Six Celestial Swords (18 page)

WHEN TRISTUS OPENED his eyes again, it was day. The angel was nowhere to be seen and his hands were empty. He thought at first that he’d dreamt the event still fresh in his memory. And then he spied the spear resting beside him in the snow that was already melting in the filtered morning sun. He hesitated before touching the weapon again, then slowly reached his hand toward it and stroked the cool platinum shaft before carefully curling his fingers around it. He lifted it, surprised by how light it was—from tip to butt it was easily as tall as him. He marveled at the craftsmanship and then wondered if he’d gone mad. Did an angel truly mean for him to have such a fantastic weapon? An outcast from the very order of knights devoted to the Angels of Eris? What would the Order Masters have to say now, and the priests?

They would call him a liar and a blasphemer. They would never believe he had been chosen to behold such a miracle, to be saved by one of the True God’s children and then granted its heavenly blade. They would believe the account of the demon more readily, and they would blame its trickery for his delusions and then confiscate the spear as a tool of evil’s will. How could the faith of such righteous men be so selective as to question a miracle and turn it to devilry so easily? Perhaps if it had happened to someone else...

But it happened to me. This weapon came to me. I will not question it.

Tristus took up the spear, then placed it neatly on the ground directly in front of him and knelt solemnly before it. He prayed, and in his prayers he vowed never to allow evil to be performed with or upon the blade entrusted to him. “I will continue to serve your will, God, beloved Father of Heaven. And I shall not forget the sacrifice made by your messenger, whose name I did not know, but whose memory I shall embrace for as long as I am upon this world and afterward, should you permit my passage. I thank you, dear God, for this gift and for your blessing and for your guidance.” At the end of his prayer, he touched the tips of two fingers successively to his forehead, his lips, and his heart, where the starburst-behind-a-sword insignia of the Order happened to be engraved upon his armor.

Then he stood with renewed determination and found his horse standing patiently where he’d left it, grazing on a patch of freshly exposed grass. The short blades glistened with beads of melted snow in the hazy shafts of sunlight penetrating the cloud canopy. He spent the next several moments rigging straps to hold his new weapon in place with the rest of his gear, which wasn’t much. Once that task was complete, he mounted and set off in the same direction he’d been going. Though he was no longer certain he was looking for Eris, he knew he didn’t want to return home.

Perhaps it would be better if he left Andaria altogether, at least for a while. The light of
Dawnfire
may have been glorious, but it still could not burn away the awful memories or the guilt that came with recalling them.

T
HE INN OF the Howling Wolf had a bustling, cheerful air about it, and at the same time, it invoked an underlying sense of gloom. After several days’ travel from Stormbright into Lower Yvaria, the company felt not only weary, but chilled. As the air gradually cooled around them, so that even a soft spring rain felt icy soaking through their clothing, the chill swiftly began to bite down on their spirits as well as their flesh and bones. There was something profoundly disturbing about the deep forest they’d entered and something indescribably unsettling about the broad smiles and loud voices of the patrons crowding into the lodge at Nidwohlen.

Half the bodyguards came in with Xu Liang, Tarfan, and his young niece. The others stayed outside, watching over the horses and equipment along one of the town’s forested paths. The manner in which Nidwohlen had been built among the woods, which lay beneath the beginnings of the Alabaster Range, added a shadowed depth that only furthered to instill the sense of isolation and discomfort.

Xu Liang’s exploration into this region had never brought him to this village before. He had come to it now purely as a measure of expedience in getting into the mountains, since crossing them seemed the best way to reach the Flatlands on the other side.

“You feel it, too,” Tarfan observed, several minutes after they’d seated themselves at an unoccupied table in a corner near the common room’s large, blazing hearth. “There’s something peculiar about this place.”

“Gypsies,” Taya whispered, as if in explanation, but when Xu Liang glanced at her, he saw that her eyes were elsewhere.

The mystic discreetly followed her gaze to one of the larger tables near the bar, where a crowd of at least a dozen colorfully dressed individuals carried on multiple animated conversations at once. Men and women alike were laughing and drinking, and where there weren’t enough chairs for everyone two of the women sat in the laps of men, who balanced them with one hand and drank large mugs of ale with the other. Xu Liang contained the feelings of disgust rising within him at their public display. He was far from Sheng Fan now and unqualified to judge the behavior of those he would encounter.

Tarfan seemed to disagree. He quaffed from his mug, then blanched at the sight of the gypsies. “Bah! Disgusting folk! Wild...weird. Don’t trust them.” He stabbed the rough wooden table with his forefinger to emphasize. “And that’s a fair warning, friend!”

Xu Liang simply listened and said nothing. He watched the gypsies curiously until someone coughed beside him. He looked to the young guard as Guang Ci made a sour face and shoved the cup of western alcohol at arm’s length across the table.

Tarfan laughed derisively. “What’s the matter, boy? Can’t handle your drink?”

Unable to understand the words, Guang Ci answered the dwarf’s tone with a scowl and said to Xu Liang in Fanese, “It is swill. These barbarians poison themselves.”

“There are some ‘barbarians’ who would say the same of us if they tasted our food and drink,” Xu Liang answered. “Which, I’ll add, we have brought with us in limited supply. Perhaps it will be in your interest to not taste some of what you consume on this journey.”

The guard nodded regardfully, then said, “I wish that I could get by as you do, my lord, without having to taste anything but the clear water of Mount Ding Zhu.”

“And when that runs out, I will taste nothing at all,” Xu Liang told him seriously. “It is a great risk that I take with my body for the sake of keeping my spirit at its strongest. The Empress and I are depending on the strength of your body, Guang Ci, and at a time such as this, of your stomach.”

Guang Ci grimaced and recovered his cup, looking pale when a skillet of red meat and vegetables, still boiling in grease, arrived shortly afterward, placed down by a barmaid wearing a full skirt and a puffy-sleeved, low cut shirt with multiple stains. Her yellow-brown hair was carelessly pinned up, slipping from the loose binding in tendrils that clung to her face in the overheated barroom air. She set bowls and forks out before the company of foreigners.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” the barmaid asked in the most common Yvarian dialect, which both Xu Liang and Tarfan understood. The dwarf answered her and when she left he was the first to begin filling his bowl with the steaming western recipe. Taya followed closely. The guards took their time. It was evident in their faces that they envied their fellow guards outside, who had been charged with watch duty and would be dining on Fanese rations beneath the large dark trees of the Hollowen Forest.

The meal was taken in slowly, even by the previously eager dwarves, as the strangeness of the place—for a moment uplifted by Guang Ci’s and Tarfan’s outburst—began to settle again.

Xu Liang stared at the empty bowl in front of him, not seeing it as he contemplated their trek through the Yvarian mountains, recalling that the Alabaster Range was much more treacherous than the mountains of Ying, which had wider passes and less jagged ledges. Xu Liang almost consulted Tarfan about what he would consider the quickest, safest route, but he maintained his silence when he sensed someone approaching. He looked at the slim youngish man long before anyone else might have noticed him, startling him briefly.

At first the individual who’d strayed from the table of gypsies halted, a look of astonishment on his bold, dark features. Then he smiled somewhat crookedly and swaggered to the table of strangers, a half-empty mug in his hand. He was dressed modestly in comparison to some of his fellows, wearing black trousers and a full-sleeved white shirt, unlaced to his breastbone, along with a deep red vest adorned with embroidered patterns that formed no discernible images. Small golden hoops dangled from both ears, which were partly hidden by his thick crown of wild black curls. His eyes were dark and cunning.

The gypsy stopped at the end of the company’s table and finished off his ale before speaking. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and finally said, “Would those be your men outside?”

“And if they are?” Tarfan replied gruffly.

The gypsy seemed more amused by the dwarf’s rough tone than offended or intimidated. He traded his empty glass for Tarfan’s, throwing back the swallow that remained, then looking at the dry mug with disappointment. He said, “Best to get them inside, little man.”

The dwarf began to rumble, his face reddening. “Little man! You outstretched, bauble-wearing...”

Xu Liang intervened. “May I ask what inspires such advice?”

The gypsy looked at him. His smile broadened with amusement. He set down the misappropriated mug and leaned slowly over the table, glancing over all of its occupants before settling his dark gaze once more on Xu Liang. He said, “You may, yes.”

Xu Liang did not repeat himself. He met the man’s gaze coolly in the silence that followed, waiting for his answer.

The opportunity for fun slowly escaped the gypsy, and a frown came to his lips just before he straightened and said seriously, if not somewhat bored, “Evil dwells in the forest of night. Best get your men in, I say.”

Xu Liang inclined his head in acknowledgment and looked to Tarfan as the gypsy sauntered away. “Do you know what he speaks of?”

The dwarf shrugged. “Gypsy superstition! They make their living on startling the ignorant with their tricks and lies. Sometimes they take themselves too seriously, particularly when they’re drunk.” He glared at the empty mugs in front of him. “There’s nothing worse than a soused gypsy!”

“Perhaps,” Xu Liang said softly. Then he rose. His bodyguards did as well. “Only one of you,” he said in Fanese. The others stay with the dwarves. Protect them if the need arises, exercising only what force is necessary. It is not my desire to build a reputation for myself in this land. Guang Ci, accompany me.” He switched to Tarfan’s preferred tongue. “My friend, I will return shortly. I wish to see for myself if the man speaks only nonsense.”

Xu Liang departed, and across the common room of the Howling Wolf, the gypsy troupe watched over the rims of tipped glasses and out of the corners of their eyes.

“GYPSIES,” TARFAN MURMURED with disgust. Then he glanced at the three guards left behind, sitting rigid and unsure in the absence of their master. It was clear that he wondered what Xu Liang had said to them before leaving.

Beside her uncle, Taya took in slow forkfuls of food, her eyes wandering the crowd. The gypsies were the most colorful of the locals, by their look, their manner, and their talk. The rest of the patrons consisted of a smattering of townsfolk, keeping loudly to themselves. In spite of the mage’s obvious foreign aspect—foreign beyond what most Yvarians experienced in their simple lifetimes—not one person outside of the gypsies so much as glanced at them, and the gypsies lost interest quickly. Xu Liang and her uncle were right. The place was odd.

Taya’s eyes continued to wander from table to table, eventually settling on a pair she hadn’t noticed before. Though much of their features were obscured in the shadow of the distant corner they occupied, they didn’t look Yvarian. Taya tried to get a better look at them, but they were wearing thick black cloaks with the hoods drawn up so that their faces were darkened from view. There was food in front of them, but they didn’t seem to be eating. She stared at them in silent wonder until dinner at her own table was interrupted for the second time.