Six Celestial Swords (62 page)

“Perhaps you should not have pressed for an answer you were not prepared to accept,” Alere suggested in an even, reasonable tone that made Tristus rethink the elf’s maturity, again. He seemed as far removed from boyhood as a man could get without having one foot in his grave.

“How was I to know you would deliver such an answer? You’re closed tighter than a greedy merchant’s purse and I had, after all, only recently crawled out of a slimy, reeking bog.”

Alere laughed just then, and Tristus tried vainly to maintain his anger.

“What?” Tristus demanded. And then his lips rebelled, forming a smile when he continued. “What do you find so...blasted amusing?”

“That I might be inclined to agree with a dwarf,” Alere replied, still smiling, and it was a look that suited him, in spite of himself.

“What do you mean?”

“On reflection, you are more prone to trouble than any man—or elf, for that matter—that I have ever met.”

“I don’t agree with that,” Tristus said, no longer amused. Thoughts of the past crept forward, along with those moments he had been forced to relive in Vorhaven’s manor, under the influence of demon sorcery and the Night Blade.

“Do not take offense,” Alere said, seriously now. “None was intended.”

Tristus nodded, looking away from the elf. “No, I’m sure it wasn’t.” Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Alere. Perhaps I am wearier than I believed.”

“You should rest,” Alere advised, and Tristus didn’t realize the elf had come closer until his hand became a gentle weight on his shoulder.

Again, Tristus nodded, avoiding Alere’s pale gaze. “I’ll be fine, Alere. Thank you...for your concern.”

The elf hesitated, and Tristus began to feel pleasantly warm and unpleasantly awkward.

Don’t
, he begged in silence while Alere lingered near.
Please, don’t.

And then, as if hearing Tristus’ pleas, Alere drew back and left him alone.

A relieved sigh escaped Tristus, and it was several moments before he was able to breathe normally again.

VILCIEL HELD NO awe for Tristus this time. As he returned to Skytown, he felt a malignant terror swelling throughout his body. He had done what he set out to do, and been more successful than he seriously believed possible, finding not only Alere, but the Night Blade as well. However, now the time had finally come to face the consequences of just how he had gone about the deed.

He’d withheld his intentions from Xu Liang, allowed one of the mystic’s guards to abandon his duty, stolen Blue Crane, and in effect stranded the mystic in a strange place with no recourse but to wait and to wonder. He kept thinking of Xu Liang’s quiet anger, the soft tones of disapproval and the delicate frowns that chastened far better than any heated upbraiding Tristus had ever received within the Order. And such tones and expressions hadn’t even been truly aimed at him yet. He could only anticipate the moment, and the remorse already filled his heart to the point of pain. He imagined the organ would burst when he actually beheld Xu Liang’s wrath, as subtle and insidious as a slow-acting toxin.

Tristus would die of guilt. He resigned himself to his fate.

Their arrival was expected in Vilciel, just as before, but rather than griffins and strangers, friends were waiting for them this time. It was Taya’s squeal of delight that brought Tristus somewhat out of his trance. He could not ignore the dwarf maiden when she ran across the snow-covered yard at the top of the final staircase to greet him. He crouched down to meet her, so that she could throw her short arms around his neck instead of his legs, and hugged her back with alacrity. He had indeed missed his little friend.

“What took you so long?” Taya demanded. “I thought something dreadful had happened!”

“Something dreadful did happen,” Tristus replied, absorbing her generous warmth as she continued to hold him. “Thankfully, everyone came away all right.”

“What happened?” Taya asked, deeply concerned. “You’re not hurt?”

“No,” Tristus answered, pulling gently away from her. “I’m all right. I’ll tell you everything later.” He stood to greet Fu Ran. He’d been expecting the large man’s grin, but he was unprepared for the bear hug that came with it.

The Fanese giant stepped back to look at Tristus after nearly crushing him. “You look like you’ve been through all of the Infernal Regions at once.”

“I feel like it,” Tristus sighed.

Fu Ran laughed, folding his arms across his broad chest. He indicated Alere with a flickering glance. “I see you succeeded in recruiting him back into our camp.”

Tristus looked over his shoulder at the stoic white elf, still mounted on Breigh, seeming completely removed from the occasion, except to return D’mitri’s glare when the Phoenix Elf delivered one by way of welcoming his sister back.

“Yes,” Tristus said absently, looking again at Fu Ran when something of more immediate concern suddenly came to mind. “There is something I have to tell you, Fu Ran...about the way Bastien...”

He didn’t get the chance to finish. His attention was drawn, like water from a tipped glass on a canted table, toward the approaching figure of a man he’d last seen barely strong enough to sit up by himself. The mystic’s recovery appeared incredible. He walked again with ease and elegance, his silken robes brushing the snow while he moved without haste. Xu Liang’s hair was pulled back from his face once more, revealing not the beauty that Tristus recalled, but one greater, one earthlier, as his spiritual grace had retreated back within him. He was still thin, but he appeared less fragile and there was actually color in his cheeks, and a luster in his dark eyes that seemed to reflect life, rather than the magic that had been sustaining him before. His expression was tranquil, affirming his exquisite fairness and at the same time peeling apart Tristus’ heart, relieving the pressure that had been building since he started up the mountain upon which Vilciel stood.

Xu Liang approached silently, trailed by Gai Ping and the other guards that had stayed in Vilciel. The Fanese warriors fell back just before the mystic reached Tristus, whereupon Xu Liang proceeded to bow, and said neutrally, “Welcome back, Tristus Edainien. I am pleased to see that you and the others have returned safely.”

Tristus didn’t know what to say, moved by the gesture and stunned by the lack of reproach. He said nothing, and was quickly distracted by Guang Ci, who came forward just when Xu Liang straightened from his bow.

The guard held the Night Blade flat in both hands and dropped onto one knee. He bowed his head and spoke respectfully in Fanese.

Xu Liang stared at the black sword as if it had no recognizable shape or form. A moment of silent study deciphered what was being held before him—what was being offered to him—and he finally gave Guang Ci his response. The words meant nothing to Tristus, but the guard’s actions seemed to explain.

Guang Ci pulled the Night Blade closer to himself, then stood, bowing to his superior, and speaking in what seemed to be humble acceptance to the honor that had been bestowed upon him.

The mystic looked to Alere next, silently, then at Tristus again, and finally at all of them. “I request an audience with all of you indoors. Please come after you have sufficiently rested and refreshed yourselves.”

And then he bowed once more and left.

The formality of the affair made Tristus wonder if he should expect anger after they’d gone in, out of the view of Vilciel’s general public.

“How is he?” Tristus asked Fu Ran, watching the mystic depart.

“He seems normal,” the former guard said, shrugging as if unconcerned.

Tristus frowned, confused until Tarfan stepped forward and explained. “The mage and the ox here aren’t on speaking terms at the moment.”

Tristus sighed heavily, wondering if the Swords truly represented order, having selected bearers in such turmoil as they happened to be. And when it wasn’t the bearers directly, then it was the people they needed to support them.

“He’s been having nightmares,” Taya said gently. “He doesn’t seem to remember them much when he wakes, but they make him feverish. He doesn’t complain, but I’ve seen him clutching at his chest like there’s a tightness or a burning inside, and I’ve heard him coughing. Not badly, but still it’s clear that he isn’t completely recovered from the aftermath of Ahjenta’s Flame.”

“Did you talk to the priestess?” Tristus asked, his concern deepening. He wondered if Xu Liang could still reject the Flame and die anyway, after all their efforts and his.

“Ahjenta talked to us,” Tarfan informed peevishly. “She’s more confusing to listen to than Xu Liang when he’s speaking Fanese.”

“He’ll be all right,” Fu Ran finally said, irritably. “He’s stronger than he looks.” He clapped Tristus on the shoulder. “Come on. It’s a long walk back to the rooms. You can tell us all about your journey into Upper Yvaria along the way.”

XU LIANG STOOD upon the ledge of the enormous window of his borrowed dragon-sized room. He looked out at the cloud-layered horizon until he sensed the arrival of his guests. Shortly afterward, he heard them.

Shirisae had come first, leading D’mitri, Tristus, and the dwarves. Guang Ci arrived next, separated from his fellows—who guarded the entrance of the vast room—by the sacred Blade he now carried. Now Xu Liang understood why the young man found it so easy to disregard duty as he had when he left Vilciel with the knight. It was his destiny to come into possession of the Night Blade.

Fu Ran entered the room alone, as did Alere, whom Xu Liang had honestly not been expecting to see again in this lifetime. Perhaps the elf did not feel that his personal quest was over. Or perhaps he yet found himself drawn to his destiny as the bearer of the Twilight Blade.

When everyone had arrived, Xu Liang turned to face them. He gestured to the floor. “Please, bearers of the Celestial Blades, place your weapons here and then sit down, if you will. I must apologize, by the way, for this room’s lack of accommodation.”

Predictably, Tristus came forward first, and laid
Dawnfire
almost reverently upon the stone floor, as if in offering. Guang Ci followed, delayed only by Fu Ran’s belated translation of Xu Liang’s western words. The Dawn Blade and the Night Blade responded to each other, gleaming faintly, like familiar classmates whispering to one another while their tutor’s back was turned.

Shirisae added the Storm Blade, whose crackling silver light reached eagerly for the gold-glowing spear beside it. Lastly, Alere presented his beloved
Aerkiren
, deigning to part with it by placing it upon the floor next to the aptly named
Behel
. Again the amount of light produced by the weapons was increased, confirming their relation.

Xu Liang waited for the others to be seated, forming a half circle before the Swords. Then he drew
Pearl Moon
from the scabbard tucked into his sash and lowered it slowly over the others. He watched the pale blue light rise and then drift off the slender blade like a fine, glowing mist, adding to the amalgamation of colors forming above the other Swords. It was fascinating to watch, but nothing spectacular. That would come, in time. For now, Xu Liang lowered to his knees and lay
Pearl Moon
down beside the others, noting to himself that one Blade was still missing—the Sun Blade—presumably still in possession of the Empress.

Xu Liang looked at the people huddled before him, regarding each of them separately but also equally. They waited patiently and eagerly, nervously as well as resignedly. Some of them were hopeful, others dubious or apprehensive. Whatever their concerns about the Swords and their capabilities, each of them believed that their coming together meant something, and that the man before them knew what. Xu Liang hoped that he would not disappoint them with his explanation.

“Regardless,” he began, “of your past lives or your current beliefs, all of you have been summoned here by a single source, for a single purpose. It is not a task that can be forced upon you, but one which you must take up of your own free will with the understanding that you act not for yourself, but for the benefit of this world and all who would live peacefully upon it.