Six Celestial Swords (14 page)

Fu Ran stood slowly and stared, his mouth just gaping as he searched for an argument. He had not found one by the time the
Pride of Celestia
docked and Xu Liang left with only his eight bodyguards in tow.

Once on land, their small caravan continued west. They were not headed due west—not long from the coast, they veered north, moving at a gradual angle away from the harsh shores of the country of Callipry. The immediate area beyond Nelayne was a district known as Stormbright, and the inland hamlet Xu Liang and his guards were able to observe in the near distance within a day’s travel, was called Barten’s Palace. Xu Liang found the name of peculiar interest as there was no palace anywhere in sight. When his party camped at night he made detailed accounts of all that he had seen and heard. Though he had not come to this place for the first time, he knew better than to think that one look—or even a thousand—would ever reveal all that there was to be seen and learned. He drew several maps during his travels and found himself constantly adding to them.

In the morning he painted the landscape. The last time he had come to this land, it was the autumn season. The trees were barren and thin at that time, skeletal and yet still beautiful. The sky had often been gray; a textured, but unbroken canopy of clouds that felt cold to look at. It was spring now, and the trees were full; a blanket of jade silk spilling down the craggy terrain that skirted the road Xu Liang’s company currently followed. The sky seemed to glow overhead, even on a day when dark clouds encroached. And now Xu Liang understood the name Stormbright.

He wished he had more time. He wished that he could explore more of this realm, more of every realm in what his people simply referred to as the World and what those outside Sheng Fan had come to call Dryth. He wondered what the word meant and would like to find out, so that he might relate it to his people in a word or words they could understand. Unfortunately, the word’s roots were so ancient that most of the people currently living had long forgotten its meaning. Xu Liang had discovered one similar word in one of the three other languages he had studied abroad. However, daeryd—a Calliprian word derived of the Yvarian word dirydd, pronounced ‘dirith’ in such a way that it almost sounded like ‘drith’—meant unholy or impure, and hardly seemed something to name the cradle of life after.

Undoubtedly the unenlightened of his people could come to the conclusion that an ancestor had taken a single step across Sheng Fan’s borders and been at once disgusted by the ‘barbaric’ outer lands and given such crude people the word with the crude sound he had made out of revulsion. They would amuse themselves with notions of the uncivilized basing an entire language upon such a noise. Xu Liang might have been disgusted with such people, except that he knew the blame lay with ignorance. If his beloved fellows could truly see the world that surrounded Sheng Fan, they would not be so quick to pass judgment.

Xu Liang had scarcely finished the thought when one of the bodyguards scrambled up to his high point overlooking the road and the land below it.

The youngish descendant of Sheng Fan dropped to one knee and pretended not to feel the crack that Xu Liang heard as he selected his ground and executed his descent carelessly, coming down upon one of the many sharp rocks that protruded from the earth. There was, however, a tension in his voice when he said, “Master Xu, barbarians have been sighted.”

Xu Liang lowered his brush, once again silently marveling at the pride of his people. He asked calmly, “Where?”

“In the woods, less than a mile from the road. They are headed this way, my lord.”

“What do they look like?” Xu Liang asked next, and the bodyguard seemed confused by the question. As the man struggled with his answer in careful silence, Xu Liang closed his eyes and channeled his concentration.

The sounds and smells of the forest fell upon him in layers, distinct and separate details that he filtered through carefully and patiently until he found something he had not noticed before in his morning study and recreation.

He heard breathing, a heavier sound than any woodland animal made when it wasn’t ill or being chased. He heard the crease of worn leather and the mild clatter of things metal as the bearers moved at an unhurried and incautious pace. He smelled lards and oils, and a metallic pungency overriding a delicate grain smell, along with the potent stench of western alcohol.

Xu Liang opened his eyes and the natural chorus of the woods resumed. He took up his brush again and said softly, “They are not to be harmed.”

The guard showed surprise, but dared not question his superior. He simply nodded and returned to the nearby campsite with a slight limp.

A FAINT BREEZE moved through the trees, shifting the shadows that mottled the forest floor.

Tarfan Fairwind might not have shown particular interest in the phenomenon, except that a moment ago the air had been almost utterly still. Tarfan came to an abrupt halt and looked up the hill, toward the road. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. He scratched at his thick black beard, disheveling several crumbs that had settled there since breakfast. It had been seven years since the air sighed on a still day. Seven years since the strangest bird of any in Dryth had fluttered through Stormbright with no intentions of nesting.

Could it be...?

“What’s the matter?”

Tarfan glanced at the young dwarf standing too alert beside him—his niece Taya. They had only just begun the season’s journey to Shillan this morning, but she hadn’t been able to relax since breakfast, when she claimed to have had an ill feeling that something bad was going to happen. Taya was unnaturally assured of her ill feelings most days, and this morning was no exception. She was on the verge of drawing her short sword until Tarfan stopped her.

“No,” he said. “Better not. Our overly civilized guest might take offense.”

Hazel eyes that were a fair cry sharper than his old greens shot in his direction. “What?”

Tarfan started up the hill. “Come along, lass. You’ll soon see.”

They made their way to the road and across it, where a camp lay unsuspectingly…or rather arrogantly, in broad daylight. If there was one thing the elf-like humans of the distant east didn’t believe in, it was hiding.

Elf like?

Tarfan reconsidered. They reminded him of elves, in that they seemed a reticent people overall, and they were too damned arrogant; a juxtaposition of too few shared words and too much exuded confidence. He supposed that a lack of shared language between the east and west might have contributed to that first bit. As to appearances, these peculiar black-haired humans didn’t have the ears of elves, and while they were long-lived and seemed to age slowly, they also recognized their mortality, something that most elves weren’t terribly concerned with unless there was the sharp end of something poking at their vitals. So, maybe they weren’t all that elf-like. They were something not ordinary. Tarfan knew that much, and he knew that he found them quite interesting. That said, he couldn’t quite grasp the Fanese beliefs concerning life and honor, and the ingrained role each individual had in society—which came down to serving their ‘divine’ ruler—that made it functional and prosperous. No strange mage’s silver tongue was going to convince him that any man was born to be a peasant and proudly accepted the fact.

Tarfan’s thoughts escaped him vocally when he walked into the small camp, toward a small troop of armed men. “And what of you lads? Born with an order from your king in your hands to become soldiers?”

They didn’t answer Tarfan because they didn’t understand him. They were watching him though, their dark narrow eyes filled with distrust and more than likely some disgust as well. And that, he reminded himself, was why he still felt inclined to dub the Fanese and elf-like people.

Tarfan scowled at them on principle, but couldn’t help admiring their armor and weapons, now that he saw them up close again. The armor made him think of dragon scales, the way it was layered and glossed, and brightly colored. Beneath the laminated tunics their clothes were as colorful, and they were close-fitting in comparison to the extravagant robes other men of their culture wore, such as the scholar they were unquestionably guarding. The soldiers also wore leather boots and elaborate, but also functional, helms that protected their necks to the shoulders as well as their heads. Monstrous golden faces adorned various places of their armor, such as at the belt and at each shoulder, giving the appearance that the armor had come to life and was in the process of devouring the arm—though Tarfan doubted that was quite what the effect was meant to be. They wore broad swords with intricately carved hilts and hand guards, and Tarfan saw long spears adorned with tassels and feathers leaning against one of the tents. Two of the men held such a weapon upright as they guarded what was evidently their master’s tent. The Fanese people were a strange lot, but they seemed to have their military affairs in order. What better way to claim the advantage over an enemy than to scare the living hells out of them?

Tarfan feared for the bandits that might overlook their fierce presentation and try to take advantage of this foreign caravan. And the bodyguards weren’t even the worst of it. In Sheng Fan, as in almost every other society throughout Dryth, the mages were what a body truly had to watch out for. The more harmless they seemed, the more dangerous they often were. Tarfan would have given this camp a berth ten miles wide if he didn’t happen to consider this particular mage an old friend.

“What’s going on? Who are these people?”

Tarfan had almost forgotten his young niece was in tow. He looked back at her to give explanation, but stopped short, verbally and physically, when someone else decided to do it for him.

“We are travelers from afar, madam, basking in the gentle hospitality this land never fails to bestow upon us.”

Tarfan hadn’t forgotten the man’s soft, pleasant voice. He also hadn’t been able to forget the way the mystic presented himself and carried himself, as elegantly as a heron, without seeming at all ridiculous or decadent.

The mystic pressed his hands together and bowed at the waist, “Master Fairwind, I am honored to be in your country and in your company again. I apologize for my lack of notice, but I departed in some haste from Sheng Fan.”

“Stand up straight, lad,” Tarfan barked. “You’re too tall to be doing me any favors by bending in half!”

Slowly, airily, the mystic straightened. A vague smile appeared on his lips. “It is clear that you have not changed. I am glad, my friend.”

“Friend?” Taya blurted, staring wide-eyed at the beautiful stranger. “Tarfan, you know this...person?”

“His name is Xu Liang,” Tarfan said. “He comes from a realm not yet on any maps known to this region. Xu Liang, this is my niece, Taya Fairwind.”

Xu Liang turned toward the young dwarf-woman and bowed. “I am honored.”

Taya took a step back and eyed the raven-haired, opal-skinned human as if he were a troll proposing marriage. If her face showed anymore disgust, Tarfan might have been inclined to backhand it. She had the ill manners and thick skull of her father, that much was all too certain. When she glanced at her uncle and saw the disapproval glaring in his eyes, she managed to alter her features to mild petulance by the time Xu Liang stood straight again.

Tarfan sucked in a breath and held it for a moment, then said to the mystic, “So, tell me, what shot you across the Sea of Tahn and up old Wolf’s Fang so fast that you couldn’t send word ahead? I might have had a proper welcome prepared for you.”

Xu Liang angled his head thoughtfully. “Wolf’s Fang?”

“You came from Nelayne again, didn’t you? You climbed a minor mountain as you strayed from the jagged coast. Wolf’s Fang...because the terrain gives the impression of a wolf’s jaw, full of sharp teeth.”

“Is that what you call it?” Xu Liang bowed slightly this time. “You must excuse me.” And then he turned and retreated back into his tent.

Tarfan started after him.

Taya caught his arm. “He’s...he dresses like a woman.” As she hissed the words she glanced at the guards as if they might be listening in, when they actually hadn’t understood anything she or Tarfan—or even Xu Liang in that moment—had said. They were educated in war only. The only language they knew was that which they had been raised to speak in their homeland.

“Plenty of mages wear robes,” Tarfan said to his overly concerned niece.

“He’s eerie,” Taya concluded. “That ill feeling I had before is returning. We should leave now.”

Tarfan freed his arm and took hold of hers in the process. “Come along, lass. There’s nothing to be afraid of here.”

“Afraid?” Taya reclaimed her arm and stuck her chin out indignantly. “I am not afraid.”

“Then you won’t mind stepping inside and sharing a bit of wine with a polite stranger.” Tarfan went into the tent with Taya reluctantly following. “You did bring that peculiar brew of yours, didn’t you?”

Xu Liang glanced up from the small wooden table he was kneeling behind, then continued making confident but thoughtful strokes with a small brush on a sheet of unfurled parchment. “I assume you are referring to wine? I don’t have any personally, but my men would be more than willing to share.”