Six Celestial Swords (21 page)

“Breakfast is served, lad. Drink up!”

Xu Liang turned at the waist, accepting the small bowl in one hand with such grace that Tarfan felt like a lame-footed muck goblin in comparison. Not so much as a drop escaped as the mystic brought the dish to his lips and drank its contents down. When he was finished, he held the dish in his lap in both hands and thanked Tarfan.

“Shouldn’t you be taking this opportunity to meditate?” the dwarf asked with concern he couldn’t hide.

“I acquired much rest during the early days of our journey from Stormbright. I will be fine. Thank you.”

Tarfan followed the mystic’s gaze into the forest and he sighed, sitting down on the ground next to him. “How do you know this stranger will come?”

“The Blades call to each other and, as a consequence, so do the bearers.”

“How can you know that? You can’t count your empress with her magic spear.”

“No, you’re right,” Xu Liang said. “I cannot. Duty and my sense of kinship with the Songs have always drawn me to my Empress. I learned this about the Swords last night, when
Pearl Moon
answered that blade and I responded to its bearer. It is one of the Celestial Swords, Tarfan. There is no mistake.”

Tarfan drew in a long breath and held it for a moment, studying the bleak, empty conifer forest. Echoing birdcalls filtered out of the thick woods, haunting notes that seemed to mourn life rather than announce it. At length the dwarf said, “What if he got caught up in hunting down those beasts and chased them halfway back to whatever hell they fluttered out of? Maybe he’s too preoccupied to...”

The words tapered into stunned silence when an ivory horse and a rider equally pale strode out of the Hollowen. The man, fair in face as well as form, was dressed entirely in white—shades of white, which included the plush pale silver of his tunic as well as all clasps and buckles required to keep the various articles in place, all of which were silver. The fabric of his heavy cloak blended almost perfectly with his ivory skin and the white-gold of his long, thick hair, which was braided back tightly, adorned with a single silver-white owl’s feather, in the tradition of a certain secluded mountain people of Upper Yvaria.

The man, Tarfan realized suddenly, was no man, but an elf.

THERE IS NO reason for me to be here
, Alere thought to himself.

And yet, he could not take his eyes off the bearer of the blue sword. The frail man emanated an aura like nothing he had ever seen or felt. It went beyond the strange call of their blades. This man was as a ghost, more spirit than body. It wasn’t a wonder his party had attracted so many of the demons. They thrived on quenching souls. The brighter the soul, the more satisfying its death was to them. The perverse creatures must have been salivating, anticipating this kill.

Aerkiren
had cut their foul, lashing tongues from their devils’ maws. It had taken other parts of them as well; tails, hands, heads...there was not much left of the brood that had been skulking in the deeper night of the Hollowen. While
Aerkiren
had destroyed them, the other blade had simply stopped them, cold and fearful as Alere had never imagined the shadow folk could be. They were afraid of what drew Alere. They were afraid of the strength of this man’s soul, that had radiated through his sword last night and threatened to destroy them utterly. Still, the Keirveshen’s fear would not last.

I should be on my way
, Alere thought.
There are more demons to quell
.

Even as his mind prompted him to move on, his mouth betrayed him by speaking out to the strangers. “Who are you people?” he asked in a tone that spoke neither friend nor foe. He chose the language used by most of the dwarves and men of the south, as the human did not look Yvarian. Of course, the silk-clad stranger did not look Andarian or Calliprian either. Perhaps Treskan.

The peculiar man stood before Alere had decided on his origin. Pressing his slim hands together, he bowed to Alere. It seemed a gesture of respect, and so Alere inclined his head in return, but he said nothing more, awaiting his answer.

The man spoke in a familiar tongue but with a strange accent. “I am called Xu Liang. My companion is known as Tarfan Fairwind. We are honored in your presence.”

Alere’s eyes narrowed as they fell upon the dwarf. He said, as a mere statement of fact, “Dwarves have never been honored in the presence of anyone, least of all an elf of the upper lands.”

The stout creature folded his arms tightly across his chest and began to grumble, confirming that the old wounds acquired between their people many years ago still had not healed. Alere smiled thinly, and was about to take his leave when the human spoke again.

“Your sword speaks to mine. Are you not at all curious about what they are saying?”

“Would you claim to understand the language of swords?” Alere asked, somewhat dubiously.

“It is the language of siblings yearning to be reunited,” the delicate foreigner replied, and Alere thought fleetingly of his home in the Verres Mountains. Could these strangers somehow help him get back there faster? Were they also seeking to rid Dryth of its demons? He’d studied them long from the forest and seen that there were warriors among them. Warriors led by this sorcerer, who carried an enchanted blade similar to Alere’s? Perhaps.

Alere glanced down at his own sword, drawn to it as the etchings upon the blade began to shine through its sheath. It was singing...in daylight? That had never happened before, except in the midst of combat.

Aerkiren
,
what is it you are saying?

And then, as if in answer, across the open ground that lay at the edge of the forest, a light began to shine. Alere looked up and saw the human holding out his blade, displaying it as the edges glowed softly blue. Slowly, Alere drew his own blade, and had to squint in the sudden brilliance of both blades shining together.

XU LIANG SPOKE to the elf of the legend of the Blades, and of his homeland and the events taking place there. In return, the elf gave an account of events that had driven him from his home and his quest to end what he called chaos. Of course, it was a common term for darkness or whatever turmoil a land or people faced, but it was in the inflection of the elf’s voice that Xu Liang experienced the recurring and uncanny sensation of a sameness of meaning, just as he’d felt reading Cai Shi-meng’s scrolls and listening to the gypsy woman. Yes, chaos was the Dragon, affecting all parts of the world as it rose out of its ancient slumber.

“I do not think my father knew any of this,” the elf, calling himself Alere Shaederin, finally said. He was seated on a rock amidst their camp, staring at the two swords lying flat on the ground between he and Xu Liang. They were glowing still, though not as brilliantly as they had upon their introduction. “He believed the blade was of elven make and I would agree, to look at it.”

“It may be forged by the hand of an elf,” Xu Liang offered. When Alere silently issued his calm gray gaze, he explained further. “I am not as well versed in the history of the elves as I would like to be, but I understand that your people are as ancient as mine. Great cities were constructed in Sheng Fan while the humans of many western cultures existed with whatever shelter nature provided to them. Your kin filled books with words while those same people were still struggling with the spoken word. The legend speaks of the gods casting their weapons down, but perhaps they only cast inspiration down upon our ancestors.”

Alere considered. At length, he said, “You speak of a goddess who holds the moon in her robes. It is not my intent to blaspheme, nor do I intend any disrespect toward your beliefs, but is it possible that your goddess and mine are the same, viewed differently?” The elf seemed to replay his own words in his mind, struggling with the notion in spite of how easily it came to him. “The Mother of the Sky protects us beneath her veil,” he started.

“Could that veil be an extension of Mei Qiao’s robes?” Xu Liang said helpfully. He added simply, “Perhaps.”

The elf looked again at the swords, both vastly different yet connected through an undeniable sameness. “This is strange,” he whispered. “I have traveled for days and nights, wandered without aim or purpose save to demolish evil where I find it. I don’t know what happened at my home those few years ago that seem so distant. I feel that there is a single source to be blamed and to be found...to be punished, but I know not where to look. These blades coming together may be a sign to follow, but I cannot help wondering it if will lead me astray.”

Xu Liang considered carefully. The truth was that he could not let the Twilight Blade—the weapon of one of Mei Qiao’s two servants—leave him now that he’d found it. Somehow he had to convince the elf to part with it or to wield it at his side. Neither seemed a reasonable outcome. How could the elf give up a sacred sword that had been in his family for unspecified years, the instrument of his revenge against his parents’ killers? At the same time, how could Xu Liang return to Sheng Fan to confront its direst threat with an elven warrior in tow?

There were few in Xu Liang’s homeland who were aware of the elves at all, let alone any who recognized them as an accomplished and civilized, as well as reverent, race. Those who had explored outside of Sheng Fan as Xu Liang had were not often as open to what they discovered and frequently rejected it, as they rejected all else not of Fanese origin. As well, this skilled fighter, who’d cut through the shadows like a devil in his own right, made Gai Ping and the others uneasy. Tarfan and his niece did not pose a threat in their eyes, but this one’s cold, colorless gaze offered no comfort, not even to the dwarves.

Xu Liang had to admit to himself, after hearing Tarfan’s account of the politics between humans and elves in this region, that he was not eager to have an elf quite so near. While Alere seemed completely enrapt in his revenge against all demon kind, what might happen if ingrained prejudices surfaced at just the wrong moment, convincing him that all who were not elf were the same as demon, and just as responsible for the tragedy that had befallen his family?

“I don’t know you,” Alere said suddenly, and Xu Liang held his breath, his expression calmly neutral. The elf continued. “Yet somehow I believe that I can trust you. I think it is your spirit, speaking to me as the auras of these blades speak to one another.”

Xu Liang frowned with wonder. “How so?”

Alere looked at him, his quiet features revealing nothing. “We elves of the north can see such things, and hear them. Your spirit is very strong, stronger than any I’ve ever come across. I don’t know if it is just your magic, or if it is your nature, but I sense no malevolence. Your spirit speaks of loyalty, as was displayed when the magic of your sword spread to protect all who were with you, rather than just yourself.”

There was no admiration in the elf’s words. He didn’t even sound friendly when he spoke them, but Xu Liang was moved and inclined to bow his head and thank Alere for his comments.

“Understand,” the elf continued to say, “that I cannot part with my father’s sword...but I will join you, Xu Liang, on this quest of yours.” He stood and Xu Liang’s eyes followed him. He added tonelessly, “For a time.”

Xu Liang nodded once more in acceptance to the terms. He watched the elf to his white horse, which he promptly mounted. “Where are you going?”

“Since I have joined this quest, it is in my interest to clear away the litter that has been trailing at your heels.” With no further explanation, Alere Shaederin turned his mount around and rode quickly back into the deep woods of the Hollowen.

Xu Liang stood slowly in his wake, and Tarfan arrived beside him.

“Is he leaving then?” the dwarf asked impatiently.

“I believe he will return,” Xu Liang answered, still staring into the woods.

Tarfan muttered an oath to himself and stormed away.

“What’s happening?” Taya asked, groggily, having recently awakened.

“We’re keeping the damned elf!” her uncle barked.

The dwarf maiden yawned. “What elf?”