu Liang answered mysteriously.
“I…I don’t understand.”
“If you are meant to, you soon will.” On those cryptic words, Xu Liang departed.
Tristus stared after him, confused and exhausted. “They think me mad.”
And that was when Taya reminded him of her presence by saying, “I don’t think so.”
He looked glumly over his shoulder at her. “Why not, little one?”
She frowned at once and set her fists on her hips. “First off, you can stop calling me little one. My name is Taya.”
“Taya,” Tristus sighed apologetically. “Forgive me.”
Her features softened again. She said, “This is all very serious to Xu Liang. He wouldn’t humor your insanity if he believed you were insane.”
Tristus looked away from her, back at the tent entrance. “Then I have misjudged him, and for that I’m…”
“Stop being sorry about everything!” Taya snapped. “You’re beginning to make me sorry I put honey in your broth. It’s clearly mucked up your brain!”
Tristus almost laughed, in spite of everything. When she came near enough to touch his arm, he bent over enough to take her small hand in his and lightly kissed the back of it. “You’re very kind, Taya. And you have my thanks.”
She smiled back warmly, then helped him to collect the rest of his armor.
THOUGH IT HADN’T been asked of him, Alere rode ahead, acting as scout. The task came to him so naturally, and was performed with such efficiency that everyone accepted his frequent disappearances and sudden returns automatically. Xu Liang began to let go his concerns about the elf’s personal mission, having now a worse threat to his party.
Unlike Alere, Tristus was unstable. Though it didn’t seem that it would be intentional, he could do them tremendous harm. He had inflicted minor wounds upon the company already—Tarfan had spent several hours not speaking to anyone after the morning’s decision—but on the other hand, he may have brought them one step closer to uniting all six Swords.
Based on his description and the manner in which he claimed Dawnfire had glowed while he’d unknowingly crossed their path, the spear must have been the Dawn Blade. The only true question in Xu Liang’s mind was whether or not this emotional warrior was intended to be its bearer. It was not his place to judge who should or should not be in possession of one of the Blades. Fate simply selected the bearers by presenting the weapon and having the unsuspecting individual take it up. It was, however, a reasonable argument that if the Dawn Blade was meant for Tristus, it would not have escaped him so easily. Perhaps he’d dropped it, as fate intended, and the true bearer had simply found it lying in the snow.
After three long hours of silence since leaving camp, the very topic of debate decided to speak. Still weak, Tristus guided Guang Ci’s mount with Taya riding happily behind him—the two seemed fast friends. He had offered to walk, but Xu Liang insisted that he ride, wary of another possible collapse if the knight pushed himself too much, too quickly. As well, he was probably more skilled at handling a horse through the rough terrain. Taya had been struggling and at times had to be led by one of the guards. It also seemed unlikely that the knight would attempt to break away from them and take up his own search for the Blade if it meant abducting Taya as well.
“Master Xu Liang,” the knight said with respect he didn’t seem to know anything of upon his sudden awakening that morning. “Won’t you please tell me what you know of Dawnfire? I know nothing of it, except that it is holy and that it gave me a greater sense of peace to hold onto than I’ve known for some time.”
“And now I know as much about it as you do,” Xu Liang said truthfully. He still did not know for certain whether this ‘Dawnfire’ was one of the Celestial Swords. He wouldn’t until he held it next to the others.
Tristus tried a new approach. “Why is it so important to you? Will you tell me that, then?”
Xu Liang looked at him, not with disapproval, and said, “You are persistent.”
“I’ve had to be all my life,” the knight replied. “I have a feeling that now I stand in the midst of the most important occasion I will ever know for the rest of my life. I cannot back down.”
Xu Liang stared a moment, intrigued in spite of events previous, and then he brought his gaze in front of him again. He said, “There is too much to say, Tristus Edainien. Do not speak to me for what remains of the day. I will answer your questions when we set camp tonight.”
Tristus agreed with silence and Xu Liang closed his eyes to concentrate.
TRISTUS WATCHED IN wonder as the mystic seemed to fall asleep on his horse. “What is he doing?” he whispered to Taya.
“I told you he’s a mystic. They’re Fanese clerics, who require lots of concentration to perform their spells.”
“Maybe they are called mystics in this Sheng Fan you speak of, but in Andaria mystics are strange people who claim to see into the future and things of that nature. They are rarely heard, let alone trusted.”
The young dwarf abruptly rapped his armored side. “Well I don’t care,” she snapped in a sharp whisper. “Don’t you get any ideas about committing him to any fires!”
Tristus was horrified at the thought. He looked over his shoulder quickly and had to swallow his initial words, fearful that they might come out too loudly and disrupt the Fanese cleric. He whispered, “I would sooner impale myself upon my sword than see one of such grace destroyed.”
“Why not?” Taya sighed, sufficiently canceling the effect of his words. “What’s one more bodyguard when there are already so many?”
Tristus stole his gaze away from Xu Liang long enough to look upon the armored men in his company. “These men, with similar countenances, is that what they are? Bodyguards?”
“Yep,” Taya answered, seeming proud to have the answers. “The big bald fellow is too, or he used to be. My uncle isn’t, of course, and neither is the elf or the quiet fellow walking with Fu Ran.”
“Fu Ran? The big man there?” He nodded toward the individual.
“That’s him.”
Tristus immediately envied the guards, that they should have such a task appointed to them as shielding a man like Xu Liang with their lives. Men and women of high rank or station in Andaria often surrounded themselves with guards and personal aides, but the devotion seemed so much less than what Tristus had witnessed here. Xu Liang’s guards moved with him without creating an obstruction or having to be told. They were alert as duty commanded, but also as if they held some personal stake in what would be lost if they failed in that duty. Tristus couldn’t blame them, nor Fu Ran, for returning to his past obligation. To serve a man of such elegance that was not decadent and wisdom not depraved, who showed lenience and patience while still maintaining authority...
I’ve known him less than a day, Tristus thought in amaze, and he has won me. I would gladly give my life to spare his. He wondered suddenly if he should trust such feelings—the first other than despair that he had experienced since the angel. With the angel, there was no question. It had been purely a miracle. Xu Liang was no angel, in spite of his grace, and Tristus had heard about men charmed by unholy magic to perform some manner of evil for a sorcerer. He had heard worse things in the charges brought against him by the Order. And they were wrong in what they said. Strike me down, God,
if you must, but they were wrong.
Tristus glanced at Xu Liang once more and somehow the memories of his dark past failed to surface. His heart seemed to split and fall into his feet, the reverence he was feeling in this man’s presence threatening to overwhelm him. Let me serve you, sorcerer of Sheng Fan. Please do not turn me away.
“It’s not polite to stare!” Taya hissed, and Tristus looked away at once, feeling his cheeks redden with embarrassment and remorse.
“I’m beginning to worry that your brain is slower to thaw than the rest of you,” the young dwarf continued. “I can see us now, careening over the edge of the canyon, all because you’ve never met a Fanese cleric. Here comes that ill feeling again!”
Tristus reached his hand back to quiet her, his gaze at the front of the group as another member of it was approaching. “Hush, little one. Taya,” he added softly, before she could rap her tiny fist against his side again. The very last thing he wanted was the dwarf maiden’s bruised knuckles on his conscience as well. “The elf’s back.”
ALERE GUIDED BREIGH alongside the caravan, moving against them until he reached the others on horseback. Then he turned the mare about, matching her gait to the slow pace carried on by the other horses. He would rather have delivered his question to the old guard to Xu Liang’s left, but as Alere did not speak Fanese, he settled on the dwarf girl. “Does he meditate now?”
“He does,” the knight answered, and Alere looked at him, catching the human’s gaze in return. There was a look of indignation in his sky-colored eyes, as if he knew Alere intended to ignore him. Beneath that, there was a pleading. He wanted to be one of them, not a straggler half of them pitied and the other half distrusted.
What he didn’t know was that Alere neither pitied nor distrusted him. He simply had no respect for a warrior who’d been so careless as to have lost his horse and his weapon—the two items he should have cherished most on his unknown journey—through a lack of preparedness or of endurance, or of common sense. Maybe all were lacking. It was a wonder his armor hadn’t suffered beyond its few dings and that he still carried the sword that had obviously come with it. At best, he was disadvantaged by his youth, but as he wasn’t quite so young as he looked—Alere suspected—it seemed he had worse problems. His aura was a confused cloud of unpleasant emotions, accurately reflective of the instability he’d already displayed.