The Dragon Star (Realms of Shadow and Grace: Volume 1)

by G. L. Breedon

  “Yes, my zhan.” Tonken-Wu bowed.

  Zhan Tin-Tsu nodded and bade him good night.

  Outside the zhan’s private study stood four wardens, handpicked men Tonken-Wu had either trained himself or trained alongside. Men he knew he could trust. Four more stood down the hall outside the zhan’s new sleeping chambers. Tonken-Wu saluted the men, who returned the gesture of his outstretched arm, a spear gripped in each man’s hand. A small, round shield rode each warden’s unencumbered forearm, a sword and dagger at their waist.

  As Tonken-Wu walked the corridors of the palace back to his quarters near the kitchens and the servants’ wing, he pondered the zhan’s words before their parting. Why would the zhan consider Tonken-Wu in any way responsible for saving his life, particularly the previous night? He thought back to the moment he had kicked open the door to the then high tahn’s sleeping chamber.

  THE NIGHT BEFORE

  TONKEN-WU STOOD at the threshold of the room, four blades glimmering in the moonlight from beyond the outer doors. High Tahn Tin-Tsu walked through the doorway of the balcony, words tumbling from his lips — words Tonken-Wu recognized as the Protection Prayer of Ni-Kam-Djen. He and the high tahn would both need the protection of their god to survive this incursion of night-slayers.

  One of the four soldiers silently rushed Tonken-Wu, blade singing through the still air. Tonken-Wu raised his own sword in defense, blocking the man’s attack. He kicked at the man’s legs and pressed his counter assault, the ring of steel on steel clanging through the halls outside the door.

  The man he faced, turncoat sentinel or disguised night-slayer, possessed a deep experience with a blade. Fortunately for Tonken-Wu, so did he. Enough so that even as he traded sword swipes with the man before him, he could turn his concern to the unarmed high tahn facing three men closing quickly around him from all sides.

  Tonken-Wu twisted to the side, his blade striking out behind the knee of the man he fought. The man collapsed backward even as Tonken-Wu fell on one knee and drove his blade through the gap under the arm of the man’s hard leather jerkin, past his ribs, and into his heart. The man twitched and died beside him, blood oozing from the wound, the man’s heart no longer providing the pressure that might have sent it spurting across Tonken-Wu’s chest.

  Tonken-Wu rose to his feet, returning his attention to the high tahn, expecting to see him lying dead on the floor, blade protruding from his breast. Tonken-Wu blinked in the dim light of the room, uncertain if his eyes deceived him with some trick of shadows or whether what he witnessed could be real.

  High Tahn Tin-Tsu had somehow moved past his attackers and deeper into the room. As one man rushed him, he stepped aside, sticking the man in the throat with his fingertips even as he clasped the man’s sword arm, using the momentum against his attacker. He twisted the man’s wrist, relieving him of the sword, the blade whipping out to meet the next oncoming night-slayer’s attack.

  Tonken-Wu watched in silence for the few seconds that remained of the three night-slayers’ lives. High Tahn Tin-Tsu moved with a grace and power that he had never witnessed. He had trained to fight two men and had done so on one occasion, but not men of the skill displayed by the three murderers. They were experienced in combat and fought with no regard for their honor. Yet, the high tahn moved among them as a tiger might stalk among a pack of wild dogs. As the men swung their swords, he had already departed the place the blades meant to strike, his own sharp steel flitting forth with a blinding speed and deadly accuracy. The first man he had disarmed threw a dagger at High Tahn Tin-Tsu, who dodged the blade and returned the gesture with a flying sword that struck through the astonished night-slayer’s throat with a hollow, wet sound.

  The remaining two men attacked as High Tahn Tin-Tsu rolled away across the floor, leaping up to pull the dagger from where it had lodged in the wood of the bedpost, flicking the short blade through the air as he spun from a sword edge. The dagger struck one man in the eye and the high tahn rushed to relieve him of his sword as he fell dead.

  The last man looked at his fallen comrades, saw Tonken-Wu blocking the door, and growled as he charged. High Tahn Tin-Tsu closed the gap between himself and his attacker so swiftly, the other man barely had time to notice the movement before he realized a blade stuck through his heart. The man fell dead at the tahn’s feet a moment later.

  High Tahn Tin-Tsu turned to meet Tonken-Wu’s wide-eyed stare with a calm gaze. A wave of fear momentarily struck upward from Tonken-Wu’s stomach to make his hand tremble. He knew with a certainty beyond reasoned thought that if the high tahn considered him a threat, he would be dead before he could cry out his status as warden and friend rather than foe.

  The high tahn nodded to the dead man at Tonken-Wu’s feet.

  “Thank you for sparing me from the need to kill all four of them.” High Tahn Tin-Tsu stepped over the dead body and closed the door to the bedchamber. “Close the curtains.”

  Tonken-Wu blinked in confusion, his feet not receiving any instructions from his mind.

  “The curtains.” The high tahn gestured toward the balcony door. “Close them.”

  Tonken-Wu nodded and crossed the room to pull the curtains closed, casting the room into complete darkness. A moment later, a light flared as a flint spark lit the tip of a lantern wick. High Tahn Tin-Tsu sat the lamp down on a nearby table and approached Tonken-Wu.

  “What is your name, warden?” The high tahn pulled the dagger from the dead night-slayer’s throat.

  “Sub-commander Tonken-Wu.” Tonken-Wu strove to remember some aspect of protocol that might cover his current circumstances. “My tahn.”

  High Tahn Tin-Tsu took the edge of the dagger and sliced at his arms and face before pressing the tip of the blade into his side.

  “My tahn?” Tonken-Wu felt as though in a dream, one odd and inexplicable occurrence falling upon the heels of the last unexplainable event.

  “This is what happened, Sub-commander Tonken-Wu.” High Tahn Tin-Tsu grimaced as he removed the blade from his side. “You were in the halls … Why were you in the halls?”

  “I was checking the placement of the duty roster for the sentinels.” Tonken-Wu swallowed loudly.

  “And you found a man outside my chambers who aroused your suspicion?” High Tahn Tin-Tsu asked.

  “He attacked me,” Tonken-Wu said. “I killed him.”

  “Then you saved me from killing two men this night.” The high tahn bowed his head. “This then is what happened: you saw the man outside, he attacked, and you killed him. When you entered, you saw these four men preparing to attack me. I hid under the bed, praying for protection, and you killed them all.”

  “But you killed them, my tahn.” Tonken-Wu swallowed again as he tried to understand the tahn’s words. “How did you kill them all?”

  “The man with the greater skill and training usually prevails.” High Tahn Tin-Tsu nodded toward Tonken-Wu. “This is why you were able to kill all the night-slayers. Your superior skill and training.”

  “I do not understand, my tahn.” Tonken-Wu shook his head in confusion.

  “It is simple,” High Tahn Tin-Tsu said. “Someone wishes me dead. If that someone knew me to be capable of killing three men while unarmed, can you imagine what lengths they might go to in attempting to kill me a second time?”

  “Great lengths.” Tonken-Wu did not want to imagine what those lengths might be.

  “Just so,” High Tahn Tin-Tsu said. “Therefore, you must take credit for killing these men while I must profess cowardice. We have little time. Someone will have heard the sword clashes ringing through the halls. When they come, you will tell them what happened.”

  “Yes, my tahn.” Tonken-Wu nodded, numb with bewilderment.

  “Good.” High Tahn Tin-Tsu sat on the edge of the bed, his face slowly taking on a look of fear and pain that remained as the first wardens burst through the door of the bedchamber.

  THE PRESENT

  TONKEN-WU LOOKED up from his feet to realize he had arri
ved at the door to his sleeping quarters. He had no clear recollection of walking through the palace to reach his room. He chided himself for failing to remain alert. Such a weakness for daydreaming while night-slayers stalked the palace halls could lead to his death, if not the death of the zhan.

  That did not strike the bell of truth. The zhan would survive another encounter with night-slayers, while he might not. The zhan had, after all, saved thousands at the coronation as the Grand Hall collapsed down around them all. He would likely live through another attempt, even if it found its source in the wicked darkness of The Sight.

  Tonken-Wu’s hand hovered on the handle of the door. How had the zhan saved them that day? He could barely believe the man had slain the three men the night before; how had he stopped falling stone from killing himself and others? Did he have the ear of Ni-Kam-Djen? Where had he obtained the training that made him so deadly?

  Too many questions surrounded the new zhan. Too many things Tonken-Wu did not know. However, there were two things he did know for certain — Zhan Tin-Tsu, Shield of Heaven, trusted him, and further, he would not fail his new master again.

  To continue reading the Throne story arena follow this link.

  To continue reading Tonken-Wu’s storyline follow this link.

  THE SEER

  ABANANTHUS

  TINY FLECKS of cork bobbed in the gentle swell of wine created by the constant swirling motion of the clay cup. Abananthus slouched in his chair, the cup of wine in one hand, a book held open in the other, raised to discern the printed text by the light of the fading fire. He sat in his favorite chair in his favorite place doing his favorite thing.

  He squinted at the book, his eyes straining, then sighed, closed it, and placed it on the table near the empty plate that held the bones of a finely seasoned trout. The fire had grown too dim, nearly down to coals. He eyed an oil lamp burning at a nearby table. He could move tables, but then he would not be in his favorite place. He could get up and take the lamp and bring it back, but then he would need to move. And he would need to move soon enough anyway.

  A man of too much motion comes to a hard stop.

  The common room of The Three Moons Inn sat empty save himself. Jadaloo, the serving girl, a slender lass with dimpled cheeks and bright eyes who always laughed at his obscure jokes, wiped down the ale counter at the back of the room. The night patrons, the regulars and those merely passing through, had all left. The guests, some staying in town to attend to their affairs and others too drunk to continue their journey, had all retired to their rooms upstairs. Kellatra tended to something in the back. Likely working over the inn’s balance between coin on hand and coin owed. Rankarus left hours before, off to drink with a friend, he’d said.

  A wise man drinks with others — for they may pay the brew mistress.

  Abananthus looked around the empty inn and then down at his wine. He never considered himself a wise man. Happy, certainly. Wisdom, he found, generally required painful experience to be cultivated. He avoided painful experiences whenever possible. Wine had rarely been a painful experience. He took a long drink to finish the cup and licked his lips. Kellatra always served him his wine in a clay cup. They broke too easy in the tussle and bustle of an inn, but the pewter cups left a metallic tang on his tongue. She kept a clay mug behind the ale counter especially for him. Very sweet of her.

  He had nearly worked up the will to push his chair back and rise to leave when the door to the inn opened, letting in the cool, fresh air of the early spring night. He had not realized how warm he’d become by the fire. A lone man crossed the room, weaving between the well-polished tables and the thick-legged chairs to stand near the ale counter.

  “We’re closed for the night for food and drink, but you can still get a room if you like.” Jadaloo looked at the man and smiled.

  Abananthus stroked his beard as he watched the man. Something about his profile seemed familiar. The nose? The brow?

  “No drink and no room,” the man said. He glanced around the empty common chamber, his eyes pausing on Abananthus for a moment. “I’m looking for the mistress of the house.”

  Abananthus put his chin in his hand as he stared at the man by the counter. He had seen him somewhere. Somewhere recently. A customer, perhaps?

  “Kellatra?” Jadaloo said. “She’s in the back. I’ll go fetch her.” She smiled again and headed down the hall to the kitchen and the back room where her employer liked to work.

  Abananthus looked away as the man turned back after Jadaloo’s departure. He pretended to find something fascinating at the bottom of his empty wine cup. Where had he seen the man? From the caravans all those years ago? Possibly. But it felt like only yesterday he’d glimpsed the man’s face.

  He felt the man’s eyes leave him and he raised his own. The man looked down the back hall, turning the opposite direction as before, presenting Abananthus with a clear view of the other side of his face. Abananthus swallowed hard, feeling the wine begin to burn in his gut like acid. He knew now where he had seen the man and when. The last time he’d seen him, the man had looked the same but not similar. The last time Abananthus had seen the man with only one ear, he had been leaning against an alley wall, turned to stone by the Dark Sight of some fiend. Now he walked and breathed and talked — a living statue come to see Kellatra.

  Abananthus shook his head. He hated moments like these, when his stomach churned and his heart raced, and he knew what must be done but hated to move to action.

  A man who knows when to act is a man who lives to act again.

  Abananthus grabbed the meat knife still by his empty plate and stood up to take action.

  To continue reading the Seer story arena follow this link.

  To continue reading Abananthus’s storyline follow this link.

  INTERLUDE

  THE MIDDAY haze of cook fires and flame-filled rubbish bins cloaks the damp air above Kahara Nattaa, the City of Leaves, the heart of learning in the Juparti Dominion, and home to the Library of Mysteries.

  Sunlight bends, cobalt and crimson, flowing through ancient warped windows to dance among shadowed shelves bending under the centuries of knowledge in the dust-tinted tomes weighing them down.

  A rakthor male and a yutan female stare at each other across a private table in a secluded level of the library. A human male stands not far behind them, leaning against a stand of books, a long blade at his belt.

  The yutan looks down at the contents of a leather folio.

  “You can vouch for the origin?”

  “Yes. Is it plausible?”

  Not with any use of The Sight I have ever witnessed, but still, frighteningly possible, the yutan thinks to herself.

  “Yes. Very much so.”

  The rakthor considers the yutan. The female appears nervous. Her breath quicker. This revelation frightens her. That is unsettling.

  “I may retain this copy?”

  “As per our agreement.”

  The rakthor stands.

  “How will you proceed?”

  The rakthor stares at the yutan a moment. Why does she ask? Does she wonder what she herself should do with this knowledge?

  “I will advance this to my superiors on the Central Governing Committee.”

  “And then?”

  “And then they will decide what to do based on what they will then know.”

  “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

  “Thank you for your assistance with it.”

  The rakthor bows slightly to the yutan and then walks from the room of books.

  The yutan watches him go.

  What will they do, the Reptile Realm? What will my people do? Who among them can I share confidence with? My Sight master is too old and infirm and disconnected from the politics of the pods to be of use. My cousin, the scout, had a skilled master. Sight Master Lamna. Yes. I can take it to her.

  The yutan closes the folio and stands, placing it in a leather satchel. She walks past the human male with a nod.

&n
bsp; The human turns and follows her out of the library, smiling as he walks.

  Whatever he gave her is worth more than she’s payin’ me to guard her. Enough, maybe, to pay my debt ta the wyrin.

  To continue reading the storyline of the Interludes follow this link.

  EPISODE THREE

  THE SEER

  KELLATRA

  “THANK YOU, Jadaloo.”

  Kellatra closed the ledger book in which she had been writing and stood behind the desk in the small storeroom she used for her bookkeeping.

  “You can turn in for the night.” Kellatra smoothed the wrinkles of her dress. “Look in on the little ones quickly if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course, ma’am.” Jadaloo nodded and headed for the back stairs to the upper level where she slept in a converted attic. Kellatra frowned. Nine years and she still could not convince the girl to call her by her given name. Jadaloo had come to them looking for work when her parents died in her eleventh year, and she had been living with them ever since. Most days, she seemed more like an elder daughter than a serving girl. Kellatra wished her real children were half as well behaved as Jadaloo even half the time.

  Kellatra walked down the hall, past the private dining cubbies, and into the common room. A man stood at the ale counter, his back to her. She saw Abananthus standing at the rear of the room before his favorite table. He looked concerned as he started around the table toward the ale counter. The man at the counter turned to face her, and she froze. The man who stared at her could not be the man he appeared to be.

  “I have come for it.” Menanthus, or the man who looked like him, nodded toward her.

  Kellatra swallowed, trying to still her suddenly pounding heart and calm her panicked mind. The man’s presence meant one thing.