by T. A. Miles
“My aim is the same as yours, elf,” Bastien replied, glaring. “To recover the Night Blade at all costs.”
Alere stepped forward once more, this time he stabbed Aerkiren into the ground—through the map—and leaned forward, extending his hand to the gypsy. “I suggest that we find the Sword together. We can settle the cost for ‘recovering’ it when the time comes.”
A LIGHT SNOW crept down through the thick forest canopy. Within only a few moments, it grew heavier, enough that Tristus began to feel like he could sweep the falling curtain aside like drapery and walk through it. The snow had piled up past his ankles when he called the others to a stop.
“Do you think we should rest the horses?” he asked Shirisae when she looked back at him. He looked around them as his voice resonated strangely in the natural enclosure of wood and weather. The forest had come upon them a little too suddenly for his liking.
Guang Ci had looked back upon hearing Tristus’ voice. Their gazes met. They spoke to one another in silence, something they’d learned to do quite well in the past days since leaving Vilciel. The bodyguard nodded once, and then took up what he may have considered a relaxed position beside his horse.
They’d been walking the animals since the forest started closing in around them. It seemed an easy place to be thrown from the saddle or to break a horse’s leg. The terrain was uneven, made more treacherous beneath the fast accumulating snow.
“Do you know these woods?” Tristus asked Shirisae hopefully.
“It is called the Deepwood,” the lady elf answered. “Though I’ve never come this far north myself, I have heard stories of it from others who have.”
“What kind of stories? Not pleasant, I suspect.”
Shirisae shook her head gently. “As a child I was told that a woman entered these woods and became instantly lost, trapped in a labyrinth of dark trees, forced to wander until she was driven mad. Her lover, who came looking for her, rode into the trees carelessly and was scratched by a single pine needle. He fell into a deep, eternal slumber. It is said that the woman still walks these woods, weeping and crying out for him as he lays always within reach, but out of sight beneath the bracken, deaf to her calls in his state.”
“Well, I’m sure we’ll all sleep a lot better now,” Tristus replied in mild sarcasm. “Thank you, my lady.”
Shirisae smiled briefly. The expression faded while she looked about the woods. “We were headed north and may have veered slightly west,” she informed. “The nearest town should be Stachendorf, to the east.”
Tristus nodded in acknowledgment. “Sounds human. I doubt Alere went there, since the Verres Mountains lay to the northwest.”
“Elves don’t often take shelter in human cities,” Shirisae confirmed. “Least of all Verressi hunters. Still, he may have ridden through a town if he was in need of any supplies. Desfelden lies along the path to the mountains. We may be able to confirm his passage, if he was sighted by someone inclined to share such information with us.”
“How many days?” Tristus sighed, beginning to regret his haste in this matter.
Shirisae considered, patting her black battle horse on the neck. “Three. Maybe four, considering our pace.”
“And I’ll bet the Verres Mountains aren’t just lying in the backdrop,” Tristus sighed, again. “And I’ll wager as readily that our friend Alere Shaederin doesn’t keep his residence at the base of them.”
“The Mountain Elves of the north may live well out of doors, but they were a sophisticated and cautious people. They built their cities deep within the mountains, connecting them with vast networks of tunnel. They constructed great strongholds out of the rock face, their cities fanning beneath them on the shelf-like outcroppings of the unique mountains, connected by plank bridges. Families of high standing occupied the strongholds, guarding them and serving the cities for generations.
“The house Shaederin was second only to that of the king of the Mountain Elves. Though the royal family did not survive the Shadow Wars, a new king was never named. The houses fell into discord and eventually detachment. Though they fought on together in spirit—the Keirveshen would always be the bane of their kind—they scarcely had any real contact with one another. For more than a hundred years since the Shadow Wars—documented to have ended at the time of their loss—they have existed in the shelter of their mountains and their silence…hidden, forgotten. We elves of the Phoenix were not certain there were any left, but a rogue here and there, eking out what life was left to him. My brother and I almost took Alere for such a rogue, possibly the last, but then it became clear in his eyes.”
Tristus, who had never read anything in the white elf’s guarded gaze, asked, “What did?”
Shirisae looked at him, and she did not smile nor did she show the merest trace of disrespect toward the white elf. She said softly, “He is protecting someone. He is young, even by elf standards, therefore I believe Morgen Shaederin has left this world and passed his duties to his son. Most likely, he acts to shield the remains of his house, all of whom must be ill or younger than him if he acts alone, as he clearly is. And so far from his home...he must believe that he can keep the Keirveshen away by destroying them in the outlying regions, before they reach the mountains again.”
Tristus frowned with concern, feeling somehow closer to Alere while he learned more about him. “What if the demons return while he’s away?”
“He would not have left his family totally unguarded,” Shirisae answered. “But he also would not have left the region without performing a thorough hunt. It would not be difficult. They seem to be massing in Lower Yvaria currently.”
“I imagine he’ll be home soon anyway,” Tristus said, shrugging. “I don’t know where else he might have gone or...why.”
Tristus’ last word scarcely sounded as his attention became ensnared in the sudden, brilliant glow radiating from the spear strapped to Blue Crane with the rest of his gear. He reached his hand toward Dawnfire, feeling its splendid heat through his glove, then looked to Shirisae, who lifted Firestorm as it transformed into a veritable beacon of silver, crackling light. Before either of them could say anything, the light began to swell…not evenly, but somehow pressing east, filtering through the trees as if to show a path.
Shirisae peered through the dark woods that were suddenly lit. In a moment, she said, “I see a trail.”
“How?” Tristus wondered. “All evidence of anyone or anything passing should be buried beneath the snow.”
“I see it,” Shirisae insisted, and did not explain herself.
In a moment, the light from the Blades faded to the minimal glow they had been emitting just from being in each other’s company.
The lady elf kept her gaze on the woods and said quietly, “Do we trust it?”
Tristus had an eerie feeling about these woods, but he found reassurance touching Dawnfire. He said, “Could we ask for a clearer sign? Alere must have gone that way, chasing shadows maybe. He may need our help.”
“I’ll lead,” Shirisae volunteered, although it sounded more like a command.
Recognizing her strength, as well as her leadership, Tristus agreed. “Guang Ci,” he said to the guard, gesturing for him to join them. The guard came, and the three of them started deeper into the Deepwood.
VILCIEL. A CITY built for dragons, occupied by people who worshipped a bird of flame, a god capable of granting new life...and old pain.
Xu Liang looked out over the city surrounded by clouds and near mountain peaks, and wondered when he had ever seen a sight so beautiful and yet so terrible to behold. To him, it was as a prison mounted on top of the very world. Even if he escaped it physically, he would remember it always, and he would forever feel trapped by it. Even as he felt the chill of the mountain air biting into his flesh, his soul was on fire and his heart burned from within while the fire resurrected a thousand memories of heaven that served as gateways into hell.
“What have you done to me?”
Upon being add
ressed, the priestess stopped her silent advance. “Your health recovers,” she said tonelessly. “And with it, your power renews.”
“It may never be as focused as it was, but it has never left me,” Xu Liang replied. “A path chosen by the ancestors is not easily abandoned or strayed from.”
“We believe our ancestors choose our paths for us as well,” Ahjenta said.
“A path of fire,” Xu Liang murmured, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his own silk robes, that had been returned to him days ago. He’d only recently recovered the strength to carry himself from the bed of nightmares, as he’d come to refer to it. He hadn’t expected the nightmares to follow him across the vast chamber. He asked again, “What have you done to me?”
Ahjenta waited before giving her answer. “I called upon the Phoenix to restore you, against my better judgment, but at the pleading of my daughter and of my own heart as I witnessed the desperation of your companions.”
Xu Liang wouldn’t hear the latter half of her statement. A frown formed on his lips, and he said, “I made my choice. My time had come. What you have done has prevented nothing, but only prolonged my suffering and delayed the inevitable. I will not last.”
“Your constitution is not strong,” Ahjenta admitted.
“It has not been, from the day of my birth. Magic cannot improve my state, but only lend me strength enough to make my journeys. Your Flame will enable me to finish this one, but I may never make another.”
“You will return to your homeland,” the priestess offered. “Is that not what you wanted? It must be, for the Phoenix cannot restore one who is not willing to be restored.”
Xu Liang thought of his Empress, recalling her suddenly as a small child in the arms of her brother, who had worshipped her without ever dreaming that she would become the ruler of Sheng Fan. The burning inside of him flared, raising too many emotions. Hot tears welled in his eyes, stinging his vision. Have my efforts truly been for Sheng Fan? Or have I labored all this time for you, Song Lu...my Prince?
The idea was unbearable. To act in selfishness could only result in ruin, and perhaps here was the evidence that he had been acting for himself rather than for the benefit of the land. He had lost contact with the Empress, the Swords had strayed apart once again, and in spite of any magic he may never see his homeland again.
“Your time has not come,” Ahjenta finally said, almost gently. “You may not last to see your beauty spoiled, but there are still many days ahead of you. Many long days, trying days, of course...but some pleasant days as well.”
“You are an oracle as well?” Xu Liang asked dryly, refusing to be moved in his current state of angst.
“I have lived for many hundreds of years, shandon, mystic of the East. I know dejection from dying, and I know how easily many mortals—even the wisest of them—succumb to it. I offer you this advice; do not fear the memories that haunt you now, for they are things you have already seen and events you have already overcome. The future lies ahead of you, and you are one who can greatly affect it.”
Xu Liang turned to look at her, amazed by the elf’s concern.
The priestess showed no warmth openly, other than the color of her hair, but there seemed some compassion in her golden eyes. “In the war against the shadows, most are taken by darkness, one way or another. Those who shine above it act as beacons to those still fighting, a guide and a source of hope in these chaotic times. The knowledge you have brought to us seems to have solved the mystery of the Great Awakening, prophesied long ago. We know now that it is a thing to be feared, not revered. But we will not fear it, knowing that there are others in this war with us, one such as yourself, prepared to combat the source of the shadows that have been invading our lands for centuries, when it finally rises.”
“You...believe in the Dragon?” Xu Liang asked, wondering who had related the story to her. He decided quickly that it was probably Tarfan.
“I believe that all forces in this world have a master and that—like the Phoenix, who commands the Flame of Resurrection—perhaps this dragon rules the Shadows of Confusion. The shadows rose first, to scatter and divide us, to break our will, so that when their master rises, it will only require a single, killing blow.”
Xu Liang was fascinated by this theory, and he listened to the priestess with renewed interest. “Morale is often the deciding factor in a battle,” he agreed. “And perhaps that is what the Swords represent; unification against our foe. Madam,” he started to say, but Ahjenta did not let him finish.
“My daughter, as the future leader of our people, will make the right decision,” she said and added softly, “In all things. I must believe that.”
“And it would seem, then, that I must rely on it,” Xu Liang replied. “I will pray for her safe return.” He put his hands together and bowed to the priestess. “And I would thank you, Madame Ahjenta, for your wise words.”
“I’ve been told it was prayer that put you into this state. Continue resting and recover your strength. The Phoenix will guide my daughter and your friends.” On those words, the priestess left him, greeting Fu Ran politely as the large man made his way across the chamber.
“Taya said for you to stay in bed,” the former guard reminded, but Xu Liang was far from hearing him, his gaze once again on the view of Vilciel from a dragon-sized window ledge.
“It would seem that we have gained the trust and support of these people,” Xu Liang said. “When Shirisae returns, I will convince her to accompany me back to Sheng Fan.”
“Tarfan gave Tristus explicit instructions not to take longer than two weeks,” Fu Ran informed. “He and Taya figured that would be about as long as you would allow yourself to be stuck in bed.”
“The knight has as long as he is inclined to take,” Xu Liang replied, his eyes narrowing involuntarily.
“What do you mean?”
“By stealing Blue Crane, and taking the Dawn Blade, which I know he will surrender if I ask it of him, he has effectively chained me to this mountain,” Xu Liang explained, maintaining a neutral voice, though it aggravated him to consider the knight’s snake-like tactics. “I would trust no other animal to carry me on my journey and, knowing that the Dawn Blade is within my grasp, I will not leave it behind.”
“He needed Dawnfire to help him search for Alere,” Fu Ran said, a little too defensively for Xu Liang’s appreciation.
“Dawnfire is not like the other Blades,” Xu Liang said. “It does not always glow simply because it is in the company of the others, and Firestorm alone would have sufficed for their search.”
Typically, Fu Ran argued. “What are you saying, then? You were willing to leave Firestorm behind? And what about Aerkiren, and the Night Blade?”
Calmly, Xu Liang said, “It was my plan to take a northern route to the coast of Upper Yvaria, to the Sea of Ice, which connects with Aer. It is possible that we would have been able to contribute to the search en route to Sheng Fan, where the Empress herself may be very ill. Now, because Tristus Edainien has taken matters into his own hands and corrupted Guang Ci into his irrational way of thinking, we can do nothing but wait.”
“Corrupted?” Fu Ran stomped to the edge of the enormous archway and then turned back, forcing himself into Xu Liang’s view. “Guang Ci made the decision himself. It wasn’t asked of him, certainly not by Tristus. The boy was going to go alone. He didn’t even know Shirisae planned to join him. None of us did until...”
“The knight is not a child, Fu Ran,” Xu Liang pointed out. “It does not assist him or his position in any way for you and Tarfan to continually plead his youth and therefore his innocence. It is not innocence that enables him. He is motivated by…”
Xu Liang stopped himself short of revealing his suspicions about Tristus.
Fu Ran didn’t give him a chance to change the subject.
“By what?” the former guard pressed. However, he didn’t wait for an answer, incensed by the same past tension that was also surfacing anew within Xu Liang as well. �
�Tristus has his problems, but so does everyone. He’s been nothing but faithful to us since we found him half buried in the snow and, if you’ll recall, it wasn’t him that abandoned us, but that shifty white elf. Alere left while the rest of us waited anxiously to celebrate your survival, or mourn your death! In fact, all of us were convinced that you were dead, except for Tristus! He was the only one of us who had even a shred of hope left when we got here—and that includes your damned bodyguards!”
Xu Liang did his best to ignore the larger man’s rising voice and scathing words. He said simply, “I am not inclined to discuss this with you any further. You may leave.”
“May I?” The giant grinned obscenely and performed a mocking bow, which made Xu Liang frown irritably. Fu Ran straightened, glowering. “Oh, I remember now. I don’t serve you anymore, so I guess you can’t dismiss me. I guess you’ll have to hear an opinion, other than your own for a change!”
Xu Liang closed his eyes and drew in a breath, determined to ignore him. He would not be drawn into a shouting match with the former guard.
Fu Ran, however, would not be ignored. “You’re more uptight than you’ll let onto others. You’re patient, by Sheng Fan standards, but I’ve been away from Sheng Fan for a long time and I see things a little differently now.”
Xu Liang couldn’t help the smirk that came to his lips. “Do you?” He opened his eyes to see the other man’s anger, which was successfully provoking him. “Did you see things so differently when you asked me to take you back?”
Fu Ran tensed visibly, but continued with his statement, as if Xu Liang hadn’t interrupted. “You should know that you were a spoiled brat as a boy, and as a man you’re an imperial pain in the ass!”
Fu Ran may have had more to say, but Xu Liang would let him take this no further. “Since you seem to know so much about me, then you must also know that even I have limits as to what I am willing to endure for the sake of diplomacy.” Though he was frowning, he maintained a low voice. When Fu Ran smiled in his typically insolent fashion, it was all Xu Liang could do to keep from yelling at the former guard. “I will not lose the Empress because Alere cannot contain his hatred. Or because Tristus cannot control his emotions. Sheng Fan will not fall into the hands of dishonorable men for the petty prejudices between elves, or the recklessness of a troubled young man. The swords will come together if I have to take them from their bearers myself and find new bearers!”