“I agree on both points.” Commander Nedag-Tong glanced at the dead men. “I will have the guardians and sentinels attending now sequestered until the coronation is concluded. I will also have these bodies disposed of and the room locked until we find the Tanshen agents responsible for breaching the sanctity of the high tahn’s chambers.”
“It would help if our eager warden had left one of them alive to question.” Tigan Rhog-Kan frowned at Sub-commander Tonken-Wu.
“My apologies, Tigan.” Tonken-Wu bowed his head once more. “I was … unskilled in my actions.”
“How did these men even come to be here?” the tigan’s eyes darted to High Commander Nedag-Tong with his query.
“I am afraid this is my responsibility as well,” the sub-commander said before his superior could reply. “The men the night-slayers posed as are missing. It is possible they are dead. It was my duty to make the watch roster in advance of the coronation. I should have placed more men at the high tahn’s door and at the cross halls. Had I done so, the night-slayers would have been discovered sooner and the high tahn might never have been in danger. I submit myself for discipline.”
Sub-commander Tonken-Wu lowered his head, his eyes locked on his feet. The young man’s sudden concessionary contrition left the others in silence. Kao-Rhee cleared his throat.
“Knowing who is responsible for the failure of the palace guards does not tell us anything about the men sent to kill the high tahn. The fact that you saved the life of the high tahn is commendable. However, by the admission of your own words, had you not failed in your duty, the high tahn would not have needed your personal protection.” Kao-Rhee looked to High Commander Nedag-Tong. “I will leave your punishment to your commander.”
“You will be demoted to junior guardian.” High Commander Nedag-Tong’s voice sounded stern.
Too stern to Kao-Rhee’s ears. The commander felt pleased, no doubt, to so swiftly have someone to fault for the night’s nearly calamitous fiasco. A blame that would not tarnish his own name.
“I’d have any soldier of mine whipped for such negligence,” Tigan Rhog-Kan spat.
“There will be no whipping,” High Tahn Tin-Tsu spoke loudly, bringing all eyes to his own, even those of Tonken-Wu. “Nor will the sub-commander be demoted. Until further notice, he will be my personal escort. He has proved himself exceptionally adept at protecting my person. He will accompany me at my discretion. Particularly today.”
“Are you certain this is a wise notion, my tahn?” Tigan Rhog-Kan said. “A man who has failed you once may fail you again.”
“This is not a notion, Tigan; this is my command.” High Tahn Tin-Tsu stood a little taller. Even in night slippers, he could look over the tigan’s head. “And he did not fail me. He saved my life.”
“Of course, my tahn.” Tigan Rhog-Kan lowered his eyes and his voice.
“It will be as you desire, my tahn.” Kao-Rhee noted how easily the high tahn, away for seventeen years from the palace and its subtle displays of power in search of advantage, managed to assert his authority with such ease. He had not expected it from a mendicant priest, even one of royal blood. Apparently, High Tahn Tin-Tsu had not forgotten all the lessons of his childhood. Kao-Rhee remembered offering some of those lessons himself to the soft-natured youth, tutoring him in the ways of statesmanship with his elder brother. While his brother, Fan-Mutig, had taken to the instructions of statecraft with enthusiasm, young Tin-Tsu had been recalcitrant, always more interested in poetry and the Kam-Djen scrolls than in the history of the realm and the means for its proper management. He wondered how the tahn had changed during his self-imposed exile. Could that once gentle boy have become a man hard enough to rule the dominion and defeat their enemies?
“There is much to do for the coronation, my tahn,” Kao-Rhee said. “Once the physician has examined your person, you may wish to rest before the day’s events overtake us with their inevitability.”
“I require little sleep,” High Tahn Tin-Tsu said. “And we have more to contend with than merely the coronation or murderers loose in the palace halls. Have you seen the sky?”
“The sky, my tahn?” Kao-Rhee had left his pillows and his wife to come directly to the high tahn’s bedchamber. While he had passed several windows, he had not thought to look through them.
The high tahn gestured toward Tonken-Wu. “Open the curtains.”
Tonken-Wu went to the balcony door and pulled back the drapes to reveal the night sky. A large red star sat above the rooftops beyond the palace gardens. Kao-Rhee had always thought of stars like holes in a blanket held up before the brilliant light of the sun. If the other stars were pinpricks, this star, this luminous nocturnal aberration, tore a rent in the fabric of the night.
Kao-Rhee recognized what the star implied. He had not had the dreams himself — a mind pure in the faith of Ni-Kam-Djen could not be swayed by the Dark Sight even in sleep — but he understood what its arrival portended for the future zhan and the dominion. It could not be coincidence the star arrived in the sky on the eve before the high tahn assumed the ascendancy.
“We must prepare for unprecedented chaos to attend the coronation,” Kao-Rhee said. “We must prepare wisely.”
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THE THRONE
TIN-TSU
THE LIGHT of the sun rose above the curve of the horizon, shining through the warped, centuries-old glass of the large eastern window of the Grand Hall, illuminating its interior in a golden glow before passing through the identical western portal and crossing the gardens beyond to warm the closed eyelids of High Tahn Tin-Tsu, the man destined to be zhan of the Daeshen Dominion by the time that same sun fled from the world and left it in darkness.
Tin-Tsu opened his eyes. He stood on a balcony similar to the one he had prayed upon a few hours prior. How strange the answer to his prayers. How unexpected. He touched his side where the palace physician’s bandages wrapped his ribs. His flesh would be tender for days, and likely bleed again, but the old healer’s hand had been just as steady with the needle and thread as when he had sewn Tin-Tsu’s arm all those years ago as a child. More than anything, more than his mother’s smiles and kisses, more than his sister’s embrace, those stitches had made him feel at home again. A home much changed from the one he had left.
Seventeen years past, his father had been a zhan in his prime. Ten years later, he lay dead from an infected wound incurred from the rusted metal of a Tanshen soldier. His father had always insisted on being on the battlefield for a major conflict, to ensure the enemy felt not merely his army’s might but the bite of his own blade. Tin-Tsu’s brother, Fan-Mutig, had followed his father’s example, dying from two well-aimed arrows in battle only months prior. A battle lost even as the troops lost their leader. Too many arrows and not enough cover. A defeat that Tin-Tsu only learned of when he had been summoned for the funeral. And the inevitable coronation. A crowning that he had been ignoring as best he could. He blinked against the light of the sun. He could continue to ignore the inescapable for a few more hours.
A knock came from within his private study. He did not reply, knowing who it was and that the man would enter without bidding.
“Come join me,” Tin-Tsu said when the door to the study opened. A moment later, Sub-commander Tonken-Wu stood beside him, bowing briefly before staring out over the gardens.
“Prime Councilor Kao-Rhee has instructed me to inform you that the preparations for the coronation proceed without incident, my tahn.” Tonken-Wu clasped his hands behind his back. “High Commander Nedag-Tong also wishes me to convey his assurances that the palace is secure and will remain so in all instances.”
“Do you believe the palace is secure, Tonken-Wu?” Tin-Tsu did not look at the young warden.
Tonken-Wu hesitated before speaking.
“No, my tahn. I do not.”
“Why not?” Tin-Tsu breathed
in the subtle scent of the flowers that opened to the light of the new day in the palace garden.
“If there can be one hand of night-slayers in the palace, there can be two.” Tonken-Wu appeared deeply concerned by the thought. “And it would take only a single man to poison a cup or cast an arrow.” He glanced around the gardens as though expecting the suggestion of his words to create reality at any moment.
“I agree.” Tin-Tsu savored the aroma of dew-drenched lilacs rising up with the sun-warmed air. “Do you accept my wise councilor’s assessment of the source of the attempt on my life?”
Tonken-Wu vacillated again before making his reply.
“No, my tahn.”
“Why not?” Tin-Tsu cocked his head at the warden.
“While it might make sense for the Tanshen usurper to try and end your life, he is not the only one who stands to gain from your death.” Tonken-Wu stared down at his feet.
“Explain.” Tin-Tsu returned his attention to the gardens as Tonken-Wu spoke.
“Your death would destabilize the court and the dominion, but not enough to allow the Tanshen an upper hand in the battlefield.” Tonken-Wu raised his eyes even as he lowered his voice, casting his gaze about the gardens and balconies. “We have rallied our best archers from the far reaches of the dominion to counter the type of assault that took your brother’s life. While your death could provide the Tanshen Dominion a political advantage, it would not assist them in prosecuting the war. It might even hinder them by rallying the nation in response to such a breach of decency. However, while your sister could assume the throne as guardian zhan for a future son, with no clear heir, several of the lesser tahns might see your passing as an opportunity to advance their own station through marriage. And then there is the prospect that a third, unknown party might wish you dead to further goals we can only guess at.”
“You seem to have given this great consideration.” Tin-Tsu smiled at the young warden’s assessment.
“It was a long walk from my chambers after changing clothes.” Tonken-Wu tugged at the cotton hem of his warden jacket.
“And why might my own people wish to see me dead?” Tin-Tsu did not wonder so much about the answer to this question, but he wanted to know how his new personal escort would reply.
“They fear you, my tahn.” Tonken-Wu spoke without reticence. “Your brother, may he walk forever in the Pure Lands, trained to rule the dominion from birth. You are a priest, trained to serve Ni-Kam-Djen. You have never led a council meeting. You have never stood on a battlefield. Never led an army. Never held…”
“Never held a sword.” Tin-Tsu lowered his voice as he finished the young warden’s sentence. “Remember this, Tonken-Wu. You will bear my blade for me. You will be my sword hand.”
“My tahn…” Tonken-Wu began, seeming uncertain how to proceed or what he wished to say. “In your bedchambers…”
“In my bedchambers, you saved my life by slaying my enemies,” Tin-Tsu said. “You have my unending gratitude.”
“Yes, my tahn,” Tonken-Wu replied.
“Do you know why I spared you punishment and requested you at my side?” Tin-Tsu asked.
“I…” Tonken-Wu looked down again to his feet. “No, my tahn. I failed you. Those men should never…”
“You did not fail me,” Tin-Tsu interrupted. “You have spared me in ways you cannot imagine. We will not speak of it again.”
“As you say, my tahn.” Tonken-Wu continued to ponder his boots.
“Why, of all the men in the castle, have I requested you to attend me?” Tin-Tsu lowered his voice again.
Tonken-Wu considered this question for a moment, raising his head as the answer filled his lips.
“Because I am the only one you are certain is not trying to kill you.”
“Just so.” Tin-Tsu nodded. “Now I need you to do your best to find out who is and to keep them from succeeding. Your commander will be investigating the events of last night, but as you say, I trust your assessment to be unbiased. Find out who the men in my room were. Enlist those you trust to help you in this hunt. Were the men sentinels? New recruits? Hired swords dressed to appear the part? How did they plan to flee the palace? Does anyone recognize them? Have they been seen recently, either together or alone, in the company of a second party?”
“You have given this great thought, my tahn.” Tonken-Wu adjusted the hem of his jacket again.
“As you said, it took you some time to arrive.” Tin-Tsu hoped his new personal warden would be as fastidious in investigating the thwarted murder as in the grooming of his uniform. “The men you put to this task should have no idea what they are probing or why. Set them like hounds in the field and let them bring back the fallen pheasant. You shall apply yourself to double checking all the contingencies for my safety during the coronation. It will be easier to kill me in a public place than in my bedchamber.”
“Yes, my tahn.” Tonken-Wu glanced again at the gardens. “You might wish to avoid the balconies for a time. Arrows are harder to see approaching than swords.”
“True.” Tin-Tsu glanced at the gardens. “Thankfully, some noise presages their arrival. Proceed with your preparations. I have prayers to make. Return before noon.”
“Yes, my tahn.” Tonken-Wu bowed and backed off the balcony, leaving the study as quietly as he had entered.
Tin-Tsu watched him go, then looked out over the trimmed grass and cultured flowers below, once more breathing in the calming medley of scents filling the air. His new personal warden had made a good point. A balcony offered a solid target for an archer, even from a great distance. He should forego this simple pleasure and postpone it until his safety could be better assured.
How long might that be? Possibly forever. There would always be someone now who wanted him resting in the palace mausoleum beside his father and brother. He had forgotten how dangerous palace life could be. As a child, the most he had ever worried about was falling from the poda tree in the garden. The branches of the tallest tree in the palace garden had called to him all through his youth. He looked to the tree, noting that its gnarled limbs seemed to reach even higher than when he had departed from the palace. It was said the poda tree would continue to grow, even incrementally, until either the weight of its own height and leaves brought it down, or the ax of a lumberman felled it.
He remembered other things associated with the tree, things he had spent years attempting to forget. At the base of the tree, near the waist-high roots, something beneath the branches caught his eye. Someone. A face, eyes raised toward him on the balcony. A face aged but known to him nonetheless. The face from his past that he could never disremember no matter how great his desire.
Could it truly be him, or did some fanciful vision conjured up by the memories of the poda tree plague Tin-Tsu’s senses? How had he returned? Why? What did his presence mean?
Before Tin-Tsu could silently pose more questions, the man beneath the tree limbs turned and vanished into the foliage of the garden paths.
What could it all portend? The dream, the star, the men come to kill him, the young warden’s arrival at the opportune moment, and now this face across the gardens, this face from his past come back to haunt him at a distance.
Tin-Tsu felt the prayer of protection on his tongue more than he heard the words he uttered, but he surrendered himself to them, regardless.
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THE CARNIVAL
YETH
BLACK FLIES buzzed through the chill air. The light of the sun, not yet above the treetops, ate away the morning mist with a gradually increasing brightness and warmth.
Yeth Dan Yoth, once apprentice to the Prime Sight Master of the Supreme Yutan Pod, now secret scout and carnival attraction, waved her long, pale fingers over the bowl in her hand, shooing away a small but determined cloud of insects. She frowned as she spooned a mouthful of cooked oats past her teeth,
trying to avoid her tongue as she swallowed.
Humans, Yeth thought. Eating food for pack animals and delighting in the flavor. She grimaced and took another bite, watching the satisfied looks on the human members of the carnival troupe as they collected their bowls of oat slop from the camp cook and devoured the mushy contents with great satisfaction, smiling and making moaning sounds of pleasure. She turned to her companions at her side, Tarak the roagg and Shifhuul the wyrin, both seated on the same fallen log as herself. Shifhuul stared at the bowl of oats in his hands, sniffing at it with his long snout, wincing in distaste. Tarak, in contrast, had already licked his first bowl clean and begun on his second. Carnival troupe members were normally each afforded the same portions of the meals, but Tarak’s size granted him special consideration. He stood more than a head taller than Yeth, and she stood a head taller than most of the humans. Tarak needed more food than the others. She also suspected that the cook feared to refuse the massive roagg’s request for second helpings.
“You going to eat that, or watch it dry and collect flies to season it?” Tarak nodded with his muzzle toward the bowl in Shifhuul’s hands.
“I not like bad-bad horse grain often so.” Shifhuul stirred the bowl of oat mash with his spoon, then grunted and took a bite.
Yeth hid a smile at the wyrin’s mangled syntax of the human words. While the creature acted reasonably intelligent, it seemed incapable of mastering any language other than its own.
“Flies might improve the flavor.” Yeth forced herself to eat another spoonful. She would need the sustenance for the day’s long march. She and Tarak walked at the rear of the convoy of wagons and tethered animals and shuffling humans. Leotin, the carnival master, sat in the cart at the front of the line and preferred the troupe members most capable of wielding weapons to bring up the rear in case of ambush. Shifhuul always rode in the last wagon, dozing through much of the day. While Yeth and Tarak took turns sleeping through the night, Shifhuul’s largely nocturnal nature left him awake for much of the duration of their nightly watch of the carnival campgrounds.
The Dragon Star (Realms of Shadow and Grace: Volume 1) Page 11