Six Celestial Swords (48 page)

“Emotions,” Xu Liang realized, speaking quietly still.

“Yes, emotions,” Xiang Wu answered firmly. “The emotions you feel for these
allies
of yours. In your condition they are also your enemies—worse than your enemies, because they are closer and they attack you while you are defenseless, trusting. You should have put more consideration into the bearers of these Swords, instead of only the Swords themselves.”

“How can you know about them? I did not tell you.”

“You told me!”

Yet another voice.

Xu Liang looked away from his father, and at Jiao Ren. The young general stopped several feet away. He dropped a sword onto the green floor and kicked it toward Xu Liang. “Take it. I don’t want to be guilty of attacking you while you are defenseless.”

“Why would you want to attack me at all?” Xu Liang wondered, refusing to claim the weapon as it spun to a halt at his feet.

“You killed her,” Jiao Ren snarled. “And now I will kill you, armed or not. Make your choice, Xu Liang!”

Xu Liang’s confusion troubled him worse than Jiao Ren’s anger.

“I loved her!” the young general shouted. “Not only as the Empress, but as a woman! She saw only you, Xu Liang.” His voice lowered, sounding of a man possessed. “And you killed her!”

Xu Liang was too startled by the accusation to react. He would never harm the Empress. His life, the meaning of his life, was to defend her. To...

“Your love is for the Empire,” Jiao Ren hissed. “You care nothing for Song Da-Xiao. Any Song will do upon the throne, so long as they worship you. How convenient for you that the Emperor and his son—and even his daughter—should all look to you with such devotion and trust! I used to wonder what others meant when they referred to you as the Silent Emperor. Now I understand! Fight me, or simply die, Xu Liang! It makes no difference to me!”

Xu Liang saw the young man coming, but his mind remained stuck on the words. Jiao Ren was a man of honor and dignity. He would never have spoken the Empress’ name so intimately, nor made such threats to another of the Imperial City. Xu Liang considered him as much friend as ally. No blade could open such painful wounds as Jiao Ren’s accusations. None of this made any sense.

“Jiao—”

The words were halted by pain, as the young general’s blade plunged into Xu Liang’s body. He tasted blood. Salt joined the coppery taste while he looked with both shock and grief into Jiao Ren’s satisfied glare. He couldn’t breathe. As he gasped vainly for air, the young man’s face transformed. It thinned and gathered fine lines. The eyebrows turned white and a thin white beard grew from the narrow chin. The hard mouth smiled without showing teeth. Eyes that seemed somehow darker gleamed with savage triumph.

Xu Liang didn’t know why he should be so terrified—death was imminent—but this final act of betrayal was too much. Breathless and in horror, he could only gasp the elder’s name. “Lord...Han Quan…”

The elder’s smile broadened, as if he was pleased to be recognized. “And to think, you might have become a true mystic. The order of the Seven Mystics is older than the Empire! You thought yourself worthy to stand among our ranks? An overrated child? Yes, the ancestors speak to you. You have charmed them, as you have everyone else. However, it will not last. Fate is against you!” His features slowly tensed. “You will die, and the Empire will be mine. Now, witness true power, boy!”

With his last statement, the elder twisted his hand, which had somehow come to be inside of Xu Liang in place of Jiao Ren’s sword. Intense agony swelled throughout Xu Liang’s suspended body, but he did not scream. He couldn’t, even as Han Quan pulled back his hand, clutching Xu Liang’s beating heart.

The elder laughed wickedly while Xu Liang collapsed to the floor, then began to chant, his voice booming in the infinite space. Somehow still alive, Xu Liang watched as the organ plucked from his body became stone in the elder’s grasp.

“Your time is over,” Han Quan decreed, holding the stone heart above his head. “Now die!”

The elder hurled the stone upon the green floor, where it shattered instantly, fanning outward in a mix of dust and jagged shards.

“YOU MUST WAKE!”

Tristus opened his eyes slowly, sensing that someone was over him, but he was unable to descry who through the grayness in the room. He had no recollection as to where he was. He only knew that he was exhausted, more tired after a few hours of real sleep than he’d been before attempting the nap.

Someone shook him. “No! You must rise! Come with me!”

Tristus thought that he recognized the voice, though not its urgency. He opened his eyes again as his eyelids drooped, commanding focus. He saw the red hair first. “Shirisae?”

Everything came back at once. He sat up and almost knocked their heads together in the process. The lady elf dodged the blow, gripping Tristus’ arm while he gripped hers in turn. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “What’s happened?”

He’d never seen an elf look so alarmed as she did currently. There might have even been tears in her golden eyes. Before she answered him, Tristus began organizing himself, searching for his shirt and his boots.

In the relief after seeing Xu Liang survive the Phoenix Elves’ healing ceremony, he’d felt comfortable enough to trust their situation, and to sleep out of armor. He’d given up his shirt to allow Taya to check on the lingering burn he’d acquired facing the Fanese fire mage and felt safe enough to sleep without it, relaxing with the cool black silk of the bed sheets against his skin. He didn’t anticipate a sudden awakening in the solitude of the mountain city, but perhaps he should have known better.

“Did you wake the others?” Tristus asked, pulling on his boots.

Shirisae shook her head, her intensely red hair glinting in the light that filtered through the draped windows. “Their presence is not required at the moment. You must hurry.”

Tristus didn’t argue. He rose from the bed, stepping the rest of the way into his second boot. He buttoned his shirt as they walked. “Shirisae, please tell me what this is about. Is Xu Liang all right?”

The fire elf pulled him by the arm, as if too afraid to answer, which made him too afraid to ask any more questions. He followed her out of the guest suite, treading quietly past the sleeping bodyguards, who insisted on setting their bedrolls out in the main room.

Once in the hall, Shirisae moved with haste, practically running. Tristus jogged after her with little choice in the matter, as she kept a firm grip on his arm. They moved through the indoor city with little notice paid to them. There weren’t even guards posted, so secure were these elves in their stronghold on top of the very world.

Shirisae guided him through enough streets, and corridors and up enough staircases that Tristus was thoroughly, hopelessly lost by the time she stopped in front of a great glass window stained with images of dragons. There were three separate images, each displaying a different colored dragon. It almost seemed that the beasts had struck a pose for their portraits, but Tristus didn’t have time to study the massive work of art as Shirisae turned back on him, clutching both of his arms now, looking almost terrified.

“Whatever you see, Tristus Edainien, know that all was done that could be done, and for good cause. Know also that there is still hope. That is why I have brought you with such haste.”

Tristus was beginning to understand and he was beginning to feel cold with fear, but somehow he managed to stay calm. He pulled out of Shirisae’s urgent grasp and gently took her hands in both his. “My lady, you offered hope that we could not have asked for. We can expect nothing more.”

Shirisae seemed to absorb his words and calmed considerably. She stepped back, keeping one of his hands in her own while she led them up another staircase, and finally into an enormous chamber that appeared not to have been modified to suit the elves. It seemed that way, but then Tristus began taking notice of the furniture, all normal sized and making the vast room seem more like an enormous audience chamber rather than a space of unfathomable purpose for dragons. Soon the strangest part of it became the emptiness. The decorative chairs, tables, rugs, and even tapestries existed without the grace of life, giving the room the chill of a tomb. The warmth he felt in spite of that must have come from the furnaces, as Tarfan has explained, since there were no fires in the room beyond the standing candelabras placed by the elves, apparently to light a wide path through the gloom.

Tristus shuddered inwardly and then came to a sudden stop, hearing a voice in the open air. It was as a gasp, a panicked draw of air mingled with a pained moan.

Shirisae squeezed his hand, pulling him onward. “Be strong,” she warned.

The bed came into view slowly, looking like a tent of shadow, with the black silk cascaded over the tall, slender iron posts, almost completely enclosing the mattress within. There was a gap where the canopy had been pulled apart, like drapes.

Tristus saw movement within and picked up his own pace, quickly overtaking Shirisae. And then he saw Xu Liang, tossing fitfully in his sleep, muttering words in Fanese, a look of anguish on his face so terrible as to send cold fear lancing through Tristus’ soul.

He twisted out of Shirisae’s grasp and rushed to the mystic’s side. He reached for Xu Liang’s hand and regretted it when the mystic seized his arm at once, digging his fingers into his skin, almost drawing blood through his sleeve.

“What’s wrong with him?” Tristus demanded. “How long has he been like this?”

“It is the Flame,” Shirisae informed from a distance. “His body is rejecting it, seeking to embrace death while his mind keeps him alive. It is as I suspected. He has the will to live, but as my mother feared, he may be too weak physically to endure. He will not wake.”

“You mean he’ll die after all,” Tristus translated, angry, though not at Shirisae.

“He will remain trapped in his nightmares until his will finally breaks and submits to the peace his weary body longs for.”

“Then wake him!” Tristus shouted, pleading.

Shirisae shook her head, remorse capturing her features. “We tried. He will not wake.”

Tristus pulled away from Xu Liang’s grip as he began to lose feeling in his arm. The mystic’s pale, sweating hand found the sheets again and resumed twisting them. His lips moved, uttering Fanese syllables. When his body fell into brief respite, Tristus carefully reached out and stroked the mystic’s hair away from his face.

Xu Liang’s delicate brow creased, and he spoke several phrases in his native tongue, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he gasped for air between the indecipherable words. He sounded afraid and angry, and sad all at once. Tristus wished he knew what to do, but there wasn’t time to think. All too quickly, Xu Liang was turning again, grabbing at the sheets and the pillows, seeming on the verge of screaming.

In a moment of blind desperation, Tristus grabbed hold of the mystic’s bare shoulders and tried forcing him still. He was strong enough to stop the slight man’s turning from side to side, but Xu Liang’s hands still clawed and his legs slowly tread the silk pooled around his body. “Xu Liang, listen to me! You have to wake up! You’ll die if you don’t!”

The mystic didn’t hear him. He must have felt Tristus’ hold, however, as he began writhing as if to escape it. Tristus grasped at this possible response, climbing onto the mattress to pin the mystic’s body with his own, praying that he wouldn’t hurt him. “I won’t let you leave! Do you hear me, Xu Liang? I won’t let you!”

Xu Liang seemed to unconsciously take him for a threat, either that or he mistook him for an opponent out of his nightmare. He brought his hand deliberately against Tristus’ chest and began uttering what sounded like a spell. Recalling the daggers of light that Xu Liang had used against the Keirveshen, Tristus called for Shirisae to get down and forcibly redirected the mystic’s aim. A pale glimmer of blue light formed in Xu Liang’s palm, and then a sudden surge of air exploded into the room, shooting across the chamber and bringing down every article of furniture in its path.

“Sweet Light,” Tristus gasped. “Shirisae!”

The lady elf drew herself up from the floor where she’d dove to escape the spell. She pushed red locks out of her face and viewed the destruction, speaking softly as her heart possibly began to beat again. “I’m not hurt.”

Tristus gave his attention back to Xu Liang, who had slackened suddenly, as if weakened by his spell. Tristus tried speaking to him again, begging him to wake, keeping him pinned against hurting himself or others, as it seemed now that the mystic was quite capable of doing so.

“I didn’t hurt her,” the mystic whispered, finally forming words Tristus could understand.

Tristus began to relax, thinking that Xu Liang might be coming out of it. “No, you didn’t. Shirisae’s...”

“I only wanted to protect her,” Xu Liang continued, heedless of Tristus, evidently still dreaming. “My Empress...”

Empress?

Tristus leaned over Xu Liang, laying relatively still as compared to before, and said gently, “The Empress is fine. She is well. You’re dreaming, Xu Liang. The Empress is still in Sheng Fan, waiting for you. You must wake, so that you can go to her. Remember why you left her. Remember your quest.”