Six Celestial Swords (39 page)

He gave up Blue Crane when Gai Ping came for him, and also took the opportunity to leave. Bowing politely before the former guard, he said, “Forgive me, Fu Ran, but I must rest.”

“WHY WERE YOU following, or rather leading us along, for so many days?”

“A prophet among our people spoke of a Great Awakening,” Shirisae said to Tristus and the others who had gathered to hear his question answered, which thus far only included Tarfan and Taya. “I and my brother D’mitri were sent out to understand this awakening, to learn as much as we could about it, as it reflects the resurrection of our own people, hundreds of years ago. However, whether this is a good reflection or a sinister mockery, we are as yet uncertain. Thus we look upon all strangers to this region with interest. It just so happens that we were on our return to Vilciel when we came upon your company, and so we observed and guided you until it finally became necessary to show ourselves.” She paused, glancing about the Fanese tent with interest. “You are an odd assortment of people. We weren’t sure how to take you, whether as friend or foe.”

“We still would not be certain,” D’mitri said, “but that
Firestorm
has never been touched by an enemy it hasn’t slain.”

Tristus looked to the taller of the pair, whose hair was just as red as his sibling’s. While Shirisae wore her raveled locks about her head like a fiery crown, D’mitri wore his own braid bunched at his neck. Not a trace of it had shown while the pair wore their helms, which were detailed with sleek, aquiline features—much like the regal faces the helms hid. They cast an unexpected chill, for fire elves, Tristus thought in secret.

“Our people would have been lost without
Firestorm
,” Shirisae said, drawing Tristus’ attention back to her. “It is the instrument through which our most revered god speaks to us. It has been passed from mother to daughter for centuries. It glows with white fire, the truest fire, when those worthy of trust are near.” She seemed to hesitate, then added, “It has never shone so brightly as it did when we encountered you.”

“With the ice elf in your company, you can imagine our alarm,” D’mitri added, his tone sounding more of disgust than alarm.

It was, of course, just then that Alere entered the tent. The argentine eyes of one elf met the golden gaze of the other, and Tristus felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He was going to blurt a question to avert the pending fight, but Xu Liang’s entrance stole his attention—and fortunately everyone else’s as well.

While Alere stalked off, Xu Liang greeted everyone with a slight bow.

Tristus inclined his head respectfully and watched the mystic retreat to his side of the tent. His gaze lingered on Xu Liang, until D’mitri distracted him.

“
Deshra en totharen, shenra en nodara
,” brother muttered to sister.

“What does that mean?” Tristus asked pleasantly, though he didn’t like D’mitri’s tone.

Shirisae said, either honestly or convincingly, “My brother says that your priest has the body of a young man and the mind of an old one. He means no disrespect. It is simply an observation. Among our people the very young may be gifted with superior intelligence, but not often wisdom to rival the elders among us.” She looked over her shoulder at Xu Liang. “We have been watching that one. He bears the burdens of many great minds before him.”

“He did say that he was guided by his ancestors,” Tristus remembered, looking at the mystic again. Xu Liang sat still and silent, his eyes once again closed to the world immediately around him. “He isn’t really a priest, though. I think he prefers to be called a mystic.”

A brief silence followed.

“It is late,” Shirisae finally said, standing. She smiled at Tristus, who returned the gesture, then added, “You and your companions must rest.”

D’mitri rose as well, but his expression remained disdainful. “By tomorrow night you will be in Vilciel, enjoying the hospitality of friends.”

“Friends, are they?” Tarfan muttered after the fire elves had taken their leave. “It seems to me they fancied us their prisoners before Alere brought the wrath of the gods down on everyone.”

Tristus opted not to remind the old dwarf that there was only one God that had anything to do with what went on the night before. He understood that many people were slow to accept the truth of things when those things pertained to religion. In Tristus’ mind it was best said: ‘To all realms, a king.’. In other words, even if there were other powers in Heaven, they must all answer to a single ruler, the Father of Heaven, King to all, including other gods. The theory had been put forth by a highly respected priest of the First Order as a diplomatic way at spreading Andaria’s faith. Some outside of Andaria saw it as arrogance. Some within Andaria viewed it as foolish and absurd, believing that truth need not be explained or justified. Tristus never questioned his faith in that truth, but there were times—all of them recent—when he wondered about the different faiths of others.

There were at least three, if not four, different religions among the companions he’d joined, and yet they all followed one cause. Tristus only wished he knew precisely what that cause was. He had a peculiar feeling he would have to hold
Dawnfire
in his hands again to completely understand. Not that it mattered. Even if he never saw the angel’s glorious spear again, he would go with the others, to Hell if that was their destination. The Order may have cast him out, but he knew now that God had not. He had been summoned to this journey, wherever it may take him and in his short time with them, he’d come to respect, and even to care, about each of these people, including the surly dwarf. They had become the family the Order should have been to him. He would serve them until death prevented him doing so.

SITTING BESIDE THE knight, Taya felt invisible. Something had come over him, something worse than the daze and confusion he’d been in when they discovered him half-buried in the snow back in the mountains. It started after his first berserker rage—which was bad enough in itself—and had only become more apparent after his second attack of utter madness, that fortunately resulted in no one getting killed. Suddenly her forlorn, charmingly—if not somewhat confusedly—virtuous, breathtakingly handsome knight, had gone strangely quiet. He hadn’t shed a tear since the night after he’d single-handedly taken down almost all of the Fanese bandits, and while that should have seemed a good thing, Taya didn’t like it. Though his tearless blue eyes were still deep pools of emotion, that emotion seemed to have direction now. Taya believed she preferred his emotions spilling out of him every which way, especially now that there was a beautiful, taller woman around for his newly acquired focus to home in on. If Taya had to prepare breakfast by herself one more time, it wasn’t Tarfan who was going to get hit with the soup spoon.

AFTER A LONG NIGHT watching the others sleep, guarding the tent from within while Gai Ping and the others did so from without, Xu Liang rose and emerged into the coldest morning yet. It was cold, but the sky was changed, clear while the rising sun failed to penetrate the freeze of the northernmost edge of Lower Yvaria and therefore failed to create a mist of the melting snow. The snow that had fallen in the night, and in the nights previous to their arrival, remained and beneath dawn’s glow, it shimmered with a pink hue, like the blushed petals of a plum blossom. It made Xu Liang think of the lower regions of Ying, and an intense yearning for home tugged at his heart. His eyes felt suddenly warm against the chill air.

“Where are the fire sprites?” Fu Ran asked as he came outside.

Xu Liang could almost hear the man’s big muscles yawning with him as he stretched his massive frame. Undoubtedly, he longed for more demanding exercise than simply plodding through the snow. Xu Liang hoped he would not transform his restlessness into recklessness.

“They made their own camp just south of our own,” Xu Liang finally answered.

Fu Ran looked in the mentioned direction, then laughed. “Herding the oxen to slaughter!”

“I do not believe so, Fu Ran,” Xu Liang said, more sharply than he might have weeks ago. He was rapidly growing weary with this small-scale turmoil. Give him rebellious kingdoms and their vast armies to deal with. He had taken about all he could of bandits and shadows, and individuals assaulting one another. These people knew nothing of war. They knew nothing of its art or its etiquette.

Just before Xu Liang resorted to measuring these realms and their people in varying degrees of savagery and ignorance, the knight who’d personally paid tribute to barbarism in its purest example not so long ago, stumbled sleepily out of the tent. He slipped in the deep snow, but kept his balance and looked at the sea of blushed white shimmering beneath the morning sky as it spanned in all directions, as far as the eye could see.

The knight actually gasped, and said softly, “It’s beautiful.”

With those two words, Xu Liang looked again at the Flatlands of Lower Yvaria, and wondered how long he’d been blind to so simple a fact. He’d been affected by the difficulty of this journey far worse than he’d let himself believe. And now his hand ached for a brush. However, as he looked closer at the featureless beauty of the landscape, he realized that even with a brush in his hand and a tablet before him there might be no way to recapture such a scene. Of course, the grace of his painting was in fewer brushstrokes, but there would be so very few to make in this instance. He decided to commit this sight to memory and to leave it at that.

To the man who had reopened his eyes, he said, “Yes, it is.”

THE SUN CONTINUED its rise, the warmthless light intensifying as it shone unobstructed downward, making the surface of the snow seem as a great mirror, reflecting the brilliant light back at the sky and virtually blinding the companions. In such intense whiteness all eyes tended to divert from both Alere and Tristus—one dressed all in white and the other in highly reflective layers of metal—who only worsened the glaring effect. It was easiest simply to keep one’s sights set on the black-clad elves at the front of the caravan. However, that also became annoying as Shirisae’s spear—clearly the Storm Blade—continued to glow brightly in the company of its sibling Swords.