Five Kingdoms (40 page)

Xu Liang accepted the Chancellor’s yielding on the matter with a nod, then watched him place his cup down and leave the garden.

Huang Shang-san waited until the other elder had gone, then stepped closer to Xu Liang. “Lord Han Quan is not the only one afraid,” he said.

Xu Liang did not find the comment worthy of further attention. He had other matters that he’d been waiting to share with Huang Shang-san, those which concerned more than the strain his absence might have impressed upon the court, or the Dragon.

For a time, Xu Liang spoke of his quest and all that it had entailed. He summarized months of travel and mere moments of turmoil that would carry with him for years, if such an amount had been allotted to him in the broader scheme of Heaven. He was uncertain whether the magic of the Phoenix Elves would recover all that had initially been given him by the Jade Emperor, or if that had been lost and he was, in fact, forsaken. Just as the peculiar spirit in the Aeran forest had implied.

“I’m glad you have confided in me about the details of your journey into the West,” Huang Shang-san said, with a warmth in his voice that was very much welcome after the morning’s start. “It has been some time since I’ve ventured out of Sheng Fan myself. I had forgotten some of the dangers.”

Xu Liang smiled slightly, in spite of all that tormented him internally. “You sound as if you would like to face them again.”

Huang Shang-san laughed and waved the notion away quickly. Then he rested his hand on Xu Liang’s shoulder. “No, no, my dear young man. I have grown far too old for that sort of thing. I leave it to you.”

“And I must turn my focus inside now. I have neglected my duties to the Empress.” It had not been lost on him; that Han Quan was again correct in his criticisms.

“If the Swords are all that you say, you have fulfilled those duties,” Huang Shang-san assured him. “And as to your nightmares, I would not worry greatly about Lord Han Quan. He is even older than I am, and he fears what he has never taken the time to understand—and that is all that has to do with the outer realms. I would not fear him turning your heart into stone.”

Xu Liang sighed at the mention of that detail of his nightmares and decided to change the subject while his chest began to ache with such thoughts. “There is something else I’d like you to help me with, my friend.”

At the point
they’d arrived at since coming to Sheng Fan, Tristus would have to admit that he was growing weary with the wait. It may have been in response to the near call to action they’d all experienced the night before. Looking upon what may have been the aftermath of that adventure in the garden was disheartening as well.

“There’s been a good deal of activity in Xu Liang’s house this morning,” Tristus felt inclined to note while he sat upon the perch that was typically Alere’s, being careful to not strain himself to see what was carrying on just out of his view. He had glimpsed enough and voices had carried enough that he knew he was indirectly witness to an argument among politicians.

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” Shirisae eventually replied, perched with a little less ease than she’d thus far demonstrated upon one of the chairs along the wall.

“I’m worried,” Taya added, curled in the chair beside the Phoenix Elf.

Alere had been to the stable that morning and come in after breakfast—and with Tristus in his window—so he seated himself upon the floor nearby. Tarfan was clenched in a tight ball of pending fury amid the pillows, claiming to have slept very poorly after the incident at the temple, and no one could blame him. They had all been witness to something incredible, yet again. For the second time, Tristus had witnessed the Phoenix. He could not begin to guess what that meant. Shirisae was unwilling to speak of it, which naturally inspired worry that something might have been wrong.

“Xu Liang!” Taya exclaimed suddenly, drawing all eyes to the room’s entrance.

“There is no need for concern,” Xu Liang said to all of them.

With him was an aged man in brown and red robes with white layers peeking from beneath. His gray hair was topped with a small hat that seemed to serve little purpose save adornment. The man’s face appeared rather a friendly one, offering a smile at the eyes. Tristus supposed that could have been contributed to the manner in which his years had pulled at his features.

“This is Lord Huang Shang-san,” Xu Liang introduced. The elder bowed to them while his title was given. “Minister of Ceremonies. He is a scholar of renown and accomplishment, and some experience outside of the borders of Sheng Fan as well. I would like you all to come to know him. It is my hope that you will be able to learn Fanese from him during your time within the Empire.”

So, perhaps they weren’t about to be tossed out, or imprisoned.

“I will also aid when I am able” Xu Liang continued. “Lord Huang Shang-san is aware that all of you are able to share the Yvarian language. We both understand that it has inspired many dialects and that its roots are elvish.”

Yes, they all did seem reasonably versed in the most amalgamated tongue that Tristus was aware of in Dryth. He knew nothing of elvish—and was quite lost when the elves chose to partake of private conversation—but he had learned Lower Yvarian, since Andaria and Yvaria shared the Alabaster range. As well, it was required of both Church Knights and clerics to be able to speak all regional languages. Among the priests, that was for purposes of conversion, but the Order Masters cast the assignment down to all ranks serving the Church of Andaria, and it included Yvarian, as well as Old Andarian and Treskan. Tristus did not know that he would ever be a fluent speaker of Xu Liang’s exotic language, but he would certainly do his best to learn it.

“Please, become acquainted,” Xu Liang invited. He continued in Fanese to the man who had arrived with him, and also to Gai Ping. Afterward, he returned to the tongue the rest of them were familiar with and said, “Alere, if you would accompany me.”

Tristus felt his brow lift with curiosity, looking from Xu Liang to Alere. When the elf stood, his gaze followed him across the room and to the entryway, where he did join their mystic and the both of them departed with Guang Ci and Cai Zheng Rui in tow.

“Well, I wonder what that’s about,” he murmured.

“I wondered how long I’d get away with remaining ignorant,” Tarfan mumbled, bringing the focus back to the topic of languages. The topic seemed to have relaxed him, else it was the same conclusion that Tristus had drawn; that they weren’t about to be escorted to the nearest border.

“You’ve known Xu Liang as long as you have and never learned his language?” Tristus said with his eyes still on the doorway Xu Liang and Alere had abandoned moments ago.

“I managed a word here and there, but it’s a very complicated tongue,” Tarfan answered. “I’ll be surprised if you can get by, lad.”

Tristus brought his focus back into the room—in part because the man they’d only just met seemed to be noticing the insistence of Tristus’ curiosity. And, as he currently had no ability to properly explain himself…

He said to Tarfan, “Meanwhile, Xu Liang has been able to communicate nearly as well as a native speaker, even discerning some elvish.”

“Can I help it if the mage is a master of languages? I must have forgotten to tell you of Xu Liang’s brilliance. The lad impressed the late emperor of this vast country at the age of seventeen. He began his career at fourteen, you know.”

Glancing in the direction of Master Huang Shang-san, Tristus noticed him following the conversation visually, angling his head as if to better hear or decipher words here and there. When he noticed Tristus looking at him, he gave a friendly bow.

“You did forget to tell us of that, Master Fairwind,” Tristus continued. “Tell me; how long did it take him to learn to speak Yvarian?”

“He’s had some practice at Aeran first, which is about as different from Yvarian as Andarian,” the dwarf went on. “Still, it helped him phonetically. Inside of the first months we’d spent traveling together, he was getting a grasp of the northern tongue—and forcing me to dust off my use of it as well, since it was the only common basis we had to start from. I suppose you only have two languages to your armor.”

“I have three, Master Fairwind,” Tristus informed him, smiling helplessly at the gruff demonstration of embarrassment that ensued from the dwarf when he looked at him. During Tarfan’s incoherent muttering, he added, “I intend to make it four.”

He began to move away, out of the window and toward Shirisae’s perch. And that was when the dwarf said after him, “I have four myself! Dwarven lands lay directly in the middle of everywhere, you know. A dwarf can’t get by without being able to communicate with his neighbors!”

“I only speak Yvarian and Treskan,” Taya put in.

Tristus smiled while he sat himself on the other side of Shirisae, whose red lips were also demonstrating some amusement, though there was some distance to her expression. He had no desire to kill a lighter moment, but he was concerned. His expression, his mood, and his posture slumped gradually after he’d seated himself. Leaning forward with his arms bent across his knees, he spoke quietly to Shirisae, “Do you have any idea what Xu Liang and Alere have set out to do?” He attempted to speak a little quieter, so as not to draw the ear of the friendly elder, who began exchanging words experimentally with Tarfan.

Shirisae looked over at him. “No, I don’t.”

Tristus could only accept that, and he did so with a nod that in no way could have communicated the level of his worry. Afterward, he folded his hands together and closed his eyes, praying in silence. It was then that Shirisae placed her hand over both of his. She said nothing, and she didn’t have to.

The ride to
the temple beneath the morning sky brought the eyes of curious citizens belonging to a city that was much vaster than Alere had anticipated, even having the significance of Xu Liang’s station impressed upon him for some time now. The fortresses of the Verressi lords were vast, but hidden within mountains that had become tombs. Their passages stretched for miles through rock, cropping out in places that most would never see outside of the elves who dwelled there. The Imperial City of Sheng Fan was laid out in the open in its entirety, seemingly built to impress with the sheer size of it—with architecture meant to catch the sun’s light, that those at the far reaches of the Empire might see its glow, and be reminded of its strength. It was a style Alere had seen demonstrated by humans in the past, but never on quite so grand a scale as this. A population so accustomed to security must have felt very shaken indeed, to be faced with the intangible threat of an enemy they could not see. He understood that in this environment, something new or changed earned a wary eye, as it represented a form of instability. Change was a storm, of uncertain strength and duration. The benefits of its passing were not always as easily perceived as its path of destruction.

Alere empathized with these people. He would do what he was able to assist them, but he would not hesitate to defend himself and those he loved from the paranoid violence that fear could manifest under such new and strange conditions.

They were met at the temple garden by the man who had interrupted them the night before. His manner was not disruptive this time, while he and Xu Liang exchanged words, and he soon performed the customary bow that expressed either obedience or agreement. Afterward, all of them proceeded onto the covered walkways and to the temple at the center of the water garden.

Once inside, Xu Liang’s guards were left at the entrance while Alere, the mystic, and the man who was identified as Jiao Ren proceeded toward the inner sanctum. At the point where they could begin to feel tremors in the floor, they stopped. Alere drew
Aerkiren
and lowered the tip toward the stone beneath their feet. The blade’s violet light traced an ephemeral streamer through air that was warm with the color of the nearby braziers. Ahead of them lay the blackness of the path to the inner sanctum, stretched like the throat of a sleeping dragon.