At that moment the wind changed. Ustarte had moved closer and her scent drifted across the nostrils of Niallad’s horse. It reared. Niallad was thrown back in the saddle. His hand involuntarily squeezed the bronze trigger of the crossbow. The bolt slammed into Waylander’s chest. He half turned, took three faltering steps then fell to the grass close to the body of Panagyn.
Ustarte reached his side first, turning him and pulling the bolt clear.
‘I didn’t mean to shoot!’ said Niallad.
Keeva and Emrin dismounted and ran towards the fallen man. Ustarte waved them back. ‘Leave him to me,’ said Ustarte. Putting her arms beneath the unconscious Waylander, she lifted him with ease and carried him into the forest.
When he opened his eyes he was lying on a bed of leaves. Ustarte was squatting beside him. Waylander’s hand went to his chest. ‘I thought he had killed me,’ he said.
‘He did,’ Ustarte told him, her voice heavy with sadness.
Kysumu stared out over the ruins of Kuan-Hador. The sun was setting, and the plain below seemed immensely peaceful. Moving away from the warriors of the Riaj-nor, he squatted down and drew his sword. A great sadness was upon him. It lay like a boulder on his heart.
He remembered his teacher Mu Cheng, the Eye of the Storm, and the long years of training. Mu Cheng had tried, with great patience, to show Kysumu the secrets of the Way of the Sword, how to release control and become a living weapon. The sword, Mu Cheng had said, is not an extension of the man. The man must become the extension of the sword. No emotion, no fear, no excitement. Calm, and in harmony, the Rajnee did his duty, no matter the cost. Kysumu had tried. He had struggled with every fibre of his being to master the Way. His swordsmanship was beyond excellent, but it could not reach the sublime skill shown by Mu Cheng. ‘It will come one day,’ Mu Cheng had told him. ‘And on that day you will be the perfect Rajnee.’
Two years later Kysumu had accepted the role of bodyguard to the merchant Lu Fang. He soon discovered why Lu Fang needed a Rajnee bodyguard: the man was amoral to the point of evil. His ventures included forced prostitution, slavery, and the distribution of deadly narcotics. Upon learning this, Kysumu had climbed the stairs to Lu Fang’s apartments and informed him that he could no longer be his bodyguard.
Lu Fang had railed at him. ‘You gave me your promise, Rajnee,’ he said. ‘And now you will leave me unprotected?’
‘I will stay until noon tomorrow,’ Kysumu told him. ‘You will send your servants out in the morning to find other protectors. Then I leave.’
Lu Fang had cursed him, but the curses were just empty sounds to the young Rajnee. There was no honour to be gained in defending a man like Lu Fang. He walked from the apartments to the balcony beyond. Two hooded and masked figures were stealthily climbing the stairs. Kysumu moved to block them, his sword raised. Both men hesitated. ‘Leave now,’ said Kysumu, ‘and you live.’
The men glanced at one another. Both carried thin-bladed daggers, but neither had a sword. They backed down the stairs, Kysumu following them. As they reached the last step they turned and ran.
Another figure moved into sight.
It was Mu Cheng.
As Kysumu stood now, overlooking the Eiden Plain, and the ghostly ruins of the ancient city, he remembered his shock at the condition of his former master. Mu Cheng’s eyes had been red-rimmed, and there was stubble upon his cheeks. His robes were dirty, but the sword he held was clean. It shone brightly in the lantern-light.
‘Step aside, pupil,’ said Mu Cheng. ‘The villain will die tonight.’
‘I have told him I can no longer serve him,’ said Kysumu. ‘I leave him at noon tomorrow.’
‘I have promised he will die tonight. Step aside.’
‘I cannot, master. You know this. Until noon I am his Rajnee.’
‘Then I cannot save you,’ said Mu Cheng. The attack was incredibly swift. Kysumu barely blocked it. The two swordsmen had then engaged in a blisteringly fast series of encounters. Kysumu could never recall quite when it happened. But somewhere within that fight he had discovered the Way of the Sword. He had relinquished control. His blade moved faster and faster, casting bewildering patterns of light in the air. Mu Cheng had been forced back until, at the last, Kysumu’s sword cut through his chest. The Eye of the Storm died without a word. His sword fell to the carpeted floor, the blade shattering into a hundred shards.
Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176