Free Six Celestial Swords by T. A. Miles Page A

amounts large enough to limit the mobility of the enemy, forcing them to concentrate almost solely on defense. Cai Shi-meng, driven by his anger, might have devised a quicker way, but Xu Liang was better known for his patience.
    Xu Liang laid the second scroll flat on top of the first, upon the blanket he had spread over the hard wood of the cabin floor. Two candles were placed to either side of the blanket upon which he sat cross-legged, illuminating the small windowless room with a soft orange glow. The scrolls did not appear to say much of immediate interest pertaining to the Celestial Swords, but they spoke worlds to Xu Liang, who recognized the words’ underlying meaning—meaning that Cai Shi-meng himself may have overlooked in writing them. Xu Liang felt as if the scrolls had been delivered to him, deliberately. It was otherwise a strange coincidence that the dragon should arrive and inspire Yvain’s vision, which in turn reminded her of the scrolls.
    Xu Liang sighed with a sense of accomplishment and closed his eyes. And that was when he felt the intruders.

    THE FANESE SHIP came out of the darkness like a wraith drifting over the water, enshrouded in lingering tendrils of mist. In the blackness of the night, no one had seen the fog encroaching until it was too late. The enemy was upon them and it was time now for the Pride of Celestia to live up to its name.
    “Damn,” Fu Ran cursed, grinding his fist unconsciously into his hand. “They caught up with us after all.”
    “And much sooner than I would have expected.”
    Fu Ran glanced back at the mystic as he arrived on deck. “You should stay below. This is no place for scholars.”
    Calmly, Xu Liang said, “You seem to forget that I have seen battle.”
    Fu Ran was forced to take a second look at his former master. Seen it, yes, but from the rear of hundreds of thousands of troops, safely out of the range of everything except for catapults…or from the seclusion of a hidden base camp, receiving reports and issuing orders or advice. Xu Liang himself was like a specter, an otherworldly being floating through the world with virtually no physical aspect to him save that others could see him and—if they dared—touch him. It was with touch that Fu Ran recalled that Xu Liang was no spirit, but human, and a particularly frail one at that. In spite of their rough reunion at Ti Lao, it seemed to Fu Ran that the wake of a blade alone, even if the weapon utterly missed the sorcerer, would deal him a mortal blow. It seemed that way, but he’d made the mistake of underestimating Xu Liang before and if he honestly believed him so defenseless he would never have sparred with him at Ti Lao.
    Just as his confidence in the mystic was beginning its pendulum swing, Xu Liang touched his arm lightly. With the faintest smile, he said, “You must trust me, Fu Ran. I have not held my position at the Imperial Court this long through carelessness.”
    He was right, as always. Fu Ran nodded, swallowed his old sense of duty as it came up, and turned his attention to the Fanese vessel drawing too near. “Who are they?”
    “I do not know,” Xu Liang admitted. “But they are more persistent than I anticipated.”
    “Bastards,” Fu Ran grumbled, and watched Aeran archers line up across the deck.
    The pale northern men were skilled hunters, trained with a bow almost from the moment they could hold one. Tonight men would be their game. The shapes of the raiders were just visible in the trace light of Fanese-style mounted torches— ‘fire baskets’, the Aerans called them. The way the pirates were gathering made their intentions all too clear.
    Fu Ran’s lips curled upward. “I don’t think a wind is going to carry us away from this fight.”
    “No,” Xu Liang agreed, missing Fu Ran’s sarcasm or ignoring it. “There isn’t time and besides, with the ships this close, it would carry both.”
    Fu Ran nodded, though he was absent from one concern as another came up. “I