Five Kingdoms (43 page)

The Empress arrived on the scene when the urgency had passed, surrounded by her guards except where Tristus lay before her. She said nothing to Xu Liang and did not even look at him when she knelt down at the knight’s head. With grace befitting religious ceremony, she leaned over Tristus and set a kiss upon his brow. “You have saved the life of my most beloved officer and sworn brother. You are noble of heart and generous in spirit. For your sacrifice, you will be remembered as a hero of Sheng Fan. I do not know your name, but from this time forward you will be known throughout the Empire as Iron Steed. When you have recovered, you will come before me again and receive a rank befitting your strength and courage.”

Tristus thanked the Empress weakly, without any knowledge of what had been said to him. When the Empress rose to her feet, she smiled at Xu Liang with relief intended to be private between them. He bowed his head in gratitude for her concern for him, then watched as her personal guards ushered her from the chamber.

In their passing, Tristus turned his head toward Xu Liang and asked, “What...was that about?”

“Tristus Edainien,” Xu Liang said, and for a space he could say nothing more, so moved was he by this unexpected turn of events that should have ended in tragedy. At some length, he added, “You have just been given the blessing of my Empress.”

Tristus stared in silence for a moment, then looked up at the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain of his injury that thankfully would not be mortal. “It was...an old man...wearing blue robes. Such...a look of hate...”

“I know who it was,” Xu Liang replied, more aware with every passing moment that without Tristus’ intervention, he would have died as he dreamed in Vilciel, his heart crushed by Han Quan’s sorcery. “Stay with him,” he said to Alere and the others.

Shirisae cradled the knight’s head in her lap. “The old one left through that wall.” She pointed to her right. “Perhaps by a secret door, though I do not see one now.”

“That one is capable of manipulating stone,” Xu Liang explained. “I believe I know where I can find him.”

“You’re not going alone,” Alere said.

“You are in no position to accompany me,” Xu Liang informed him, and directed him to a better task for the moment. “Hold the bleeding until a doctor comes. I’m not going alone.”

He added the last statement strictly in an attempt to satisfy Alere, who stood impotently between Xu Liang and the others while Taya set about staunching the blood flow with cuts of Tristus’ inner robes, acquired through the use of Alere’s dagger. There was no time to make the elf comfortable in the moment, and Xu Liang would not risk any action that might lead to accusations of an outsider taking justice into his own hands. One of them had been proven before the Empress. The worth of the others would not come automatically, though with proper care, the path to trust could be easier paved. What had transpired was as much fortune as adversity.

Xu Liang looked to Guang Ci and said, “I would like you to stay as well. See to it that the others are escorted safely back to the house and that Tristus is properly tended to.”

On those instructions, he summoned a unit of palace guards, and made for the nearest set of doors. “Chancellor Han Quan will be arrested, on suspicion of attempted assassination,” he said to the men, leading them into the passages beyond the throne room.

Guang Ci stood
beside the outsiders, observing the tense movements of the white elf. Alere did not move far from where the others were gathered around Tristus, but each small movement of hand, foot, or gaze seemed swollen with a force waiting to be unleashed. Guang Ci felt that they shared in that, though they had both been instructed to do nothing.

Not to do nothing, he corrected himself. They had been instructed to wait and to watch over their fellow bearer.

To wait…

Guang Ci’s hand tensed and began to drift toward the pommel of his sword. He stopped and felt an abrupt sensation of surprise—nearly of panic—upon remembering that the sword was not the Night Blade. He had an urge to go recover it at once, and to use it against his master’s enemies without discrimination, to rid him of obstacle and challenge, just as Lord Xu Liang had done for the Empress even before Guang Ci’s enlistment.

The thought was mildly startling. He reminded himself that he knew nothing of that famous deed beyond hearsay. Certainly, the executions of Song betrayers had not been performed by Lord Xu Liang himself, or with his sword. Han Quan would not be brought to justice on so personal a level either. He would be brought before the Empress, who would assign his fate.

Guang Ci felt a peculiar desire to become the elder’s executioner, in spite of knowing it would never be. It went beyond striking an assassin down in the line of duty; it came with an attachment that felt like vindication, and even cruelty.

Alere looked at him in that moment, and he felt a puzzling sensation of challenge, though he did not act on it in any way. Instead, he held the elf’s gaze for only a moment before looking elsewhere. Doing so, he found the eyes of Gai Ping on him. Again, a sensation of confrontation tried to rise, but he made an effort to push it down, lowering his gaze before his senior.

He remembered the words of his master, putting aside comment of one day becoming Xu Liang’s equal—in any way—because it led him to inappropriate notions on becoming a master himself. A master over all who defied him.

I serve Lord Xu Liang!
He put the thought forcibly ahead of others.
If I become a master, it will be over the Sword fate has placed in my hands.

The Temple of
Divine Tranquility, guarded by the dogs of Zan Dexiu—born of his nightmare and forever his burden—appeared especially meaningful, tucked within the darkness of night. Lantern light played across their curled forms, accentuating the fierceness of their poses. Xu Liang dismounted from Blue Crane, and moved past the statues onto the bridge, followed by a host of armed men. It was Jiao Ren who came to meet him.

“We are looking for Lord Han Quan,” Xu Liang informed the young general at once. “Have you seen him?”

Sensing the urgency, Jiao Ren paled somewhat and nodded. “He said that the Empress had ordered the retrieval of the
Spear of Heaven
. We’ve been guarding the entries ever since he went inside.”

“You have done exactly as I had hoped,” Xu Liang assured him. He turned back toward the palace guards. “Walk with care as you enter the chamber. Remember that Lord Han Quan is the Supreme Mystic of Earth. I will protect you, but I cannot predict his actions.”

He received unanimous responses of confirmation, and continued toward the temple. Jiao Ren followed for a span, but eventually departed to further instruct his men, charged with patrolling the grounds. Han Quan was in a structure surrounded by water. He would not be able to leave, unless it was through the earth below his feet. The notion seemed sensational, but when Xu Liang and his men entered the temple without resistance, and received none throughout their course to the inner sanctum, he began to wonder if the geomancer had done precisely that.

“Search every compartment and corner,” Xu Liang instructed. He took steps toward the statue of Song Dai, a man who was said to have been particularly guided by the wisdom of the Jade Emperor, and particularly blessed to have received the weapon of the Jade Emperor’s adopted son. But it wasn’t Song Dai who first discovered the weapon. In fact, it had been Cai Shi-meng. It was not forbidden or even unlikely that the weapons should change hands, but in the circumstances of both the Scholar General and Malek Vorhaven, it was perplexing to consider that the weapons they’d each respectively held seemed to have fallen into the hands of men with vile intentions. Xu Liang could surely understand loyalty, but Ganzan Li had been a corrupt ruler, neglectful of the duties passed to him by the Mandate. He’d sat upon the throne of Sheng Fan, like a despotic and selfish child, assured of his own importance, ignoring the welfare of the land and its people. His assassination had been on behalf of the Heavens, to make way for a leader of virtue. Starting an uprising on behalf of a culprit was not the honorable response, but also an act of selfishness. It had stemmed not of virtue, but of revenge.

Xu Liang had struggled with these things on his own since Song Lu’s murder. He still wondered if he had not been driven more by vengeance than virtue, but he could only conclude that his actions had shielded the Empress. Song Da-Xiao was the daughter of Song Bao, the most beloved of the Song thus far. He had built upon Song Dai’s vision of restoration and while his son had not been able to continue his dedicated work on behalf of the people, his daughter had already begun on such a path. Before the rise of the Dragon, the people had begun to feel the security and optimism they’d had under Song Bao. It made sense for the Song to hold the Sun Blade. Han Quan had come to steal it. He had planned to steal it for some time, Xu Liang was certain, and the geomancer’s motivations were neither honorable nor tolerable.

His gaze traveled over the statue where the Sun Blade had previously been and he took in the low-lit details of the dragon and its pedestal. Setting a new fire spell would have been out of Han Quan’s range, if Xu Liang’s theory regarding Ma Shou was true. The fact that the marble serpent was presently silent seemed to confirm.

“Lord Xu Liang.”

He looked toward the man addressing him. In the process, he caught an odd shadow in the corner of his vision, which prevented him giving the guard his full attention.

“There is no trace of the Chancellor,” the man reported.

Xu Liang began to respond, holding out his hand to delay the guard while he focused on the shadow he had noticed upon the statue. It was no shadow, he quickly realized, but a crack. Looking closer, he could see several other fractures tracing over the marble—and that they were expanding.

“Get down!” he called to everyone nearby, but the words scarcely struck the air when the statue burst apart.

Xu Liang raised his arm to the onslaught of stone and dust while his other was drawing
Pearl Moon
. He was too late, though it didn’t seem to matter. The debris came to a barrier, but it was one more of silver than of the soft blue of the Moon Blade. Once again, the Phoenix had manifested. With fiery wings outspread, it netted chunks of marble that had been flung violently from the pedestal. Clouds of dust and some pieces of the statue shot toward the unprotected side of the chamber, knocking into the pillars and the far wall. At least two men were struck, one of them fast enough that it may have been his death. Some of the other guards had been blown over by the push of the dust while those who had managed to drop down remained alert, awestruck by the statue’s eruption, and by the presence of a god. The bird of silver and fire loomed over the floor where Song Dai’s marble form had once been. The pedestal upon which it had stood now lay crushed upon the dais, the head of the dragon rocking at the edge of a gaping hole in the floor.

With a piercing cry, the Phoenix dove, as if for the opening. The sound and ensuing movement strung images of the resurrection dreams across the front of Xu Liang’s mind. He anchored himself where he stood, resisting the pull the Phoenix had on his spirit, enticing it to follow.

When the silver light dissipated, leaving only natural firelight dancing upon the broken floor of the dais, the men slowly recovered their footing and approached. Xu Liang instructed them to stay back, though he took steps toward the opening himself. He neared the edge and peered down into an erratically lit tunnel which appeared to bore deep into the earth. It was not a feat any mystic could have performed, not even with months to prepare ahead of time. This was something that would have taken years, or that had been done by something not human. The light source was a mystery, and one that would have to be resolved.