Free Path of the Eclipse by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Page A

was the case.
    Chih-Yü laughed, and the sound was crisp on the cold wind. “I have encountered nothing but opposition. My mother said that she could not allow this for it would ruin my chances to marry, which is probably true enough. My uncles tried every ruse thinkable, and a few unthinkable, to foist one of their sons on my father. He was adamant. So, here I am. As for opposition now, well, luckily, I thrive on it.”
    Listening to her, Saint-Germain recalled his conversation with Kuan Sun-Sze, three months before, who had suggested that he offer his services to the Warlord of Mao-T’ou stronghold. “I doubt you would be here if that were not the case.”
    She gave him a quick, appraising look, then raised her hand in signal to the guards of Mao-T’ou stronghold to open the gates.
    As they passed through the narrow archway shortly afterward, Chih-Yü called out to her captain, “Jui Ah! I must see you at once. There are preparations to be made.” She turned back to Saint-Germain for a moment. “Ghieh-Man,” she said quietly, using his personal name alone for the first time, “when you have finished with your horse, I would be pleased if you would come to my quarters to discuss the ditch with me further.”
    “I will be happy to,” he said at once, and watched her with some curiosity as she dismounted and gave her sorrel into the hands of a groom before striding into the old wooden building that was the heart of the Mao-T’ou stronghold. He led his gray into the stable and encountered the cool looks of the grooms. “I must replace a shoe,” he said, and encountered blank stares. The dialect here was so unlike any of the other Chinese dialects Saint-Germain spoke that he could find no way to talk with the farmers and servants. He had heard enough of their particular tongue to realize that they had far more than four inflections in their speech, but he had not yet succeeded in identifying them. He gestured to his horse’s hoof and indicated that it had lost a shoe. One of the grooms nodded his understanding and went back to his task, raking out the stalls and laying clean straw down for the horses.
    Saint-Germain found the forge at the other end of the stable, and was pleased to see it was well-equipped. In so remote a place, there was no room for shoddiness. He glanced around to familiarize himself with the arrangements, then tied his gray to a handy post while he went to get the metal he required.
    When he had finished with his horse, he led him back to his stall and put him inside with a dish of oats and a pail of water. He took his saddle and bridle to the tack room and noticed, as always, the grooms refused to touch the alien things. He rolled down the sleeves of his sheng go and walked across the cobbled courtyard to the central building.
    Most of the servants no longer stared at him, though a few were pointedly ignoring him. Saint-Germain had experienced that often enough in his long life that it no longer rankled with him. He made his way up the wide, shallow stairs to the second floor, where Chih-Yü’s personal quarters were.
    Chih-Yü heard the click of Saint-Germain’s thick-heeled boots before he knocked on the door, and she was relieved. Jui Ah, her Captain, was still bending over her back, ostensibly to look at the drawing of the Mao-T’ou stronghold, but actually to try to stroke her neck. She would have to rebuke him openly, but at the moment she was too much in need of his assistance to risk offending him.
    The knock, when it came, sounded in the room like distant thunder. Jui Ah jumped back, and in so doing revealed his cupidity. Chih-Yü gave the Captain a hard look and called out, “Who is here?”
    “Shih Ghieh-Man,” he answered, puzzled that she would ask after requesting that he join her.
    “You may enter,” she said, and rose as Saint-Germain came into the room.
    This unusual courtesy was not lost on him, nor was the quickly concealed disgust in Jui Ah’s eyes. Saint-Germain