Battle Magic (33 page)

“Our glorious general is merciful, and our mighty emperor, sixth of his dynasty, beloved of all the gods, Weishu Maorin Guangong Zhian of the Long Dynasty, holds this realm of Gyongxe close to his august bosom,” the messenger went on.

“So it was strangers that killed all those people in the river and the gorge?” Briar murmured to Souda.

“The blessings of our tiger gods be also upon the head of your emperor,” the commander replied. “In the Heavenly Time to Come, they will surely reward him in the most fitting manner.”

If the messenger thought this, or any of the commander’s replies, to be strange or double-edged, he did not show it. “My master the general bids me to say, we hope to make our visit to your glorious temple a brief, peaceful affair. Give to us the smallest of tokens of your esteem for our lordly and puissant emperor. If you do so, we shall proclaim our desire for peace between our great empire and your gods, and leave here.”

“Interesting,” murmured the commander. “What exactly are these small tokens?” he called.

“Four people,” the messenger replied. “The runaway slave Parahan. His sister Soudamini. The woman Rosethorn. The boy Briar Moss. Your peace, and the peace of all those within your walls and on your vast lands, in exchange for these four, who have offended against the imperial majesty.”

“I may not answer this,” the commander said. “Only the head of our temple may do so. You will have to wait.” He went to the steps. Instead of taking them to the ground or sending a messenger
for the head of the temple, he sat there. A novice who waited with a large pot of tea and a basket full of cups poured one for him and handed it over. The commander seemed in no hurry to pass the message to anyone.

The rest of their group on the wall turned away from the messenger and sat on the walkway, where they could not be seen.

“Just like a Yanjingyi.” To Briar’s surprise, the old priestess who had roused him had somehow made the climb up to them. Now she sat cross-legged in front of him, Souda, and Parahan and let Jimut pass a cup of tea to her. At her side was a tall, gangly young tiger cub on a leash. “Because they trade people to and fro like trinkets, they believe others will do so.” She patted Briar on the knee. “What did you do, boy? Twist the imperial nose?”

“I did no such thing!” he protested. “I was perfectly nice! Rosethorn and me even made him his very own rose, unique just for him!”

The old priestess chuckled. “Doubtless he wants you back to make another. This Rosethorn is separated from you?”

“Just for now,” Briar replied. “She had an errand.”

The woman looked at him as if she knew Rosethorn’s errand was a secret, very magical one. Then she said to Parahan and Soudamini, “And you two troublemakers?”

“We are not slaves,” Parahan said quietly, his hands white-knuckled in his lap. “My uncle sold me to the emperor, but I escaped.”

“It does not matter,” the old priestess said. “Emperor Weishu believes threats will make us crumble like dried mud. Last year, he sent me a beautiful box, carved all over with snakes. It was a very splendid gift.” She shook her head. “It is thanks to my friend
that I lived after I opened it.” The old woman stroked the cub’s back. He butted her shoulder with his big head. She balanced with the ease of long practice. “He ate the small viper the emperor had tucked into my lovely box. We were up all night with his belly ache, but now he knows not to eat vipers.”

“But why?” Souda asked. She looked at the cub with longing. “Why did the emperor send you a viper?”

“I believe he thought that my successor would be likely to forget the debt of gratitude we owe to the God-Kings for allowing our temple to be here. He thought that if he killed the cranky old woman, he would have a friend in Gyongxe. Instead he still has a cranky old woman who now holds a grudge against him. We sent my would-be successor to him in a box of our own.” She stood and went to the wall. The cub stood beside her, his forepaws planted on the ledge. “Messenger! Your imperial master knows who I am — he tried to kill me last year. He failed.” Though she spoke in normal tones, her voice rang in the air. It startled not just the messenger’s horse but those of the mounted soldiers behind him. “Tell him this for me: His palace will crawl with angry cats before I surrender anyone. Gyongxe has many surprises for you people. Get out while you can!” She stepped back from the wall and beckoned to the commander. “Are you ready?” she asked quietly. Her voice only reached those near them. Briar got to his feet. Souda and Parahan were already up.

“If you are,” the Gyongxin soldier replied.

Briar looked out. The messenger was galloping back to his own people. The archers must have set their bolts and drawn their crossbow strings earlier, because their weapons were raised and ready to shoot.

One Yanjingyi soldier, a burly fellow in gold-painted armor, raised a crimson banner. Several men shouted orders as the archers aimed over the temple wall. The soldiers trotted their horses forward.

Then the priestess — the head of the temple, Briar knew now — and the commander began to chant.

The immense orange tiger statue that sat by the gate shook itself and roared at the charging horsemen. The white tiger that was already leaping into the air finished its jump, landing in the middle of the attackers.

The horses went mad with terror. They reared and plunged, screaming as they threw their masters to the ground. The tigers whirled and swung their huge paws, sending horses and men alike flying through the air.

Parahan’s and Souda’s warriors froze at the sight before them, but not the temple archers. They aimed and shot. As their bolts flew, Briar looked at Jimut. He was already aiming his crossbow. Briar turned back to the tigers and saw their weakness. They were anchored near the gate somehow. Once at their limit, which seemed to be about three hundred yards, they could keep the enemy at bay, but they could not pursue them. The Yanjingyi soldiers also figured it out. They formed up out of the tigers’ range and waited for their own mages to have a turn. These worthies had kept far back all along. Though Briar couldn’t see them closely or hear them, he guessed they had taken their beads in hand and were chanting the words that would wake the spells in them.

The Gyongxin and Kombanpur archers launched their arrows high in the air. For some reason they fell short of the mages and even the soldiers. The archers on the wall tried a second time.
The bolts still fell short. The temple’s priest-mages came forward with small pots and boxes. Novices followed with mortars, pestles, cloth bags, and fists full of incense. They set their belongings on the wall and began to mix substances for the priests to burn and chant over. Briar felt their power press against his skin. The next time the archers on the wall shot, their arrows hit the enemy.

Briar ignored what his allies were doing and sat cross-legged on the wall.

“Don’t let anyone trip over me, Jimut,” he said. He sank into his magic, flowing through the roots under the temple and out below the battlefield. Here was a weight of rock that had to be one of the stone tigers. On he went until he sensed the small magics that went into the good-luck charms carried by soldiers.

Overhead now he felt bead-shaped willow with magic dug into its grain: exactly what he wanted to find. Weishu had not warned his mages to remove their wooden beads. There were other wooden beads, but for now the willow ones would serve his purpose.

Briar surrounded those beads with his own magic. They welcomed him. He brought them the memory of their life as trees, before someone had cut them into pieces and forced strange magic onto them. Willow magic healed and united. It was power that bent before it broke. Instead of flowing streams and falling rain someone had jammed killing and destruction into the wood, the kind of spells that burned and thrust.

Willows didn’t understand that magic. They wore it uneasily. Feeling themselves in Briar, remembering what they were, the bits of willow shook off the foreign power. They took up the green magic that had been theirs when they were trees. They grew. Briar
guided their power to veins of water underground. Here they found the fierce strength of the Snow Serpent and Tom Sho Rivers. Briar bound their magic to his, sank both deep into the water, and let go.

Saplings shot from the willow beads worn by the Yanjingyi mages. Rapidly the new trees grew. The mages tore off their strings of beads, but not fast enough to keep from being enveloped by fast-growing willows. The new trees followed their power to heal by uniting the mages’ arms with their bodies and forcing the humans’ two legs to become one. They wrapped the humans in their trunks.

Feeling that he had exacted a little vengeance for the dead who had lain in the gorge and the river, Briar ran down the steps down into the courtyard. He wanted to see what he could do if there were mages at the north gate.

By the time the stone tigers had returned to their poses as statues, Briar had calmed the new willow groves he’d made north and south of the temple. He had lost his chance to ride with the warriors to capture what remained of the enemy after the last soldiers had fled. No one wanted the escapees to reach General Jin Quan.

Since he couldn’t chase soldiers, Briar searched the grass around his new willows and collected the rest of the mages’ beads. The thought of someone with a little power stumbling across them gave him the chills. He also preferred the voices of the new willows to the noise of the villagers after the battle. They were boasting about the valor of Gyongxin warriors and their allies from the south. Briar didn’t want to listen. This war party had been tiny compared to what the emperor had to send, and it
was magic that had won the day. Next time there might not be enough magic to turn the tide. The image of the imperial soldiers in their thousands was never far from his mind. Next time they might not have such an easy victory. Or any victory at all.

Rosethorn rode quickly as she left Briar. The sooner I go, she told herself, the sooner I return to them. Who knows what mischief they’ll get into without me to keep an eye on things?

She looked back after ten yards for a last glimpse of her boy, but a heavy fog had come from nowhere to hide the north bank of the Snow Serpent River. She faced south again and let her patient horse follow the trail. As they moved into the canyons of the Drimbakang Lho, she prayed to Mila of the Fields and Grain, the Green Man, god of growth that was orderly and chaotic, and even Briar’s own Lakik the Trickster to look after him and Evvy.

One thing she had found while carrying the Four Treasures was that her path was always clear. Since leaving the fort she had seen it as a shining pale ribbon along the main road, across the bridge, and now on the simple one-mule track. She only had to stay on it.

Her burden was company of a sort. It carried myriad voices to her. Most of them spoke languages she had never heard, even after all her years of life on the Pebbled Sea. Some bits of conversation came in tongues she knew quite well, speaking of trade, the governing of nations, the weather, the condition of crops, or the behavior of children. The voices held her attention so well that the horse would nudge her when he required rest, water, or the chance to crop grass.

She brought out one of Evvy’s glow stones for light once the sun had set, not for herself, but for her mount. Finally he dug in his hooves to let her know he had walked enough for the day. She made their camp in a stand of trees and rubbed the easygoing animal down, then covered him with a blanket against the mountain cold. She ate yak jerky and cheese for supper, though she wasn’t particularly hungry. Her own common sense, at least, was still working.

Best of all, she breathed easily. She might resent the detour to Gyongxe and the separation from both of her young people, but it was good to fill her lungs again.

The package wasn’t even that much of a burden in a physical sense. She felt its light pressure on her chest, but it wasn’t heavy. She slept on her side with the box still around her neck, one arm draped lightly over the Four Treasures.

She woke at dawn, fed her horse and herself, and continued her upward trek. The gleaming path turned away from the one-mule road onto a game trail some time after noon. Wild mountain goats and yaks politely moved aside to let them pass.

The trail led to a slender ledge over a deep gorge. On her side the cliff rose over a hundred feet into the air above her. “I hope you’re nimble,” Rosethorn told the horse. She gulped when she looked down. The gorge plunged far deeper than she had expected. A ribbon of blue-and-white water tumbled over rocks.

The horse calmly followed the trail around the curve on the ledge and onto wider ground again, deep into shadowed lands. The mountains rose higher, and the path rose with them. Rosethorn relaxed and returned to her dreaming state. That night it was cold enough that she built a fire.

The next day the trail took them down a thin canyon. It was so narrow that Rosethorn could touch both walls when she stretched out her arms. She could tell her mount did not like the close quarters.

“What can we do?” she asked him softly. Even so her voice echoed. “See the path? This is the way we have to go.”