Five Kingdoms (21 page)

Wan Yun seemed not to disagree, and was busily driving attackers away from his mount through various forms of assault that were not immediately lethal, but that would weaken them. For now, they had to keep the enemy at bay and away from the bridge.

Taya was not
even a master of ponies, let alone of full-sized horses, but she’d been riding in this company—and with Tristus—long enough to have some better familiarity with the beasts and how not to get borne off to the ends of Dryth on the back of one. The guards’ horses had sprinted a short distance and Sylvashen had run with them for a small span as well. With a firm grip on the reins, she coaxed the red beast to a lighter pace and eventually to a stop. That seemed to persuade the other horses to do the same, though not immediately. Taya watched to be sure they weren’t going to bolt again, and when they seemed to be lingering in the area, she looked behind her at the bridge. Tristus, Shi Dian, and Cai Zheng Rui were busily keeping men off the bridge. There was a boat below it; that was about all she knew. Who these men were could be assumed, but she didn’t know for certain that they had to do with the rogues who had tracked them through the Yvarian mountains, or the people Alere claimed to have warded off in Willenthurn. If it was them, they were determined.

There didn’t seem to be any overwhelming dangers pending near or on the bridge, beyond the basic fact that people were trying to kill her friends. She wanted to help, but the last time she had wound up contributing to their knight’s berserker onset. She never wanted to see that again. Battle seemed the last place Tristus should have been, yet his need to fulfill some sacred purpose would let him exist no other way. It was a form of madness in the world.

The sound of further conflict came to her ears from the hill overlooking the bridge. Looking toward it, she could just see the figures of her friends and more enemies engaged in a struggle that involved random outbursts from the Storm Blade and heavy demonstrations of fire.

A sound of frustration escaped on Taya’s next breath. “There has to be something I can do,” she said to Sylvashen.

The red horse dug its hoof in the dirt a couple of times in demonstrating its own edginess. She could feel that this animal wanted to run, not out of fear, but for the simple fact that it was young and full of energy. Taya decided to soothe it somewhat with gentle strokes along its mane. The last thing she wanted was to be holding on for dear life in the saddle of a runaway horse.

“There has to be something I can do,” she muttered again, biting her lip while she looked back and forth between the bridge and the hill.

And that was when someone sprinted across the grass toward the hill. She’d never seen a man move quite so fast; it was as if his legs were possessed of some spell, enabling him to run at a top speed for longer than any man could have gone normally. He didn’t slow so much as a step when he arrived at the hill and began up it, directly toward…

“Xu Liang!” The name came out somewhat strangled as panic pinched at her throat. She shouted afterward, knowing that her voice would never carry that far or above the sounds of battle. She continued to cry out the mystic’s name anyway, and began trying to kick at Sylvashen’s flanks. Her legs were far too short to ignite any real motion from the creature, so she turned in the saddle enough to be able to reach its rump, which she smacked firmly, as many times as was necessary to get the beast moving.

And move, Sylvashen did. It was all Taya could do to position herself somewhat upright in the saddle while she found herself holding on for her life. She determined not to think about falling, willing herself to maintain her grip on the reins while shouting out to the mystic.

The Night Blade
brought a sensation of instant power and glory when it was wielded. Guang Ci did not feel stronger, necessarily, but he felt that he could not be stopped, almost that there was no force that would dare try to stop him. For an instant, it drew anger from him that the enemy had not simply fled. Soon following, he felt bolder for the pyromancer’s seeming foolishness. Did he not see how quickly the Night Blade would consume him?

And it was with that thought, and the ensuing stroke of the Night Blade that not only deflected one of the pyromancer’s fire spells, but that appeared also to entirely absorb it, that Guang Ci forced a greater focus from himself. The Blade was indeed powerful—more so than himself—and it would carry him away if he let it.

The mystic of fire abandoned his spells, and drew a pair of short blades to face his opponent with. It was instinct that enabled Guang Ci to block the two-handed attack of the pyromancer. He held the Night Blade with both hands on the hilt while the short twin blades sang against the black sword. Guang Ci mentally stepped away from the sheer power of the weapon he carried and reached to his training instead. He would not let this rogue assassinate Lord Xu Liang.

Xu Liang had
positioned himself to utilize the wind in a such a way that the bowmen remaining were hindered in their aim. He had done so until Tarfan and Shirisae could dispatch with the other pirates and make their way toward the archers. Systematically, they eliminated the enemy’s small force on the hill. Guang Ci had drawn the pyromancer into a duel, one Xu Liang expected the pyromancer to attempt to flee from once he saw that he had lost his men.

It was in the midst of that thought when Xu Liang heard a commotion behind him—immediately behind him. He turned himself about as abruptly as he was able atop Blue Crane, drawing
Pearl Moon
in the same motion. His movement was nearly surpassed by the form that leapt suddenly into the air before him. He had only the Moon Blade to thank for the barrier of soft blue that received Zhen Yu’s strike. The pirate’s broad sword came down upon the glow of Mei Qiao with a force that once again reminded Xu Liang painfully of the ice giant’s descending club.

Though the attack did not throw him from Blue Crane, his arm radiated weakness to his shoulder and he emitted a gasp that felt wet in his chest and throat. The dome dissipated. Xu Liang listed slightly while Blue Crane sidled away from perceived collision. Zhen Yu’s blade struck the edge of
Pearl Moon,
while it was yet surrounded by the remnant glow of the dome’s power. The pirate was thrown, perhaps by the reversal of his own momentum as much as by the lingering strength of the Moon Blade. He tumbled onto the grass and beneath the oncoming hooves of Tristus’ red steed as it arrived on the hill with only Taya upon its back.

Sylvashen pranced a bit incidentally over the fact that a body had rolled beneath him, then reared mildly when he came upon Blue Crane, who again side-stepped potential residual harm to either himself or his rider.

Xu Liang reached out to the younger horse afterward, speaking a few calming words to it, which seemed to easily gain its trust in that moment. Sylvashen stepped within reach and allowed Xu Liang to take him by the bit. Fearing that the beast’s ensuing motion might pull him from Blue Crane’s saddle, he insisted that Sylvashen hold still with a firmer tone.

Taya collected herself quickly and sat up to assist in bringing the young steed under control. “Are you all right, Xu Liang?” the dwarf maiden asked, her tone understandably fearful.

Xu Liang only nodded, recapturing his breath and quietly combatting the pain that was swelling within him after the unexpected assault.

Taya paid him the dignity of not observing his struggle, looking toward the pirate, who had not moved since being trampled. “He’s unconscious, if he isn’t dead,” she reported. “I’ve never seen anyone move so fast.”

Though Xu Liang had not seen Zhen Yu’s movement, he suspected that if he had moved particularly unnaturally it had been by means of magic. “An enchantment, perhaps,” he offered to Taya.

The dwarf maiden agreed with a nod, her eyes caught on the prone form of the pirate. His heavily tattooed body was decorated with streaks of blood in some areas, suggesting only that he had been hurt. If his injuries had not been lethal, Zhen Yu would be dealt with when he moved again.

Looking to the bridge, Xu Liang saw that the pirates were beginning to flee. Perhaps, they sensed or had witnessed what had become of their captain, or perhaps they were feeling overwhelmed finally, by the stamina of those they had come to harass. It may also have been the power of the Blades turning them away. Whatever the reasons may have been, it was better for the survivors to run, lest they face execution as enemies of the Empire. That much, they surely knew.

A part of Xu Liang would rather arrest them all and usher them to that fate himself, but he had greater concerns than the punishment of rabble that had been motivated first by gold. He had no faith in the camaraderie of Zhen Yu’s men, and believed that if the pirate failed to return to the
Jade Carp
there would soon be a new River Master. Without a leader to further tempt them, Xu Liang expected no further trouble from the
Jade Carp’s
crew in the immediate future.

“My lord,” came the voice of Guang Ci.

Xu Liang anticipated having to assure the young guard that he was uninjured. When he looked to the youth, he saw him bowing with hand in fist. Behind him stood Shirisae with the pyromancer kneeling beside her in defeat.

Sheng Fan had successfully been defended, it would seem, at the feet of the Yellow Tortoise.

Persistence of Fire

T
he sun had
risen in the sky during the delay that the ambush caused. The air was warming beneath its unobstructed rays. One could have believed that it was Cheng Yu himself who had parted the clouds that morning, just in the moments it would be possible for any of them to observe the shadow of the pirate ship. What had followed could have been far more detrimental than it turned out to be.

“I’m afraid Zhen Yu is dead,” Tristus declared.

Xu Liang nodded in acceptance of the announcement and the knight proceeded further onto the bridge, stepping around those who had positioned themselves at the entrance to rest after the altercation. Tristus had attended what little injury members of their party had acquired, and would have undoubtedly treated Zhen Yu as well, if the River Master had not already been overtaken by the injury he’d received from the horse who had run him over. It was the fate he had chosen. Xu Liang felt no remorse for him, though he did not begrudge Tristus his sense of mercy toward even his enemies. Mercy was a divine trait, but too costly under the circumstances.

The
Jade Carp
had by now made way down the river, headed in the direction of Du. The survivors of the failed attack would pose no further trouble to Xu Liang and his company in the immediate sense. It was possible, if not likely, that men aboard the ship would seek revenge or closure by speaking of what had transpired, and more specifically of the individuals in the company of an imperial officer. Rumors could be dangerous, but it would likely be some time before they made a noticeable impact.

Several paces away from the bridge, their prisoner sat with his hands bound at his back, Shi Dian standing over him with spear readily in hand. The pyromancer’s chief accomplices had perished. Both Xiadao Lu and Zhen Yu had been men of skill and ambition, and seemingly of impoverished scruples. Zhen Yu, by his very occupation, had made no claim to the contrary. Xiadao Lu and his companion might have believed differently of themselves. Like the Scholar General Cai Shi-meng, they might have felt that their rebellion against the Empire was justified. Xu Liang had spent the early days of Song Da-Xiao’s rule eliminating such men from the court. The fire mystic was, at this hour, a convicted assassin. He undoubtedly knew better than to expect to live through the day.

Alere stood at
the center of the bridge of sensational scale and grandeur, watching the ship they had chased off as it disappeared slowly from view down the river. He would have liked to have prevented any of them escaping, but the Fanese pirates were trained for rushed departure undoubtedly, being men of criminal purpose. Raiders and bandits…thieves and murderers…

Alere had little tolerance for their ilk. Men such as them sought to ruin others for profit. He’d had his fair share of dealings with such brigands and could only hope that his family had not been forced to contend with invaders to their home in the Verres mountains. There were some humans who yet believed they could obtain the wealth elven families had left behind.

He had only just begun to think of his young cousin Kailel, who would have to deal with all adversity back home for now, when he noticed Tristus approach in the corner of his vision. He looked over when the knight stopped to watch the others over his shoulder for a moment before carrying onward. Tristus Edainien had two prevailing stresses at the moment; that Xu Liang had avoided his cleric healing and that Xu Liang might soon order the execution of a prisoner.

Alere suspected that the mystic had a unique and delicate situation on his hands since the resurrection, and that any magic introduced after the fact might only hinder whatever process had taken place. It seemed to Alere that it was still taking place, and it was difficult to tell for certain whether or not it was ultimately beneficial or detrimental. The elves of the Verres Mountains had no such power to them—the power to restore a dead—or nearly dead—body. He did know that there were darker processes than a god’s intervention, most of them implemented by men and demons.

“What do you suppose he’ll do with that man?” Tristus asked when he arrived at the railing beside Alere, proving that at least the latter of Alere’s previous assumptions was true.

“If he’s wise, he’ll kill him,” Alere replied with neither a sense of pity nor of passion. The situation was what it was. There was no point in allowing oneself to become overly caught up in ethics, though he understood that an Andarian Knight, by virtue of himself, tended to do just that.

Tristus laid a hand upon the railing near to Alere’s arm while he continued to look back in the direction of Xu Liang and the others. Alere allowed the knight several moments to contemplate the matter and the words that were offered. In Alere’s mind, it was simple and concluded.

Overhead, a vulture circled, no doubt waiting to investigate what the day’s battle might have left for it, and possibly a host of its fellows that were not yet in view.

It was at the edge of that notion when Tristus turned toward the river finally, and leaned both arms upon the railing with a sigh of worry. “We both know that he is wise, my friend. So, I suppose there will be another body left behind.”

“Their intention was to leave our corpses here,” Alere reminded.

Tristus did not acknowledge that very quickly.

“This ambush was an assassination attempt,” Alere continued. “Their target was Xu Liang first. The rest of us were to be killed on the merit of association with him.”

“I understand that,” Tristus said, taking on a mild tone of frustration. “It’s difficult for me to accept killing someone when they’ve been rendered no longer a threat.”

“The other mystic remains a threat,” Alere contradicted.

“You mean in his heart,” Tristus replied. “I realize that it’s often impossible to change the way a man thinks when he’s determined about who his enemies are—and I’m not arguing for his life necessarily. I can’t abide a legitimate threat on Xu Liang’s life. I’ve pledged my own to his cause and his safety.”

Alere felt mildly nettled by the conversation now, and promptly pointed out, “All of us have done that.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Tristus admitted immediately. And then he said, “I’m sorry, Alere. I didn’t mean to imply that any of you are in any different a position in this entire matter than I am. I suppose I’m only weary of all the killing as of late.”

“There will be more of it,” Alere said without pity in the moment. He believed that if Tristus had a weakness, it was his sense of mercy. Perhaps the man was meant to be a cleric of his people at the core of his spirit, but he’d chosen to be a warrior. It was along his chosen path that Ilnon had found him, and taken him over at the weakest parts of him. It was his denial of his ability to kill that had the god of rage transform him into a killer without discrimination during times of duress.

“I was of the impression that we were brought here to help Xu Liang prevent a war,” Tristus said.

And Alere returned, “I was of the impression that we were brought here to help prevent a dragon.”

“Aren’t they one and the same?”

“Are they?” Alere looked at Tristus, and it was in doing so that he observed Xu Liang step away from the others at the end of the bridge and approach their prisoner. The mystic’s intentions were not clear, as they often were not just to look at him.

“Perhaps they aren’t,” Tristus said, drawing Alere’s focus back to him.

Alere disliked the sensation that Tristus might have been regarding him as much younger in that moment, and he understood that Tristus disliked the ways in which Alere managed to make him feel ignorant. It felt like a barrier that closed between them at random. Alere believed there was a way around it, just as he believed that there was a way around Tristus’ devoted love for Xu Liang. He believed that on both subjects they could come to a point of mutual understanding.

Ma Shou was
the pyromancer’s name. He had given it willingly—a gesture of pride for his own family and respect for the Empire, even if he had acted against it. He appeared beleaguered, and perhaps that would have been the most validated appearance for the man to express. He had been on as long a journey and as far from Sheng Fan as Xu Liang and his guards had been. He had lost comrades, though the level of his sentimental connection to any of them was unknown to Xu Liang. It was possible that his persistence in following from Yvaria could have been in part motivated by revenge on behalf of Xiadao Lu’s death at the hands of a barbarian of the outer realms. Perhaps a desire for vengeance had grown while he sat awaiting sentence while yet another ally in Zhen Yu lay broken upon the near hillside, having also fallen to the efforts of barbarians. It was possible that Ma Shou felt as Xu Liang had felt after the deception and assassination of Song Lu. And it was possible that Xu Liang had ordered the execution of eight peers for the sake of satisfying his own sense of vengeance.

It was not difficult to look upon all action that he had taken as a response to personal feeling and sentiment. It was not in any way difficult to imagine that in this very moment he looked upon Ma Shou with a personal grudge over all of the turmoil and conflict the man had contributed to.

But none of this was personal, and Xu Liang was accustomed to assassins on all battlefields. He accepted the risk as part of his duty to the ruling Song. Every child of Sheng Fan had a responsibility to the land and to the people, to nurture and protect both as they were equipped and able. As a servant of the Empire, Xu Liang believed that the Empress held the most presence and purpose in that task. And in that light, so near to the Imperial City, it would perhaps be best to bring the surviving assassin before her.

“Who employed you, Ma Shou?” he asked while considering what course of action would indeed be in the best interest of the Empress.

Ma Shou glared at the ground before him.

“Was your purpose to assassinate me alone?” Xu Liang asked next. “Or was it to intercept the divine weapons I have returned to Sheng Fan?”

The pyromancer’s gaze remained on the ground before him. The marginal lifting of his brow and the ensuing expression of contemplation that passed over his features suggested that he was either listening, or preoccupied with consideration of his failure and possibly of escape.

“You have announced yourself an enemy of the Song with your actions,” Xu Liang told him next. “What have you to say for yourself?”

The silence that followed made it apparent that the man had nothing to say. Standing over him, Shi Dian’s expression suggested severe impatience with Ma Shou’s contempt. It would take but a word for the guard to exact sentence upon him. Understandably, Shi Dian could muster no sympathy for one whose actions had contributed to the death of at least two of his fellow guardsmen.