In the Heart of the Heavens

The Longwei Trilogy volume 1:

Heart of the Heavens

A novel of Adventure and Romance by

Naholo Imastabi

The boy's bare feet slapped as he ran through the muddy, winding streets of Delun village. A recent downpour left the road dotted with deep puddles, which the boy nimbly avoided. Rong Chao sighed, and set his ceramic cup down gently on a wicker table. From his perch on the outdoor patio of a quaint tea house painted with river reeds, he could see that it wouldn't be long before the boy worked his way through the tiny hamlet and reached his side.

And there was no doubt that the boy was coming for him. The boy's mud-streaked legs flashed as he hollared Rong's name.

"Master Chao! Master Chao! There's strangers in the village!"

A wrinkled laborer cursed as the boy nearly made him drop his load. The heavy burlap sacks of dried rice remained in place on his shoulders, but just barely.

Rong turned about in his seat, facing away from the village proper. Now he could see right through the modest tea house, past the small firepit and out the front door. The boy came back into view, following the meandering well worn path to the tea house's door.

He finished his tea and picked up his instrument, the Ruan. It was a four-stringed work of art, crafted of pale ash and spidersilk strings. Rong took a moment, as he often did, to remind himself of how lucky he was to have such a fine artifact. White as the driven snow, the strings had yellowed with time but remained taut and ready for his fingers.

Rong quickly stepped outside, fearing for the boy's safety if he were to track mud inside the spartan but spotless tea house. He ran a hand through his dark hair, done up in a topknot to keep it out of the way while he was playing. Grunting in alarm, he wet his slender finger and rubbed at a stain on his long-sleeved silk shirt.

"Master Chao!" The boy padded up and leaned over, holding himself up with his hands on his knees. He tried to speak several times but his body insisted on sucking in air instead.

"Settle down, Han," said Rong with a grin. "What's got you all riled up? Did you see another tiger swimming in the rice paddies? Or is an army of the dead on the march? Oh, I know...it must be a dragon!"

"Strangers, Master Chao," panted Han. "You said...tell you if...saw...saw..."

"Han, I'm going to pack my pipe." Rong extracted a carved wooden pipe, made to resemble a catfish. The beast's painted jaws were thrust upward, forming the bowl. "That should give you a chance to catch you breath."

"But there-"

"Hush." Rong stuffed his bowl with a small amount of pipeweed while he regarded the boy's sweating face. Like most of the southerners of Longwei, he had a more rounded chin and his eyes were light brown, almost gold. Long hours spent in the rice paddies, enduring a blazing hot sun, had lightened his hair to dark brown.

He lit the pipe with a tinder from the nearby firepit. He was not given to smoking dreamweed, the wickedly intoxicating hallucinogenic that was popular with both aristocracy and working class. Rong preferred a clear head, and his herbs were mild and relaxing by comparison. That, and he'd seen his brother degenerate on the dreamweed from a powerful, imposing figure to a brittle stick unable to bear its own weight.

Rong exhaled. The boy panted no longer, and sweat no longer ran down his forehead in streams.

"Okay, Han. Let me hear it."

Han took a deep breath, and Rong braced for the coming storm.

"Strangers in the village, Master Chao! I saw one of them right away, when I was feeding the hens at daybreak. She walked right past me and headed into the Inn!"

"A woman, traveling alone?" Rong was intrigued. Most folk in these parts didn't travel more than they had to. The roads were dangerous, beset with bandits and tigers and some creatures even more fearsome. The throne simply had not enough men to watch the thousands of miles of roads which wound about the rugged mountains and foothills of the southern provinces.

"She was a Seven Star Monk, I am sure of it!"

"Oh, Han," said Rong with a chuckle. "What in the world would make you say that?"

"She had the marks, Master Chao. I saw them! The Prowling Tiger, branded on her left arm!" Han pulled up his sleeve and patted the inside of his own forearm. "Right here! I didn't get a good look at the one on her other arm, but it has to be the Guarding Dragon!"

"Are you sure it wasn't just mud, or a birthmark?" Rong grinned. Ever since he had come to Delun a few days ago, Han had been tagging along. It was no secret that traveling minstrels often paid coin for good tales, and Han had a hundred. Most of them were cliched, and seemed awfully similar to other tales, but he couldn't fault the boy's enthusiasm.

"I'm sure! You said you'd pay if I found you someone who could help find your wife!"

Rong felt his face twist into a scowl. He didn't want to think about Chuntao, because then he would become frantic again. There was no telling what her abductors were doing to her, but she had been a beautiful, if low born, woman...

"And she's not the only one!" Rong's mind returned to the present, and he focused on Han's dirty face. "There are riders as well! Big men, in armor and carrying spears and the Imperial standard and-"

Rong's heart skipped a beat, and he felt chill despite the summer morning's heat.

"Han, did you say Imperial standard?" He crouched down and took the boy by the shoulders. "Are you sure?"

"Yes Master Chao! A Dragon breathing lava and ash! Everyone knows what the Emperor's sigil looks like!"

"Great." Rong ran his hand down his face, fighting down a wave of panic. It wasn't that he was afraid for himself. Imperial troops rarely bothered with penniless musicians.

But a defenseless village, just bringing in a near-record harvest? And one so very far away from any major cities, making it unlikely that word would spread anywhere of note.

"What have these horsemen done?"

Han seemed to pick up on Rong's somber tone, because he straightened up. A sober light of realization dawned in his young eyes.

"They're here to collect tax," he said slowly "aren't they?"

"Most likely, yes."

"What are we going to do? Zhuntao village was burned to the ground because they got mud on a tax collector's shoe!"

"Calm yourself, Han," said Rong, even though he felt anything but himself. "Those are just stories. Zhuntao burned down after a lightning strike started a fire."

"That's what the Emperor's people said, but it's not true! Should we run?"

"Han, most likely the Imperials will quietly collect a wagon load of rice or two and be on their way. Time is money to the Empire, and they don't want to fritter it away for a bump on the road like Delun."

"You think so?" Han's look of relief was comical.

"I know so." Rong collected his Ruan and slung it over his shoulder. "C'mon, let's go see these riders for ourselves."

Both their eyes went wide when the village's heavy brass bell rang out. Rong looked to Han and arched his brows.

"What is it? An attack?"

"No, it's a summons! The village elder wants everyone to come to the meeting place."

"Where's the meeting place?"

"Where to do you think?" The boy's face held a trace of a sneer. "At the Peach Blossom Inn."

Rong nodded. The Peach boasted three levels, with a large courtyard in the center. Though there wouldn't be enough places to sit, at least there would be sufficient space for every adult villager. The children would normally be left at home, but Han's position was unique; His mother ran the Peach, and he was expected to help serve the guests.

They joined the throng of people filtering out of the fields and huts. Worried faces stared back at each other, while wild rumors leaped from tongue to ear about the purpose for the summons.

Most of the seats were taken by the time Rong and Han wormed their way inside. They parted company as the boy was kept busy keeping the guests refreshed. The sun-splashed courtyard appeared to be the epicenter of the gathering, as the Elder and what Rong took to be the leader of the Imperials holding court on the steps of a small fountain.

The Imperial was imposing in his dark red armor. His helmet sat on the steps near his scabbarded, curving sword. A pate bereft of any hair shone in the sun, while the man's face was covered in a thick beard. Eyes narrow and serpentine glared at the gathering villagers. The Elder, a bent and wrinkled man of nearly a hundred years, appeared more intimidated by the casual seeming leader than he did of the armed soldiers flanking either side of the fountain.

As the Elder rose to his feet, a hush came over the crowd. The old man's high pitched, nasal voice carried to every ear present.

"May I present our honored guest Legate Pan Fo," he gestured shakily toward the seated leader. "He has come to collect the taxes due our beloved Emperor."

Rong cringed. The emphasis the old man had put on 'beloved' seemed to be a warning of sorts. As if he were telling his people not to resist unless they wished grief.

Pan Fo rose to his feet, sweeping his purple cloak out behind him with a practiced gesture. His voice carried well through the Inn, even to those who were on the upper levels and couldn't see his beaming smile.

"Good people of Delun," he said graciously "I have come at the Emperor's behest to humbly request your annual tribute."

No one seemed surprised by this. Taxes were a part of life to the villagers.

"For every three bags of rice harvested, two shall be set aside for the Emperor."

Rong hissed. Pan might as well have poured black powder all about the floor and set it ablaze. Outraged villagers swarmed forward, hands raised in anger. They weren't violent—not yet—but it was clear by their wide eyes and hot words that violence was quite possible.

During the tumult, he spotted the other stranger Han had spoken of. A slight figure, wearing a hooded robe that covered most of her face. Even with the chaos around her, she calmly sipped at a steaming bowl of tea. Maybe Han was right after all. Few folk could be so serene amidst a brewing storm.

Rong returned his attention to the courtyard when he heard a collective gasp, and then silence. He joined the villagers in their horror as he stared at a farmer, legs still damp from the fields, with his throat slashed ear to ear.

"He tried to lay a hand on the Emperor's own men," rumbled Pan. "The same will befall any who dare to defy Imperial edicts."

A sick, nauseous wave roiled within Rong. It was a tragedy, to be sure, and Delun would weep this night. Still, it could have been worse. Pan seemed content, his example set, and now turned to the mundane matter of tax collection.

Numbly, the villagers listened while Pan instructed them to bring their tribute outside the Inn. Their homes would be searched, as well as their fields.

"I have been collecting for the Emperor for three decades," said Pan with a wide, almost cheerful smile. "Therefore I assure you that I am accustomed to all of your peasant tricks. There is no where you can hide from me."

It seemed the people of Delun were wiser than he gave them credit for. They took the unfair edict with stony silence. Yes, it could have been much worse indeed. Give it a day and Pan would be gone, this horror a painful memory-

The rock smashed into Pan's temple, causing his face to jerk to the side. He didn't cry out, but slowly reached up with his finger and felt the wound. When his finger came back red with blood, his eyes narrowed to slits.

"Who threw that?" Livid eyes scanned the crowd. Rong hadn't seen who had hurled the missile, but he cursed them to the Hell of a thousand Cuts. Now the whole village would likely suffer....

"I said who threw that?" Pan stalked up and down the line of people, none of them daring to meet his gaze. Save one. Han stared up at Pan, his mouth open in shock. "Was it you?"

Han barely had time to shake his head before the Imperials yanked him out into the courtyard by his hair. They forced his head down on the steps and held his arms behind him.

"Bite the step, boy," hissed Pan.

Han quivered in terror, his tunic growing damp as he voided his bowels.

"I said bite it!" A huge hand twisted in Han's hair until he complied. Pan raised his boot into the air over Han's head. Rong's hands clenched into fists at his sides. He felt helpless and alone.

"Now," rumbled Pan as he stared about the gathered villagers "if the real culprit wishes to confess, he can take this boy's place. Otherwise, I'll execute him right here, right now."

Han's mother tried to make it into the courtyard, but a pair of stocky soldiers in plate armor grabbed her by the biceps and held her back. Her legs kicked wildly, both tearful pleading and violent resistance meeting with equal indifference.

"Family members are excluded, of course," said Pan with a snide smirk. "Well? Anyone else want to confess and spare this poor boy's life?"

Rong looked away, his innards wrenching. Not a single soul stepped forward to save Han from his fate. Han's mother cried out to the onlookers, many of them by name, to save her son. Even those old and feeble and near death seemed unwilling to end their time this day.

Pan crouched down so his face was inches away from Han's. The boy whimpered as the massive soldier patted his head gently.

"Sorry, son," he said with a touch of genuine sincerity "I honestly thought the cur responsible would step up and accept his fate, but it seems I gave these wretched bumpkins too much credit. It will be painful-" Han sobbed, but didn't dare remove his face from the step "-but soon you will be in the next life."

What we need is a hero, thought Rong. If this were one of my stories, this is where a hero would step in and save the day.

Out of desperation, he glanced in the direction he had last seen the alleged monk. She was no longer visible, and Rong couldn't blame her. He wished he could have slipped out himself, but a sense of obligation to Han kept him glued where he was.

"May you know peace in your next life," said Pan. He brought his foot up into the air, hovering over Han's head. Rong noted that the limb didn't tremble at all from the effort.

Someone should step up, thought Rong. Someone should, but not me.

His feet started moving, and Rong shouldered his way through the crowd. It wasn't too hard; No one wanted to get too close to the horrific act they were about to witness, and yet no one was looking away.

Yes, this situation calls for a hero. I'm no hero, though, heroes are idiots.

Rong knew that if he took one more step forward, he would be noticed by Pan's men. He nearly lost his nerve, contemplating the horrible death he would likely endure, but then he caught sight of Han's mother. She was middle aged, haggard and thick of form. Beauty long ago fled, she nonetheless carried herself with a dignity that few nobles could muster. That was gone now, her eyes wide mouth slack with shock. She had lost all hope.

Giving hope to the hopeless is the greatest gift you can bestow, thought Rong. It was a saying of the Dharma, a scholar-messiah born some centuries ago who was reknowned for his wisdom.

"A moment of your time, Master," said Rong as he stepped onto the courtyard.

All eyes snapped his way, and Rong felt the familiar thrill of being the center of attention. He was fond of an audience, and if this was to be his final performance he intended to make it one for the ages.

"What do you want, minstrel?" Pan's dark eyes gazed up and down Rong's form. "Are you here to confess, and take the whelp's place?"

"If I must." Rong offered a polite, deep bow. "I would prefer that no one die today at all."

"There must be a price paid for insolence against the Emperor." Pan shook his head, almost sadly. "There must."

"Then let that price be paid in rice," said Rong. "Let the people of Delun offer tribute to the Emperor, and give extra portions on top of the yearly tax."

Scoffs and cries of outrage erupted from the villagers. Pan threw back his head and laughed.

"It seems that you have gambled on the wrong mantis, boy." Pan lifted Han by the collar of his woven tunic and tossed him aside. "Since the good people of Delun won't pony up the goods, I guess you'll have to be the one to bite the stairs. That's fate."

"A moment, please!" Two men grabbed Rong by the arms and dragged him forward. He was careful not to drop his Ruan, which he held in his left hand. "I would like one final request before my execution!"

Pan nodded at the soldiers and they released him.

"Very well, as a token of respect to your honor and bravery, I will hear this request."

"I want to live?" Rong smiled just a bit. He couldn't help saying it, and the ripple of spontaneous laughter was balm to his soul. Even Pan laughed, a merry twinkle in his eyes that almost gave Rong hope.

Almost. "Request denied." He gestured toward the waiting stairs, still damp with Han's drool.

"Wait! What about a song, one last performance to be remembered by!"

Pan scratched his chin through his thick beard. He nodded his assent.

"Play for us, minstrel." The general sat down on the stairs and crossed his arms.

Rong fished his fishbone pick out of his sleeve and strummed it across the ruan's strings. The sound lingered in the air for a long time, while he gathered his inner power.

He had long ago learned that he possessed a gift for persuasion, mostly getting young peasant girls to spend the night with him. Over time, Rong developed a method of applying this knack to his music. By playing the right notes, singing the right pitch, he could often lull an audience into a sort of trance. They wouldn't obey him if he told them to murder, or steal, but they didn't get up and leave in search of other entertainment either.

If he could use his technique on Pan and his men, Rong might just be able to slip away while they were enthralled. It was not likely he would succeed, but maybe he could cheat death one more time.

He was starting to make a habit of that.

Rong played In the Garden of Fireflies, one of his favorite love ballads. It was long, possessing seventeen movements, and had numerous spaces where a single note was played repeatedly. In short, it was boring and dreary, making it ideal for his purposes.

Fatigue set in after he'd been playing for twenty minutes. Getting the right notes for his pacification technique required pressing on the strings much harder than normal. Most of the villagers were looking on with vacant stares, and even a few of the soldiers, but Pan just looked bored. Bored and impatient.

"Enough!" he roared, waking everyone out of their trance and stopping Rong's performance cold. "This song has no end! Is that your plan, minstrel, to bore us to death?"

"Well, I was hoping," said Rong.

"Try plying that sharp tongue," said Pan "with a broken jaw!"

Rong was never a fighter, but he did manage to lash out with a few good kicks before they threw him on the stairs. He continued to struggle, rolling onto his back and writhing like a landed carp.

"Get him over on his belly, boys," said Pan "we're running la-"

Something flashed threw the air and slammed into Pan's open mouth, making his head jerk back. His hands went to his face, and he doubled over and coughed up chunks of rock and what looked like a few teeth.

"WHO THREW THAT?" Pan's teeth were covered in a sticky sheen, crimson staining his beard. "STEP FORWARD, RIGHT NOW!"

Rong stared, his heart skipping a beat, as the slender monk stepped out onto the courtyard. She didn't do so arrogantly, or aggressively. It seemed as casual a gesture as stepping into a garden.

Pan grimaced in pain, held his hand before his mouth. His eyes widened a bit when he realized he was being challenged by a woman, but it didn't dampen his resolve.

"Kill the priestess!" He howled around a mouthful of blood.

The four soldiers not holding Rong down moved forward. There was a hissing sound as blades came free of their scabbards. One of the men drew his long-bladed sword back until it was even with his shoulder, then gave a shout and stabbed forward.

The monk moved so fast Rong could barely follow. She pivoted on one foot and twisted her body to the side, avoiding the blade completely. One of her branded arms lashed out once, twice, three times. The monk landed a flurry of blows to the soldier's body, apparently unconcerned that much of it was armored.

The soldier staggered forward a step, eyes wide and jaw slack. His free hand clutched and spasmed, and then he collapsed to the ground. A line of foamy saliva dribbled out of his lifeless mouth.

Rong snapped his attention back to the sounds of battle. While he had been staring at the dead man, the other soldiers engaged the monk. Despite being outnumbered and unarmed, two of them were already twitching in heaps, dead or dying. The monk ducked under a wicked slash meant to decapitate and came up with an attack that left both her hands buried in the man's throat. When she pulled them away, Rong could see no visible wound, but the man fell to his knees and gasped for air regardless.

Suddenly, he was free, forgotten on the stairs before the fountain. The last two soldiers came hard and fast at the little monk, but her speed and timing were nothing short of miraculous. It was as if he were watching a hero of legend made flesh.

Again she lashed out between their whirling blades, and again her foes fell dead bereft of any blood. During the melee her hood was thrown back, revealing the partially-shaven hairstyle worn by women monks of the Heaven's Way order.

Rong felt his heart catch in his throat, because he never expected the monk to be beautiful. Eyes the shape and color of almond peered out from under thin, expressive brows. Her lips were thick and appeared soft, though they were drawn in a determined line. Her thin face and pointed chin made her appear young, though he would have wagered she was well past twenty summers.

Except for her eyes. Her eyes seemed much, much older than that. Ancient as the mountains and wise as a dragon.

"You, priestess!" Pan drew his own blade, a heavy, curving monster with brass rings along the dull edge. Such a sword could crunch right through armor, and Rong had once been unfortunate enough to witness a man's leg severed just above the knee with one blow. "The legends say the Monks of the Heaven's Way support the Emperor! How dare you turn against his men when they dispense justice?"

"The legends are true," said the woman, her voice melodious but bearing a harsh edge. "But there is no Heaven's Way. Not anymore."

Pan took a two handed grip on his blade and turned his body sideways. He moved forward with trained precision, not allowing himself to leave openings in his guard.

"I care not," he hissed between still-bloody teeth.

"And nothing that I have witnessed this day seems just," said the priestess, her eyes becoming fervid slits. "In the name of Heaven, you will be punished."

In answer, Pan swung his massive weapon. The dull swish as it sliced down at the woman was so visceral Rong almost couldn't bear to watch. The monk swiveled to the side, then unleashed a barrage of strikes on Pan's right arm.

Pan pivoted on his rear leg and turned for another assault, but his sword lagged behind. The look of confusion in his eyes was almost sad as he realized his arm was just dragging limply at his side. He could lift his sword one-handed, but it made a clumsy weapon when wielded that way.

"What...what's...this is sorcery!" Howling, he swung the sword in an awkward but deadly arc. The monk back stepped, avoiding the strikes with apparent ease, until she unleashed a kick that sent the blade spinning out of Pan's shattered wrist.

She wasn't finished. The monk hit Pan in the face, the neck, and the chest with what looked like nothing more than firm touches. Indeed, he seemed to be in no pain when she finished, turning on her heel and walking away.

"I...I feel..." Pan's head jerked backward, his limbs twisting, as his body was wracked with agonizing spasms. The scream that wrenched from his wide open, lockjawed mouth almost filled Rong's heart with pity. Almost. An eruption of foamy blood gushed out of his mouth and stained his armor, and he fell lifeless to the ground, eyes staring at the blue sky.

He glanced around the courtyard. Now that it was over, the villagers were talking excitedly. He'd seen how these sort of things usually panned out, and resolved to get as far away from Delun as possible. Despite his innocence, the villagers might turn their ire toward him.

Or the monk. Wisely, she was leaving as well. Rong came to a spur of the moment decision and followed her.

First he collected his ruan, covering it with a sturdy leather cloth. Then he relieved Pan of his coin purse, because the bearded fellow couldn't take it with him to the next life anyway.

The Fist of Heaven, he thought. If anyone can help me find Chuntao, it may be her.

Chapter 2

Swirling gently, the pink tinged blossom floated to Earth. Bo Lin looked on, sighing contentedly, as it alighted on the small pond. Perfect ripples radiated across the surface, for a moment easing the disquiet in his heart.

But only for a moment. Even the splendors of his garden weren't enough to take his mind off of his upcoming wedding. Bo had known for almost as long as he could walk that one day he would be married to cement a political alliance with the Kang clan of Lin province. Time had done little to prepare him for the end of his youth.

That was how he saw it, of course. His uncle Yao viewed it as a glorious event, the day that Bo finally grew into his job as Governor. Technically, he'd held the position since before he could walk. Yao had handled the demands of ruling Hei province until Bo reached the age of eighteen seven moons earlier. Fortunately, Yao had continued to do most of the work, freeing up Bo to spend time in his garden.

Once he was married, his time would no longer be his own. There were the necessary visits to be made to the Emperor, to his bride's family, and a tour of the province so his people could formally greet the new couple. There would be no one to enjoy his koi pond, or the weeping willows that brushed the water with their fronds. The crickets would go unheard, the fireflies unseen, and the gentle rush of water over smooth stones would no longer lull him to sleep every night.

"You seem troubled, my lord."

Bo turned to regard the speaker, a woman of not many more years than himself. She was wearing the dark maroon of the Xiao house guard, and bore a short bladed sword at her hip. Her face might have been pretty but for the pattern of scars crisscrossing it. A wide gash across her nose drew most of the attention, as it had been a grievous wound she had barely survived. One of her dark brown eyes was missing, the empty socket covered by a silk eyepatch that bore his house symbol stitched in red thread. Her hair was long, but kept in a tight bun to keep it out of the way.

"I am fine, Ahda," he said with a smile. "Though I wish you could guard my mind from fear as well as you guard my body from harm."

"Phantoms of one's own construction are not easily defeated, my lord," she said with a bow of her head. "I fear unless your fears try to poison or innundate you with arrows my skills are of little use."

"How long have you been my bodyguard, Ahda?" Bo rubbed his chin and felt a bit of stubble. He wished he could grow a beard and mustache like Yao had, but it always came in patchy. "Six, seven years?"

"Seven years and four moons, my lord," said Ahda in her calm, emotionless way. "Ever since your uncle fired Bao Choi for training you in Wu Shu."

"And he hoped that a woman wouldn't be so eager to spar with me," said Bo with a grin. He ran a hand through his long hair, smoothed out a few wrinkles in his crimson silk jerkin. It would be a shame to sweat in such an outfit, but he was running short of time... "Of course, if he knew that you were, he'd probably have dismissed you a long time ago."

"Then it pleases me that he has not discovered the truth," said Ahda with a slight bow of her head.

"And me as well." Bo Lin had always found her pretty, even after she became scarred in his service. Ahda had strictly rebuffed him when as an adolsecent he'd tried to change the paramaters of their relationship. She was to defend him from harm, and that was that. Getting emotionally involved with him would make her less effective.

That was what she had told him, anyway. Secretly, Bo believed she simply didn't like him much. Was she loyal? Without question. Would she die to protect him? Absolutely.

But would she lay with him as a woman? No. That was the one service she would never provide.

So years ago he had given up on that particular dream. However, he still secretly admired her in his own heart. Once she had stopped an arrow meant for his heart with her open palm. The metal head tore through her flesh, jutting out at the end of six bloody inches of shaft. Ahda's face was contorted with pain, but rather than attend her wound she had thrown him to the floor and protected him with her own body. After the attack, his physicker had drawn the arrow out of her, along with six others.

Over time, he had learned to think of her as his living shield; Implaccable, relentless, and as much fun to be around as the steel from which it was made. Bo couldn't do hardly anything at all without Ahda's approval. No, he couldn't go riding after dark because it was too hard for her to spot potential ambushes. No, he couldn't stay out drinking past the third hour of the night because it was bad for his humors. And NO, he couldn't take the merchant's pretty daughter back home with him because she might have taken a bribe to poison him.

At this stage of his life, Bo Lin considered his bodyguard to be as much a strict nanny as anything else. A nanny who remained at his side long after childhood had fled. Still, he literally couldn't fathom life without Ahda hovering nearby.

"Of course, Master Xiao, you wouldn't have so much need of a bodyguard if you could avoid upsetting those in positions of power." Ahda's tone was lightly chiding, her eyes as stoic as stone.

"I don't upset those in power...just those in power that are corrupted by it." Bo Lin unfolded from the smooth stone he had been seated on and stretched. "Ah, my garden brings me no pleasure today. Perhaps we could work in a bit of sparring. I feel that my swordsmanship is getting better almost daily."

Ahda bowed her head politely. She was far too well trained a servant to voice her own opinions, but Bo knew she didn't exactly consider him a Wu Shu genius.

"Oh, but we cannot." Bo hung his head and his shoulders slumped. "Not with the servants using the dojo's floor to fold paper lanterns for the wedding."

"It is a shame, Master," said Ahda. Of course, he had no way of knowing whether she truly felt that way, but that was part of what made her such a great servant. Ahda knew her place; As an orphan taken in by the Xiao household, she was lucky just to be allowed near the eldest son, let alone serve him.

Bo grinned at the approach of booted feet approaching from the house. The garden was located almost at the exact center of the estate, and the Xiao family manner—more of a fortress—had been designed to confuse and delay invaders. Thus, it was likely that he would be greeted with a red-cheeked, puffing messenger.

He was not disappointed. The youth came rushing out of the palatial dwelling and dropped into a low, crouching bow before Bo Lin.

"Rise," he said quickly, because he had never gotten used to the sight of people bowing before him. He wondered if it were because his family wasn't truly noble, but had been elevated to that status three generations ago because of unswerving loyalty to the Imperial family. It just wasn't in his blood to place himself above others.

"Lord Yao requests your immediate presence," said the youth in a rush. "Your betrothed approaches!"

"What? Lady Rei Kang?" Bo rubbed his chin. "Are you certain? She was not to arrive for several more days."

"My lord, her entourage was spotted on the Jade Road by our sentries. The riders bore a standard with a diving hawk, claws outstretched for the kill. There can be no doubt as to their identity."

Bo Lin sighed. He truly had been counting on a few more days grace before he had to face his fate. He mustered his inner discipline and even managed a smile. It wouldn't do for the men to gossip about how much the Governor was dreading his marriage.

"Then it pleases me to receive her," he said, folding his hands behind his back. "Please, go and tell my Uncle that I will attend him shortly."

"By your leave," said the youth with a bow. Then he was up, elbows and legs pumping as he made haste for the front gate to the manor.

Bo left his garden, Ahda a few steps behind, and entered the manor's polished wooden halls. Murals of high mist-shrouded mountains spread out on either side of him. When he'd been younger, he had spent long hours standing before the twenty-foot long landscapes, marveling at the detail and passion the artist had put into every brush stroke. Once, he had tried his own hand at painting, but he lacked any real aptitude. Poetry yielded him better results, or so he thought, though the only one he dared read his work to was Ahda, and she gave him little feedback other than 'well done, my lord.'

Bo wished he could have been a painter, or a minstrel, or even a soldier. Soldiers at least got to get outside and move. At times, he felt as if his own movements were more regulated than any prisoner's. Then there was the work itself; Governing was tedious and trying. Everyone wanted something from the state and wanted to give nothing back. If he gave approval to a river being dammed for the sake of farmlands, he would have fishermen griping that they couldn't make a living. Approving a new drinking establishment? Best be careful, or you'd have all the veteran inn owners telling you they couldn't handle the competition.

It was all read this and sign that and handling business that really wasn't all that interesting. Bo Lin treasured the times he could spend in his garden, or sparring with Ahda, because those were the rare opportunities he had to do what he wanted.

You are an ungrateful fool, Bo, he thought. Surrounded by opulence while others in this very province struggle to eat.

Perhaps in the next life, he might know something of peace and pleasure.

Bo reached the end of the serpentine corridors and stepped into bright sunlight. Bronze statues of rearing tigers flanked either side of the Xiao manor's entrance. He could remember a time when his uncle had been livid about those tigers. Yao should have understood, they were the perfect size for a ten year old boy to ride...

His sandals slapped against the stone stairs as he descended into the courtyard. Because La Ja, the capital city of Hei province, was nestled up against the Ming mountains, space was at a premium. Thus, the Governor's manor had only a modes sized courtyard, barely one hundred paces square. Compared to the immense expanse of the Imperial Palace—large enough to hold his entire manor and still have room to spare—it was positively quaint. Yao had talked about annexing some of their neighbor's property for expansion, but Bo had nixed the idea. He really didn't want to make his people move just for vanity's sake.

A tall, thin man awaited him at the bottom of the stairs. His Uncle Yao's slender, pinched features furrowed into a smile. The long sleeves of his yellow silk gown swished across the flagstones as he spread his arms wide.

"Governor," he said cheerfully.

"Uncle." Bo smiled back. Yao had been taking care of him ever since he was but a toddler. The cruel murder of Bo's parents was a memory that thankfully he didn't have to endure. He had been asleep in the next room when a group of hired killers had butchered both his mother and father.

Old Wang, his parent's poison taster and bodyguard, was unable to save his lord and lady but did manage to drive off the assassins before they could reach young Bo. Wang had briefly been his own bodyguard as well but age had driven him to instructing younger men.

And one woman. Bo was aware of Ahda standing close behind him, as she often did when Yao was about. She never said so, but he was certain his bodyguard distrusted Yao for some reason.

Bo Lin had no idea why she felt that way. Uncle Yao was simply the best. Not only had he cared for Bo like he was his own son, he often handled a lot of the more tedious affairs of state. There had been moments when he'd implored his uncle to take the job full time, but the older man had only laughed.

"But then, my nephew, what will happen when the peasants need someone to blame?"

Yao was like that; He had a subtle but slicing wit.

"Are you nervous, Governor?" Yao gestured toward the nearby Jade Road, where the entourage would be sighted shortly. "About your wedding, I mean?"

"A bit," said Bo with a shrug. "Marriage is just another duty of my station I must complete."

"Now, don't be so dismal, Governor." Yao put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle pat. "It's not as if you're being married off to some dung foot peasant! They say the minstrels sing of lady Rei's beauty, and there's not a member of the Imperial court she hasn't managed to charm—including the Emperor."

"I do not mean to sound churlish, Uncle," said Bo with a smile. "I only mean to say that I have no illusions about what this pairing will mean. Love is a luxury for poets and peasants."

"Bah." Yao made a disgusted sound. "You will grow to love each other. Romance doesn't happen the way it does in the old stories, my boy. No woman is going to swoon into your arms because you save her from some bandits, or move Heaven and Earth to be by your side."

"So you're saying I should be cautious around Lady Rei?"

"I'm saying that if you do right by her, she'll do right by you. That's all you can ask for in this capricious world."

"Yes, Uncle." Bo Lin didn't quite get what he was driving at, but was tired of speaking. He just wished Rei's entourage would arrive, and put an end to his nervous anticipation.

Despite the fact that the Lady Rei was expected, there were protocols to observe. Thus, her messenger had to ask permission to approach the palace, and was grilled ruthlessly by the house guard before being allowed to return to his lady. As the lady's ornate palanquin appeared on the sun-dappled road, a shout rang out signifying her arrival.

"The Lady Rei of house Kang, defenders of the Throne!"

Bo chuckled. It seemed every noble house these days claimed to be defenders of the Emperor, and often made it seem as if they were the only ones who did so.

The Kang horsemen were well-trained but hardened men. Their armor gleamed with fresh polish, but the broken noses and missing eyes beneath their shiny helms spoke to their veteran status. Bo Lin approved; Some noble ladies only wanted those soldiers who were aesthetically pleasing to guard them. Then again, maybe that wasn't her decision to make.

While Bo and his uncle watched the litter approach, he marveled at how little he knew about her family. They were said to own iron mines, which fed the Empire's insatiable need for metal, and rumor had it that some of their patriarchs had shown a Talent for elemental magic. Long ago, there had been a sorcerer in his own family line, but it was probably just a legend.

The Lady's palanquin was ornately carved, laquered wood, black as midnight. Golden detail lines broke up the profile, depicting the characters of house Kang on the sides. The litter had windows, but the white lace curtains had been drawn tightly against the sun.

With unified precision, those men holding the litter set it down on the ground. One of the men hastily dashed to the door and swung it open, offering his hand to the lady within. Bo noted he was careful to wipe his palm on his pants leg first.

A delicate, slender hand was placed in the soldier's muscled palm. Bo's breath caught in his throat as Lady Kang rose out of her litter. Long, silken hair hung straight and perfect to the middle of her back. A golden headpiece with a large red gemstone helped keep her bangs out of her large, light brown eyes. Slender but sensuous lips parted in a slight smile as she politely inclined her head toward them. Her silken garb was flowing and magnificent, decorated with colorful butterflies.

"Lady Rei," said Yao with a deep bow. She returned the bow, but not deeply; After all, Yao wasn't the governor. "May I present to you the Governor of Hei province, our beloved master Bo Lin Xiao."

"Lady," he managed to stammer out. Rei's chin was delicate and pointed, her slender neck covered in golden jewelry. The scent of jasmine reached his nostrils as he breathed in the sight of her.

"My lord governor," she said, bowing before him deeply. "I am honored that you would take one so humble as I as your bride."

"Nonsense," said Yao, for which Bo was grateful. He doubted he could form so much as a grunt with his flaccid lips. "You do us honor by your mere presence."

Rei's face lit up, and she turned to smile at Bo.

"Your man certainly puts me at ease," she said gently.

"Oh, forgive me!" Bo silently cursed himself. Smitten like an angst ridden teen! What was wrong with him? He'd seen beautiful women before... "Allow me to present my Uncle and chief of staff, Yao Xiao."

"A pleasure," she said, bowing again.

"Yes, he's so good at his job that he's practically the Governor himself," continued Bo. For some reason, Yao seemed uncomfortable with the statement, but Rei giggled musically.

"You exaggerate, I am certain. Where shall I have my accouterments brought?"

"Right this way, my lady," said Yao. "You will be sleeping in the Eastern wing until the wedding. After that, you will of course share chambers with the Governor."

Bo's ears and cheeks burned, while Rei's own face grew a tinge more flushed. He was so overwhelmed by his shameful, lusty thoughts that he barely noticed how angry Ahda seemed.

** *

Sunlight sparkled off the trickle of water pouring from Chuntao's palm, creating a shimmering pattern of shadow on the rocks behind her. Once the water emptied from her hand, she dipped it back into the pool collected inside an upended helmet. Then she set about letting it slowly drain once more, enthralled by the spectacle.

"Mara curse your bones, woman!"

Chuntao pulled her hand away just in time. A booted foot slammed into the helmet, sending it spiraling through the air. Water sloshed onto her lap by the violent kick, though she had little reaction other than to stare up at the shabbily-garbed man looming over her.

"That water was for my horse," he sputtered. She supposed he was handsome, for a bandit; Most of his teeth pointed straight, at least, though a nasty scar ran down his face. "Why must you endlessly waste it?"

"Have a care, friend," said another bandit, this one rail thin and possessed of a graying beard. "You know she's not...that is, her head is a bit addled."

Chuntao wasn't insulted; It was hardly the first time someone had remarked about her strange ways. Her husband Rong had given up trying to understand why she sometimes stood still as a stone and stared at a field of grass or a babbling brook.

Thoughts of her husband caused her concern. It wasn't that she loved him, or even missed him; Their marriage had been one forced upon them both by her father. She was, however, fond enough of him. He wasn't a bad sort for a minstrel.

The problem with Rong was he would probably try to rescue her. She knew he was capable enough to protect himself while traveling, but assaulting seasoned warriors with his little blade? It was madness, but her husband would not see that. He would do whatever he could to save her, and not because he loved her, either. Rong simply felt responsible for her.

If she could, she would have left him a message telling him not to follow. However, the bandits had given her little time to even blink.

Chuntao had been preparing a small dinner for herself of rice and a silver scaled fish she'd bought at market. Rong was out on the road, as he often was, but the solitude had never bothered her. Most folk were uncomfortable around her, so she was left to her own devices for much of her childhood. No sooner than she had the water boiling and the fish half cleaned, the bandits had burst in.

Maybe burst in was a bit of a misnomer, since all they had between themselves and her was a leather curtain. They tore it from the wall, the brass rings affixing it to the hut clanging on the stone floor.

She'd been thrown across the back of a horse, bound hand and foot, and carried over rough mountain roads for three days. The bandits fed her little, though they had yet to do anything vile to her person. Like most people she met, the bandits figured her for a simpleton, and freely spoke in front of her. Thus, she had learned they were heading toward Longwei's capital of Lung Tan.

The coarse laughter of the men brought her back to her present predicament. She glanced around the small encampment and realized that the other bandits had returned from foraging.

"You untied her, Chibi?" asked a chubby man with thinning hair and squinty eyes.

"Her wrists are raw," said the scarred bandit with a shrug. "Besides, she hasn't given us trouble yet. Have you, girl?"

He leered at her, and Chuntao had little doubt what was on his mind. As usual, she didn't really respond to her captors, just stared blankly.

"She's a quiet one, all right," said the thin bandit. "Shame she's touched in the head. She's really quite pretty."

"Kagugari speeks the truth," said the fat one. "Under all that dirt and homespun clothing is a beauty that rivals Lady Rei of the Kang clan!"

"Careful," said Chibi "they say Rei is a witch, and will make any tongue that wags against her fall out of its mouth!"

"Horse apples!" Kagugari spat in the dirt. "Next you'll be telling me you believe this one is a-"

"Hush," said Chibi with a glare. He looked pointedly at Chuntao and then back at his companion.

"Right." Kagugari glared at her, as if it were his fault he nearly said too much.

"After our meal, we had best get on the road again," said the fat one. Chuntao believed his name was Han, but half the folk in the south were named Han so she couldn't be sure. People didn't interest her as much as nature did.

"How much longer do we have to keep up this ruse?" Chibi bit off a tough piece of waterfowl and chewed it thoroughly. "I mean, we're less than three days from the capital. No one is going to look twice at-"

"As long as I say," growled the fat one possibly named Han. "Our orders were as precisely worded...as was the punishment for failure. The Throne is not to be associated with this woman."

Chuntao tried to keep the shock off her face, for they had just given her a tremendous clue. From the lack of rapine, she was already suspecting these men were not what they seemed. Now, she was certain they were Imperial soldiers, disguised as bandits.

But why? If the Emperor wanted to summon Chuntao or any other peasant to his presence, he would simply issue an edict and none would dare question it. Why make it seem as if she'd been abducted by bandits?

One thing was crystal clear to her; None of them expected her to live to tell her tale.

Chapter 3

"Hey! Wait up!"

The hooded figure didn't slow in the slightest, so Rong cursed and increased his stride. Puffing, he came abreast of the fighting monk and smiled.

"Hello there." The woman didn't even glance in his direction. "Thanks for saving my hide, by the way!"

The woman's nose twitched, but still her umbra eyes remained on the path ahead.

"Ah..." Rong cleared his throat. "So, anyway, I don't think we've been formally introduced."

He drew himself up straight and puffed out his chest.

"I am Rong Fen Ro Chao, master musician." The monk had no reaction. "Ah...perhaps you've heard of me? No? I see..."

The woman kept walking in silence, and Rong laughed at the absurdity of it all.

"This is the part where you're supposed to tell me your name," he said.

"Jian Li."

Rong almost stumbled. She hadn't made eye contact, but it was a start.

"Pleasure to meet you, honored priest." Rong made a fist with his right hand and placed it against his left palm. He believed that to be the way monks greeted each other.

Now the woman did stop, and favored him with a narrow-eyed glare.

"What are you doing?"

"Ah..." Rong swallowed "Heaven's Way temple greeting?"

Jian stared at his hands for a moment. Wordlessly, she reached up and adjusted the position of his hands. He was shocked at the power in her digits, and he got the impression she could break his bones just by squeezing less gently. When she released him, his palm was now folded over a much tighter fist.

Then she turned from him and started off down the road again. He stood in the dirt for a few seconds, blinking, and then hurried to catch up once more.

"Mind telling me what the hurry is?"

"Those were the Emperor's tax collectors I sent to Dharma's side," said Jian stiffly. "There will be an attempt at reprisal, and I would have many miles between me and Delun village before then."

An ATTEMPT at retribution?

"You're not afraid of them, are you?" he asked out loud.

"Only fools have no fear." Her gaze snapped on him and lingered there. From the way her nostrils flared, he figured she wasn't impressed with what she saw. "Why are you following me?"

"Because you're just what I've been looking for!" Rong's smile drooped when she appeared offended.

"I am a member of a celibate order, minstrel, so you'll be getting no sport with-"

"No!" Rong held his hands before him, though if she truly wished him harm there was little he could have done to stop her. "I mean, you're a hero! I've been looking for a hero-"

Her pretty face scrunched up into a glower.

"Seek your hero elsewhere," she said through gritted teeth.

"But you're the Fist of the Heavens!" Rong stretched out his long legs when the monk increased her pace. "The legends say the Fist is a champion to those in need!"

Slowly, the monk came to a stop. Without looking at him she spoke crisply.

"The legends are true...but there is no Fist of the Heavens."

Rong's jaw dropped as she once more left him standing. His feet started working before his mouth, and he had nearly returned to her side when he spoke.

"But-but you used the Way of the Withering Palm! Only the Fist of the Heavens knows how to destroy the body from the inside out with but the merest touch. You must be the Fist!"

Jian just kept trudging along. Normally, Rong could command almost anyone's attention. He was feeling rather miffed by her continued apathy.

"Please!" He put a hand on her shoulder, which earned him a cold stare. She did stop walking, however. "Please, my wife has been taken by bandits. No one will help me, not the governor or the militia. You're my last hope!"

Jian's icy exterior softened, just a little. Her eyes ran over him more slowly, taking deep stock of every detail.

"I will pray for your wife," she said softly. "How long ago was she taken?"

"Nearly a week."

"Then she is likely dead. Go home to your children and comfort them as you can."

"I don't have children," that I know of "and I can't just give up on her. Chuntao is...she is a simple woman, and may not even understand what's happened to her. I doubt she would resist the bandits if they...if they..."

Rong's vision blurred as his eyes filled with tears. The thought of gentle, slow Chuntao being used for wench sport was too much to bear.

"Be at peace, man," said Jian a little impatiently, as if she were speaking to a child. "Your tears will not bring her back to you."

"No," he said in a thick voice, wishing his womanly display would stop "but you could."

Jian's eyes shut tight, and a strangled grunt escaped her lips. A roadside mile marker of strong timber paid the price for her anger, as she smashed it to splinters with a vicious snap kick.

"Very well," she said through tight lips. "I will...help you seek your wife for ONE MOON. One moon, and no more, because I have a prior obligation that must be kept."

Rong sniffed wetly, and wiped his eyes.

"Thank you," he said, offering a deep bow. "I'll make the proper donation to the Chenguang temple-"

"No need." Jian started walking again, outpacing him until she was a wagon's length ahead. Then she stopped and turned halfway around, arching her brows impatiently. "Are you coming?"

"Yes." Rong dried his tears and shouldered his Ruan. "Yes, I am."

** *

The bowl of fish bits in wine sauce had no sooner settled on Bo Lin's table than Ahda gingerly picked it up.

"A moment, my lord," she said demurely. Using a wide horn spoon, she scooped up a portion of the sauce and sucked it into her mouth all at once. There followed much swishing, as she spread the wine broth all over her palate. Satisfied that there had been no poison, she set the bowl back before him and nodded.

"My, your poison taster is certainly...thorough." Rei Kang's beautiful, smooth face was implacable, but there was a hint of derision in her tone. "She has tested each and every course of our meal."

"Ahda is the best bodyguard in the South," said Bo Lin with some pride "perhaps even all of Longwei!"

Ahda tried to keep it off her face, but she was secretly thrilled at Bo Lin's praise.

"Still," he continued, giving her an amused grin "it is not often that she tastes everything I am to consume."

"There are many strangers in our house, lord." Ahda narrowed her eyes just a bit when she stared at Lady Kang.

"Nonsense," Bo waved away her concerns with a swish of his silken sleeve "these are our honored guests, and in a few days time, my family."

"I am most pleased that my future husband is so well protected," said Rei. She smiled prettily at Ahda, but there was a hint of ice in her glittering eyes.

Ahda didn't like Lady Rei. Then again, she didn't like most nobles. It seemed like the nobles were always going on about some minor slight or insult, while the people they were supposed to rule over went without enough to eat. And Rei practically had the character for noble engraved on her forehead.

Particularly, she didn't like how false she seemed with Lord Bo. His every lighthearted comment was greeted with tittering laughter, and she stared at him with a level of adoration that simply couldn't be real for someone she had barely known a day.

The meal passed slowly for Ahda, which was dangerous. Boredom was the ultimate enemy of anyone tasked with protection, whether it was a castle, kingdom, or person. A wandering mind could leave her lord vulnerable to assault, and she couldn't shake the feeling Lord Bo was in danger.

Once the last course had been finished, and several rounds of rice wine dispensed, Lord Bo stood up and yawned.

"I fear the nightengale's songs have lulled me nearly to sleep."

There were murmurs of assent, and the guests began rising as well. Ahda had little doubt that most of the diners would have liked to trudged off to bed long ago.

"Allow me to escort you to your chambers, my lord," said Rei in a husky, barely breathed voice.

"That...I'm not sure that would be-"

"Proper, my lord?" helped Ahda.

"Ah, yes, proper!" Bo Lin seemed out of sorts, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his sleeve. "It would not be proper until we are wed."

"But my lord, I only intended to escort you to your chambers, not go inside." The seemingly humble bow Rei offered turned Ahda's stomach. Unfortunately, Bo Lin took the bait.

"Do not bow, my Lady," he said quickly. "You meant no offense. And I think I would be delighted if you were to accompany me."

Ahda moved to follow the two nobles. They padded past the murals and were nearly to the second floor when Rei seemed to notice her.

"Does your bodyguard have to tag along?"

"Most of the time, yes." Bo chuckled. "I have many who wish me harm."

"Do you believe that I intend to harm you, my Lord?"

Ahda struggled to remain silent. The hint of admonishment in Rei's voice worked its magic, as Bo hastily tried to soothe her feelings.

"Why, of course not!" He turned to face Ahda, and she knew and dreaded what he would say next. "Ahda, you are dismissed for the evening. My bride shall not harm me, and I've guards enough outside my chambers."

"By your will." Ahda bowed stiffly and turned to descend the stairs. If she had a walnut between her teeth, it surely would have been sundered to dust. It seemed that Lady Rei didn't think her services were required. Ahda wondered what that meant for her future.

After a fitful, haunted sleep, she awakened to a chorus of complaints from her oft-broken body. With effort, she drew herself into a sitting position, and remained that way on the bed for several minutes. Slowly, she expelled air from her mouth and inhaled through her nose. Pain wasn't necessarily bad; It was just her body reminding her of her limitations. Ahda was determined to fight these limits as hard as she had fought the others piled upon her shoulders—her common birth, or the way she had to squint her eyes tightly to make out details of very close objects.

The moon was still high in the indigo sky outside her window, but the first inklings of dawn were being splashed along the horizon. It would be several hours before Lord Bo would be awake. She resisted an urge to check on him, mostly to see if Rei had spent the night in his chambers. That had seemed her likely intention...

Ahda reminded herself it wasn't her place to second guess her lord. Despite what Lord Yao might think, Ahda really did know her place.

She just had trouble staying in it.

Once her body had ceased its whining, she rose and slipped her bare feet into simple shoes. As she did most mornings, Ahda headed for the rear of the manor and walked across the dewey ground until she reached the dojo. The building was ancient, having been a temple to a long-forgotten god, composed of heavy rounded stones expertly fit together without any sort of mortar. The long lost hands which had created it were so precise, even now you could barely fit a sheet of paper between the cracks.

The facade had fallen away at some point in history, and been replaced first with the Imperial Dragon and then later with the White Tiger of house Xiao. Smoke wafted from the open door, and she could smell melted wax. A ruckus from within revealed that she was not the first visitor to the dojo this morning.

A slight smile on her scarred face, Ahda slipped silently through the entrance and padded carefully onto the tiled floor. Before her, a short, stocky man practiced a series of martial katas. His dark brown hair was damp with sweat, making it black in places. Dark brown eyes didn't quite focus on her, though she knew he was aware of her presence. Stripped to the waist, his stocky but muscled body moved like liquid and crashed like thunder.

His kata ended, he straightened up and faced her, panting.

"Good morning, Ahda," he said between breaths.

"And to you, Choi." Though he was a bit blunt featured, she had always found him to be handsome enough. Most women, particularly nobles, were repulsed by his swarthy complexion, however. Choi liked to be in the sun, which made him appear the same shade as a common laborer instead of a minor noble.

He walked to a polished ebony rack bristling with weapons. Choi selected a pair of butterfly swords, weapons with a short but wide blade, slightly curved and sharp on one side. He sent one flipping through the air toward Ahda. Expertly, she plucked it out of its deadly spiral by the hilt.

Without another word they dropped into fighting stances. Ahda preferred to keep her knees slightly bent, her torso twisted to the side, with the blade held near her body. Choi held the sword pointed straight ahead, his body turned halfway to present a smaller target.

Ahda went on the offensive first, as usual. Choi blocked the strike and deflected it to the side. She ducked under a counterstrike and tried to take his back, but he pivoted on his rear heel to remain facing her.

"You're a little slow this morning," she said through gritted teeth.

"Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you!"

Ahda was backed away by a series of hard swings. Each time she narrowly avoided being cut by his flashing sword. One thing she liked about sparring with Choi was that he—like herself—didn't believe in training with blunted weapons. Knowing she could never compete with his strength, she relied on flexibility instead. She was able to bend backwards at the waist and avoid getting her head taken off. Ahda went with the momentum and placed her free hand on the stone, turning her dodge into a backflip. Her heels cracked into Choi's jaw, and he went sprawling to the floor.

She stood for a moment, waiting for him to return to the attack, but he only groaned.

"Come, master Choi," she said with a tinge of nerves "surely I didn't strike you that hard."

"I can't...I can't see straight," he said, struggling to get to his feet.

"Forgive me." Ahda knelt at his side. "Where does it-"

"Tag," he said, jabbing his sword into her belly just gently enough not to cut. "You lose."

"Please!" Ahda stood up quickly, her heart starting to thump in her chest. "You tricked me."

"Your soft heart is a weakness, Ahda," said Choi, slowly climbing to his feet. He rubbed at a red mark under his chin. "To be a bodyguard is to be without feeling, without thought, only purpose."

"So I have been told," she said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "Nothing matters to us save our duty."

"Yes, we are bound by duty and honor..." Choi reached behind his head and untied his topknot. The action made his magnificent chest ripple in a pleasing way. "As such, we must seize what pleasure we may."

Ahda went to him as he worked at his trouser's laces. She placed her palms on his shoulders and slowly, sensuously, ran them down his glistening torso. When she reached the hem of his pants, she hooked her fingers within and gently tugged them to the floor.

Naked, Choi stepped out of his garment and took her in his arms. Strong arms that could have crushed the life out of her were instead mashed her against him with a different purpose. Their lips found each other while he hiked her gown up to her chest. She stopped, smiling, and put her arms in the air so he could slip it over her head.

The sensation of their naked skin sliding together lit a fire in her belly. Choi pressed one palm against the small of her back, caressing her ugly scars. His other hand slipped beneath her waist and rubbed softly against her quivering lips.

"You are warm and slippery so soon," he said "you should have been born a concubine!"

His statement annoyed and insulted her, because she had little use for such women. Instead of chastising him, she just thrust her mouth against his fiercely. The tea he had drank earlier still lingered on his breath. Ahda threw her head back and gasped when Choi's fingers wormed their way inside. Supported by his thick arms, she writhed as he used his hand like a cock, thrusting rapidly in and out. As she approached the summit of her ecstasy, he began nibbling on her firm nipple, sometimes taking most of her breast inside his mouth.

As she writhed in his arms, he gently lowered her to the smooth tile floor. Ahda drew up her knees and spread her legs wide as he eased his pelvis forward. She watched his moderately short but thick member as he thrust it inside her. After a moment of sharp pain, she sighed as her body accepted him.

Their bodies rocked in unison, soft cries reverberating off the high ceiling. Choi's hands were on either side of her head, his face a mere foot away. Ahda couldn't bring herself to look into his eyes when they gave each other pleasure. She was afraid of what she might see. Sometimes, Choi said things that seemed to mean he wanted their relationship to move beyond the purely physical.

For his own good, she couldn't allow that. Despite her honored position as the governor's bodyguard, she was still of common birth. She might be Choi's concubine—if he could afford one—but never his wife.

There was another reason that she didn't dare give voice to, not even within her own mind. As they lay panting in each other's arms, Choi did just that.

"You must be very sad, Ahda." His hand moved to brush her hair, but she tilted her head away from his touch.

"Why do you think so?"

He pulled his hand back and sighed.

"Because Lord Bo Lin is getting married."

Ahda stiffened in his grasp. Harshly, she broke free and stood, donning her garments once again. Choi put his hand over his face and his shoulders slumped. Brusquely, she pivoted on her heel and headed for the exit.

"Ahda." She stopped, but did not turn to face him. "He will never love you."

She stepped into the morning sun, damning it for its cheerfulness.

Chapter 4

They all think I'm insane.

Fu Feng tugged hard on the intricate knot holding his saddlebag shut. Satisfied that it wouldn't be spilling millet to the sodden earth. He liked to handle things himself, which many considered a fault in one noble born.

He regarded his honor guard, a half dozen of the Iron Tigers, elite soldiers of House Feng. Though he was the Emperor's younger brother and warranted his own palanquin, Fu preferred sitting astride his black mare. There wasn't much to look at out of the narrow windows of a litter. Better, he thought, to have the wind in his hair and the sun on his face.

The Tigers didn't seem much impressed that he rode just like one of them. Rather, they were annoyed by the barely-eighteen year old noble and his brash ways. His penchant for riding towards danger rather than away from it made their duty that much more difficult.

Fu patted Rainmist on her rump. The horse took that as a signal it was free to slake its thirst in the nearby stream. Old Nan stepped forward and bowed, resplendent in his dark orange armor. The bowl shaped helmet he wore was thrust down low on his face, so his narrow eyes were nearly covered.

"My lord," he said "Xinjiao has seen something disturbing while scouting our route."

"Bandits?" Fu Feng tried to keep the eagerness out of his tone, because Old Nan would have considered it ridiculous. "We've been unmolested on the southern roads so far."

"Unmolested by everything but the weather," grumbled Nan "I grow tired of slogging through the mud. It does appear that there are bandits ahead, my lord, but they don't appear prepared for an ambush."

"I see." Fu scratched his chin, wishing he could grow more than patchwork facial hair. Nan had an iron gray beard as bristly as a thistle bush. "Why, do you think?"

"My lord, Xinjiao says they have a captive, a peasant woman by the look of her. I would wager they are already burdened with loot."

"A woman?" Fu gritted his teeth. Bandits usually only kept captive females for one reason, and his revulsion made his hand ache for the hilt of his sword. He stalked across their makeshift campsite to Rainmist's side. His blade hung there, strapped against the saddle. With a practiced jerk of his thumb he undid the fastenings and yanked the sword free.

"My lord," said Old Nan, licking his lips "perhaps you should remain here with Xinjiao, while my boys and I deal with these criminals."

"I have drawn my sword, Captain Nan. It shall taste bandit's blood before I sheathe it again."

Nan swallowed, but did not argue. Fu put his blade through a few practice swings, feeling its perfect balance. The blade was long and straight, with just enough flexibility to bend rather than break if it met a heavier weapon in a parry. For a nobleman's sword, it was remarkably plain and nondescript. Only a stylized stag head decorated the guard, while the pommel consisted of a preserved stag's hoof, the soft fur intact. A length of leather said to be sharkskin had been wound about the hilt, and it absorbed sweat from his hand to keep his grip sure.

"As you will, my Lord," said Nan. "If I may, we should approach from the woods, on foot, rather than on the road. They will hear our hoofbeats and flee otherwise."

"Of course, Captain." Fu gave him a slight bow, one of a superior to a servant. "I would never presume to give you advice on tactics."

"Would that your brother felt the same." Fu felt his face fall into a frown as Nan moved away to give the order. It was true that he had mostly lived away from the palace for the last ten years. Rumor had it his brother Shin had become more brutal and suspicious than was normal even for him.

They just didn't understand the pressures the Emperor had to contend with. Not only did he have to manage everything from trade disputes to invasion from the Isle of Blades, the unrest in the south was getting worse. Part of it was the stubbornly long memories of the southern folk. Many still told the tale of how the usurper Feng clan betrayed and killed King Qin, their monarch of several generations past.

Of course, no one ever mentioned that King Qin had himself betrayed and killed his predecessor. When you went through the history of the nobility, it was rife with such deceitful acts. That was why Fu Feng had never, ever wanted to be Emperor or even noble at all. What he wanted to be was a Hero, like in the old legends.

He knew his swordsmanship was excellent and getting better; Old Nan could still disarm and defeat him during sparring matches, but even those moments were growing farther apart. Once, one of his Iron Tigers had held back, seeking to gain his favor. Fu made him pay with a nasty welt on his unarmored face.

The Tigers left their spears lashed to their mounts; The long shafts would likely get entangled in the undergrowth. Xianjiao, barely more than a youth, remained behind to guard the mounts and provisions. Though Fu wished to be a hero, he was no fool; He allowed the Tigers to take point, following along ten horse's distance behind. His woodscraft was adequate, but it was said the Tigers could cross a sapling bent over a river without stirring a leaf.

As they stealthily crept toward their quarry, Fu could feel the remnants of a paved road beneath the rotting vegetation. The bones of an old civilization were scattered all about the South, despite the official Imperial line that all mankind sprang from the Shenlong River. He wondered if there had been bandits, back then. Probably. Nan had spoken to him about the never ending battle against the criminal element.

"No matter where I've been, the North, the South, even the Isle of Blades, one thing remains true. There are those who work hard to achieve greatness, and those that will beat them down and take it for themselves."

The Tigers melted into a dense copse of trees, and Nan gave him a signal to hold back. Fu fought down the urge to join them, but when he disobeyed the old captain Nan threatened to quit. Life without Old Nan was unthinkable, as the Captain had been part of Fu's life ever since the old Emperor had died. Threats of further assassination attempts had spurred the court to divide the two heirs, that one might survive to carry on the line.

Old Nan hadn't been as old then, but he wasn't any softer. Acting as part nanny, part mentor, and weapons master, the Captain provided Fu with an upbringing that few nobles could boast of. Fu rode across mountains while rainstorms raged, dove into rushing rivers to spear silver scaled fish, and shaved with cold water from his helmet.

So out of respect, and a little fear that Nan might really leave his service, Fu waited as pateintly as he could. If Nan deemed it safe enough, he would allow Fu to join the assault.

A smile spread across Fu's face in spite of himself when Nan signaled for him to move up. Careful not to move too quickly or noisily in his eagerness, he joined the old captain in the thick stand of trees.

Using hand signals, Nan pointed out the Bandits. There were only four of them, sitting around a firepit roasting catfish on sticks. Their laughter carried up the small hill where the Tigers were crouching in the trees.

Fu searched for their captive, and found her sitting with her back to a rock. Her face was buried in her drawn up knees, as if she were trying to shrink inside herself.

Monsters... he thought. His hand squeezed the hilt of his blade so tightly his arm shook.

A stern look from Old Nan made him relax his grip. When held too tightly, a sword could be knocked from one's grasp. It seemed incongruous, but many principles of the sciences were that way. For example, who would think that fire could turn metal into water?

Fu forced himself to assess the bandits. They appeared formidable enough, especially the tall one with the jagged scar on his face. Always look for the one with the scars, and be wary of him. That was something Nan said. After all, the one with scars is a survivor.

Old Nan got the attention of the Tigers her commanded with a series of curt gestures. Fu had learned most of the hand speak himself, and realized that there would be no attempt at arrest, no prisoners. That suited Fu just fine. It had been nearly three weeks since he last buried his sword into an evil man's belly...

There was no battle cry, no shout to warn the bandits. The Tigers just rushed out of the woods and down the small hill. Their quarry barely had time to stand and ready their weapons.

The Tigers fought without grace or nobility; The only rule they obeyed was to win. They used their numbers to their advantage, doubling up on the unprepared bandits.

One of them, with a great fat belly, moved with grace that belied his bulk, leaping over their firepit and making a break through the woods. Fu noticed that the Tigers were engaged with finishing of the others, and leaped to the chase.

Old Nan's commands to stop faded behind him as he struggled up another hill. It was easy to follow the bandit's trail of broken branches and bent grass. He would catch sight of his prey for a split second before trees would block his line of sight.

The fat man had stamina as well; Fu was panting heavily by the time he crested the hill. A specatcular view of the misty mountains to the north was marred by an angry bandit hurling a heavy rock his way. It was too big to parry with his sword, but reflexes kicked in and he raised his arm anyway. The rock smashed into his wrist, his sword falling from nerveless fingers.

The fat man didn't hesitate. He pressed the advantage, bearing down hard on Fu with a heavy curved blade. For a bandit, he was incredibly skilled. Fu would have sworn he was fighting one of the Tigers.

Fu rolled under a hard chop and came back to his feet. His left hand couldn't even close, let alone grip a sword, so he scooped it up with his right. Nan had insisted he practice with his off hand, much to the noble's chagrin. That annoying preparation possibly would save his life today. His opponent was stronger, more experienced, but tired from his flight. The blows came slower and slower, until they both stood facing each other over a span of several feet.

"Best let me go, whelp," said the Bandit with a sneer. "Your wrist is blowing up like a pufferfish."

"You are a bandit and a rapist," hissed Fu through clenched teeth. "You will face Heaven's punishment!"

"Wait," said the bandit, his sword point drooping just a bit "are you the Emperor's-"

His mouth opened wide, but only frothy blood came out. Fu had used the split second opening to drive his sword through the man's torso. He put a foot on the bandit's shoulder and shoved him off his blade.

"Yes," he said, cleaning his sword of sticky blood with the man's hair "I am the Emperor's brother, but you'll not hold me for ransom. Not today."

On the walk back to the Tigers, Fu ran into Nan. The old captain fussed over his injured wrist, though he was already regaining feeling and function. With pain, he could even make a fist and hold his sword aloft, though it would be days before he could fight left handed again.

"That was stupid, reckless!" Nan spat on the soggy ground. "You're barely out of childhood, and you want to go charging off by yourself?"

"I'm sorry, Nan," said Fu.

"No, you're not. You wanted to play the hero again. Know what happens to most heroes? They die kicking on the end of a spear."

"I...I lost my head in the moment..."

"You'll lose it for real if you don't learn to think-" Nan pushed on Fu's forehead with his fingers quite hard "-before you leap! Young Master, you will be the death of me!"

"Don't say things like that, Nan." A grin spread over his face. "I was victorious, however."

"No mean feat," said Nan with a non. "These were well-trained bandits. Maybe Imperial deserters."

"They won't be harming anyone again, that's what matters." Fu cocked his head to the side. "What of their hostage?"

"They're looking at her wounds now, but she doesn't appear to have been hurt more than some rope burn. It's her mind I'm worried about."

"Her mind?"

"Yes. I've seen good, brave soldiers break under less pressure than she's been under. I'm afraid that she's in shock. That or..."

"Or what?"

"She may be a simpleton, or touched in the head. Shame, too, because she's quite pretty."

"She is?" Fu had often daydreamed of being a legendary swordsman who rescued a fair maiden, but the reality wasn't likely to measure up. "I mean, a simpleton."

"No," said Han with a chuckle "I don't think you do. Come, you can see for yourself."