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Mary Rosenblum has been writing science fiction and fantasy since 1990, with a mystery as Mary Freeman from time to time. The author of eight published novels and more than sixty short stories, she has been a Hugo finalist and a nominee for many major awards. Currently, her SF novel Horizons is available from Tor Books, and Water Rites, a compendium of a novel and three prequel novellas, from Fairwood Press. She taught at the Clarion West writers workshop in 2008 and when she’s not writing, she lives sustainably on her small acreage. Find out more about her at: www.maryrosenblum.com.
About “Dragon Wind,” Mary writes, “In early 1400s, the Ming emperor on China’s Dragon Throne, Yongle, sent out his trusted admiral and close friend, Zeng He, at the head of a vast Treasure Fleet. This powerful armada explored much of the world, including Asia, India, the Persian Gulf, Arabia, Africa, and very possibly the Americas. But Yongle’s health began to fail and he became obsessed with the Mongol threat on his northern border, calling home the Treasure Fleet. With the Yongle’s death and the decline of the Ming Dynasty, China’s mastery of the seas ended.”
––––––––
Zeng He leaned on the railing of the First Ship, watching the nervous fisherfolk gather along their shore. Frowning, he surveyed the shabby docks, lined with small fishing vessels, their sails furled, nets still tumbled on the deck. The fishermen had raced home like frightened birds as they caught sight of the Xiafan Guanjun, the sixty-three ships of the Foreign Expedition. Afraid. Zeng He shook his head, sighed. Rumor preceded them and flew with the wings of untruth.
“Your lordship, the boat is ready.” An Hu, his First Commander bowed, resplendent in a jade green brocade surcoat over a blue underskirt. Court clothes. Zeng He smiled to himself as he followed Hu to the rope ladder. Court clothes with careful padding underneath. In case of ill-thought arrows. He swung his leg over the side of the ship and climbed quickly down. Already, the rest of the landing party waited in their boats, swords at their sides.
A few townsfolk had taken to the water in their paltry fishing boats although they kept a careful distance from the landing party, pointing and exclaiming at the Treasure Fleet. Well, Zeng He thought with a moment of fierce pride, it was impressive—sixty-three ships, over four hundred paces in length, nine masts soaring above each ship like tall pines. The horse boat had docked at the end of the largest pier and a man-at-arms held Zeng He’s muscular black gelding, his eyes on the gathered townsfolk crowding the rise above the boats.
Ah, the local lord was arriving. If you could call the petty tyrant inhabiting a tumble down stone compound a lord. Zeng He swung onto his horse, paced it up the beach, his lieutenants flanking him, their formal robes (carefully padded against arrows and daggers) brilliant as gems in the sun. The lord waited for him, a handful of fearful men clustered in a ragged formation at his back, awkwardly clutching rusty spears. The lord’s robes had been put on hastily and needed a good cleaning, Zeng He thought with distaste. You could read the menu of the last formal banquet on the faded silk.
“Greetings from the Emperor Yongle, the occupier of the Dragon Throne.” Zeng He halted his gelding. Behind him, his soldiers would have spread out, alert, their weapons and padded armor without blemish, brilliant in the sun that was making him sweat. “I bring you offers of his friendship.”
He nodded and his servant stepped from the ranks behind him, carrying a small box of red leather with a gilded clasp. He approached the ruler, who looked if possible even more frightened than before. “This is a gift from the Dragon Emperor, a token of his friendship and his protection for your people and your land.”
The servant flipped back the lid of the casket and the ruler’s eyes gleamed. He fumbled the gold and jade necklace from the red silk cushion, held it up to the sun.
“We are honored by your visit and this offer of friendship from the Dragon Throne.” The chubby man spoke faltering Mandarin. “I, Tsong Qua, son of Tsong Bao, and ruler of all this land between the sea and the mountains, welcome you. Whatever we can do to fulfill the Dragon Throne’s friendship we will do.” He glanced again at the gold and jade in his hands.
The fat ruler’s obvious greed soured Zeng He’s stomach. The fishing fleet was decrepit and the people had the edged, bony look of hunger.
“We are a poor people, living by the generosity of the oceans.” Tsong bowed, his expression oily now. “What can we offer the Dragon Throne that will cement his love for us?”
The power of the Dragon Throne was a valuable commodity, Zeng He thought. It meant your neighbors would not dare to attack you. It meant you might dare to attack your neighbors with that shadow behind you and they would capitulate. This petty tyrant squabbled with his neighbors for no reason and kept much of the tax money for himself, if the rumors were accurate.
It would serve him right, Zeng He thought, if we simply marched in here and took what we wanted. But Tsong would not stand on the front lines. This type of man always sent others to stand in danger’s way for him. And they were innocent.
“The Emperor Yongle, the occupier of the Dragon Throne has one request of you.” Zeng He touched his gelding with one toe and the animal tossed his head suddenly, snorting, so that the golden ornaments on his headstall rang with the sound of weapons being drawn. He did not smile as the ruler edged backward. “The Emperor Yongle has heard of the marvelous beauty of a woman who lives in your lands. He has sent me to ask for her hand in marriage. She will be an enduring symbol of the friendship between the Dragon Throne and your people.”
A murmur like the wind that precedes a storm swept through the assembled people. Apparently, a few of them understood Mandarin. Zeng He felt his warriors tense and again he toed the gelding. This time, Tsong stepped back quickly as the horse pranced closer.
“A...an honor like this...” He licked his lips, his eyes darting from side to side, as the murmurs grew. “It would make any daughter prostrate herself with grateful delight. But our maidens are simple women.” He spread his hands, his eyes fearful. “Surely none of them could interest an emperor with his choice of beauty from the ends of the earth.”
Obviously, they all knew whom he meant. Interesting. “Ah, but the emperor has heard much about the dragon daughter living within your lands. He has sent a rich bride price, of course. Commensurate with her preciousness.”
On cue, the servants stepped forward, four of them, bearing a carved teakwood chest inlaid with mother-of-pearl and ebony wood. A gasp replaced the murmur of disapproval rumbling through the crowd as one servant lifted the lid.
Carved jade, gold, and rubies from the Hindi lands lay atop folded silk brocades, and a breath of frankincense and myrrh wafted out. The treasures of the fleet, Zeng He thought and kept his lip from curling with an effort. He didn’t need words to know Tsong’s answer. It came in the rubbing of his hands, the light of greed in his eyes as he stepped toward the heavy chest, no longer, apparently, afraid of Zeng He’s war horse.
“Don’t take her!” A tall man with graying hair and straggling chin whiskers stepped forward, dressed in a frayed loin-wrap. “She is our healer,” he said in fractured Mandarin. “She saved my son, when he burned with the bleeding fever.”
He had the knotted muscles and scarred hands of a fisherman and his ribs showed under his sun-darkened skin. Zeng He met his eyes, pity knifing through him before he banished it. “It is a great honor to your people.” He spoke slowly so that the fisherman could follow his words. “You will find another healer and the Emperor will be forever your friend.”
“The emperor will be forever the friend of him. Not of us.” The man spat on the sand, in Tsong’s direction.
“Guards! Seize him!” Tsong straightened, his chubby hands full of gold, red-faced. “A hundred lashes with a knotted thong for his insolence.”
“No.” Zeng He urged his horse forward to block the four men who advanced on the fisherman. “Words have no power. They are not stones.” He turned his stare on the ruler. “Damage to his man for his honest distress would tarnish the beauty of any woman.” He forced Tsong to meet his gaze. “Do you understand?”
“He is too insignificant to waste my time on.” The ruler waved a hand, but his eyes had slitted with anger. “I merely wished to punish his disrespect to the Dragon Throne.”
“The Emperor Yongle felt no disrespect.” Zeng He watched the petty ruler flush even more deeply. “Your generosity here will be reported to the Emperor and he will be impressed with that generosity.” It was a threat, and he watched Tsong’s flush fade to pallor.
The man who had spoken out said nothing, simply turned away, shuffling down the beach toward the patched boats. The others began to trickle away, murmuring among themselves, casting dark and doubtful glances back at the soldiers and horses, at the tall ships filling the mouth of the small harbor.
We are taking the only thing they have of value. Zeng He quieted the gelding as the animal shifted restlessly beneath him. And they will receive nothing for it. Ah, my Zhu Di, my emperor, my...friend. He closed his eyes briefly. I would stoop to do this only for you, to save your life.
“I will send my soldiers to bring her to you.” Tsong stepped forward, greed like lust shining in his eyes.
“I will accompany them.” Zeng He stared down and watched the ruler’s eyes shift aside. “To make certain that no violence tarnishes this gift. Meanwhile, we beg your permission to replenish our water and trade for fresh food from your peoples’ fields.”
“Of course.” The ruler straightened, waved his hand as if he sat the Dragon Throne himself. “You have my permission.”
A fair trade for the healer with dragon blood, Zeng He thought staring down at Tsong, would be to cut this man’s head off here and now and leave the treasure for the people. “I thank you for your permission,” he said mildly. “Have your people guide us to the dragon daughter’s home.” He reined his gelding into a rearing pivot, so that the ruler had to leap back to avoid the animal’s hooves.
~o0o~
A rough gaggle of soldiers met Zeng He and his escort above the beach, armed with spears and short, curved swords. While their leather chest protectors and their clothes were far better than those of the fisherfolk, their eyes gleamed with envy as they eyed Zeng He’s well-armed and well-clad soldiers. Ethiope slaves led a horse litter furnished with brocade cushions and hung with silken drapes. Only the best for the daughter of dragons. If the stories were true.
Zeng He closed his eyes as the gelding picked its way along a well-trodden track through the shade at the edge of the sand and said a small prayer deep in his soul. May I find here the one to restore Zhu Di’s health. The emperor’s dragon blood needed the love of dragon blood in order to survive, the oracle had said.
The Emperor’s healers seemed to assume that sex would do, Zeng He thought bitterly. He hoped they were right.
The path turned away from the beach, upward through the green twilight beneath the trees, into the foothills of the mountains that fenced the beach. Although well traveled, it was narrow and the soldiers scanned the shadows, their short bows in their hands, an arrow already on each string. Birds shrieked and darted among trailing vines and the dense, heavy air hung like a damp curtain against Zeng He’s skin. He pushed up alongside their guides. “How much farther?”
“Just ahead.” The man jerked his narrow chin. “In the clearing.”
A few moments later, they emerged from the humid embrace of the trees into a wide clearing backed by a gray rock face. Water spilled from a small crevice in the weathered stone, burbling into a shallow basin lined with pebbles and edged with green fern before disappearing into the lush grass that carpeted the clearing. Next to it stood a hut built of sticks, lashed together with grass and thatched with leaves. A garland of bright forest blossoms hung from the eaves of the hut above a sack of rice and a fat bunch of little red bananas. Three silver fish gleamed on a banana leaf beside a small cooking fire in a tiled hearth sheltered by a canopy built from saplings and roofed with more banana leaves.
Offerings, Zeng He thought as he spied a pile of small red fruits in a crude basket made of vines. Thanks for an act of healing, a life saved. A wizened old woman in an embroidered dress crouched in front of the fire, poking at something in a stoneware pot. She jumped to her feet as the entourage filed into the clearing, and hurried into the hut.
A moment later a woman emerged. Tall and slender, dressed in a simple white shift with a belt of knotted jade silk, long dark hair bound into a heavy plait at her neck, she stepped forward, hands raised. “You are seeking me.”
She spoke perfect Mandarin and a shiver ran down Zeng He’s spine. She had not asked a question. “I am indeed.” He swung down from his gelding, handed the red leather reins to his lieutenant and bowed. “I bring you an invitation from the Emperor of the Dragon Throne, O dragon-daughter. To become the Emperor Yongle’s wife.”
“He has to send his fleet to find him a bed mate?” A sad amusement curved the woman’s lips. “I would have thought he could find willing women closer to home.” She lifted her hand. “Enough. I know why you have sought me out.” She looked at Tsong’s nervous guards. “He has sold what he does not possess.”
They looked away, tracing protective signs in the air with their left hands.
“I do not choose to be the Emperor Yongle’s purchased amulet.” She turned back to Zeng He. “And he is mistaken. Rumor counts and recounts value and embellishes it with imagined gems. I will disappoint your emperor,” she said gently. “What dragon blood I posses is merely a thread, a trickle that allows me to heal the infant with a fever, an old man who has pulled too many heavy fish into his boat.” She met Zeng He’s eyes. “I cannot heal the Emperor. Without me, those infants may die, the old men put their nets aside.”
He saw only the faintest flicker of dragon gold in her dark eyes. Less, even, than Zhu Di himself possessed. Zeng He bowed again, his heart a stone in his chest. “A delicate vein of gold on the surface may run deep.” He spread his hands. “I am not here to make choices, Dragon Daughter.” He bowed again. “I am here to carry out the orders of my emperor.”
For the space of three heartbeats, she stared into the tree shadows beyond the clearing. “If I say no to you, people I have helped will defend me to their deaths. But they are no match for the Great Fleet of the Dragon Throne.” She turned and spoke briefly to the woman, then turned back. Bowed her head. “I submit to the will of the Dragon Throne. Unjust will though it be.”
The old woman began to wail in a high, keening voice.
Zeng He nodded to the Ethiopes and they led the horse litter forward. He stepped to her side, offered her his hand. “I am sorry,” he said very softly. “I am merely the hand of my emperor.”
She turned her face away from him and stepped up lightly into the litter, settled herself among the embroidered cushions. Zeng He jerked his chin at his warriors and they formed up ahead and behind the litter, with the ruler’s guards out in front, where the warriors could all watch their backs.
This was too easy. Zeng He told himself that it was only easy because the people who loved her were the fishermen and the ruler loved the rubies more. But the back of his neck itched with premonition as they wended their way back down the mountainside toward the beach. As they reached a jutting promontory where the trail bent back on itself like a snake, a bird cried a shrill note. A moment later, with a grinding rumble, the hillside above them seemed to lift and move. Men shouted and scrambled as a foaming torrent of muddy water thundered down the steep hillside through the trees. The lead horse reared, squealing, as the water foamed about its feet and fell, tangling in the litter’s traces. The rear horse panicked now, backed frantically, fighting the harness as the slave leading it tried to hold it.
Zeng He leaped from his gelding’s back and dashed toward the litter just as a black rain of arrows fell through the green light. One of Tsong’s guards fell shrieking, an arrow in his chest, while another arrow took the leader in the throat. One thudded into Zeng He’s padded vest and he felt the bite of the arrow point in his shoulder as he grabbed for the reins of the panicking horse, searching the tangle of silk and harness for the dragon daughter.
She had leaped clear, stood ankle deep in the last of the flood, the hem of her dress brown with mud. Behind him, Zeng He heard his men shouting, heard the hiss of arrows leaving the bows. He reached for the dragon daughter’s arm, but a slender figure leaped from the shadows.
A youth, his black hair bound back, warrior-style, blocked Zeng He, a curved blade in his hand. “My sister did not choose this path.” His voice rang like a hammer on silver. “The village idiot sold what he does not own.”
“He did that.” Zeng He’s own blade whispered from its scabbard and even before the syllables had left his mouth, it flickered like lightning toward the youth.
Faster than thought, he blocked Zeng He’s thrust, beating the blade aside lightly. “Run now,” he said in a conversational tone. The healer scooped her skirt up about her hips, and was gone like a deer, vanishing in a white flicker into the tree shadows.
Zeng He cursed and leaped forward, thrusting, parrying, pushing the youth back and back. The youth was fast and equally skillful and clad only in cotton overshirt and loose trousers, not hampered by heavy padded armor. In moments, both of them were running blood from minor cuts. Zeng He thrust, at the last instant changed target and sliced at his opponent’s thigh. The youth slipped aside, but his heel caught on a patch of trampled greenery and he staggered, leaving himself for an instant open.
Zeng He drew the path that led to the youth’s heart blood. For an instant, time stood still and a thick, moist silence filled the space beneath the tree canopy, heavy as a held breath. Their eyes met. Dragon gold shimmered like fire in the youth’s eyes and Zeng He’s breath caught in his throat.
Then time started again, his sword was leaping forward and with a wrenching effort, he diverted it at the last second. It sliced a shallow furrow across the youth’s chest and Zeng He staggered with the force of his misdirection, his own foot slipping now, skin tightening with the expectation of the hot bite of a blow.
He fell hard to one knee, but the blow didn’t come. The youth had spun, was racing lightly into the tree shadows in the direction his vanished sister had taken. The fight had ended. Zeng He’s men were collecting the spent arrows, checking wounds.
“Looked like ten of them.” Shin Gao, his lieutenant, approached, a thick worm of blood crawling down the side of his face from a gash where an arrow’s blade had grazed him. “Zhin Ah took an arrow through the shoulder and Ma Huang got one across his thigh—just a gouge, he can still walk.” The lieutenant jerked his chin. “Every one of those sorry guards is dead. This was a score getting settled, I guess.”
“That, too.” Zeng He sheathed his sword, shaded his eyes against the beams of midday sun lancing down through the tree canopy. “Let’s see where our timely flood came from.”
It was a clever trap, they found. A small stream had been dammed up and a diversion channel dug to send the water crashing down across the trail, once the dam had been removed. Zeng He examined the muddy boulders and sections of tree trunk scattered by the flood. “This had been prepared for some time.” He stared thoughtfully into the tree shadows. “I do not think it was aimed at us, particularly.”
“Smart, for a bunch of robbers.” Shin Gao spat thoughtfully. “I wonder how they loosed the water. Took a lot of strength, eh?”
“Indeed.” Zeng He looked at the massive boulders and the trunks thick as a man’s waist. “A lot of strength, indeed. Perhaps the mountain shook it down on us.” He headed down the slope to where the rest of his warriors waited with the horses.
~o0o~
“They are outlaws, filthy pariahs, who prey on all.” Spittle gathered at the corners of Tsong’s mouth as he strode back and forth in the audience chamber of his stone-walled complex. “You will destroy all of them when you retrieve the stolen bride.”
Zeng He raised an eyebrow at this peremptory order, but the ruler was too preoccupied with his display of outrage to notice.
“How dare they insult the Dragon Throne?” With an effort, the small man got his emotion under control and a crafty look replaced the rage in his eyes. “Of course, you will send your warriors after them to wipe out this smirch on the honor of the Dragon Throne.”
“I do not think that your inability to control robbers in your domain in any way tarnishes the Dragon Throne,” Zeng He said mildly. He watched Tsong flush. “Tell me about this band of robbers.”
“They are trash, evil men who live on the sweat of their betters.” Tsong waved a servant bearing a tray forward. “They attack upstanding citizens on the road, stealing their clothes, their purses. Will you try some of these preserved fruits?” He gestured at the platter the servant had set out on a low wooden table. “They are rare, imported, and are said to give one long life and vigor and fertility in bed.” His eyes widened suddenly and he went pale. “Of course, long life is the greatest benefit, and vigor in bed highly overr—”
“I am quite aware that I am a eunuch. Don’t fall all over yourself trying to make amends. It makes you seem more stupid than you are.” Zeng He looked down at the tray of glittering ruby fruits. “I am impressed with your wealth. I was mislead by the apparent poverty of your people.”
“Those who work hard gain wealth. Those who are lazy do not.” The ruler’s teeth were clenched so hard that Zeng He imagined he could hear them grinding. “It is only right that I take my share. It is expensive to protect a realm.”
“Or a poverty-stricken village.” Zeng He turned his back and left the audience chamber without another word.
“It’s an insurgent group.” His lieutenant, An Hu, waited for him outside. “One of our men speaks the local dialect. He has been spending time in the local tavern.” He made a face. “I tried the local rice brandy. Stay away.”
“I’ll take your advice.” Zeng He smiled thinly as they walked along the shell-paved street toward the harbor and the docks. The small market still bustled, although the buying and selling was tapering off as the day heated up. He paused at a thatched stall where an old woman sat cross-legged on a grass mat surrounded by piles of mangos and small brown dragon’s eye fruit. Zeng He scooped up a handful of the small fuzzy globes and dropped a bronze coin in the woman’s outstretched hand. She grinned at him, nearly toothless, holding the coin up to study the marks.
“It’ll be worth ten times its value here.” An Hu rolled his eyes as the woman tucked it carefully down the neck of her shift, still grinning. “We’re turning bronze into gold, eh?”
“Too bad that doesn’t work at home.” Zeng He offered the palmful of dragon’s eye to An Hu as he peeled one crisp, sweet fruit with his teeth. “Our petty tyrant is correct. I need to retrieve Yongle’s bride-to-be.”
“I already have the squad ready,” An Hu said crisply. “The robbers used arrows, but I’ve seen a few spears about, so we should expect spears, too. No matter whom we ask, nobody knows anything about our woodland robber.”
“So he’s popular.” Zeng He bit into a second fruit.
“It wouldn’t take much to be more popular than the posturing monkey.” An Hu spat peels in the direction of the ruler’s stone compound. “Do you really believe that this local witch, or healer, or whatever she is, has dragon blood?”
“A trace.”
An Hu gave him a sharp look. “But you would know, I suppose. You having grown up with the Emperor the way you did, I mean.”
Only years of facing death together on the bow of the foremost ship in the Xiafan Guanjun permitted his lieutenant the layers of implication in that simple statement. “You are correct.” Zeng He drew a slow breath. “I did grow up with the Emperor of the Dragon Throne and yes, I can see dragon blood when it flows through the heart.”
An Hu bowed his head, lifting a fist briefly in apology. “I’ll go make sure the squadron is ready to leave.”
“Not yet. I have preparations to make.” Zeng He frowned. “Tell our smith to heat the forge. We’ll go after our popular outlaw and his sister in the morning.”
“They could be two kingdoms away by morning.” An Hu sucked in his cheeks.
“I doubt they will be.”
An Hu saluted smartly, spun on his heel and strode off.
Zeng He looked down at the crushed fruit in his palm. Dragon’s eye. Supposedly the real ones could show the future and more.
Some futures he did not want to see.
Zeng He tossed the remains to the ground, wiped his palm on his surcoat and stared, unseeing, at the crudely fashioned wall of the ruler’s compound. We did grow up together, didn’t we, Zhu Di? The dragon’s blood that burned like fire in the now-emperor’s eyes had scorched Zeng He’s heart and soul.
“You gave me my name,” he whispered. “Ma He became Zeng He, but my heart belonged to you long before then. Even now, when you must be emperor and I must go voyaging.” He blinked, realizing that he was the focus of curious stares. Shrugged and followed An Hu’s path to the harbor, to prepare for their foray.
~o0o~
They left the horses at the ship. Forest trails were no place for horses and speed would not aid them. An Hu had finally found a local guide, although the squalid, stoop shouldered man with the shifty eyes did not impress either of them. If he wasn’t leading them into a trap, Zeng He thought sourly, he probably didn’t have any idea where the robbers hid and would merely lead them down random trails until they all got tired.
At first, the going was easy, the air cool in the early dawn. The trail, obviously well used, followed the contours of the land as it traversed the feet of the mountains on its way to the next village along the coast. Their guide turned off on a narrower path that led nearly straight upward into the thickly forested shoulders of the peaks.
The trail narrowed and the thick air cloaked them, humid and heavy in the lungs, muting even the shrill call of the birds. Like a held breath, Zeng He thought, and scanned the forest twilight for movement. His men walked silently, arrows nocked to the string, vigilant. They stopped when the sun was overhead, ate dried meat and fruit, drank sparingly. The trail curved back on itself, rose steeply through thinning trees and ancient gray boulders to emerge briefly onto a ridge of stone thrusting out through the trees like a huge, arthritic knee. Late afternoon sun scorched them and insects chirred as they scuffed through the thin, tough grass growing between the rocks.
Here, the trail ended.
“I thought you knew where the robbers hid.” An Hu leaned over their cringing guide, backing him toward the weathered precipice. “Unless they have wings, they didn’t come this way.” He raised his meaty hand.
“I heard...I know...this is it.” The guide scrambled backward, heel catching in a ridge of stone, falling hard onto his backside. “It has to be....”
The stone beneath him moved. It rippled like a horse’s flank and like a horse bothered by flies, flicked the guide from his rocky perch. He arced out into the void, clawing at the air, his thin scream trailing after him.
The entire ridge shivered now, rolling like the deck of a ship in a storm. An Hu fell, grabbing for the rock. One of the warriors clawed at stone, young face desperate, teeth bared with effort. A comrade grabbed for him but his hand closed on empty air and the warrior fell, silent. Zeng He clutched the stone beneath him as it bucked and heaved, like a young colt, trying to throw its first rider. An Hu grunted as his grip came loose and he rolled down the suddenly sharp slope toward the edge.
Zeng He let go, lunged for An Hu and grabbed the man’s thick wrist. The stocky warrior slid over the brink as the stone shivered beneath them. Zeng He felt himself sliding, skin shredding from his elbows and arms as he struggled to hold An Hu back.
“Let go, fool!” An Hu’s dark eyes burned into his. “We’ll both go.”
“I claim combat.” Zeng He shouted into the grunts of his struggling men, the deep grind of the shifting stone. “I claim the right of one on one combat. My life for the lives of my men. I have the right.”
The mountain stilled. A haze of dust shimmered gold in the afternoon light. A bird trilled, tentatively. Another answered.
Two of the men scrambled over, grabbed An Hu by the arms, hauled him back onto the sun-heated stone. Hard stone. Still stone. Sweating, Zeng He rolled onto his back, his eyes on the empty blue sky.
“So who in the names of the nine demons were you talking to?” An Hu’s voice grated as if he’d swallowed gravel. “And just what in the name of those same demons did you promise it?”
“Who went over the edge?” Zeng He sat up, stood and counted quickly. “Shan Ji.” He crossed to the edge of the precipice, waved An Hu away as his lieutenant stepped quickly forward. “We’re safe.” He looked down, but the dense tree canopy had swallowed any trace of Shan Ji. He had been young, had been saving a bride price, this trip, his last trip.
“Our guide did not lie,” he said softly. “This is how they came. Give me what I prepared.”
An Hu took the leather pouch from his belt, handed it over. “Waste of good coinage, if you ask me.” He shrugged. “Good hemp rope would hold her.”
“It probably would.”
“You going to tell us who you spoke to?”
Zeng He became aware of his men’s tension. They were afraid, nervously glancing at the gray ridges of stone like the mountain’s muscles beneath their booted feet. “The dragons are the children of the mountains.” He faced them, hands spread. “The mountain defended its offspring, even if the offspring is partly human. I spoke to the mountain. I invoked the dragons’ right of combat. I...have the right.” It was hard to say, they would all know the rumors. And rumor paled compared to the truth.
The men stared at him, their faces carved like stone, eyes fixed on him like men on a sinking ship watching a rescue boat. “You are safe to return to the ship. I will face our challenger.”
“And if you lose?” An Hu’s growl broke the thick silence.
“I die.”
“I think we will stay here.” He gave Zeng He a cold, dark
look.
“No.” Zeng He lifted a hand. “If I do not die, I will come down to the ships. If you stay...” He lifted an eyebrow. “Can you swear by the spirit of your father that you will not interfere?”
For a moment, An Hu held his stare, anger bright in his eyes. Then he lowered his head.
“If anyone interferes, you will all die and so will I.” He paused to let An Hu feel the weight of this truth. “You must take the men back to the ship. I will come down. Or I will not.” He looked at the men, some of them his own age, the ones who had found what they sought on the moon’s bright path across the waters, unlike Shan Ji, who had come with them hoping only for a bright future at home. He sighed. “If I do not return, he is your leader.” And he put his hand on An Hu’s shoulder.
That bound An Hu with the chains of responsibility. Zeng He turned away from the flash of anger in his old friend and comrade in arms’ eyes.
They left reluctantly, filing back down the trail to find Shan Ji’s body and bring him back to the ship for burial in the arms of the sea. Zeng He walked to the center of the rocky spur, his shadow stretching ahead of him. He dropped the leather pouch into a crevice in the rocks. “It is time,” he said.
The youth seemed to materialize from the gray stone and the tree shadows beyond. He stepped forward, and golden light ran down his slender blade. “You are an honorable man to trade your life for the lives of the men that followed you. Their reluctance to leave suggests you are a good leader.” He bowed briefly, his dark eyes glittering. “I am sorry to have to kill you.”
“You could choose not to kill me.” Zeng He stood easily, but his muscles were ready and he watched the youth carefully without seeming to. “You could choose to come with me and I would have no need of your sister.”
The youth frowned. “If you know enough to have invoked the ancient right of challenge, then you know enough to realize that this is not possible. All time stops until this challenge is decided, until one wins and one loses.” He stepped forward, circling, light as a dancer on his feet, his blade weaving spells from the golden sunlight. “It is time to decide.”
It was as if time had indeed stopped. No bird called, no cloud moved in the sky, no leaf shivered. The sun, frozen in the sky, gilded the spur of rock with golden light and the youth darted forward, swift as a stooping hawk.
Zeng He parried and their blades skirled. He feinted, thrust, but the youth leaped sideways and backward as if on wings, feinted, then darted in so suddenly that Zeng He’s parry was late and the hot kiss of the blade stung his shoulder. He backed, blade up, as he tore a strip from his surcoat with his teeth, bound the bleeding wound tightly.
The youth gave him time, pressing his guard, not attacking. But the moment the knot was tight, he leaped. Steel clashed again and Zeng He dove and rolled, came to his feet in an instant, had a moment as the youth spun. Zeng He’s blade leaped for blood and only with an effort did he turn it, so that it slashed the youth’s shoulderblade in a shallow gash rather than piercing.
The youth danced away from him, crimson staining his white tunic, his frown thoughtful as he faced Zeng He once more. Then he attacked in earnest. Zeng He backed, parrying, beating the blade aside as it seemed to multiply into a dozen blades slashing at his face, probing for his heart. Sweat stung his eyes and his wounded arm throbbed as the youth drove him slowly across the mountain’s shoulder beneath the frozen sun.
He could not keep this up much longer. He dashed his sleeve across his face to clear the sweat from his eyes, barely parried a flashing thrust from the youth, felt the blade gash his thigh. His heel struck stone and he looked back to find himself on the lip of stone that had shaken Shan Ji to his death.
Now.
Or never.
The youth crouched lightly in front of him, a golden flame of triumph in his eyes. Zeng He saw his death there. In a fluid motion almost too fast to see, the youth tossed his sword from right hand to left, lunged. Zeng He’s parry was too slow, he had not expected this. The blade homed on his heart...
Zeng He spoke the words.
They sizzled from his lips, burning like lava, scorching throat and tongue. For one instant, all motion ceased and his opponent’s eyes widened with shock. Then the youth spasmed, arms and legs flying outward, back arching. The blade nicked Zeng He’s side as it flew past, pinwheeling out into the void beyond the cliff. He leaped forward as the youth fell, caught him and lowered him gently to the sun-heated stone.
Time began with a lurch. Insects buzzed and birds chirped. A thin cloud passed in front of the setting sun, sending a brief, welcome shade over Zeng He. He touched the youth’s throat, reassured by the steady pulse of life there, and stood, his knees trembling, to fetch the leather pouch.
The smith had melted the gold treasure Zeng He had given him, had spent the night forging it into chains. Zeng He fastened the manacles to the youth’s sinewy wrists, chained his ankles. Then he fetched his water bottle, drank to sooth his still-burning lips and tongue, and settled himself beside the youth where his shadow would shade his unconscious face.
“Dragons have a temper.” He spoke softly, gently. “It flows in the blood, is never entirely controllable. One day, when we were youths ourselves, Zhu Di lost his temper with me. I had bested him at swordplay and I had cut him.” He sighed, letting the distant hills thick with trees draw his gaze. “He beat me, nearly to death. It changed something in him. Made him understand what he really was. I think it helped make him the emperor he is, restrained in vengeance, generous with friendship. After I recovered, he told me the words, the ones his father had given him. The ones that dragons use. If one speaks them in a fight, all dragons are struck unconscious.” He chuckled softly. “Zhu Di said that without those words, no dragons would exist. Or dragon kin.”
“But you are not dragon.”
Zeng He started, looked down to find the youth’s dark eyes open. Dragon gold gleamed and shimmered in their depths. Zeng He sighed. “I am not dragon. He told me the words in case I ever needed them. Against him. I never did.” He smiled, unable to banish sadness from that smile. “Before now.”
The youth raised his manacled wrists, grimaced as the chains jingled. “Clever to use gold to bind my powers, too.”
Zeng He nodded. “The challenge has been answered. I won. You lost. You and I are both free of that, now.”
“You planned this.” The youth sat up, the gold in his eyes bright as the sun’s evening fire. “From the beginning. That’s why you spared me on the trail? And just now, when you had a chance to wound deep?”
Zeng He lifted one shoulder in a shrug.
“You gambled your life on that dice throw and you nearly lost.” The youth stared at him for a moment. “What is it that you want? Apart from my sister.”
“Not your sister.” Zeng He met the youth’s eyes, although the gold there stabbed him to the depths of his soul. He will look into your eyes, Zhu Di will, and find what he has forever searched for. Searched for and thought he had found in me.
But had not.
“Your sister has little dragon blood in her veins.”
The youth shrugged. “She has enough to help the people here. That is what makes her happy. You did not answer my question.”
“I want you to come with me, back to the Dragon Court. I want to bring you to the Emperor Yongle who sits on the Dragon Throne.”
“As a slave?” Gold fire flared in the youth’s eyes.
Zeng He’s smile hurt him. “Oh, no. Not as a slave. As a guest.” One look. That is all it will take. “The Emperor Yongle will...value you. As a guest.”
“You have been touched by dragon blood.” The youth’s eyes pierced him. “I felt that from the first.”
“I have.” He had to look away, this time. “Your dragon blood will heal Yongle. I felt the truth of it from the moment we faced each other. And Yongle will reward you well. With his eternal friendship. That is no small thing.”
Silence stretched between them and the sun began to slide behind the distant mountain peaks, its light turning to rich gold, the shadows swelling, stretching, strengthening. Below, twilight already filled the narrow valleys leading down to the beach, the harbor, and the ships. An Hu would be on deck, his eyes on the mountainside. Waiting.
“I will go with you.” The youth’s tone was thoughtful, but the dragon gold in his eyes pulsed in the fading light. “As you say, the friendship of the Emperor of the Dragon Throne is no small thing. If you leave my sister here to be happy, I will go in her stead. My name is Xinyi.” A shimmer of anticipation flickered in those eyes. “I am curious to meet this Emperor with dragon blood. His reputation has preceded you here.”
“He will be honored, Xinyi.” Zeng He winced as his stiffened wounds pulled at him. He unlocked the manacles, removed the chains.
Xinyi leaped lightly to his feet and offered a hand to Zeng He. As Zen He took it, new strength coursed through his weary frame and a brief sting told him that his cuts were healing. Ah, yes, he carried much more dragon blood than Zhu Di. Zeng He closed his eyes briefly. It would be enough to heal the emperor. More than enough.
They made their way down the mountain in the night. The stones themselves glowed beneath their feet, lighting their way. Dragon blood indeed. It was An Hu who spied them as they emerged from the trees in the gray hour before dawn. He took the leather pouch with its jangling chains and asked no questions, hurried to rouse the men so that they could catch the turning tide.
It was time to go home.
That night, out on the open sea, after they had sent Shan Ji to his grave in the sea’s arms, Xinyi sought him out where he stood at the bow of his ship, watching ghosts move among the thousand thousand lamps of heaven.
“You did not tell me everything.” Xinji’s eyes glowed like the sun’s last light in the darkness. “I have read your heart and I know the price you yourself pay for your Emperor’s health. I have a gift for you.” Xinji held out his closed fists. “These are Dragon’s Eyes. This one shows the future that would have been, if you had not stopped here or if you had taken my sister and left.”
He opened his hand, palm up. A golden sphere flashed with light and suddenly, Zeng He was seeing the Xiafan Guanjun tied up in the imperial harbor, himself trudging up the stone paved highway away from the docks, his shoulders slumped.
“This would have been the last voyage,” Xinyi said softly. “The emperor’s failing health would have made him fearful and he would have withdrawn from the wider world. The Dragon Throne would have shrunk, become the seat of mere mortals, of petty chieftains, for many many years to come, the wide seas abandoned to strangers.” The golden sphere popped and vanished from his palm and he opened the other fist. “This eye looks at the future that will be now.”
This time, Zeng He saw his ships on strange seas, anchored off strange lands where bronze-skinned peoples dressed in robes embroidered with brilliant feathers offered him gold and welcome. He saw more ships, on more seas, on and on forever into the horizon.
“The Dragon Throne will flourish and become strong, it will stretch its shadow over all the lands between the sea and the sky,” Xinyi murmured. “You did not trade your heart away for nothing and your heritage will be entire nations.”
Zeng He watched the second Eye vanish from Xinyi’s palm. “I did not think I traded it for nothing,” he said softly, and turned away to watch the night-foam gleam with light as the bow of his ship cut through the dark waves.
