《Empire's End: Between War and Peace》


 0.1

    Most cities were silent at night, lanterns dimmed, streets mostly clear. In direct contrast, Dombang, a city built entirely on water, glimmered like a multi-faceted jewel, even from Maizuko¡¯s vantage point several miles away where he was perched atop a steep ridge of white rock jutting upward from the sea like the jagged knife of a god, rent asunder in some great battle millennia past.


    ¡°There it is,¡± Sutra whispered.


    Maizuko nodded slowly, leaning further out over the ridge¡¯s edge, trying to swallow the lump fear had created in his throat. He¡¯d been here before. This was home. This should be easy.


    He could recall the features of the city as well as if he¡¯d been there yesterday: the red lanterns made from the gutted carcasses of fish, the swallow-tail boats poled beneath bridges, the water growing murkier and more foul as one moves east with the current, the haze of white ash settled aro und the crematorium.


    But things had changed since he¡¯d been here last.


    ¡°We¡¯ll approach by boat,¡± he said, turning back toward the rising sun, feeling something like confidence, a shred of scant courage, strengthen his limbs.


    Sutra¡ªyounger, smaller, than he, a Tagar girl barely thirteen years old¡ªstared at him, seemingly uncomprehending. Her pale face was dotted with freckles, a swath of darker snowflakes fallen across the blinding white whole, bordered by long black hair interspersed with jagged streaks of silver.


    ¡°How do we know the harbor isn¡¯t guarded?¡± she said finally, her voice a quick hiss, almost a whisper.


    ¡°Of course it¡¯s guarded. We¡¯ll just have to get past the guards.¡±


    Her eyes darted down to the distant city, then the glittering waters, then back up at him. Her tongue flicked up and wet her lips.


    Taking her silence as an acquiescence of sorts, Maikuzo turned toward the first of many rough-hewn steps carved into the rock that led downward around the spike, but Sutra¡¯s quick hand stopped him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go first,¡± she said, the words spoken almost too quickly to be coherent.


    Raising his eyebrows, Maikuzo stepped backwards. The girl darted down the first few steps, then thrust out a hand to steady herself as her foot struck a raised ridge in the rock on the fifth step. He suppressed a small grin. So she was not invincible after all, not as much as she thought, at least.


    ***


    The small rowboat scraped the rocks just beneath the water¡¯s surface as Maikuzo pushed it outward. It was a far lighter task than he was accustomed to; Sutra was uncommonly small for her age, looking more like a girl of eight years rather than thirteen.


    As they cleared the last of the shallows, Maikuzo lifted himself from the water and into the boat, his legs wet but not much else. The rowboat was hardly large enough to hold the both of them; it had clearly been intended for a single man only, with a bit of scarce room for fishing supplies. He had to fold his legs underneath him awkwardly in order to fit; Sutra, by comparison, sat comfortably with her legs stretched out almost lazily. The girl¡¯s moods changed so quickly. She¡¯d gone from fearful¡ªno, ¡°nervous¡± was a better word¡ªto easy-going. Would she start attacking him next?If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    There were enough problems to go around without the thought of his only companion assaulting him. Maizuko tore his gaze away from Sutra and shuffled around in the scant space until he was more or less facing the front of the boat. The thick mist brushed his face like the touch of a soft hand, the whisper of silk, droplets cooling on his cheeks. It obscured their way, an insubstantial barrier of shifting white. Where the mist was thinner, he could see here and there the glimmer of the coming dawn sparkling on the lake-water, and beyond that the distantly flickering red lanterns of Dombang.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to paddle with our hands,¡± he said, his voice unnaturally loud in the predawn gloom. His breath misted before him in the chilly air. There were no oars in the boat, and if there had been they probably would have been rotten enough to be of no use.


    They crossed the bay that way, pushing at the water with their hands, using the strength of their arms. It was amazing, Maizuko reflected as he ceased paddling for a moment to rest his aching arms, how much energy could be expended on nothing. They had come only a few hundred feet from the rocky, sorrowful place from which they had cast off.


    ¡°I¡¯m going back to get something we can row with,¡± Maizuko announced. ¡°Stay here.¡± He dove into the water before Sutra could utter a word, looking upward as he straightened himself under the surface. He hoped she wouldn¡¯t attempt to dive in after him. That would put them in a very unfortunate position indeed.


    The boat shifted on the surface of the water as Maizuko shot forward underneath it. He had swum these depths, the ones around Xinyi Rock, countless times before all throughout his childhood. He should have no problem getting back to shore and finding something to propel the boat, most likely a length of driftwood or something similar.


    When he stepped ashore, dripping, locks of hair plastered in mats to the sides of his face, there was a strange silence in the rocks. Nothing moved. His breath puffed clouds of fog in the air before him. His feet, protected only by flimsy sandals, felt the sharp rocks of the beach keenly. The hair on his arms, which should have been slicked to his skin, rose, making him shiver as a gust of cold wind whispered along the base of Xinyi Rock. He looked backwards for a quick moment to see whether Sutra was still where he had left her; the boat bobbed on the waves four hundred feet out, just as he had left it. He could make out the girl¡¯s distant shape.


    He began foraging along the shoreline. Most of the wood he found was in short, fat pieces ¡ª no good for rowing. He needed a long pole of some sort, ideally two of them. His footsteps echoed around the silent rocks; he felt like an intruder, constantly watched by jealous eyes.


    At last he found a good-sized stick that was shaped to his liking ¡ª when he picked it up, it was covered in slime from lying halfway in the water, and some gelatinous creature clung to the end of it, gyrating silently. Maizuko shook it off, doing his best to scrape some of the slime off on the rocks.


    When he looked quickly backward again, Sutra¡¯s boat was nowhere in sight.


    Gripping the stick tightly in one hand, Maikuzo took a few lurching steps back in the direction he had come, his heart racing, his mind jumping to conclusions. Had the girl been devoured by malevolent water-demons? Spirited away by the fickle current? Or had she simply decided to abandon him and paddle off toward the city alone? He pounded his clenched fist against his thigh angrily, feeling a warmth spread as blood circulation was partly restored in his nearly-numb leg. Why would she do that?


    He stumbled numbly along the shore, his limbs stiff and slow to respond. Bad luck followed him everywhere he went, he was certain of it. His whole life the Fates had never stopped playing jokes on him. Maybe that was what everything was. All of this, his whole life, just a cruel joke.


    Something slipped silently, sinously from the cluster of rocks to Maikuzo¡¯s side and wrapped him in a clammy embrace, its vicious grip stronger than iron. He struggled at first, then it seemed his body relaxed, and his thoughts softened. The thing dragged him into the darkness between two tall stones, and consciousness fled.

 1.1

    The weight of his twin blades comfortable on his shoulders, Xiang Liao¡¯s boots crunched onto the first of the gravel that paved the streets of his home village, Meijiang.


    Meijiang was a quiet little place ¡ª small, it seemed, for a man such as Xiang Hu, the mighty warrior, the Emperor¡¯s proudest soldier, to settle with his wife and son. He¡¯d chosen the place, Hu said, because it reminded him of his childhood home.


    Liao had never seen Kimotoro, his father¡¯s hometown. Xiang Hu hadn¡¯t exactly publicized his childhood ¡ª Liao¡¯s father almost never spoke about any part of his life before he¡¯d joined the emperor¡¯s troops, the Heavenly Army, at age sixteen. Xiang Liao had always felt like there was something hiding there, something that his father refused to tell anyone about. When he was younger, his innocent imagination had dreamed up innocuous solutions to his questions about Xiang Hu¡¯s origins, but now that he was older Xiang Liao was sure that the secret behind the early years of his father¡¯s life was something devastating. Something that could end . . . everything ¡ª Xiang Hu¡¯s family, his career, and his reputation.


    Or maybe Xiang Liao was just making too many assumptions. This was his father, after all. How could he doubt the man he¡¯d grown up with, who¡¯d raised him for the past nineteen years? It could be something else, something along a completely different path than the one he was thinking of. That had to be it.


    Meijiang was a small place, it was true, but it was also nice in a way. As Xiang Liao trudged somewhat wearily along the town¡¯s main street, multiple people waved to him from their porches. Some of them he knew, some of them he didn¡¯t. A child smiled widely down at him from a third-story window. The group of girls that usually started their running circuit here was right on time. Chu, a bolder one with shining midnight hair, sent a flirtatious smile his way. He dipped his head and winked back at her in gentlemanly fashion.


    He made his way through the village until he reached the other end, where the houses slowly grew less numerous, giving way to more expansive properties with fields of rice and grazing animals. The road changed from gravel back to packed dirt, leading him on a winding path between farms to the base of the tall hill that loomed behind Meijiang. His father¡¯s estate crouched atop the peak of the hill, surrounded by a sea of aspens and firs that spread down the slope, faltering where the ground grew flat.


    Xiang Liao made the ascent. The path leading up to his father¡¯s estate was paved with stone, its borders engraved with carvings of the ancient legends of the gods. When he was a young child, Xiang Liao had taken great pleasure in reading them one by one, spending multiple days walking up and down the hill.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    At last he reached the doors of Xiang Hu¡¯s residence. They were wrought with ornate patterns, depicting the rise and fall of the Old Empire. Xiang Liao had always been intrigued by these particular carvings ¡ª the Old Empire was seldom talked about now that the continent was under Zhula rule, and in some places it was considered treason to speak of it. Which made it even more curious that one of the emperor¡¯s finest warriors had depictions of the Old Empire on the doors of his personal estate.


    A servant opened one of the twin doors for Xiang Liao before he had even come to a full stop. His father had been expecting him, then. He slipped through the opening, breaking into a smile when he saw who had let him in.


    ¡°Morea!¡± he said, delighted. ¡°You¡¯ve returned, then? How was your trip?¡±


    The woman, who was only a few years older than him, in her mid-twenties, smiled. ¡°Xiang Liao, it is pleasant to see you again.¡±


    ¡°Did you see your parents?¡± he asked.


    Morea¡¯s face turned downcast. ¡°No. They . . . left town, it seems, along with my brother.¡±


    Xiang Liao frowned. ¡°Left town? Why would they leave?¡± He scratched his neck and closed the door behind him, leaving them in the semi-darkness of the torchlit entry hall. ¡°Don¡¯t they know you come at about this time every year?¡±


    ¡°They did . . . do,¡± Morea said slowly. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Xiang Liao. Something is wrong about this. It does not seem right. They wouldn¡¯t just leave, with my brother in tow. I feel that something is going on, and I cannot figure out what it is.¡±


    They started walking, moving toward the grand doors that led into the dining hall. ¡°I¡¯ll ask my father to look into it,¡± Xiang Liao said finally after they¡¯d been moving in silence for several moments. ¡°He should be able to get one of his people in Fen Hai to find out if something is amiss with your family.¡±


    Morea¡¯s eyes widened, and she stopped. ¡°N-no, Master Xiang Liao!¡± she stammered. ¡°Please. We cannot do that.¡±


    Xiang Liao stopped too, frowning at her. ¡°Why? What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    She seemed to be almost shaking, her eyes suddenly wide, her skin paler than usual. ¡°We can¡¯t . . . I¡ª¡± Morea stiffened, her eyes flashing for a moment ¡ª a sign that the kitchen master was communicating to the servants using the xianchu hive mind. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Master Xiang Liao. It¡¯s almost dinnertime, and I am required in the kitchens.¡± She forced a weak smile. ¡°Perhaps we may speak about this later.¡±


    Xiang Liao watched her go, confusion roiling in his mind. Something very odd was going on.