Five Kingdoms (22 page)

Xu Liang considered giving the word that would allow Shi Dian his revenge and alleviate all of them of any further attempt to harm or obstruct them from Ma Shou.

And then the pyromancer said suddenly, “What is there to say for myself, my lord? I have acted disgracefully, and treacherously. My love for the Empire was my inspiration.”

The notion offended Xu Liang immediately, but he would hear the man’s explanation. “How is it that one who claims love would behave as a traitor?”

“I was told that it is you who has behaved as the traitor, my lord,” Ma Shou answered, chancing a glance upward that he quickly reverted to a lower focus.

The notion was too absurd to entertain beyond the importance of the fact that someone had fabricated such a claim. “By whom?” Xu Liang asked.

Ma Shou opened his mouth to promptly respond, but then suddenly clamped it shut. It appeared that he was more in pain than reconsidering his answer while he bent further forward and strained to release himself from the rope that bound him.

Shi Dian looked to Xu Liang for an answer that Xu Liang did not have. Whatever had come over the pyromancer, his sudden instinct to writhe from the grip of pain was uncomfortable to witness. Kneeling before the man, Xu Liang attempted to touch a pulse point at his neck, to hopefully discern the source his sudden suffering radiated from.

Ma Shou would not have it. He bolted upright and let out a shriek of agony. His skin swiftly reddened, and then it appeared to catch fire—or to be surrounded by fire. He lunged to his feet, toward Xu Liang at first, but Shi Dian swiftly batted the pyromancer to the ground with the shaft of his spear. Howling with pain, Ma Shou pushed himself to his feet and ran, as if possessed by his own flames. Smoke and embers trailed him to the edge of the embankment, where he was driven by his state into the river.

Xu Liang stared after him, alarmed and disturbed by the event, by the sight of a man enveloped in flame and pursued as if by that very element to what may well have been his demise.

Tarfan jogged along the bank and was looking to the water to observe the man’s fate. Wan Yun and Gai Ping were not far behind him. Taya and Shirisae had come toward Xu Liang, along with Cai Zheng Rui and Guang Ci.

“What was that?” Taya asked breathlessly.

“Are you harmed?” Shirisae knelt beside Xu Liang and laid a hand on his shoulder, which reminded him too suddenly of the unannounced contact in the Flatlands that had caused burning pain. He withdrew from it at once.

Shirisae was not put off by the instinctive response. She offered a hand to help him to his feet, which he accepted. There was no pain.

“I am not harmed,” he informed the elf. To Taya, he said, “I’m not certain what happened.”

Tristus and Alere arrived belatedly.

“By Heaven,” the knight said while Alere moved off almost immediately to join those at the edge overlooking the river.

“Maybe it was one of his own spells worked against him,” Shirisae suggested.

“You mean he might have immolated himself?” Tristus said, looking over his shoulder at her.

“Can he even do that?” Taya wanted to know.

Xu Liang’s gaze lingered on the swift path Ma Shou had taken to the Tunghui. The grass was damp, and none of the embers had set any secondary blazes. The lack of visible aftermath made it seem as if the event had been more illusion than real. At the same time, he wondered if Shirisae were right, and if the pyromancer had turned his craft upon himself. He wondered also whether or not someone else might have turned Ma Shou’s fires against him. It would require the efforts of another mystic. It was easily possible that one of higher authority had employed Ma Shou. Xu Liang knew that he had made enemies of fellow mystics throughout the period of conflict the Empire had come to, which had only heightened since the deaths of both Song Bao and Song Lu.

In belated answer to Tarfan’s niece, he said quietly, “It is…possible.”

They crossed the
Jung Ho Bridge in various states of silence. Alere had offered to follow the river west for a span long enough to further investigate whether Ma Shou had survived, but Xu Liang declined the option. There had been enough delays on the return to the Imperial City. It seemed unlikely that Ma Shou would have lived through the ordeal besides. The man had caught fire with no graspable explanation beyond some perversion of a spell, then leapt the great distance down to the water where he would have both injury and the water’s undertow to contend with. Xu Liang was decided in the moment, through essential deduction, that the pyromancer was dead. Ma Shou’s twin swords, along with his horse had been claimed on the Empress’ behalf.

“He said nothing of who he was working for?” Shirisae asked while riding alongside him.

Xu Liang shook his head, then looked at her and said, “He did not.”

“Blasted mages,” Tarfan grumbled. “If he’s dead, then all the better. He’d have set fire to us all before he was done.”

“The mystic arts of Sheng Fan do not teach, nor do they promote, reckless and unconsidered actions,” Xu Liang said to his old friend. It was important that all of them knew that Ma Shou was an exception to one of the more ancient orders of his people, one that had come about through charge of the first emperor among men, who insisted upon the significance of the natural elements and their study. “To take up study of the elements, is to commit oneself to being a steward of the land. The spirits of the six most auspicious elements of the physical plane teach humility and guardianship, and are overseen by the spirit of Heaven itself—the breath of the Jade Emperor.”

While Tarfan grumbled further complaint, Shirisae appeared intrigued. “What are these elements?”

“The revered elements are air, fire, earth, water, wood, and metal,” Xu Liang answered. “One who takes up the path of study must seek the blessing of one of the Seven Mystics, who are among the greatest scholars of Sheng Fan.”

“And what blessing did you receive,
shandon
?”

“Air is my element,” Xu Liang answered, recalling that Shirisae’s mother had also referred to him by that title. He was unsure whether or not he appreciated it. “I am guided by my ancestors, and by the spirit of the winds in my studies.”

“And that man at the river was also blessed?”

“By the spirit of fire…”

While Xu Liang was speaking, Shirisae said, “the Flame.”

They looked at one another for a brief moment of silence that felt deliberate on both their counts. A matter of caution over beliefs, perhaps.

And then the lady elf said, “I feel that the Phoenix would not have resurrected that one.”

Xu Liang conceded with a nod, for sake of argument. “Be that as it may, Ma Shou was well-versed in the element of fire, and was a recipient of the blessing of the Supreme Mystic of Fire and, by extension, the spirit of fire itself.”

Again, the silence, as terminology seemed to interfere with comprehension. In Sheng Fan, the phoenix was a god-beast, but not the god of fire, nor the essential elemental being where fire was regarded. It was symbolic of clarity and of change. It was revered by strategists, hence Xu Liang often incorporated renditions of the bird into his clothing. The spirit of fire Xu Liang had mentioned and the Phoenix, as Shirisae understood it were not the same thing.

Somehow, their silence seemed to accomplish that conclusion. Shirisae offered no argument or puzzled expression, and Xu Liang felt comfortable to carry on with a more relevant topic.

“As I understand it,” he said, “the elder who held the role of Supreme Mystic of Fire had passed away in recent years. As well, the Supreme Mystic of the Winds had also been taken by illness some years ago. Perhaps it was Ma Shou’s hope that he might impress his worth upon the remaining members of the sect and claim one of the open seats.”

“He seemed a bit young for such a role,” Tarfan mentioned.

“Youth is only an obstacle, if one makes it an obstacle,” Xu Liang replied. “I, too, was asked to join the Seven Mystics. My position within the Imperial Court precluded it.”

“Ah, but you were asked,” Tarfan blurted. “We don’t know that this fire-spitter was invited.”

“No, but we also do not know that he was not. I suspect, however, that if Ma Shou was asked, he would not have been involved in any of this the way that he was.”

“With real power behind him, it might have been worse,” Tristus said, overhearing the conversation.

“The important detail, is that he’s no longer involved,” Shirisae pointed out.

Again, Xu Liang agreed with a nod, if only for sake of argument. They would soon be within the safety of the Imperial City. Ma Shou would be declared a fugitive and a betrayer of the Empire, to be arrested on sight and brought before the Empress.

Song Da-Xiao sat
beside her favorite pool in the Imperial Garden. She had come here often in past weeks, after she had recovered enough from her abrupt emergence from the most extreme meditation she had ever attempted. Primarily, the pool was where she came to be away from her officers, to hide her tears from those who served her while she mourned the loss of her most trusted officer.

She had come to the pool to weep once more, but not with sadness. Xu Liang had come back to her from the dead, and this day’s tears were of joy.

Han Quan stood
out of sight in the Imperial Garden, overhearing the young Empress’ sobs of elation. He had taken it upon himself to personally deliver Xu Liang’s letter to her and he had lingered to hear her reaction, which clashed greatly with his own. While waiting he rolled a pebble between thumb and forefinger. Upon hearing the Empress’ girlish hopes escape her in the form of tears, he gripped the stone in his fist and clenched it tightly against his palm, so tightly that his fingernails dug into his flesh and blood beaded around the stone, as if he had squeezed the red fluid from it. With a flick of his wrist, he flung the pebble at the ground and stared at it while it appeared to bleed upon the stones underfoot.

Curse you, Xu Liang! If I have to stamp out your life myself, you will die!

He relaxed somewhat while he thought of how he would perform the assassination, as a last resort. If all else failed, it would have to be his surpassing skill as a mystic that eclipsed the Silent Emperor’s luck.

Han Quan held out his hand and summoned the stone back to him. He thought of the wind spells in the corridors of the Palace of Imperial Peace, how they’d faltered with Xu Liang’s distance and utterly failed when that distance became too great. More than that, he considered how, even while the spells were weak, a man who dared to enter the corridor would have been battered lifeless upon the walls and how a simple pebble survived the spiraling winds of the aeromancer’s spell intact.