Five Kingdoms (39 page)

Alere did not
know what to make of Xu Liang’s statement. The Verressi Elves had known little of glory, and he himself had made a life of survival and vengeance. Both had been slow to establish and could still not be fully realized. He set aside thoughts of glory and what that might have meant in Sheng Fan, and allowed himself to briefly consider the sentiments that had passed between them, how it had felt comfortably familial. He’d been traveling with Xu Liang long enough…perhaps such feelings were to be expected. It may have been that the others felt it as well and had possibly been not as slow coming around to it as Alere had been. Still, he had difficulty regarding the dwarves or Shirisae, or even the guardsmen in such a manner. Since taking up this path with the mystic he had come to love only two of their group, and he loved each of those two differently. What he felt for Tristus was simpler for him to understand yet more difficult to realize. What he felt for Xu Liang had been more complicated coming to understand, and had been easily realized with the joining of their hands.

Alere had long been looking to the mystic for guidance, for mentoring that he had been denied without older siblings and in the absence of his parents. He had finished raising himself. After the fact, Alere wondered often if he had done so fairly and if he should continue in the direction he was headed. He was not prone to despairing, but there had been times when he felt lost. Coming upon the light of the Moon Blade in the Hallowen Forest was an event he would long remember, for it had cast both structure and order onto what could have become a path of chaos. Worse, it might have become a path of destruction.

“Why don’t you believe that the Swords will be of use in the temple?” he finally asked. It was the question on his mind since coming to the garden after their return. He had not planned to discuss his resentment toward Shirisae, not immediately. The words had simply come prematurely.

“I believe that carefully laid spells are at work,” Xu Liang answered.

“You said that you heard the beating heart of the dragon,” Alere reminded.

Xu Liang nodded. “Yes. And there still may be the presence of one, somewhere. However, …”

“
Aerkiren
may cancel the effects of a laid spell,” Alere informed him, which drew a pause from the mystic. Looking over at him, he added, “If the blade is allowed to make contact with the source item.”

Xu Liang’s brow lifted. “A mystic requires a base from which to lay the enchantment. If the effect is to carry on, rather than facilitate a single use, the base must be a source through which it can recycle.”

“I noticed that our feet made no sound when we walked in the temple,” Alere said. “Is that typical?”

“No,” Xu Liang replied. “It’s not. My concentration was such that I did not notice the absent sounds. We may assume, with that evidence, that the earth spell is based in the floor and is disrupting its natural properties. Your ability to observe remains impressive.”

“I was not the only one of us who noticed,” Alere decided to say

At that point, Xu Liang bowed where he sat, leaning forward for an extended moment. And then he said, “I had made complicated plans to counteract the spells. I now believe there is a better way. Would you return to the temple with me in the morning?”

“I will,” Alere answered.

Xu Liang offered a small smile. “In view of that, we should both take our rest.”

“There’s one more thing,” Alere said, his thoughts shifting to the topic of Tristus.

“What is it?” Xu Liang asked him.

Alere looked at the mystic, hesitating as it occurred to him that the subject may not have been one that Xu Liang was aloof to—or even averse to—but rather one that was a strain to him. Just as Alere had risked putting uncomfortable tension between himself and Tristus by advancing the way that he had, Tristus may have done the same to Xu Liang. That Tristus accepted Alere’s position without it taxing their friendship did not mean that Xu Liang was able or willing to do the same. The mystic might have been at odds with himself on how to embrace the bond the Swords demanded of them without inviting the relationship that Tristus desired. To ask Xu Liang of his feelings may have been presumptuous, and unfair.

“There is a subject that I had wanted to speak of,” Alere finally said, “but I’ve changed my mind. It concerns myself and Tristus.”

“There is no trouble between the two of you,” Xu Liang guessed accurately.

“There’s not,” Alere answered.

“You’re not concerned where his heart lays,” the mystic probed next, undoubtedly inspired by their talk of Shirisae’s priorities.

“I am,” Alere replied. “Though not in regard to the Blades.”

Xu Liang did not seem to need the matter explained to him, though he did become quiet. Afterward, the both of them sat still and silent for what seemed a very long time, though Alere realized that not many breaths had actually passed between them before the mystic stood.

“I did not wish to speak of it so abruptly,” Alere said, feeling an unfamiliar pang of true fear, something he had not felt so markedly since he was a child. It seemed strange to him that he should feel such a thing now in the face of what may have been Xu Liang’s disappointment.

“But you did wish to speak of it,” Xu Liang told him. “You changed your mind in order to spare me or Tristus…perhaps both of us.”

Alere stood now as well. “Tristus already bears a wound he considers mortal in this matter. I can do him no further harm.” He detected Xu Liang’s offense, and so added, “I hoped to spare you.”

“And my persistence deflected your efforts,” Xu Liang said, in a similar tone to which he had demonstrated when Alere had criticized his motivation back in Yvaria.

It had not been Alere’s intent then, or now to draw shame from him.

Perceptively, Xu Liang said, “You have done nothing wrong, Alere. Once again, you have made me aware.”

Alere looked at him.

And Xu Liang said, “Strain between two of us cannot be strain between
only
two of us. By now it can only be among all of us.”

Alere agreed, but did so silently, allowing Xu Liang to withdraw from their conversation. He would not allow himself to worry that he had in any way damaged what had been established between them, because in his heart, he determined, it could not be. He would remain as devoted to this task as he was to eradicating the keirveshen, for the sake of his family, of which Xu Liang had become a part.

Deceptions

T
he Dragon’s heartbeat
pervaded Xu Liang’s senses while he slept, though he did not dream of the temple again. He dreamed of sitting at his desk, studying the Cai Shi-meng scrolls. The characters danced upon the parchment, like the shadows of many forms. While he attempted to reread the writings, a voice whispered at a pace as erratic as the movement of the shadow characters.

“I shall destroy those who killed my lord and all who support them. The Song shall pay for their treachery.”

The edges of the scrolls curled and uncurled at the whim of a heated breeze, the rhythm of the Dragon’s heart underscoring the voice of Cai Shi-meng’s ghost.

“The Song shall pay for their treachery,” it repeated. “At last I have discovered the tool necessary to exact my revenge. A weapon against the land…”

Xu Liang observed the characters in their eerie dance, altering the words as he remembered them…shifting the meaning behind the Scholar General’s account of his famous uprising.

“Chaos has been stirring,” the voice continued. “…an order I can’t ignore…”

In the peripheries of Xu Liang’s vision, tongues of green flame licked the bases of the walls. The flames quickly grew, rising to the ceiling, casting a jade glow upon the shadowed scrolls.

“…a command given to me by Chaos to expel the unworthy,” said the Scholar General. “To expel the unworthy who killed my lord and all who support them.”

The fire traveled across the ceiling, boxing Xu Liang in a prison of flame.

“I shall fulfill this task, and welcome the gods, should our paths cross,” Cai Shi-meng vowed. “I am not alone.”

Xu Liang felt panic rise within him while the ghostly voice repeated the last statement. The heartbeat grew heavier, overtaking the words. Though he knew he was dreaming, Xu Liang’s instinct was to cover his ears. It did nothing to mute the Dragon, or the vengeful ghost.

“All revenge is mine!” The bellowing of the demon who hounded Tristus bolted forward from memory. “And there is much of it here…”

Other voices from his dreams with the Phoenix returned as swiftly.

“I look at your silence as a betrayal!”

“He cannot help himself.”

“You killed her!”

The forms in the shadows upon the scrolls became faces of suffering and hatred. Xu Liang swept the scrolls from the desktop. Before they cleared the surface, a black, skeletal hand latched around his wrist. Its touch was of ice, and simultaneously of burning. The sensation of pain felt all too familiar. Pulling his arm away brought the form of a man out of the scrolls…an apparition, perhaps of the scrolls’ author. The body was formed entirely of shadow, its features dark and barely decipherable beyond a basic shape.

“Fate is against you!” the spirit screamed, gripping him still, mustering rage comparable to the demon the knight carried with him.

Pain ignited within Xu Liang. He fell to the floor even before the shadow released him. As he lay there, pinned by torment from the pain at his chest as well as from the din of the Dragon’s incessant heartbeat, the door to his office opened slowly.

Han Quan appeared, traced with the green cast of the fire that threatened to overtake the room. The older mystic smiled deviously, and said, “The Song shall pay for their treachery.”

Xu Liang’s view of all of it began to fade. He became loosely aware of footsteps, and a less hostile voice.

“My lord!”

The dream shut itself up like a box, and Xu Liang opened his eyes to look upon Gai Ping. The elder’s worry was clear, and though Xu Liang felt overheated and exhausted—and in no small amount of pain at his chest—he felt greatly relieved as well.

That relief began to drain from him, however, when Gai Ping said, “I came to inform you that there are visitors to your office. But when I saw that the nightmares…”

“Who has come?” Xu Liang interrupted, sitting up—not as quickly as his mind wanted him to.

Gai Ping put a hand out to steady him. “Lords Huang Shang-san and Han Quan. We weren’t inclined to their unannounced entry, but the insistence of the Chancellor persuaded us on your behalf.”

Xu Liang forced back the urge to abandon his bed for his office at once—his physical state assisted, by precluding such movement so soon after yet another debilitating state of dreaming. He nodded in response to the elder and said, “I’ll meet with them shortly.”

Once out of
bed and dressed in layers suitable for presentation to his peers, Xu Liang made his way through the passages of his residence. Such movement seemed increasingly less separated from what he accomplished when asleep. In his dreams, he moved in spirit as if he were yet awake in body. During such dreams, he found himself increasingly conscious to his environment and of the placement of his spirit in relation to his body. It was not the same as maintaining multiple points of focus, which meditation and his understanding of astralmancy had allowed for in the past. It was more as if he’d become a ghost in his sleep. Through the eyes of his spirit and of his mind, he viewed not only what he knew existed in both past and present, but what he believed to be possibilities of the present or future. This form of travel had begun with his resurrection in Vilciel. He had been carried by the Phoenix, through the passages of his past regrets and his present fears. And he had been introduced to possibilities that he struggled to acknowledge. In the dark and, at times burning passages of the Phoenix, such visions seemed vivid and hostile—imminent. Awake, reason did not permit him to act. Not openly, at least, and not yet.

He would not ignore the messages, whether they were formed of his own subconscious deductions or delivered to him by the god who was also his tormentor. At the very least, the Phoenix, in bringing him back from the dead, had its own agenda. He believed it would not provide him warning only to usher him so soon to failure. If failure was its goal, it would not have brought him back at all. Still, he would continue to investigate Han Quan’s loyalties discreetly. First, the elements in the Jade Hall would be dispelled. Following that, Xu Liang would make an account to the Empress. He would do so while he presented her with the Celestial Swords and their bearers.

Those were the thoughts in his mind when he passed through the entryway to his office, and found two elders of the court awaiting his arrival. Morning salutations were shared and Xu Liang suggested that they share wine in the garden. Both of his fellow officers accepted, and it was in the garden of Xu Liang’s residence that the three of them discussed their various concerns. Han Quan made himself the most vocal—it seemed that Huang Shang-san had only come to offer moral support, to one of them—and the Chancellor’s grievances were vivid. It became quite clear who it was Huang Shang-san had come to support while he winced as discreetly as he was able behind an otherwise pleasantly attentive expression whenever Chancellor Han Quan complained.

“With the care of a criminal, those outsiders were ushered through darkness and into the temple,” the eldest of them described acidly. “In defiance of a verdict laid down by you, Imperial Tutor, our sacred passages were violated. The air of the city is ill enough with their presence—”

“The air,” Xu Liang interrupted firmly, “was ill already. Upon my return, there were not less than thirty-nine documented complaints of disruption even without including the reports of the rioting at the east gate. You exhibit disquieting haste in feeding the presence of the outsiders into the fire of malcontent. They have not come to fuel our fears, but to aid in quieting them.”

Han Quan’s already hard-drawn frown soured dramatically. “By what means? The Swords of the ancient gods, granted to us—if they were in fact granted at all—so that we, as the sons of Sheng Fan might wield them against a dragon? Even if such a sensational series of events should befall us, should those divine weapons not be in the hands of our own warriors?”

“You speak as if you yet support the archaic belief that the ancient gods created Sheng Fan alone, so that they might nest it within a cradle of disparate form and material, one from which we might never grow out of, or take steps away from.”

“This is not the time for philosophical debate, Xu Liang,” Han Quan rebuked. “Your time away has clearly impeded your judgment. I suspected that it was impeded before you left, and now that I see you edging nearer to incompetence, I feel that I must bring my concerns before the Empress at once and directly. I must tell her of the danger that her affection for you has clearly blinded her from seeing.”

“One who speaks in doubt of the Empress’ judgment does so with either fear or rebellion in their hearts,” Xu Liang warned. “Both are equally dangerous.”

“Do not twist my words!”

“Do not doubt the Empress’ clarity of vision!” Xu Liang loathed to shout at one he had long respected and considered a friend, but the shrillness in the elder’s tone brought about harsh reminders of dreams doused in jade flame. As well, the Chancellor’s dismissal of the Empress’ trust in one of her officials for young infatuation was intolerable. Song Da-Xiao understood and embraced her role. Xu Liang would have thought her demonstration of censure when he returned would have satisfied many—if not all—of his opponents within the court. Of course, at that time he would not have considered the Chancellor so willfully among them.

Perhaps sensing his dismay, Han Quan reneged. He took a moment to calm himself, then bowed apologetically. “Forgive me, Lord Xu Liang. Perhaps there has come to be some fear in my heart after all, with all that has been happening lately.”

Xu Liang, for a bitter moment, felt less concerned with accepting Han Quan’s apology, and more sensitive to Huang Shang-san’s potential discomfort. When he looked to the Minister of Ceremonies, the elder bobbed his head in an expression of patience. Xu Liang returned the gesture as one of gratitude, then said to Han Quan, “I must apologize as well, for my outburst.”

Han Quan straightened. His gaze moved between Xu Liang and Huang Shang-san. And then he said, “What did you discover in the temple?”

Realizing that his rise in temper and strain had caused a sudden tension in his chest, Xu Liang answered slowly, and as evenly as circumstances allowed. “I discovered that there is no dragon immediately present, but that spells had been placed.” He was careful to make certain eye contact with Han Quan when he continued. “Spells similar to what I had set in the Palace of Imperial Peace to guard against trespass during the Empress’ seclusion.”

“Spells of fire?” Han Quan inquired, not breaking their connected gazes. “The work of a pyromancer.”

“Clearly,” Xu Liang replied. He placed his cup down onto the garden table carefully. The addition of a geomancer’s spell was poised on the edge of his lips, but he refrained from mentioning it. Instead, he said, “Did you discover anything regarding the tremors throughout the city?”

“I have not yet,” the elder confessed. “There has scarcely been time since the task was appointed to me.”

Time enough to make himself aware of the goings on in the middle of the night and to compose an aggressive objection.

Xu Liang decided not to voice that thought. Instead, he said, “It is my plan to utilize the power of the Swords to negate the spell trap, and see for myself just what is being protected at the center of the temple.”

“I think that wise,” Huang Shang-san put in, perhaps to dissuade any further argument.

It seemed to work. Han Quan merely bowed, more agreeably than he had done anything since Xu Liang’s return to the Imperial City. “In the execution of the city’s defenses, I have no say.”