‘Join me for breakfast,’ said Mu Cheng.
Kysumu sat. ‘Will they be bringing more food?’
‘This is our food.’
‘Will the Star Lily be joining us?’
‘She has gone.’
‘Gone? Where?’
‘Back to the world, Kysumu.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘You have two choices now. To be a Rajnee or to be a wandering warrior, selling your sword and living among men and women.’
‘Why have you done this to me?’
‘It is not hard, student, to forswear pleasures you have never experienced. There is no strength in that. Now you truly know all that the world can offer. The memory of this night will always be with you, dark and seductive, tugging at your resolve. In many ways this is the greatest test for a Rajnee. It is why it is called the Night of Bitter Sweetness.’
Mu Cheng had been right. In the years that followed Kysumu would often dream of the Star Lily and her flawless skin. Yet he had resisted the urge to find her, or to seek anyone like her. He did this in order to be the best Rajnee he could be.
Yet here he sat, unable to commune with the spirit of the greatest Rajnee to walk the earth. Instead that spirit had chosen to visit a lascivious ditch-digger with a stolen sword.
It was this that stopped Kysumu from reaching the required level of non-concentration required for meditation. The thought rankled.
Yu Yu Liang sat up and stretched, then pushed himself to his feet. To Kysumu’s surprise he began to move through a series of muscle-loosening exercises.
‘Where did you learn those?’ asked Kysumu. Yu Yu ignored him, and continued to exercise. The Rajnee sat quietly as the ditch-digger began to dance through the elaborate steps of the Heron and Leopard, a series of ritualistic motions interspersed with moments of utter stillness. At the conclusion Yu Yu drew his sword and began a second series of exercises, thrusting, blocking, leaping and twirling. Kysumu’s surprise turned to astonishment. As the exercise continued, Yu Yu became more and more supple, his speed increasing, until the blade moved like a blur.
Finally he stopped, sheathed the sword, and strolled across to Kysumu, squatting down before him. ‘You know who I am?’ asked the voice of Yu Yu Liang.
‘You are Qin Chong, the first of the Rajnee.’
‘I am.’
‘I have tried to reach you. You did not hear me.’
‘I heard you. But I needed all my energy to commune with the pria-shath. He tells me you are skilled with that blade. May the Source make that a golden truth, for the enemy is upon us.’
Chapter Twelve
Even as he spoke, four black-garbed warriors stepped from the shadows, moving into the clearing, their dark, curved swords in their hands. Kysumu rose and drew his own blade.
Qin Chong, in the body of Yu Yu Liang, drifted towards the centre of the clearing, his movements unhurried, his sword arm by his side, the blade trailing on the hard-packed ground.
Kysumu relaxed his body into the Way of the Sword, the great emptiness in which there was no fear, no exultation, merely a sense of quiet harmony. The four warriors spread out. Kysumu noted the way they moved. All were perfectly in balance. Kysumu sensed great strength in them, and guessed they would be fast. He could feel their confidence.
They did not rush in, and Kysumu observed they were deferring to the largest warrior. His robe of black silk, slashed to the waist, bore a silver brooch, shaped like the claw of a lion. Perhaps it was a badge of rank among the Kriaz-nor, thought Kysumu. The leader moved to face Qin Chong, who still stood quietly, his blade trailing.
Then he darted forward, his speed awesome. Kysumu blinked – and almost lost the Way. No human could move that fast! The dark sword lanced at Qin Chong’s face. His own blade parried it, and the two fighters spun away. The Kriaz-nor attacked again and again. The other three warriors stood by silently. The two swords clashed repeatedly, setting up a discordant yet almost rhythmic music in the clearing. Sparks flew from the blades. Never in his life had Kysumu seen such brilliant swordplay. It was as if the two warriors had choreographed each move, practising it for years. The blades moved faster than Kysumu’s eyes could follow, glittering in the new moonlight. The fighters spun away once more. There was blood on the wolfskin jerkin worn by Qin Chong. Then the swords clashed again in a whirlwind of shrieking steel. Neither of the swordsmen had spoken, and the struggle continued with renewed ferocity. Kysumu saw blood spray from the Kriaz-nor’s face as Qin Chong’s blade nicked the skin of his cheekbone. The Kriaz-nor leapt back. ‘I shall be proud to eat your heart,’ he said. ‘You are worthy.’