From The Ashes (2 page)

Ying’s brow, back and chest were now drenched in perspiration.
  
If Moh-Gwei so much as leaned slightly, the sword would pierce his throat.

“We are not at war,” Mei Liang said, lowering her fan such that her fine lips betrayed not even the slightest hint of approval.

“Yes, but—”

From behind the princess, a dark-bearded man attired in the red satin garb of nobility stepped forth.
 
He lifted a hand and the gold-laced sleeve of his robe unfurled like a banner waving against a blue canvas that was the sky.
 
In a resounding voice he said, “War protocols do not apply!”

Moh-Gwei inclined his head ever so slightly and withdrew his sword.
 
“My Lord.”
 

Relieved, Ying allowed himself the luxury of a full breath.
 
He sat up quickly, stood and wiped the sand from his palms.

The Princess stood still as the bearded man whom Ying believed to be her father addressed the audience.
 
With a voice barely veiling disinterest, he pontificated on the rules of this particular tournament; singular combat.
 

What am I doing here? Ying thought.
 
I’m a shepherd, not a swordsman.
 
And yet,
for the hand of a princess...

But not just any princess, this was Mei-Liang, the same princess whom he had met almost six years ago when she had stolen away from her father’s hunting party in order to explore the woods outside of Xingjia alone.
 
They had not attributed that meeting to fortune, but rather, to fate.
 
At sixteen years old however, vows and words such as ‘forever’ held very different meanings than they did today, didn’t they?
 
She was twenty-one now, and he twenty-two.
 
Would she even remember him?

Ying sheathed his sword and conceded to Moh-Gwei with a ceremonial bow.
 
Then he angled his chin up to the bearded man in the royal scarlet robe.
  
“Her father seems younger than I would have imagined.”

 
“Fool!”
 
Moh-Gwei spat on the ground near Ying’s feet then scoffed.
 
“Her father, the king is dead.
 
That is her uncle, Huang-Kur, The Lord Protector. Even a peasant like you ought to know that.”

The arbiter came between them, grasped both of their wrists and waited for the crowd to fall silent.
 
Then he thrust Moh-Gwei’s arm into the air.
 

“The winner!”

Like an earthquake, the arena erupted with applause and roars of approval.
 
Ying’s friends and neighbors shook their head in disappointment. He could not keep his eyes trained on them for long without feeling the heat of his ears and sinking of his heart.
 
At least Chi, master of combat that he was, had fared better in the tournament thus far.

Moh-Gwei stepped over to the stands where the princess stood with the victor’s wreath.
 
He leaned his head down and she placed it around his neck.
 
Moh-Gwei then bowed and returned to the center of the arena where he lifted his hands up to the audience.

They began to chant again, as they had in just about every other contest of the tournament, “Moh-Gwei!
Moh-Gwei!’

The prince shook his fist victoriously into the air.
 
Then with both hands he waved, commanding even more applause.
 
Finally, he took a deep bow and held the crowd until they began stamping their feet on the stone steps.
 
Soaking in the adoration of the masses, he placed his fist over his heart and walked off.
 
As he strutted past Ying, he bumped him with his shoulder so hard that he fell to the ground.

Again.

The entire arena burst out in laughter.

But Ying got up and shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun as he peered over to the red curtains, behind which sat the princess.
 
All the taunting and mocking faded into oblivion as he caught a glimpse of her looking over her uncle’s shoulder.
 
But upon what did she affix her gaze?
 
Ying wanted to imagine that she remembered him.
 
But so much had changed since they last met.
 
For her anyway; she was now a regal and elegant woman, tall, slender, and stately in posture.
 
Ying, on the other hand was still—as Moh-Gwei had put it—a mangy peasant.
 
And yet, something had drawn him here, as soon as the contest for her hand had been announced.

Then it struck him.

Not a thought, but something cold, wet, and rancid.

He wiped the ooze off his face and saw that someone from the audience had thrown a fetid tomato at him.
 

All the whistling and shouting came back into the forefront of his mind.
 
Moh-Gwei shook his head, laughing and pointing at Ying, while people in the stands called out.

“He’s not just a peasant, he’s an idiot!”

“Hold still for another one, fool!”

“Go home, boy!”

Standing tall as he could, Ying glanced back over at the booth.
 
But the princess had retreated.
 
Her uncle, The Lord Protector gave a dismissive wave and disappeared behind the curtains as well.

Two of the royal guards came and escorted him off the grounds.
 
One of them held up a shield to deflect the oncoming onslaught of rotten fruits and vegetables.
 
The other shoved Ying in the shoulder.

“You did well.”
 

Ying smirked. “Do you mock me as well?”

“To walk away from a match with Moh-Gwei?
 
Most are carried off—the lucky ones, in one piece.”

The other guard grunted.
 
“He is not so lucky.”

Ying craned his neck to peer over the guard’s lifted shield.
 
He lowered his head just in time to avoid the splatter of a very old fish as it struck.
 
“What do you mean, not so lucky?”
 

“You’ve survived this round.”

“And?”

“That means you’ve one more contest with Moh-Gwei.”

They arrived in the hallway and shut the door.
 
The pessimistic guard put his shield on the ground and wiped something green from his shoulder.
 

The optimistic guard’s smile faded.
 
“One more
contest
, eh?”

“See? Not so lucky.”

By the flickering light of his candle, Ying read the leather bound book his Aunt Pei had given him on his fifth birthday.
 
Careful not to wake anyone, he whispered the words as he traced them with his finger.
 
The book had belonged to his father before he and Ying’s mother died in the great fire that swept the eastern woods outside of Xingjia.
 
Now, it was all he had left of them besides a handful of faded memories.

The number of contestants from Ying’s caste—peasants—had grown slim such that now only four of them remained in the quarters that housed them.
 
An abandoned stable outside the gates of the citadel.

Chi, having proven
himself
in the contests, had been advanced to a room within a hostel behind the citadel walls.
 
That he had advanced so rapidly both encouraged Ying and made him wonder.
 
Chi had trained him in all manner of combat, yet he cared nothing for this tournament or the hand of Mei-Liang.
 
In fact, he’d only agreed to participate as a sponsor for Ying, who unlike Chi was not old enough to have ever fought in any battles.
 
But what if Chi won?

“What are you reading there?” The man in the bunk above his whispered, as the sun had not yet risen.

“The Teachings of Kronis.”
 
Ying looked up and beheld the withering countenance of a man perhaps twice his age.
 
“I hope I didn’t wake—”

“Ah, you’re too old to be reading fairy tales.
 
Go back to sleep!”

A couple of snorts and interrupted snores rose up in the stable.

“Forgive me, sir.
 
I will go outside.”

“You’ll catch a fever.”
 
He turned, pulled the burlap blanket over his head, and muttered something before returning to his snoring.
 

The dull smell of hay and earth wafted up to his nostrils as Ying got up and padded over to the stable door. Taking pains to shut it quietly behind him, his muscles ached from holding himself still.
 
It finally latched but made a cold click that stirred a bird from the tree above him.

In the waning moonlight, a very large winged creature perched on the branch and cocked its head eyeing Ying.
 
By its size and outline, it had to be a falcon or an eagle.
 
Ying inclined his head in a respectful greeting.
 
Something about this kind of bird inspired awe and reverence, he wasn’t quite sure why.

The bluish light from between the tree branches illuminated perfectly a large rock, the flat surface of which made it a perfect place to sit.
 
With every step, the sweet mossy scent of the land enveloped him as he went over and sat.
 
To his surprise and delight, rather than cold and damp, the rock felt warm and dry.
 

He opened the book again and noticed the pages lit by the moon.
 
Grateful for the beauty of the moment, he began his devotional time with a prayer.
 
“I thank thee, Valhandra, Great Father of Kronis, for this place to—”

A sound in the thickest part of the woods alerted him.
 
Furtive murmuring, careful footfalls.
 
Stealthful as a cat, Ying slipped away from the rock and hid behind a tree, his ear towards the approaching sounds.

“Wait!”
 
One of the strangers hissed.
 
“Someone’s there.”
 
The whine of a sword unsheathing made the hairs on the back of Ying’s neck prickle.
 
Judging by the shadows there had to be three men on horseback.
 
One of the horses blew out and grunted.

Just then, the eagle flew over them making a violent flapping sound.
 
It let out a piercing cry that echoed through the forest as it soared over to the walls of the citadel.

“You fool,” another voice said with a mocking laugh.
 
“It was just a bird!”

“He’s a nervous one, isn’t he?” the third voice added.

Nevertheless, Ying dared not move because the strangers had also stopped walking and he could not judge their course.
 
Their tone betrayed
  
malice, though he had only begun to discern their words.
 
With great caution, Ying leaned his head against the smooth bark of the white Guhur tree and listened.

“…will be in position.”

“How many?”

“Ten thousand.”

“That’s too much.
 
This is a coup, not genocide. ”

“Do you think they will simply hand us the keys to Bai Kuo?”

“No, but that is why our friend here must not fail to win the tournament.”

The third person, to whom he referred, did not speak.

“And how will that help?”

“Even a blind man can see.
 
Are you so dim of wit?”

“Have a care, old man.
 
I am not accustomed to…to insults.”

“They are not insults if they are true.
 
Now listen.
 
When he has won the princess’ hand, their marriage will forge an alliance between the Seventh District—your neighbors in Chungzhou—and this tiny capital of the Third District.
 
With no king or other heir to the throne, the royal family has been advised to make an alliance through marriage.
 
While the capital is small and relatively insignificant in resources, it does hold the most critical strategic position this side of the Handaras.”