Five Kingdoms (18 page)

In the moments that followed, the tiger appeared to lose interest in whatever had drawn it, and raised itself to a full stand, carrying itself across the snow and into the trees.

Dinner was consumed
at a peaceful pace and to the quiet of a company that was in many ways tired and anxious. Everyone anticipated what would come in their own ways. Xu Liang expected that included Alere, though he and the elf had not spoken of deep matters for some time and they had mutually decided—by evident omission from current conversations—not to speak of the encounter with the tiger. It was not unusual for the large cats of the mountains and forests to investigate the activities of men. Though not abundantly common, it was also not unheard of for tigers to attack the unwary. The creature that had visited them that night appeared to be of the former persuasion; a curious guardian of its realm. It had been neither offended nor threatened, and so it left as quietly as it had arrived.

In spite of summarizing the encounter as harmless in his thoughts, Xu Liang retained the experience at the front of his thoughts as one of meaning. After all he had observed and experienced, especially since his quest for the Swords had begun, he would be a fool to disregard such matters.

“You fire a fairly grand stick of meat, for a homesick pup!” Tarfan said to Tristus while peeling strips of hare from his portion with a stout knife. The strips went into his mouth before he’d finished speaking, drawing a look of disgust from his niece.

The complimented knight accepted the comment with a modest shrug. “Campaign training presented the opportunity to learn more than merely survival.”

“Campaign training,” the dwarf repeated with a thoughtful noise filtered through his chewing. “Precisely what were you lads training for?”

Tristus began to answer instinctively, but then seemed to hear the entirety of the question and hesitated with a glance toward the old dwarf.

While the knight might have been carefully considering an answer to give, Tarfan continued, “As I’ve been hearing it as of late, Andaria has no griefs with anyone in particular. I believed your lot to be more ceremonial and—patrol for your own lands. Campaign…well, that suggests…”

“War,” Xu Liang finished for the dwarf.

Tarfan looked toward him, and gave a nod. “War, yes.”

Tristus gave a glance around the tent at anyone who might have been paying attention. He appeared mildly embarrassed, which was not untypical of him, so Xu Liang, at least, gave it no heed.

“Perhaps your leaders felt threatened,” Shirisae suggested. “The shadow folk have been creating much chaos for the lands north of your realm, a fact which both my people and Alere’s are surviving testament to.”

The comment drew a flicker of Alere’s gaze in the fire elf’s direction, but he made no comment.

In the silence that followed, Tristus poked and prodded the fire that had not only cooked their meal, but that maintained some warmth and light in their shelter. He drew in a breath before speaking. “It’s not…well, it isn’t precisely the demons from the north that have the Order wary. That is to say, we haven’t been fully alert to them. I’d never completely believed in them until I encountered the one in the mountains.”

“Alongside your angel,” Tarfan said.

“Would you stop bringing that out?” Taya huffed in reply. “If that thought were a physical token, I’d snatch it and chuck it out of this tent.”

“It’s a lofty claim, and you know it,” Tarfan began.

It was Tristus who interrupted them. “It is. Believe me when I say that I know how fantastic and potentially dangerous my claim—and my experience—happen to be. I’m not ignorant of that at all, Master Fairwind. That said and realized, I intend to stand with it.”

Tarfan frowned with bubbling argument, but again Tristus interrupted.

“But that isn’t an important topic right now. You asked about our campaign training.” The words recovered the full attention of the dwarf, and of the others in the knight’s company. He said next, “The Church fears the fulfillment of a prophecy that would threaten to bring down everything it represents and defends. It’s an ancient foretelling—ancient enough to virtually be myth by now, but the Order Masters have been watching for signs. A sign that we observed came in the form of warriors we believe originated from the south, from Caleddon. The people there are notorious for their weird ways, and their peculiar practices involving worship of animal deities with dark and savage agendas.

“We were attacked by a large force of men wearing the likenesses of beasts rather than armor. Their fierceness and costuming was such that it was difficult for any of us to properly discern whether or not they were merely men, or some form of creature.”

“Werebeasts,” Tarfan inserted, more fascinated than critical now. He gave a nod. “Aye, we’ve heard the tales of such monsters from the southern lands in Stormbright as well.”

“But they’re not real,” Taya put in, more hopeful than certain.

“I’ve seen enough just with our recent travels to know better than to overlook the possibilities of most things, no matter how bizarre or fantastic,” Tristus said to her. “Think of the centaurs…”

“I’d rather not,” Taya answered.

A look of sympathy found its place with usual ease on the knight’s face, and he said gently, “But we’re far from Caleddon now, Taya, and from the Aeran valleys as well.”

The dwarf maiden shuddered mildly. “As long as Xu Liang doesn’t tell us that such things exist here.”

Xu Liang shook his head when eyes moved in his direction inquiringly. “No,” he said to all of them. “Sheng Fan harbors no legends or accounts of such creatures that I’m aware of.”

“Good,” Taya said with some relief. “Because you’re aware of a lot.”

It was then that Alere looked across the space at him, as if to allude silently to what they both were aware of regarding beasts. Xu Liang had never been quite so near to a tiger; it was nothing he would soon forget. And he doubted, for that matter, that the elf would either.

Autumn had not
yet brushed the Imperial City with its withering touch. There remained abundant green in the trees and the grass, and as yet there were many late blooms flourishing in the gardens. It was a last act of beauty before the gradual descent into the cold barrenness of winter. The impending change of season reminded Han Quan in many ways of the women of the court—the Lady Song Bin Ce in particular, who had perhaps passed prematurely into her season of cold. She had lost much, and faced with the bitterness, she seemed to only grow icier. Han Quan was surprised; it was true that he would have thought her more eager to reach for the glory that had brushed by her. But she walked down a passage of opportunity without so much as pausing to glance into the doorways left open. Han Quan had not decided if she was a disappointment, or to be admired.

He found himself in silent debate while he walked alongside the late prince’s widow, through the Path of Ancestral Glory. It was a walkway flanked by ornately carved pillars and covered with a roof of tiles meant to represent a dragon’s scales. On the underside of the long series of connected roofs were panels depicting the ancient histories of Sheng Fan. Many scenes were from the Creations—Sheng Fan’s first Spring Era. Others were from events occurring before the current Celestial Calendar had been initiated by the first Song Emperor. The first in a line of imposter leaders…

“What is it you yet believe I can accomplish that would suit your ambitions?”

The question brought Han Quan away from his digression. He looked upon the as yet fair-flower features of a woman who was not old, but who was no longer a young maiden. Though she was only twenty-nine in years, she was considered among the matrons of the Empress’ handmaidens. And that brought Han Quan to the answer to her question.

“You are yet a lady of the court,” he reminded. “And an adopted member of the Song family.”

She looked ahead of her while they strolled slowly beneath the comfortable shade of the Path of Ancestral Glory. “Yes, and with very little influence.”

He found her recalcitrance antagonizing, and cast out his next words sharply. “You have eyes, do you not? You have ears?”

“I will not become your spy,” the insolent widow replied at once. Her eyes darted swiftly in his direction. “I’ve refused each time you’ve asked. I’m uncertain why you continue to try.”

Han Quan allowed her a moment to collect herself, and himself a moment to realign the trajectory of his verbal arrows. If she would not be swayed by near misses, then he would take aim directly. “You sit alone on a frail bough,” he said to her. “Sooner or later it will break, or be sheared. Let me guide you closer to the fruit.”

Song Bin Ce put her hands together and drew in a breath, looking at her soft fingertips as they touched one another in a display of emotional discomfort. Han Quan believed he had struck her. And then she let go the breath she’d gathered and said, “I would not eat by your recommendation, Lord Han Quan. I believe it would be bitter, if not poison.”

His own hands clenched together near violently beneath the sleeves of his robes, but he strove to keep the upset from his expression and tone. Flexing his fingers to help them relax once more, he said, “When you are famished enough, you will beg for what the worms have bored through.”

And now the lady came to a stop along the corridor. For an instant, she looked at him directly, but she quickly thought better of direct confrontation. With a careful glance over her shoulder, toward others walking distantly behind them along the path, she stepped toward the railing. She stood for several moments beside a pillar wrapped with a carving of a dragon’s form, then spoke in a tone that could easily be mistaken for conversational. “You are eighty years old, Lord Han Quan. What can you accomplish at eighty that the Empress cannot accomplish by the time she reaches twenty? What can you accomplish that my husband couldn’t within his brief reign as E
mperor?”

Han Quan move toward the railing as well. He took slow steps, eyeing the fanciful weaving and pinning of her hair and the way the shorter strands along the hairline feathered against her still soft-appearing skin. “Your husband was barely regarded above his station as Prince, even by our Imperial Tactician.” When he arrived at the pillar, he looked upon her profile, watching the nervous searching of her eyes. She felt very uncomfortable now, perhaps enough to let go of her misplaced pride. “I yet have enough time to lay down a foundation for a greater Sheng Fan than an empire segmented and in conflict. You are young enough to yet establish a path for yourself, one that carries you further than this forgotten place of grief and strain.”

Her gentle brow became creased by a frown. “It is not a strain for me to support my husband’s sister.”

“But is that who the Lady Song Bin Ce is supporting?” Han Quan continued. He had her strings, he believed; he had no intention of letting them go. “Or is it that we are all supporting the silent ambitions of the Imperial Tactician? He has become an impressive warlord in his time, seeding chaos, cultivating glory from—”

“No!” the lady interrupted. “Emperor Song Bao believed in him, and I am still devoted to Song Bao’s vision. I know that Xu Liang toils over that same vision. My husband saw that as well.”

The lady looked quickly over her shoulder to see if anyone had been nearby enough to overhear her. Han Quan looked as well, but only with his eyes. Those who had been encroaching had left the covered pathway. Their conversation was in no danger of being caught by anyone else.

“And is that all that your husband saw, Lady Song Bin Ce?” Han Quan asked her. “Is that all? I wonder where Song Lu’s heirs are.”