by T. A. Miles
Xu Liang dropped his face into his hand again. “Where is Gai Ping? We must leave here. At once.”
“He’s with the others,” Tristus informed. “And you’re in no condition for travel. Not yet.”
“That is not for you to decide, Tristus Edainien,” Xu Liang snapped. “My guards and I shall leave immediately.”
“Your guards and—what are you saying? What about the rest of us? We’re...”
Xu Liang lifted his gaze once more, showing patience but no concern. “There is no quest, if that is what you intend to argue about. It is done. I must return to Sheng Fan and report my failure to the Empress.”
Tristus frowned remonstratively. “Your failure? How can you say that? You’re alive. You can—”
“I would not expect you to understand,” Xu Liang said dismissively, causing Tristus to flinch as if he’d been struck a physical blow. “Now I must ask that you leave me alone.”
Tristus hesitated, wanting to argue, wanting to express his feelings, wanting to say anything that would keep him beside the mystic, knowing that if he left he would lose forever what he’d never even had. He sat staring, searching for words, ready to begin stammering anything that came to mind.
And then, Xu Liang whispered, “Forgive me.” He spoke into his hand, muffling what sounded like...tears? “Deng Po...Hu Zhong, Yuan Lan...your deaths are my blame. And now I would abandon what you died for.”
Tristus remained, assuming because Xu Liang spoke a language other than Fanese, that he wanted to be heard.
“The Dragon rises,” he continued, staring at the bed through watering eyes. “The Swords must be brought to Sheng Fan, but the Empress...she is alone. She has been taken from my protection...completely from my reach. If she dies, there is no one else. The Empire will fall.”
Tristus watched the mystic holding back his emotions, still too proud to show them, even as they were escaping him. Tristus took a chance. “You seem to love your Empress a great deal. And yet you have so very little faith in her.”
Xu Liang’s brow creased, but he did not look at the individual he had dismissed moments ago. “She is...” The mystic stopped himself, considering, maybe arguing with himself. After several moments, his thoughts failed to bear words.
Tristus leaned toward him, careful not to touch. “Xu Liang, I have Dawnfire. I know it is one of the Blades you seek. It glows in the company of the others. You are not so far off as you think from accomplishing what you set out to do. How many are you looking for?”
The mystic slowly lowered his hand. His long hair, freed from the combs that had previously held it, draped his face and even as he refused to look at Tristus it was evident that he was still frowning. It was evident in his voice, as he was not above speaking to Tristus now. “No one has told you anything?”
“I... didn’t ask. We were preoccupied just with getting here.”
“Is this your idea of faith, Tristus Edainien? To follow blindly, a person or a purpose you know so very little about?”
Tristus answered the mystic’s question with one of his own. It seemed a better option than professing his love. “How am I to learn, if I do not follow?”
Xu Liang lifted his face, but did not look at Tristus. His lips formed a vague, humorless smile, and he was not speaking lightly when he said, “Your persistence may be the death of us both. But if what you say is true, it would appear that you are the bearer of the Dawn Blade.” His already lightless expression darkened considerably, making Tristus grieve for the resplendence that the giant may have killed, even if the mystic himself survived. “Forgive me for saying that it seems a small gain against all that has been lost.”
Tristus failed to take offense, seeing how much Xu Liang cared for his Empress and his homeland, enough that the tears still glistened in his brown eyes. He knew that the mystic needed time alone, and as much as he couldn’t bear to leave him, in spite of everything, he sat back and stood.
“Six,” Xu Liang said suddenly, still quietly.
Tristus wasn’t sure that he’d heard him at first, but before he could beg pardon and ask the mystic to repeat himself, more words were offered.
“There are six Celestial Swords, Tristus Edainien, and six bearers. I... we have discovered three to unite with the two that were recently brought to light in Sheng Fan. In Alere’s absence, we have lost one…and in the company of these elves, I am not certain whether we have gained anything more than a glimpse of another. Taking all into consideration, it would seem that my journey into this realm has amounted to a single Blade and its bearer.”
The mystic sighed, and it seemed that he might subtract that last accomplishment as well, but Tristus wouldn’t allow it. He said firmly, “A victory, Master Xu Liang, even in the smallest virtue, is still a victory.”
Then he stepped away from the bed and took his leave, stopping several paces away when he heard a muffled sob behind him. He frowned with concern and sympathy, but he did not look back, and eventually left the chamber, guided by candlelight on one side and toppled furniture and spilled, smoldering wax on the other.
“ARE YOU CRAZY?”
Tristus sighed and shook his head, refusing to answer the lady dwarf this time; she had already questioned his sanity three times since he’d returned to the guest suite. He proceeded to strap on his armor, ignoring the questioning and contemplative gazes of the others while he thought back on Shirisae’s awkward silence leading him back from the dragon-sized bed chamber. After he’d left Xu Liang—in tears, as he dared to recall—the Phoenix Elf had been waiting for him in the hall. She said nothing, and she didn’t have to. Her suspicions were clear. Thank God, Xu Liang was too dejected and disoriented to share in her suspicions. It was obvious, anyway, where the mystic’s interests lay; a world away from a heartsick knight with amorous leanings toward his own gender.
Tristus couldn’t help it. He got along with women beautifully, most of the time, he’d just never fallen in love with one. Perhaps he could blame a certain handsome cleric, who’d been even more confused than Tristus, swaying toward and away from his friend and beneath the austere gazes of his superiors until he finally couldn’t take it. He stopped speaking to Tristus altogether, determined to remain celibate and therefore pure in the eyes of everyone, including God, for the rest of his days. Tristus almost went that route himself, convinced that there was something horribly wrong with him, until he met a gentle older knight, who somehow made everything clear. Unfortunately, their time together was all too brief, and could be counted among the innumerable tragedies that constituted Tristus’ life thus far.
You’re not going to be one of them, Xu Liang.
“Tristus,” Tarfan started thoughtfully, if not a bit condescendingly. “Lad...if the mage is as upset as you say, fretting about apparent losses, what makes you think running off on your own just now is going to prove beneficial to this faltering quest?”
“That’s just it, Tarfan,” Tristus replied, with as much patience as he had left. “This quest is faltering. Xu Liang is a heartbeat away from dropping everything and rushing back to his homeland, certain that it’s going to crumble or disappear now that he’s lost his connection to his empress. We’ve got to get Alere back, and we have to find that last Blade.” Tristus sat down to get his greaves on. “We have to do it while Xu Liang is too weak to leave here.”
“And how are you going to find the white elf?” Tarfan asked. “Determined as he was to put space between him and his fiery cousins, I suppose he could be back in Upper Yvaria by now.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Tristus mumbled, irritated by this lack of support. “Anyway, the Blades glow when they’re near one another. Dawnfire was almost literally on fire the night before I met the rest of you. I’ll find him.”
“And what if he doesn’t want to come back?”
“I think he will, once I explain things to him.”
“And if he doesn’t?” the dwarf persisted.
“Then, damn it, I’ll think of something!”
Tristus stood, feeling red with anger and with instant remorse for having lost his temper. He lowered his voice again. “I’m going after Alere. Am I going alone?”
“I’ll come,” Taya volunteered.
“No,” Tristus said, and when she began to protest he dropped down to her height and took her firmly by the shoulders. “I can’t let you come with me this time, Taya. I have to ride hard and... Xu Liang may need your help here.” Tristus grasped at the excuse as it formed. “He’s still very weak and I don’t think he can take any more of the elves’ fire healing. He’s exhausted and undernourished, and...”
“All right,” Taya snapped. She tucked her arms tight in front of her chest and added angrily, “I’ll stay.”
Tristus smiled and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, my darling.” He stood and left her in red-faced silence, looking to the others. “Maybe it’s best if I go alone. You should probably stay with your niece, Tarfan, and Fu Ran, you might be the only one capable of reasoning with Xu Liang.”
“What in the ten thousand hells gave you that impression?” the giant wanted to know, speaking for the first time since Tristus returned to the suite.
Tristus shrugged. “I don’t know. You just seem like old friends.”
Fu Ran’s lips curled into a smile that no one found particularly comforting. And then he nodded. “You’re right. My place is here. But I don’t see us letting a man as prone to danger as you setting foot outside of this city by himself.”
“What do you mean?” Tristus asked, genuinely confused by the large man’s statement. “I’m at no greater risk than…what? Tarfan, what are you shaking your head over?”
The old dwarf tossed his hands up in the air and stalked off.
Tristus watched him, perplexed, until one of the bodyguards came forward, speaking in Fanese. Tristus looked at the man, who was looking at him, until he was finished talking. Then he glanced at Fu Ran. “What was that? What did he say?”
Grinning as if amused and possibly impressed, the former guard said, “Guang Ci has just volunteered to ride with you.”
Tristus was torn between appreciation and confusion. “How…does he know where I’m going?”
“He doesn’t,” Fu Ran answered. “He read into our tones and probably heard Xu Liang’s name a few times too many, and got the general idea.”
Tristus thanked the bodyguard in the only way he knew how; by bowing Fanese-style. The gesture was returned rigidly.
“Don’t be too hasty,” Fu Ran warned, still smirking. “It’s probably only his way at making sure you return with the Dawn Blade.”
“He needn’t worry about that,” Tristus assured. “I’ll be back with not only the Dawn Blade, but Alere as well and, if there is any luck left with us at all, the last of the Celestial Swords.”
SHIRISAE WAS WAITING for them at the bridge leading back into the mountain. She was dressed in full armor again, carrying Firestorm. It had been unexpected, since her brother had been the one to gladly show Tristus and Guang Ci to the only two horses they had claim to—which included Blue Crane and a terrible sensation of guilt for Tristus, who felt as if he were practically stealing the animal. Tristus would never have guessed Shirisae would leave Vilciel without D’mitri, or that D’mitri would allow it, for that matter. They seemed a close pair of siblings, and with the brother’s sensational distrust, it simply caught Tristus off guard. There might have been another underlying reason for his dismay at seeing the lady elf, but he was inclined to ignore it and to concentrate solely on finding Alere.
“I will accompany you,” Shirisae said, and in such a way as to let them know it wasn’t up for debate.
Tristus only nodded in his surprise, not opposed to having another good fighter at his side, which she had already proven to be. As well Firestorm might be helpful in locating Aerkiren and its endearingly obdurate bearer.
They were halfway across the bridge before Tristus decided to ask any questions. “Why are you so willing to assist us? Please, don’t mistake me. I am grateful, of course, but everything you’ve done...it...”
“My people may live in seclusion, but we are not as xenophobic as certain others of our kind. We will assist and ally with all who are found to be worthy by our god.”
“What...makes us worthy?”
Shirisae’s golden eyes viewed him from within her black helm. She looked away before saying, “Firestorm, the blade given us by the Phoenix, has chosen you, Tristus Edainien. As well, your sorcerer believes that your blade and mine are drawn to one another—as soul mates, I am inclined to believe. That the Phoenix might have forged two blades in its sacred flame and allowed them to find one another is a sign, as far as I am concerned.” She drew a long pause, then added, “Your allies are now my allies, knight, and your cause has become mine as well.”
“Shirisae,” Tristus said, shocked at this level of devotion. “I am in your debt, my lady.”
The Phoenix Elf practically glared at him, and said sharply, “You owe me nothing. We are...united in this, and as equals.”
In his confusion, Tristus could only stare. Shirisae suddenly rode ahead, undoubtedly to escape his gaze. He reminded himself to apologize later for his lacking manners.
XU LIANG DIDN’T have the strength to do anything more than lie back and stare into the lush folds of black that constituted the canopy high overhead. He’d spent himself by sitting up before, insisting that he was still in control, knowing now that he was utterly out of it. The strength of his purified soul had left him, used to the last strand of its heightened essence just to keep him alive after he’d lost consciousness. It was that level of consciousness that gave him control. So long as he remained in a quasi-meditative state, his magic, his awareness—his inner strength—all were at their peak...and he could communicate with the Empress. The long hours of blackness, devoid of the smallest thought, had returned him fully to his body, which was not in its best condition, especially after he’d abused it in the struggle against the giant. He hadn’t slept for long weeks, nor had he eaten. He wouldn’t be able to do either normally for some time. He didn’t want to sleep, after the horrifying dreams brought on by his near-death state and there would be nothing he could eat that he wouldn’t reject first, until his stomach was conditioned again to accepting it.
He felt useless and helpless, and farther away from Sheng Fan than ever before. He didn’t dare return without the Swords, not unless he planned to simply die by the Empress’ side. They needed the Swords to fight Chaos, which could only grow stronger before it finally rose in whatever form it planned to take. Was the Empress still protected from the malevolence that had made her ill and given her nightmares before his departure? Had she used all of his training and kept her concentration whole? Or had his failure put her in the same weakened state, vulnerable to attack from whatever, or whomever cared to deliver it?
And what of his own nightmares? Could he believe anything he’d experienced? Half of it was memory—Song Lu, for example, his spirit coming down from its constant perch upon Xu Liang’s shoulder to make his haunting more apparent—but some of it seemed as messages, warnings...if he dared to believe them.
Jiao Ren turned against him? And Han Quan as well? Why? Do they truly believe I am no better than those I expelled from the Imperial Court, that I would seek to rule beneath the Empress, with her no more than my shadow puppet? And now it seems I have other problems as well. Alere has disappeared, perhaps believing me dead, and Tristus...his concerns are obvious and now I am faced with Song Lu all over again.
Xu Liang’s shoulder began to throb. He closed his eyes with no hope of getting any sleep, and begged his dead Prince for forgiveness as his thoughts fell still and became as wordless silence in the dark.
It was a darkness that did not last. It seemed as if barely an instant had passed when light pressed through Xu Liang’s eyelids, commanding him to wake. He opened his eyes slowly, shielding them from the yellow glow with his hand, peering away from the bed at...himself? A mirror?
He hadn’t recalled any present near the bed before.
The individual lying down on a bed draped in precisely the same folds of black looked stark white against the pitch dark of the bedding and his own long hair, which would not have been discernible from the sheets, if not for the way the light shone almost blue upon the silky strands. The man, all but lost in the layers of black, was too thin. He’d always lacked muscle, but now he also lacked vigor. There were dark circles under his eyes, which showed redness from stress, weariness, and even crying. Upon waking from one nightmare into another, the shock, frustration, and shame had been too much. Those things still haunted the face looking back at him, the mouth drawn into a depressed frown, adding a layer of grim to the overall haggard appearance.
“Damned unsightly!” someone confirmed.
The gruff voice painted an instant image upon Xu Liang’s mind, and spared him the effort of looking for the speaker. He wondered, though, at the scraping sound that accompanied it, like metal against stone.
“I’d cringe away myself, waking up to a face like that!” the dwarf continued. “But, seeing as how you haven’t had much for beauty sleep, we’ll forgive you looking like a mountain goblin!”
“Tarfan Fairwind,” Xu Liang sighed, unable to absorb the cheer his friend offered, in his uniquely abrasive way. “What in the name of the Jade Emperor are you doing?”
“Well,” the dwarf huffed, as if straining over something. “In case you haven’t noticed, this room was constructed for dragons. The windows are about two hundred feet away—or thereabouts—and I’ve never met a wilting flower that hasn’t picked up just a little with some good old fashioned sunlight on its petals. I simply borrowed a few mirrors and channeled the golden glow of a fine, crisp mountain afternoon right to the bedside. You should be warming up in no time.”
“The room feels warm enough already,” Xu Liang said tiredly, and in spite of the chill he felt seeping beneath his skin, seeming to make his bones ache.