Five Kingdoms (46 page)

The tomb of
Song Lu hovered in the glow of lampposts, emitting the warmth from within of braziers that were never allowed to go out. Xu Liang entered as swiftly as he would have, had Song Lu been lying within it not dead already, but dying of the injuries he’d sustained after being ambushed by men who had been too bold, and too fortunate. He knew now how it had been possible, not simply through error or arrogance of a new and young emperor, but by curse.

All formalities were abandoned as Xu Liang went to the stone vault which contained his former prince and snatched from it the amulet that had once been given to him. “This was to be my curse!” he shouted in the same instant, furious over the truth he had finally seen. “You gave it to me! Why did it not pass to me?”

The irrationality of the moment seized him, insisting that he stop. A warmer moisture than rain ran over his face when he closed his eyes. He felt his lips tremble before he forced a breath and commanded control. He would not allow this again. He would not—nor would he ever again—allow this measure of defeat. In spite of himself, tears continued to flow, as if they would do so of their own command. He disregarded them, opening his hand to look at the amulet. He’d thought it an artifact, but now he believed that he knew otherwise. The Phoenix had showed him a new form of wisdom, one which enabled him to bring together elements he’d scarcely noticed before, elements of the past that revealed truth.

Han Quan had gifted the dragon scale to Song Bao, and lied about its origin. Song Bao had set it within gold and given it to his son. His son had passed it to his friend and tutor. Han Quan had brought misfortune onto the Song family and therefore the Empire, with a token of malevolence…a single scale from a Spirit Dragon…from Chaos, which may yet have been slumbering beneath the Imperial City. Han Quan’s goal was to bring destruction to Sheng Fan. He had betrayed all of them.

Even though Han Quan had made that clear during his earlier attack, Xu Liang had not felt the reality of it so clearly as he did now. All of the dreams, all of his ensuing suspicions, all of the evidence Han Quan had left—evidence that Xu Liang had for some reason been too trusting of the elder to see—had finally culminated in only a few moments of dreaming. Perhaps that blindness had been his part of the curse. The weight of the reality facing him was hard to stand against, but Xu Liang would not allow himself to fall this time. He would not be put on his knees by his enemy. The Empire would be defended.

“This chaos will be stopped,” he said, and became aware that he did not say it for his own benefit when he felt compelled to look over his shoulder. The drenched form of an elf stepped into the light of the braziers. Though he had no reason to have expected her—or anyone else—to be present, he spoke as if he had been addressing her from the start, and as if there were not tears in his eyes. “It must be stopped.”

She nodded once, and said, “It will be.”

And there they stood across from one another, both of them disheveled by the weather and disturbed by the severity of what they each were realizing; that they were faced with no easy resolution to what would come, and that there would be great suffering in their world before it would know peace again. For the first time in his life as a servant of the Empire, Xu Liang considered strongly how much the pending war would affect not only Sheng Fan, but all of Dryth. He could see the struggle ahead for all of the world’s inhabitants. He felt more depressed than hopeful, in spite of the determination that he also felt, and that Shirisae had offered.

It was then that the Phoenix Elf held out her yellow-pale hand toward him. “We should go back,” she said.

In recognition of the illness he had brought upon himself through his travels, he felt inclined to agree. At the same time, he felt as if she had not been referencing his health with her suggestion. It was that sensation which inspired him to reach his hand back to hers. Their fingers laid carefully over one another’s, then curled together when Xu Liang turned from the tomb, agreeing to leave it.

After coaxing Xu
Liang from what appeared a temple of some kind—if coaxing was really what had happened—Shirisae walked quickly beside him in the rain. She had no fear of him taking ill, nor of herself doing so, for that matter. Her constitution was stronger than many—if not all—men, and though the mystic’s health might have been failing once, that was before resurrection. He was stronger now because of the Phoenix. The Flame would protect him for as long as it stayed with him. Her people believed that, in subtler ways, the Flame protected all of them and allowed them to maintain their long lives. She could only wonder if, in bringing a man back, it would prolong the life that it had renewed.

There were many things that she wondered, and it wasn’t until the rain had slowed considerably and Xu Liang’s guards had returned—both seeming surprised to find her in the company of their master—that she came to realize that she had not let his hand go. She realized also that his hold was strong, and that he had moved through the weather and darkness with both strength and haste. She looked into his eyes and noticed nothing different, except that the shine of tears had dissipated. While she didn’t know that anything should have changed, she felt very certain that something had.

Upon returning to
his home, Xu Liang first assured his guards that he was well and not to worry over him. He then requested to have dry clothes brought for both himself and Shirisae. It was Gai Ping who fulfilled the request, since Xu Liang wanted no one else in the house disturbed at such an hour. Shirisae was shown to another room, where she would have the privacy to dry and dress. Xu Liang had a bowl brought to him and retreated to his office, where he knelt down and set about the task of wringing water from his hair. Gai Ping brought in linens to help him complete the drying process as best as he was able, and afterward he attired himself in fresh robes. He noted that the robes brought to him were night robes, indicating that his elder bodyguard had hopes that he would yet return to his bed for sleep. Perhaps, but it would not be immediately.

“Thank you, Gai Ping,” he said to his guard when the man set about collecting the wet garments and the bowl of rain water that would be returned to the outdoors.

When the elder had gone, Xu Liang went to his desk and claimed the amulet he had placed upon it before changing his clothes. He held it for a moment between thumb and forefinger, examining its iridescent tones in the lamplight. The scale itself was black beneath the shine, encased in filigreed gold—a well disguised curse token. He could only wonder why it was Song Lu who had died, since it had been Xu Liang who the amulet had been last passed to. Maybe it didn’t matter where it was, only where it had been. He also had to remind himself that it was a god who had interfered with his death in Yvaria.

He placed the amulet in the palm of his hand, contemplating how best to be rid of the item, then closed his fingers around it when he detected someone entering the office. He turned to look at Gai Ping and just behind the elder, Shirisae.

“I wanted to speak with you,” the lady elf announced.

Xu Liang indicated that it would be fine with a nod, and Gai Ping departed, leaving Shirisae in the doorway.

Shirisae waited until the elder had gone, then said, “What inspired you to leave tonight?”

He studied her for a moment, wrapped modestly in one of his robes, as there had been no others especially tailored for her yet, beyond the one she had taken out into the rain. The current garment fit poorly around her shoulders, but she had enough height to not be swimming in it. Her wet hair hung in undecided waves, a darker red than they usually appeared. It reminded Xu Liang again that she had followed him through the dark and storm, and perhaps he should not have been surprised. Of course, he would previously have credited such a venture to the other elf in their company.

In eventual answer to her question, he turned to fully face her, holding out the amulet.

She took the gesture for invitation to come further into the office—which it was—and walked forward to look at the item. At an arm’s distance, she peered into his open hand at the dragon scale, and seemed to recognize it for what it was. Her words substantiated the lack of wonder in her expression. “Your culture reveres dragons,” she guessed.

And she was correct, partly. “Dragons are messengers,” Xu Liang answered. He added conscientiously, “To us.”

“Even darkness requires messengers,” the fire elf replied.

“Yes,” he said. “But originally this was passed as a piece of a tortoise shell, a symbol of defense and protection.”

“There are tortoises on the fabric used for my clothing,” she pointed out. She did so with an air of both the pride that was characteristic of her people and also of something else.

Xu Liang couldn’t quite define it; he took it for curiosity, and offered an explanation. “I selected that pattern because it seemed to suit many of your traits, as well as your efforts at the Jung Ho Bridge.”

“I’m not opposed to it,” she said.

To which Xu Liang replied, “I’m glad.”

Attention returned to the amulet. “So, it was given under false pretense,” Shirisae surmised. And then she asked, “To you?”

“I eventually received it,” Xu Liang said. “But it was first given to my late emperor…his son following.”

“The brother of your empress,” Shirisae stated. When Xu Liang nodded, she asked, “What message do you believe it carries?”

“One of destruction,” Xu Liang answered without delay. “Emperor Song Bao and his son have both died—one of mysterious ailment and the other by evident assassination.”

“And you were nearly assassinated,” Shirisae followed. “But you did not have that on you.”

The statement was left open in tone. Xu Liang confirmed that he did not have the amulet with him at the time of Han Quan’s attack by shaking his head. “I did not. It has been resting upon the tomb of Song Lu…for some time.”

He determined that he would say no more, and Shirisae supported that unknowingly by not asking of it further. Instead, she revealed another interest, one that he shared.

“The Phoenix,” she began. “Does it…speak with you?”

Xu Liang looked at her. “Your god has shown me many things.” He withdrew the dragon scale amulet, lest it pass incidentally to another. Turning to place it on his desk, he continued. “Among them, it showed me what I believe is the Dragon, Chaos.”

“Hibernating below this city,” Shirisae said. “If it is warm enough, I would believe it.”

“Have you ever looked upon any of the dragons that once occupied Vilciel?”

She waited until he was facing her again before answering. “No. But we did not take the city from them. They’d abandoned it.”

“I wonder why,” Xu Liang said, because he did wonder, though he didn’t know whether or not it had anything to do with the beast that might have been slumbering beneath his home.

If Shirisae knew, she didn’t offer any information.

“There is currently an entrance to an underground area beneath the Temple of Divine Tranquility,” Xu Liang said. “It casts both light and warmth. We must know if the Dragon dwells there.”

“And if it does, we must defeat it,” Shirisae presumed.

Xu Liang nodded. “I believe it will require all of the Swords.”

Shirisae seemed to consider his statement. Her gaze lowered to his hands momentarily, before she looked up at him again. “Who will bear the sixth?”

Xu Liang felt compelled to glance at his hands. He noticed nothing especially worthy of attention about them, except that they hurt less usual, particularly after exertion. Of course, that was nothing Shirisae would have been able to see. In response to her question, he said, “The Empress will choose.”