Drakemaster, p.55
Drakemaster, page 55
Andao stood uncertainly near her, wavering as always. “There are Mongols coming. Lots of them. I let the soldiers out, on the condition they left right away.” He flashed a grin. “I told them I had more ants.”
Dailus gave a nod. They had to go. He drew a shaky breath, and forced himself to return to Bao Xing. “We need to destroy the device before the Mongols arrive.”
“Yes.” She stroked the hair from Yusen’s face. Dried blood flaked away, revealing nothing but bare, whole skin. Healed, in the crimson stroke of light, like the glow worms he had crushed against his chest. But he did not wake. “Will you—I cannot carry him,” she whispered.
Staring down at the small, crumpled form, Dailus stooped and gathered his master into his arms, his slave bracelet rubbing Yusen’s back. Yusen, too, had a name. He drew him tight and carried him to the edge of the landscape, stepping over the border of mercury, back into the world. Dailus deposited Yusen at Zhencai’s side.
The monk sat stiffly, a cloth bound around his middle and another wrapping his shoulder. “He is not dead?”
Dailus shook his head. “The red stone healed him, but he hasn’t woken up.”
“Perhaps he does not wish to.”
Sitting back on his heels, Dailus made a little space for Bao Xing to join her husband, and he thought of the things Yusen had said, rambling in Mongolian, about the fire and his family, about his wife, and his fear and his shame.
He leaned into Yusen’s still face. “Wake up, Yusen! Wake up—you have a duty.”
Bao Xing turned her tear-streaked face to Dailus with sudden fury. “You leave him be!”
No longer the porcelain beauty, caught up in the life of the mind, Bao Xing had found her passion on their curious, dangerous quest. Dailus said, “No.”
He rested his hand on Yusen’s chest, over the slow beat of his heart. “Master, wake up!”
The dark eyes flickered open, and Yusen caught his breath, glaring at Dailus, all trace of his anguish gone in that blink. For a moment he glanced around as if searching for trouble, then he eased up to his elbows, and found Bao Xing. At her breast, she wore the astrolabe, the old amulet he had given her. Yusen caught his breath and let it out slowly. He reached out as if to touch the amulet, and drew back. “All the stars?” he whispered, not meeting her eyes.
“And all the horses,” she answered.
He gazed at her in awe. His hand grew more steady as he touched her necklace, her tumbled hair, her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her lips. She closed her eyes, catching his hand to keep it close, her lips pursed against his palm. Dailus turned away, thinking of how to destroy the great device, thinking of anything but love.
Slowly, Yusen sat up all the way then found his feet. “There must be tools around here, yes?”
“By the kitchen, there.” Bao Xing blinked a little, letting him withdraw his hand, and pointed back.
He walked stiffly, shaking out his arms, tipping his head to one side, then to the other as if he had slept too long on stone, or just arisen from his tomb. Again. He returned after a moment with a hammer that looked enormous in his small fist, another tool tucked into his belt.
“Hand,” he ordered, staring at Dailus.
Dailus held it up, fist clenched, the slave bracelet settling into its place, a chink of bright metal showing where the accursed thing had saved his life. Yusen caught his hand in a soldier’s grip, hands wrapping each other, the grip of a comrade, then knelt, bringing his arm down to rest upon the ground. He plucked a chisel from his belt and struck the bracelet free with one ringing blow, then pulled it away and flung it into the silver lake to sink forever. For a moment, he knelt there still, his black hair hiding his face, a penitent.
Dailus breathed over his master’s bent head—but Yusen was master no longer. “I forgive you,” Dailus said.
Yusen’s head dipped a little lower, and Bao Xing smiled, open and warm.
“Have you all forgotten the Mongols?” Ming Lun inquired.
“Of course not.” Dailus stood up, his arm feeling lighter—no, his entire being lighter for the loss of that pound of metal. Freedom, at last, was his. “There’s a model firedrake on the island. I can use it to bring down the tower into the mercury. Ming Lun, will you help me?”
“Assuredly.”
“Do you know what happened to the plan, or Master Deng?” Andao asked.
For a moment, the dancer hesitated, one foot raised. “He left by the third way. I believe he took the scroll with him.”
“You don’t think they’re going to try again.”
“Like this?” She waved her had toward the huge map and tower, then shook her head. “But the fight to free the Han people is not over.” Her eyes met Yusen’s, both dark and strong, then she dipped into a bow, and bounded lightly over the pillars back to the weapon.
Dailus followed more slowly, his long days accumulating in his bones the way that rust built in the joints of old metal. On the second level of the tower, the bronze firedrake remained, aimed at the gallery where it had taken Yusen down. Dailus recognized its shape, the rough pattern of horses that galloped along the side, and the unique side-facing breach. They had cast his own model into this miniature. Likely Guowei stole it just to prove his mastery over the Mongol’s weapons. Near Guowei’s body lay a bamboo tube of black powder.
“That is one of your firedrakes?” Ming Lun ran her fingers lightly down the side. “It is a beautiful monster.”
He glanced at her sidelong. “An apt phrase. Help me carry it down. If we destroy the lower struts at the back, the tower should topple into the lake behind. It will smash the instruments against the stone on the way down.”
Together, they brought the firedrake to the shoreline where the soldiers died. He nestled the bronze vessel alongside the wooden struts and set about loading the device. He used too much powder and stuffed the end of the bore with cloth bound around stones. He was not aiming his model, he was exploding it, using the very force of his creation to destroy another. Two beautiful monsters, sent to their grave together. “We’ll need a long fuse, so we have time to run.”
Ming Lun squatted beside him, their backs to the others as they worked. She unwound the cord at her waist and offered it up. “Will this do?” He doused the cord in oil from one of the lanterns, then continued his work.
When the wick lay ready, Dailus took the loop of its length into his hand. Together, they crossed the pillars most of the way, until the cord ran out. It lay across the stones in a curious path, leading to Dailus’s last firedrake, like a child grown up full of rage, waiting to spew its fire. Ming Lun stood one pillar beyond, then held out her hand. “Go on. Whoever lights this fuse will need to be quick about finishing the path.”
Dailus held the lantern in one hand, and the last of the wick in the other. His knees and ankles trembled a little, just standing there, while she stood casually, as if she could wait all day.
“The third way out—you know where it is?”
She gave a nod, then pulled something from a pouch, a stone seal which fell heavy in his palm. “Guowei brought this. It is the khan’s personal seal. He’ll want it back.” She gave a little shrug.
“You aren’t coming with us.”
“The emperor still needs me.” She finally met his eye. “This was not the way to win our war. We will find another.” She took a deep breath. “Master Deng crossed back after you took the boat. I saw him, but he lost me in the caves. He still has other plans.”
Dailus sighed. “I’m sure he does.”
“I will find out about them. The Son of Heaven will rule again one day, but not like this.” She indicated the landscape with its shadows of the dead.
“You aren’t coming,” he said again, his throat aching.
“You were the only man who ever wanted me, who ever watched me for myself.” Her eyes gleamed. “And even you won’t love me.”
“I didn’t say that,” he answered, too sharply. “I said I could not marry you.”
Her brows arched upward, a smile lighting her face. Mercury shimmered between them, then she leapt lightly toward him, resting her toes on two of the pillars, she pushed up toward him. Dailus leaned in and they kissed, light and hot, and over too soon. “Know that when I dance, I dance for you.” She slid the wick from his fingers and the lantern from his hand, shifting away so he could pass her and find his way to safety. Dailus concentrated on the movements of the dance and finally reached the shore.
“Do you really think she’ll do it?” Andao said.
“Yes.” Then his smile turned rueful, “But can we see the chamber from the third path, just in case?”
Andao gave a nod. “This way.”
Yusen helped Bao Xing to her feet, drawing her hand to his shoulder and holding it there as they followed Andao. Zhencai pulled himself up and joined Dailus, moving awkwardly, shaking his head. “Being in the world has improved neither my flesh, nor for my spirit.”
“But the world would be in flames, if not for your flesh and your spirit,” Dailus told him, and the old monk made his sign of blessing.
Together, they climbed the stairs and took a narrow path that ran along behind the device, with occasional windows out into the main chamber. At last, the corridor turned aside and angled upward. Dailus stopped at the last window. From here, the device loomed over its miniature world, poised for destruction. Beyond it, he could make out Ming Lun balanced over the stones. She held the lantern, looking up, but if she looked for him, or at the great device she once imagined would save her people, he did not know. His mouth went dry, waiting.
At last, she brought her hands together, her face illuminated by the lantern, and by the spark that flared and crept along the fuse. She lay it down and stood a moment, watching the flame move toward its ending, stone by stone, creeping up.
“Go,” Dailus whispered. “Run.”
At the last moment, she did, springing away, dancing and turning over the pathway and vanishing as the cave exploded once more with light. The ground rumbled and Zhencai caught his arm, tugging at him.
Time itself suspended as if the explosion devoured the workings of the clock and broke the hours. The tower flared, then it, too, twisted with a flash of gold and a groan of metal. The huge armillary sphere on top swung sideways to crash against the wall, its rings bending, its dragons writhing as they fell. Sighting tubes and gears whirled up, freed from their springs and levers to clash against stone. One of them swung in through the window. Dailus leapt back and ran, Zhencai moving ahead of him, up, up into the dark. Then their feet were splashing. He tried to pause, but the tumbling water rushed his feet out from under him, and he slid along a narrow passage of stone, plunging suddenly out into the light.
The sound of breaking wood and groaning metal echoed after him and fell silent at last as Andao reached down a hand and drew Dailus to the bank of a small pool. A stream gushed down from the wall of stone, and he could hear the river on the other side. An exit, yes, but even a man who knew it was there would be hard-pressed to get back inside that way. Beyond the shallow pool where they landed, the stream meandered through a narrow grassy meadow.
Bao Xing sat on a large stone, shivering from her dip in the chilly water, and Yusen shed his del to drape it over her shoulders, wearing only his trousers. He had revealed his thin, scarred chest as if he no longer cared. Andao paced the rocky ground where they stood, and Zhencai sat in a posture of meditation, watching his apprentice, strangely at ease.
“There are other centers of learning,” Zhencai said. “Other places where the knowledge you need can be found.”
“Other places to learn about the world at the same time that I hide from it? It’s not right to detach from someplace that needs me.” Andao swallowed. “That needs us.”
The old man’s hands spread open, palms up. “Detachment is an illusion.”
Andao’s pacing ceased, his hands gripped together. “Will you come with me?”
“I cannot follow the Way, but I can help you find yours.”
Andao grinned, his hands freed to embrace the whole of the world around them.
“What about you?” asked Bao Xing, glancing at Dailus. “What will you do?”
“I’m a thousand miles from home. I don’t know how I’ll ever get back,” Dailus answered, but he stood taller, his chest lifted, as if the very air he breathed were changed. He stood free in the open air, and choices lay before him.
Yusen stepped away from the water, scanning the peaks that surrounded them and the valley where the stream had brought them out, then stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Head cocked, he listened.
After a long moment, he whistled again. Across the stream, something moved, galloping into view: Tsang, and all of her companions. She splashed through the water, her mane streaming out behind her.
“It’s like magic,” Dailus grumbled.
“Mongol magic,” Yusen answered. They stood side by side watching the horses run. “I am a prince of the blood of Chinggis Khan. If I can convince them that I am no traitor, then I can get you a tablet to ensure your safe passage back home.”
“You’ll need this.” Dailus held out the seal Ming Lun had given him. “Guowei stole it from the khan. The arrogant bastard was that certain he would win.”
Yusen closed his fist around it. “I can give you a horse better than any you’ll find in your own land.”
“Smaller, too,” Dailus observed as the horses approached.
Yusen’s hand dropped to his hip, as if searching for a weapon, a way to punish his slave for that remark. He came back instead with a golden pin, topped with a single pearl. “I found this where she fought. Where she danced.”
It fell into Dailus’s palm, sharp and beautiful, precious as memory for the long ride home.
The End
About the Author
E. C. Ambrose writes knowledge inspired adventure fiction including The King of Next Week, also from Guardbridge Books; The Dark Apostle series about medieval surgery (DAW), and the Bone Guard archaeological thrillers as E. Chris Ambrose. In the process of researching her books, Elaine learned how to hunt with a falcon, clear a building of possible assailants, and pull traction on a broken limb. Her quest for real-world detail has taken her from the steppes of Mongolia to the deserts of southern California.
Elaine's short stories have appeared in Fireside, Warrior Women, and Fantasy for the Throne, among many others, and she has edited several volumes of New Hampshire Pulp Fiction. A graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop, Elaine has returned there to teach, as well as at conventions and writer’s groups across the country. She has judged writing competitions from New Hampshire Literary Idol to the World Fantasy Award.
Elaine dropped out of art school to found her own wholesale gift business. Former jobs include professional costumer and part-time adventure guide. In addition to writing, Elaine incorporates weaving, dyeing, and felting into unique garments. To learn about all of her writing, check out RocinanteBooks.com
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All are available at our website and online retailers.
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