Master of Devils Page 12

  Once we had finished, visiting mystics would use the five hundred and thirty-two pages as the material component in renewing the ward surrounding the outer walls and gates of Dragon Temple.

  While I had come to appreciate the purpose of the temple and wished no harm to befall its inhabitants—excepting occasionally Karfai and Runme—I would have preferred to spend my time learning more of the spells that Jade Tiger doled out with such frugality. He had not even shown me as many as I could maintain simultaneously, much less the spells that would allow me to escape Dragon Temple or contact Radovan, who no doubt luxuriated in the fleshpots of Lanming while I labored in this prison camp.

  My patience with Jade Tiger’s tutelage had lapsed a few days earlier, and I demanded he show me a scroll of message sending. The instant the words had left my mouth, I knew I had overstepped our relationship. Happily, the eunuch replied mildly.

  “Why is this spell so desirable?”

  Despite our conspiratorial relationship, I did not trust Jade Tiger, yet I had no other choice. I had no other confidant within Dragon Temple. Mon Choi continued to treat me sympathetically, but after the incident at the garden wall he had been more circumspect in chatting with me within the hearing of the other disciples. Kwan was courteous but clearly focused on his personal advancement. Among the masters, only Li seemed mild enough to entertain my entreaties, but he would rather go fishing than humor a student.

  And so I confided in Jade Tiger that I had been separated from a companion on the way to Dragon Temple and that I hoped to deliver him a message. I dared not admit that my intention was anything other than to remain and complete my training, for the masters reminded us daily of the punishment for desertion: pursuit, capture, and—if there were any mercy—death rather than punishment at the hands of Master Wu.

  To his credit and my infinite relief, Jade Tiger only smiled when he might have pressed for further information.

  “If you wish only to send a message, you may leave it to me. I have occasion to dispatch communiqués to the king. It would be a small matter to include a separate letter to your friend. Give me your message tomorrow, and I will see that it is delivered.”

  Despite my misgivings, I did as he bade, writing a short note in a simple Pathfinder cipher I had taught Radovan. Upon surrendering the note to Jade Tiger, I considered the more delicate challenge of entrusting my bodyguard’s true nature to the eunuch. Radovan would be more difficult to locate by name than by description.

  “A devil?” said Jade Tiger.

  “Not precisely. In my homeland, some call them hellspawn, yet they are no less human than—”

  “A half-elf?”

  I responded with a civil if insincere smile. Every time I began to warm to Jade Tiger, the eunuch dispelled my ease with a subtle insult.

  Contemplation of his condescension would not improve my calligraphy, so I focused on the effort at hand. The character for “ghost” was deceptively simple. It would have been a shame for me to waste one of the large yellow sheets by failing to capture it on the first effort. I stretched my back, took up the brush, and envisioned the character in my mind. Within a minute it was perfected in thought. I drenched the brush in ink and with five deft strokes rendered the thought incarnate.

  Runme scoffed, but Karfai stared with admiration at the result. When he realized I was regarding him, he sneered, but I noticed the care with which he removed the page. I harbored a fleeting hope that he might learn to treat me with the respect he showed the other disciples.

  We continued in this vein for more than an hour before Master Wu banged a miniature gong to herald the midday meal. Karfai and Runme bolted, leaving me to clean up before joining them in the refectory.

  While my belly was empty, I felt a greater hunger for solitude after enduring their hostile glances while I labored. I took my great brush and the ink bucket to the stream running beside the Peach Court wall. As I passed the proving grounds, I saw that many of my fellows had left their brushes dirty, so I collected those as well. I reached the stream with two ink buckets and half a dozen brushes to clean.

  Bending to my work, I felt a sort of peace I had rarely enjoyed. It was the calm that accompanied a simple task undertaken in serenity. So often in my life I have sought the thrill of uncertainty and danger, but never without the trepidation they breed. Soon I perceived little more than the burbling of the brook and the birdsong from the garden trees.

  Somehow it was no surprise when I detected the delicate fragrance of the princess. In my tranquil state, it did not seem strange that she would tread so close to the labors of a lowly student. Not that I was truly lowly, but it was a pleasure to think of myself as a carefree student rather than a prisoner of circumstance.

  Protocol demanded that I kowtow at once, but instead I squeezed the last of the moisture from the red brush and pretended not to notice her presence.

  “Your calligraphy is beautiful.”

  At the sound of her voice, I turned and bowed in the dignified Tian fashion rather than kowtowing, heedless of the consequences of presuming above my apparent station.

  She stood unveiled, but a silk-covered rice hat sheltered her face from the midday sun. Her garb was of a manly cut, but it was insufficient to the task of disguising her feminine shape. From her hip hung the black and gold scabbard I had observed earlier, the legend of which I had learned a great deal more while copying the historical chronicles.

  If I were not mistaken—and I seldom am—the scabbard contained the fabled Shadowless Sword, a magic blade of surpassing strength and swiftness. It was one of a rare few swords powerful enough to open the breast of the Celestial Dragon at the penultimate moment of the Dragon Ceremony.

  “Nothing under Heaven may be deemed beautiful in the presence of Princess Lanfen.”

  She did not blush, as is the custom of young Chelish noblewomen. Nor did she pale with anger, which was the privilege of her station. Her expression spoke only of curiosity.

  I bowed again, this time in the Chelish manner. “Your highness, allow me to present myself properly. I am Count Varian Jeggare of Cheliax.”

  “A foreign lord knows my identity?”

  “In truth, before misadventure led me to this refuge, I was on an embassy to your father’s court.” It occurred to me that Jade Tiger should be nearby, but I did not detect the scent of incense that followed him everywhere. I wondered that he would allow the princess to go anywhere unescorted by her guards. Her presence here suggested that she had eluded them. I felt a throb of admiration for her independence.

  “My father has fourteen daughters. How is it you identified me?”

  It would have been both true and obvious to mention the legend of her beauty, but I had gleaned another fact about the royal family during my labors in the scriptorium. “Among the daughters of King Wen, the youngest is distinguished by her talent for music.”

  The shadow of a smile touched her lips, but she mastered her expression. “Among the brothers of Dragon Temple, the outlander is distinguished for both his calligraphy and his talent for swordplay.”

  I felt more than the sun’s warmth upon my face. It was proper to bow, but instead I smiled as I have so rarely done since the twilight of my youth. “Among the brothers, I do not disgrace myself, but Brother Kwan is first in sword.”

  “Then surely he will win the honor of bearing the Shadowless Sword.” She touched the hilt of the blade on her hip.

  Nothing I had read suggested that anyone but one of the royal family was permitted to wield the legendary weapon, so swift that the sun itself was too sluggish to lay a shadow beneath its blade.

  “It is our custom to bestow the royal weapon upon the foremost swordsman of Dragon Temple for the pilgrimage to the Gates of Heaven and Hell,” she continued.

  From my reading, I knew that after summoning the Celestial Dragon, the royal representa
tive opened her heart and offered it in exchange for a fraction of the dragon’s immortal spirit, as embodied in an enormous pearl—its heart. Afterward, the dragon granted its supplicants a wish. In ancient years, imperial embassies used the wish to grant prosperity throughout the Empire of Lung Wa. Since the fracturing of the empire into the Successor States, however, the embassy from Quain had bent the dragon’s wish to maintaining the tenuous balance of power between the warring kingdoms.

  I had not realized that the honor of bearing the Shadowless Sword in the ceremony fell to the monk who distinguished himself as First Brother of Sword. Defeating Kwan was not required to escape my kitchen duties, nor had I felt an especial jealousy until I looked into the dark eyes of Princess Lanfen.

  Petty rivalry aside, the favor of Princess Lanfen could prove crucial to my initial purpose in visiting Tian Xia. As the one destined to exchange her heart with that of the Celestial Dragon, it was within her power to grant the request for which the Decemvirate had sent me to the extremity of the world. Once she made her wish, the princess could dispose of the pearl’s husk as she chose. Surely she would not refuse the request of one who safeguarded her passage to the Gate.

  Especially not the bearer of the Shadowless Sword.

  The thought perished the moment I applied reason to the situation. Even at my best, I had little hope of defeating Kwan. Our first contest had appeared close only because he had toyed with me. Since our initial trials, his sword skill had only improved, while I had neglected mine in favor of boiling congee and copying chronicles.

  “Tell me of your country,” said the princess. “And of the reason you traveled so far.”

  My consternation evaporated under the warmth of her regard. “While I have had the honor to represent Cheliax in past diplomatic missions, it is for another cause that I embarked upon this journey. Perhaps you have heard of the Pathfinder Society. Among them I hold the rank of venture-captain, a sort of—”

  The princess looked past my shoulder. I heard the approach of my fellow students. I turned to see Karfai, Runme, Mon Choi, and two of the others departing the refectory. Silently I lamented the speed with which the disciples devoured their meals, and I wondered why they had not remained to gossip as was their custom. Runme pointed through the intervening trees toward the stream where I stood with the princess. For an instant Mon Choi protested, but the others scoffed at his caution.

  I turned to warn the princess, but with a rustle of silk she was gone. A few mature samara fell from the nearby gutta-percha trees, but I could not spy her among the branches.

  How light her step, I thought. She flies as gently as an angel.

  “Leave it to Brother Brush to miss dinner and still not finish his chores,” said Runme. He displayed his yellow teeth.

  I ignored his jibe and bent to gather the black brushes.

  Brother Lu Bai, a hairy fellow who vied with Mon Choi for the honor of Second Brother in wrestling, kicked the stream to splash me.

  The others laughed, but I maintained my temper. It was especially difficult knowing that the princess might remain nearby to witness the derision of my “brothers.” I filled the bucket with water for the black ink brushes, but before I could dip them, Lu Bai stepped forward.

  I turned, hoisting the bucket out of range of his kick. On a whim, I reached out with one of the brushes to paint the character for “wet” upon his brow.

  The others gaped. A guffaw escaped Mon Choi before he could clap his hand over his mouth.

  “What?” demanded Runme, frowning at the word I had drawn. He was among the least literate of the disciples. “What does that mean?”

  I demonstrated its meaning by throwing the contents of the bucket full into Lu Bai’s face. “Wet” dissolved upon his forehead and ran down either side of his nose.

  Mon Choi lost his remaining composure, and pock-faced Yingjie joined his laughter. The others were not so amused. Karfai struck at my head, but I deflected the blow with the bucket. As he shook the pain from his knuckles, I reached out and painted “fool” on his cheek. Shock froze him for an instant. Before he recovered, I slapped the inverted bucket over his head.

  My opponents’ skin was simply another form of scroll. With that realization, I decided to test an outrageous theory. If it succeeded, I prayed that the princess was our unseen witness.

  Lu Bai looked at his brothers before assuming a ready stance and stepping toward me. Summoning to mind the characters of the first enchantment Jade Tiger had taught me, I held the brush behind me to disguise my grip. The ploy succeeded. Lu Bai’s gaze dropped from my face to my shoulder. I shrugged a feint and stepped outside his advance. As he lunged past me, I wrote the characters for “hold” and “man” upon his back.

  Lu Bai froze in place, paralyzed.

  I could hardly believe my eyes. While clearly not impossible, successfully casting a spell in such a manner was not only unorthodox but highly unlikely to succeed. Otherwise, how could this method have gone so long undiscovered? Was it possible, I wondered, that the very defect that made me incapable of casting spells in the traditional manner somehow allowed me—

  The bucket shattered over my head, scattering my thoughts and driving me down to one knee. I had allowed my astonishment to distract me from Karfai. I dropped the brush and rolled away, but a flurry of kicks followed me every inch of my retreat. I tried to rise, but he swept my legs. As from a distance, Mon Choi’s voice implored them to stop, but the beating only increased as Runme and Yingjie joined in.

  My last conscious thought was a prayer that the princess was, in fact, not witness to my latest humiliation.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Moon Blade

  The night we left the House of Silks, Burning Cloud Devil limped down the road beside me. The spell he cast to imbue my infernal body with martial power really took it out of him. I decided to let him get a night’s rest before telling him about the little chat I’d had with his dead wife.

  When morning came, I couldn’t think of a way to raise the subject. Hunched over the fire he’d conjured to boil water, he didn’t look just weary. He looked bereft.

  We sat there drinking tea while I thought of a way to break the ice. He’d gotten up to start the sword-catching exercise he’d been teaching me. He drew the sword he kept on the hip below his remaining arm. It should have been an awkward gesture, but he’d had thirty-five years to practice it. I didn’t ask why he didn’t just wear the sword on the other side, swapping its position with the empty scabbard he always wore as well. I knew the answer.

  It was another remembrance of Spring Snow.

  It was just as well. He hadn’t sharpened the sword in years, maybe not since he’d lost his arm. That made it a better weapon for practice. He’d make an obvious slashing attack, and I’d try to catch the blade between my palms. While I didn’t expect that trick to work in a real fight, I caught it more often than not. The trick was timing.

  Whenever I screwed up and cut my hands, I’d lay them on the coals of the fire. In my devil form, the heat barely warmed me. A few minutes later, I was good as new.

  I got an idea, what the boss might have called a “provocation.”

  “That blade has seen better days,” I said. “I got a new one for you.”

  I removed the silver sword from my pack. It seemed about the right size to fit in the constantly empty scabbard, but the angle of the guard was the wrong shape. Besides, the scabbard was gilded, while the sword’s pommel and crosspiece were untarnished silver. They weren’t a match.

  “You found that in the river?” Burning Cloud Devil’s tone gave nothing away, but he was a sorcerer after all. Sorcerers make great liars.

  “Don’t act so cute,” I said. “You knew I’d find it.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “How were you planning to kill this dragon of yours if those sist
ers had drowned me?”

  He shrugged. “If you could not defeat them, you surely could not learn the Twin White Palms technique. You would be useless to me.”

  I watched his face to see whether he was joking. He wasn’t.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  He didn’t rise to the insult, which I knew he hated. Calling anyone a dog in this country was a shortcut to a fight.

  “Tell the truth,” I said. “You wanted me to find that sword.”

  “I had no idea it was there.”

  “You’d fought those sisters before, hadn’t you?”

  “I had never even seen them.” He straightened his back and lifted his chin. At last my accusations were getting to his pride.

  “Then how did you know about them?”

  “Everyone knows their legend. Many young heroes seek them out to try their skill.”

  “Young heroes like Spring Snow?”

  “What?”

  “This is her sword, isn’t it?”

  His hand went to the golden scabbard. Scowling, he shook his head. “Snow had a golden blade when I met her. She left it in the throat of the dragon.”

  “But she’d fought the sisters before she met you. They defeated her and kept her silver sword.”

  He peered at the weapon, his thick eyebrows forming an angry V above his black eyes. “Give it to me,” he said.

  I stopped myself from tossing it to him. Instead I stood and offered it with both hands, not for his sake but out of respect for Snow. Maybe I have a soft spot for the ladies, but she seemed like a swell kid. Spirit. Ghost. Whatever.

  Burning Cloud Devil grunted as he balanced the blade on his finger, two inches above the guard. “It is the correct balance for Snow. Still, I cannot imagine the sisters could defeat her and not you.”