Five Kingdoms (34 page)

It was then that Xu Liang informed her of the status regarding the Temple of Divine Tranquility. It had been largely avoided for some time by now, owed to the curious instability of the atmosphere within, but now the Imperial Tactician had ordered it inaccessible to all. While he explained the events that inspired his decree, Song Da-Xiao was reminded of her nightmares. She agreed with him, that there was indeed something within the temple.

“Should we not investigate it?” she asked her servant. She wondered if they should not send a fully armed unit of soldiers in, to face the beast she feared or to prove that her anxiety was over a phantom.

“We should, Empress,” Xu Liang agreed. “But we must take care in the assignment.”

He wanted to perform the investigation himself. Of course, he did—he was a scholar and a constant student of the elements. His studies took him to places she could not go. She believed that his studies would one day be his end. She wanted to deny him the option to further endanger himself, but he was her protector, first and foremost. He had assumed the role following the deaths of her father and brother. He was family. That was the nature of their relationship. Xu Liang was not an ambitious stranger. But if he were to die protecting her, she would be surrounded by them.

She thought of Governor Xiang Wu’s suggestion. Would making a husband of Xu Liang make him any less her protector? No, she believed. It wouldn’t. But it would make him a consort prince, and, as a man, it would put him in a position to become emperor. She was beginning to understand precisely what it was Han Quan and others of Xu Liang’s critics feared. And, in regard to her own fears, she understood that ascension would place Xu Liang precisely in her position; safe. Undoubtedly, some would view such a maneuver as abdication. She argued with herself that even if it was, the result would be the protection of the man she loved and the safety of people of Sheng Fan, whom she also loved. It was an action she could take, as empress, that would fulfill her ultimate duty…and ultimately herself, some might say. She also understood well that her tutor would advise against such a course. He would do so strongly, because he believed none but a Song should be upon the throne.

“Xu Liang,” Song Da-Xiao finally said, setting the matter aside, for now. “I will rely on your guidance, regarding the investigation of the Temple of Divine Tranquility. As well, I grant you the scrolls of Cai Shi-meng as a reward for your service.” She watched him bow in a display of gratitude, and then she felt her breath catch in the moment before she spoke her next words. “In the interest of peace and safety, I ask that you present the Celestial Swords and the individuals that have come with them in three days. The sooner these problematic mysteries are resolved, the sooner we can look ahead to a secure and prosperous Sheng Fan.”

Xu Liang paused. His entire form hesitated while he was rising out of his bow and then lowering again to accept her new wishes. It filled her with sudden weakness that made her hands feel cold, especially when he said, “I shall do as you command.”

The scrolls were retrieved by Guang Ci when command was given. Song Da-Xiao said nothing more, nor did Xu Liang while he took steps backward respectfully, then turned to go. The guards present along the edges of the enclosed orchard remained still as statues while he and his servant passed. Song Da-Xiao commanded one of them to life by ordering the collection of the
Blades of Grace
. Observing the retrieval of the weapons, she believed that nothing could cut so gracefully as Xu Liang.

The day pressed
on in Xu Liang’s home. Tristus scarcely noticed while he and the others were pestered by tailors. Poor Tarfan’s analogy of having pins stuck in him became a reality as the Fanese servants struggled with not only his diminutive stature, but the dwarf’s inability to stand still for more than a few seconds at a time.

“I don’t see why we can’t just wear what we came with,” Tarfan grumbled. “I’ve stood before many queens in my day and—ouch! —I can tell you—oh! —there isn’t a one among them who—watch it, laddies! —had a problem with...that finishes it!” Tarfan jerked away from the tailors and began roaring curses.

Tristus was laughing. Fortunately, he was between fitting sessions, wearing a simple robe with sleeves long enough to accommodate Fu Ran. He felt like he was wearing a sheet as he sat on the floor in audience to one of the funniest scenes he had ever witnessed, at the regrettable expense of a friend.

“Can it be that even you have a cruel streak?” Alere wondered aloud.

Tristus wiped his watering eyes and looked at the elf, averting his gaze not quickly enough when he caught sight of him switching robes in the midst of his own fitting. A glimpse of the lean and stunning white frame was enough to make him stop laughing at once. His face felt instantly warm and his pulse quickened. Before Tarfan could begin to wonder about things that Tristus wouldn’t have been comfortable with the dwarf knowing, Tristus brought attention to a detail of the elf’s form he had only noticed as an afterthought. “You must have seen a great deal of battle to have acquired so many scars, Alere.”

“Yes,” replied the unabashed elf. “Perhaps too much of it without armor.”

“Why without armor?” Tristus asked, glancing carefully at Alere as he stood perfectly still in breathtaking layers of white silk that shimmered with elegantly stitched images of silver cloud-like shapes. His long ivory hair was currently bunched out of the way on top of his head, displaying the silver lion—tiger the Fanese called it—on the back of his robes, its lean, muscular body curled in a combative stance. There were four other such forms placed elsewhere on the robe—perhaps to increase its opportunity to be viewed at a glance. Whatever the purpose to the design, Xu Liang had not only selected well for the mountain elf, but he had respected Alere’s tradition of always wearing white.

“I was not used as a common soldier,” Alere explained. “The lord I served at the time found more use for me as a scout and an assassin, so it was necessary to be not only difficult to spot against the winter landscape, but impossible to hear. For the same reasons, the habit of my dress carried over into my life as a hunter of the keirveshen. It proved extremely useful as well in the mountains of Lower Yvaria.”

“Yes, it did,” Tristus agreed, caught up in the exquisite appearance of his friend. Barring the elf’s ears and his longer, narrower countenance, he looked like the ghost of a Fanese man. A very alluring ghost, Tristus thought, and decided to look at something else. Tarfan proved an adequate distraction from beautiful to comical, as he’d once again come to be held hostage by needles. Tristus laughed again, helplessly.

“You’ll get your turn, pup,” Tarfan grumbled.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Tristus confessed. “I feel like I’m six years old wearing my father’s robe. It’ll be nice to have something that fits again.”

Almost immediately after he said that, a pair of Fanese men finished with Alere and walked over to Tristus. One politely gestured for him to stand while the other located the bundle of silk that would eventually form his wardrobe after final alterations were made. He looked up at them lamely as a helpless wave of modesty broke over him. “Oh...just now?”

It was Tarfan’s turn to laugh, and he did so mercilessly.

Taya was accustomed
to feeling shorter than everyone outside of Stormbright who wasn’t a child. That considered, she didn’t often feel like a child among them. There was something about being stood on a stool alongside the likes of a Phoenix Elf with curtains of fabric literally hanging off of her own dwarven frame that made Taya feel quite tiny. Her flame-haired neighbor stood as one accustomed to such treatment, and she looked like a queen doing so. The green and black colors of Shirisae’s present drapery made her skin appear as soft as the ivory flesh of a tree from the Iylphen Forest. Taya supposed that made perfect sense, considering that the Iylphen was elven territory. The colors also made her hair appear brighter.

Taya huffed in complaint. Though neither of them had been talking, she decided it was time to change the subject. “Do you think we’ll see Xu Liang today?”

“I believe that we will see him soon,” the elf replied, seeming not at all troubled.

Taya stared at the length of her regal profile and asked, “What do you think will happen?”

“What do you mean?” Shirisae asked in return.

Taya organized her thoughts. “Well…it all seemed much clearer while we were looking for the Swords and on our way here. Being here makes me wonder if I really knew what to expect at all.”

Shirisae looked down at her. “We’re here to help Xu Liang fight a war, little one.”

Taya frowned automatically. She hadn’t been called that since telling Tristus to stop. It was especially nettling under the circumstances. Still, there was a more important concern than being labeled small. “I can’t fight in a war.”

“I doubt that you’ll be expected to,” Shirisae replied. “Nor will your uncle, though he may choose to participate.”

“He’d better not,” Taya decided. “He still has to take me back home when all of this is finished.”

Shirisae simply smiled at her. For some reason beyond explanation that succeeded in making Taya feel better.

The Heart of Chaos

T
he sun had
begun a rapid decline, darkening the city corridors swiftly and casting deep shadows beyond the rows of lanterns that had been brought to light in the hour before the day’s fading. Though there were several others about, Xu Liang felt isolated and somewhat confused. The exchange at the orchard fled immediate recall. What he’d said and what had been on his mind had become a curious blur. The Empress’ words overshadowed all of it. There were now only three days in which to present the Swords. Three days to discover their actual purpose and to convince the Empress of it.

Perhaps he should have gone to Fa Leng immediately, except that such a campaign might take months. His companions from the western realms and the Swords would have been at the mercy of a court without his knowledge or concern for their fates. His allies…his friends would have no support. They would also have none if the Empress should lose trust in him, but could it come to that? Could the sibling of his prince, and the daughter of his beloved Emperor be turned away from him? Would she begin to doubt his love for her and for Sheng Fan?

And would it be a previously trusted colleague who would turn her? Had he been gone for too long? Worse…had he been blind to…

His thoughts tapered to an inconclusive close as he found himself at the Pavilion of Literary Prowess. The tower structure loomed over a semi-open base, lights illuminating the tracery framing its many windows. Orb-shaped lanterns hung from the awnings while lions—the guardians of the mind and guides toward mental achievement and discipline—curled around the columns that supported it.

The Gate of Eternal Balance loomed in the near distance, peering over the shorter wall in its shadow and decreeing with its very presence that the district was a commitment to the pursuit of wisdom, to study, and to the implementation of logic. Many of the most ancient and important scrolls of the Empire were archived within one of the buildings aligned in this area, beginning with the gate at the south end and proceeding through to the tower pavilion.

Guang Ci stood beside Xu Liang, his presence nearly forgotten during the trek across the east court and into the enclosed area that was dedicated to scholarly pursuit. He left his fellow bearer there and proceeded within, making his way to a stair and up to the studies on the next level. An interior railing circled the structure’s open center. Looking down, Xu Liang could see Guang Ci’s shadow as he stood in line with the outer lanterns. Across the way were two others in scholar attire traversing the balcony toward the stairs. Their conversation was a distant murmuring in the space, and nothing Xu Liang focused on. He gave attention to the doors lining the passage—all of them comprised of lattice panels and left open—and selected one that would carry him to the room he wanted.

Stepping past the splayed panels of dark wood, he was transferred to a long study lined with sections of shelving that narrowed the walking space down the center, toward a slightly raised floor at the far end with a wide desk upon it. Behind the desk was a mural of the mountains of Ji. At the desk was Han Quan.

“Chancellor Han Quan,” Xu Liang began, bowing when he noticed the elder look up from his studies.

The Chancellor bowed his head in return. “Imperial Tutor.”

It was the title most often used within the court. It was primarily in situations of battle or planning for it that he was addressed as the Imperial Tactician. The tone in the elder’s voice suggested that either might be somewhat of a burden to speak, else Xu Liang was imagining it.

“What brings you here?” Han Quan asked, as if he’d forgotten that a vast portion of Xu Liang’s study also took place in these very rooms.

A surge of desire to announce that it was the elder’s arrest that had brought him startled Xu Liang. He felt—or would have felt a day ago—that he had no desire to see their friendship wilt in such a way, but he had witnessed a distressing amount of evidence that seemed to suggest the two of them had scarcely been friends, particularly as of late. Still, bringing such apparent facts to light was not what had brought him to the pavilion—he had only suspicion and hearsay as evidence. He said truthfully, “I am undergoing an investigation.”

“Into the Six Celestial Swords of the Jade Emperor?” Han Quan asked, his request for clarification resounded in tones of disinterest.

“Yes,” Xu Liang answered. “Also, the Temple of Divine Tranquility has been a source of much distress. Have you any insights, Chancellor?”

“You’re referring to another sacred building, belonging to all within the Imperial City, which you have denied us access to? “

“Then you have attempted to enter the temple since last night,” Xu Liang deduced, deciding that it was more important than any inference the elder’s words made, though he could not say precisely why yet.

“I am an officer of this court,” Han Quan said. He seemed to feel that was all that needed to be said.

They looked at one another across the length of the study for an extended period. This was to be a point of confrontation between them. It would not be the first, but there was a marked aggression about it now…perhaps on both sides.

“Are you aware of what has gone on within the temple?” Xu Liang asked him, his inspiration for the question pertaining to the fire in particular.

“General Jiao Ren does not speak only to you,” the elder snapped, and in doing so evaded a true answer. “Though you may believe that his loyalties are reserved for you alone.”

The topic was one Xu Liang had hoped to address, and so he allowed it to take them from the previous subject. He bowed with legitimate remorse and in spite of his current impatience with the Chancellor. “I had due reason to instruct him as I did upon leaving for the western realms. I apologize if it has caused you to doubt.”

“Oh, I do not doubt you, Xu Liang,” Han Quan said, drawing a frown from his audience. “Far, far from it. I am incessantly witness to your brilliance. I have both praised and criticized you throughout your years of service to the Empire. Is that not proof of my faithfulness to your office? Is it not my obligation to challenge and defy you constructively, that you might continue to develop both as a scholar-mystic and as an official? It proves that I have the interests of Sheng Fan at heart. It seems that you are the one who has begun to doubt.”

Xu Liang watched him and listened to him carefully. The elder excelled at channeling conversation as if he were a master of wind or water, and not of earth.

“It is you who have sought aid from outside of the Empire,” Han Quan continued, “as if there are none qualified within it to assist us in this time of challenge. It is you who have combatted the Five Kingdoms Resolution, scorning it with your every word and with each administrative order you put forward. It is you who openly challenges the decree of the Empress, as if you have eclipsed her wisdom. Perhaps you believed yourself endowed by the weapon you carry, and overly assured by the proof which you brought back that the others exist.

“Do you think we all did not know they existed? Do you believe that all of us neglect the blatant evidence presented by both the
Spear of Heaven
and
Pearl Moon
within the boundaries of Sheng Fan? Of course, the other Swords exist. It is debatable whether or not they can serve any purpose. What good is one relic—or six—versus armies of brothers determined to destroy one another? It is over useless trinkets of the past that you have endangered the Empire’s symbol of peace. Forgive me, Imperial Tutor, if one begins to question.”

Despite Xu Liang’s mixed feelings upon arriving at the study, he was not offended by the elder’s words now. He considered Han Quan’s questioning and his criticism both to be fair. He understood that secrecy was parent to both safety and peril, and that either result might manifest with its employment. He had taken a risk by using it. “My actions were inspired by the need to protect the Empress,” he explained. “Everyone was aware of the sequestering. The details of it were unimportant, except to those who provided an immediate service; the guards who would stand watch over her sanctuary, the general in charge of the city’s defense, and the officer with prior knowledge of the outer realms, who had been involved in the early investigations sanctioned by Emperor Song Bao. As I understand it, Chancellor, you attempted to dissuade the Emperor’s interest.”

“Yes,” Han Quan admitted. “And I attempted to dissuade you, the mere child who became my replacement over an unwillingness to walk barbarian lands and squander time on expeditions for artifacts of questionable value.”

“You imposed your opinions and preferences upon your ruler,” Xu Liang said, for clarification.

Han Quan’s eyes glared. He saw that he had led himself to self-incrimination, and he accepted it, though not with any pleasure. “My role was as his advisor,” the elder said, in an attempt to justify.

It was suitable justification, for both of them. “The role has not taken on a new definition since it was appointed to me,” Xu Liang stated.

“Ah, but are you advising, or are you manipulating?” Han Quan challenged. “Song Bao was beyond manipulation of the heart’s—or any—variety. I was dismissed, and replaced because he did not see the value of my advice, and because I was a better servant than a friend. But Song Da-Xiao…what will she do without you? You, whom she loves, who has charmed her with a fair face and skillful intellect. You, who held her very brother in the same thrall, secure in your position as his closest friend.”

And now the words had begun to offend, and it was in the rise of offense that Xu Liang submitted to what was true. “I love the Song family,” he confessed. “My affection is beyond station or service. I looked to Song Bao for paternal guidance—as I have done you, Chancellor. I found the friendship of brothers with Song Lu, and I struggle to admit that it did create strain between us. I sought to make amends with his sister, whom I love for the mere fact that she was so beloved by her brother and father. I did take an oath of brotherhood with her, and perhaps it has swayed her, but not in such a way that the wisdom granted her by both her ancestors and the Heavens is in any way corrupted. I will continue to counsel her…and challenge her, that she might continue to develop as a ruler of the people. There will be a time when she no longer requires my protection.”

“And when that time comes, will you recognize it?” On those words, Han Quan rose and bowed. The gesture was one of respect, and which exuded sincerity. At the same time, it inspired confusion.

Xu Liang felt simultaneously validated, versus Han Quan’s critique, and remiss in the face of what had always been the elder’s hard way of teaching. He suspected some of it had to do with sentimentality. Recognition of that drew him to realize that many of those opposed to the Song would view his support as sentimentality as well, and a refusal to see error in those he loved. Perhaps…

He put the thought aside for better consideration at another time. And though he found value in their discussion, and appreciated the new perspective he may have come away with, the trouble with the Temple of Divine Tranquility remained.

“Chancellor, I ask that you assist me with this investigation by performing a study of the frequent tremors. You are the most proficient geomancer in Sheng Fan.” He did not allow the elder time to respond, concluding with, “I await your report.”

On those words, Xu Liang departed. He felt very weary, and in need of rest. He found himself still wary of the Phoenix and the dreams that accompanied it, but exhaustion would serve only his opposition.

Han Quan glared
after Xu Liang in his departure. He had thought that all might come out into the open during the previous moments, but just when he had begun to set out all of his grievances, he thought better of it. It was too soon.