CHAPTER ONE

BROKEN TOYS

The line of broken soldiers stretched out of the training pit and around the arena, spilling out onto the streets. They came in all types and sizes: men, women, tall, short, fat, emaciated, and with varying numbers of limbs. A few were fully armored, others only in loincloths. All looked like they had stared death in the face and wished not to have survived it.

Ling Taishi leaned over the balcony overlooking the pit. Most of the soldiers—volunteer fodder—kept their eyes low and their shoulders slumped, working hard to avoid attention and hide their defects, inside and out. Taishi could tell what ailed them with just a glance, not that she cared. She had run out of pity years ago. The more pressing thought on her mind as she scanned their ranks was how this rabble could possibly put up a fight against anyone.

An official with his beard trimmed and oiled to a point approached her, his gold-laced crimson robe flapping against his knees. The broccoli shape of his tall black hat placed him as the high lord of the palace. “It is time, emissary. Please allow me to escort you to your seat. I have arranged refreshments. Peaches from my own estates, harvested just a season ago and spirited here for your pleasure.”

Taishi struggled to recall his name. “Thank you, Palacelord Faaru.”

The palacelord led her across the balcony toward an elevated dais, rambling on about his stupid fruit the entire time. “They are so succulent you will believe it is nectar from heaven. My orchards are renowned among all of the Enlightened States.”

Taishi’s face drooped further with each passing description. If the man was as good with training boys as he was with selling fruit, the world could rest easy. Fortunately, it was a short walk to her seat. She sat down on a bed of cushions reserved for high-ranking officials and guests of the court. Taishi technically held no rank and belonged to no court. She had been sent here as an emissary by one of her former students, who also happened to be both her landlord and her actual lord. Saan, the Duke of Shulan, wanted her to appraise how the Prophesied Hero of the Tiandi’s education was coming along. She had wanted to refuse the assignment, but the terms he offered were too good to pass up: tax exemption for life and not going to jail for refusing her duke. Taishi was not a big fan of taxes or imprisonment.

As soon as she settled in, the rest of the crowds on the balcony took their places in the tier below her platform. The arena was surprisingly packed for a simple training session. Taishi wondered how many in the audience were actually paid spectators. As Faaru had promised, a servant appeared with a platter of peaches piled in a pyramid, and placed it on the small table next to her. Taishi was tempted to grab one from the bottom, or better yet wave it off, but being old and irritable was no excuse for poor manners. She plucked the top one and absently bit into it as the guards below cleared the training pit. She stopped and stared at the golden juice sticking to her fingers. By the Queen’s rotted ovaries, the man wasn’t lying. These are damn good peaches.

The palacelord appeared out of nowhere and hovered nearby as she gnawed on the peach, his eyes staring intently. He was sneaky for such a large man. Taishi fought the urge to spit the peach out and sour her face, but there was no sense in wasting quality fruit. She had to give the man his due and so offered him a slight tilt of his head. The palacelord beamed.

The training session was about to begin. Somewhere above, drums rumbled as the lazy and scattered applause from the crowd betrayed their true enthusiasm for the event. Taishi failed to mask her growing irritation. She checked the water clock at the time table. It was nearly noon. Half the day was already wasted.

The first group of toy soldiers paraded into the pit and milled about, uncertain and disorganized. They were ten volunteers in a random assortment of weapons and armor, no two looking like they belonged in the same unit. Taishi pitied this pathetic bunch, these loyal soldiers of the States who hadn’t died in the war, but hadn’t necessarily survived it either. Now they were left to eke out a living the only way they could: becoming training toys to a boy playing war. There was the pikeman with the distant stare. The swordswoman with the shaking hands. The young man missing the rest of his arm below the elbow cowering behind her…Taishi shifted her own mangled arm hanging useless by her side. Well, one should never underestimate a cripple.

The training overseer stood and clapped his hands. “You all have the honor of aiding in the training of the undefeated Champion of the Five Under Heaven, the terror of the Katuia Hordes, and the savior of the Zhuun people. Fight bravely, but remember your place. The penalty for injuring him is death. The penalty for drawing his blood is death. The penalty for refusing to engage is death.” The overseer continued, rambling off another ten or fifteen rules. By the time he was done, Taishi wasn’t sure how any fighting was possible. “Any questions?” he intoned.

The small group looked dejected, and as baffled as she was. One woman wearing half the banded armor of a light cavalry unit raised her spear. “What if he’s about to kill us?”

“Then die honorably. Try not to if you want to get paid.”

“Wait,” another asked. “He can attack us, but we can’t attack him?” This had to be his first day.

The training overseer sounded hassled. “Of course you are allowed to fight back. Just don’t injure him.”

Faaru leaned in. “Are you enjoying the delicacies, emissary?” Her muffled slurp was answer enough. She helped herself to a second peach and slipped a third into her pocket. He gestured toward the pile of peaches. “If you wish for more, emissary, you need only ask.”

The palacelord was being awfully pushy about his silly fruit. Then she noticed the decorations on the plate. A long string of gold liang looping through the peaches at the base. The coins, ducal-stamped from the Gyian mint, formed a glimmering yellow snake linked together through each liang’s square hole. That much money was more than enough to pay off most emissaries. Far too generous, in fact, which made Taishi only more suspicious. She looked back at Faaru, and his smile widened until the corners of his mouth nearly touched his long earlobes.

There was a reason Saan had sent her instead of the usual court buffoon. Taishi ignored the bribe and turned her attention back to the pit. “Get on with this. I have other things to do with my day.” Like soaking my feet in a hot bucket.

He stiffened and gestured to the overseer. “As you wish, emissary.”

The overseer began to speak again, his voice carrying across the arena. “Behold, Wen Jian, the Prophesied Hero of Legend, the savior of the Zhuun people, the one foretold by the Tiandi Prophets, under the sign of a thousand stars, to fulfill his destiny and lead the mighty armies of the Enlightened States to victory over the terrible, evil, savage hordes of the Katuia Clans, break the immortality of their Eternal Khan, and bring everlasting peace to the Children of Zhuun. Bear witness…”

Taishi rolled her eyes. So much stupid pomp. She mouthed silently and carried her whisper on the wind to the man’s ear. “Skip the rest.”

The overseer’s voice cracked. He glanced around and then cleared his throat. “Let the round begin.”

There were still a few seconds of excessive drumbeating and fanfare before the gates below the balcony finally opened. Five imposing figures in heavy armor cut long shadows into the sand. They wore elaborate helmets shaped like animal heads, which she thought was a nice touch, and moved with the swagger of opera villains. They looked like the guardians of the gate to some mystic zoo. Taishi was entertained.

Meanwhile, the sacrificial lambs on the other side of the arena looked as if they were about to soil themselves. Following the five horned warriors appeared a much more diminutive figure, but to much greater applause. About damn time. Taishi crossed her arms and leaned forward. She had met many legendary masters in her day, but this was the first time she was going to see a legend.

Her initial impression of the Hero of Prophecy was lukewarm. The hero everyone was fawning over was a scrawny teenager wearing only black breeches cut off just below the knee. His skinny chest was defined but flat, his arms were taut but stick-thin, and his skin was pale as ox milk. His black headband made his dark hair stick out like a bird’s nest, but his round boyish face was clean and manicured.

“Put a shirt on before you blind someone,” she muttered.

Her first thought was that it was strange for the hero to be so lightly armored compared with his bodyguards, but of course a teacher couldn’t check a student’s form and technique under several layers of armor.

The boy flourished his sword above his head, and then moved his hands apart to reveal that it was in fact two identical blades. He twirled the two swords around his body and loosed a reasonable attempt at a war cry, his voice cracking at the tail end.

Taishi raised an eyebrow. “This should be interesting.”

Double straight swords: a bold choice, a weapon that was very difficult to master. It was Taishi’s personal opinion that double straight swords were the wrong weapons in every fight, no exceptions. She leaned forward and studied the stillness within him: His eyes were up and steady, his footwork relaxed, his form and balance proper, his guard held correctly. So far so good. Like a prize horse, he looked the part. But as her own father and master had taught her a lifetime ago, You can tell a war artist’s true ability in three moves. Everything else is just a rooster’s strut.

His pitiful challengers advanced, the boy moved, and the action unfolded more or less as expected. Jian and his overdressed bodyguards fanned out. The toy soldiers made halfhearted attempts at combat, while the demon-helmed guards basically postured picturesquely in the background. The boy did actually do all the work, if it could be called that.

Taishi hated to admit it, but at first she was grudgingly impressed. He looked good. His movements were crisp, his balance and ability to change directions impressive, and his reflexes sublime. Her eyes sparkled as the boy effortlessly transitioned between techniques. Most important, she could tell by the snap and fluidness of his attacks that his jing, his energy, was strong. Taishi couldn’t recall the last time she had witnessed such martial beauty in one so young.

“He might actually be as good as his legend,” she marveled.

And yet, he should have been dead five times over.

“Should have gotten stabbed there,” she counted under her breath. “And there. Dead there, there again. There goes his left arm.” The longer the melee continued, the more problems she found. It wasn’t so much the boy’s abilities or technique that were at fault, it was the way he put everything together. In isolation, each movement was timed and executed flawlessly. Once she examined the fight in its entirety, however, something looked off. It was in the flow of the battle, the almost rhythmic pacing of the action, the stuttering exchanges, and the awkward angles.

“He’s overthinking, and no one else is actually trying,” she muttered. The boy didn’t bother with his defense, because no one posed anything remotely resembling a threat.

As the round continued, the smile that had crept onto her face faded, replaced with a forced neutrality that she kept up for as long as she could, but inevitably melted into a scowl as if she smelled something rancid. Once she realized what was happening, she couldn’t help but notice it in every movement, every exchange. If the boy made a mistake, his opponent would actually hesitate to compensate for it. It wasn’t real. His opponents were making sure the boy looked good. This whole thing wasn’t choreographed, but maybe it should have been; then maybe Jian’s many flaws wouldn’t stand out so easily.

Jian squared up with his last remaining challenger. The man feinted, then swung his horse-cutter in a long overhead swing. Taishi could have taken a nap in the time it took the blade to reach its target. The boy blocked it competently and countered. Block, parry, dodge. The two moved as if underwater until Jian finally jabbed his opponent in the thigh.

All of the fodder had been vanquished, left writhing on the sand. The poor cripple missing a hand almost lost his other one, having suffered a deep gash down the length of his arm that would require stitches. The rest of the sad rabble picked themselves up and dragged themselves to the other side of the training grounds.

The crowd all rose to their feet when the last soldier fell, clapping as if that Champion of the Five Under Heaven had just single-handedly beaten back the Katuia Hordes, bare-chested, with only his hands. Taishi stayed in her seat. The peaches had been more impressive than what she had just seen.

The overseer banged on his gong. “There will be a fifteen-minute intermission between rounds,” he declared, again to scattered applause. “Bring out the refreshments.” A small army of attendants came jogging out onto the pits, carrying tables and chairs and food and drink.

Taishi frowned. “Fifteen minutes? Refreshments?”

“The young hero needs to recuperate between rounds, emissary,” Faaru explained. “It gives the masters the opportunity to dispense their wisdom.”

Taishi’s gaze drifted to a group of eight extravagantly dressed men hurrying down the stairs into the pit and clustering around the boy, jockeying with one another to whisper in his ear. All wore colorful pageant sashes over one shoulder. A beauty pageant for old ugly self-important men, Taishi thought. She nudged Faaru. “Who are those peacocks?”

“Those are the young hero’s teachers,” exclaimed Faaru, his chest puffing out. “As you can see, we’ve recruited the finest masters from across the Enlightened States. The one speaking is Master Sun. Next to him is Master Hili, then Master Pai, Master Ningzhu, Master Luda…”

Taishi stopped listening after that. Of course. That explained the color-coding. It was the latest rage among war arts schools. It gave the students some stupid sense of tangible accomplishment to cling to. These lofty titles, ranks, silly sashes, fancy names were all nothing more than marketing ploys for those who lived outside the lunar court, the secretive underground community of war artists residing on the fringes of order and society.

She reminded herself that the masters charged with training the Prophesied Hero were political appointees and had little to do with any actual ability or skill. She turned her nose. “The corruption of the States extends even to our salvation.”

Still, eight war arts masters, one student. How does that even work? A student with more than one master only makes for an indecisive student. In the heat of battle, which master’s voice would ring loudest? Taishi flicked her hand toward those masters and drew their voices back to her.

“Use the front sweep next time against a shield.”

“Jump downward, thrust when their guard is low.”

“Feint first. That’s why you have two blades.”

“Double thrust. Always be on the attack.”

That answered her question: It didn’t. It was a dizzying amount of information, some contradictory. The poor boy must be so confused.

One of the peacocks noticed Taishi staring and broke off from the group. He approached the dais and offered her a generous bow and a wide smile, exposing two rows of yellow teeth. “Such an honor to meet you again, Master Ling. Truly one of the grand legendary masters. I once had the privilege of witnessing your feats at the Shulan Moon Festival Tournament. You were spectacular, truly invincible that day. I’m sure you still would be”—he glanced at the mangled arm hanging useless by her side—“if it weren’t for your unfortunate injury.”

Still can beat you senseless with only one arm, you puffed-up fungal wart. She offered him a withering glance. “Who are you again? Apologies. Along with my useless arm, I also suffer from face blindness.”

“Sinsin. Master Le Sinsin. As you can likely tell from the hero’s movements, he leans heavily on my family style. If I—”

“That tells me all I need to know.” Taishi put a hand up to Sinsin’s face before he could say another word. She turned to Faaru. “Start the next round.”

“But the intermission—”

“Now!”

The palacelord blanched and then bowed. He signaled to the overseer, who had also taken a seat to take advantage of the refreshments. The man quickly replaced his pear-shaped hat and gave the order to clear the floor. The audience grumbled as they returned to their seats.

“Uncle Faaru, what is the meaning of this? Why is this break so short? Who is that woman?” a high-pitched voice said across the pit. Jian was staring straight at her. He had just sat down and was having his forehead dabbed with a wet cloth.

“Uncle”? The ends of Taishi’s lips curled.

“It’s no one you need to be concerned about, savior of the Zhuun,” replied Faaru, waving with both arms, swishing his giant sleeves about.

“We can’t start the next round yet. We haven’t finished our refreshments. My unit needs to rest.”

Bonus points for being considerate, offset by the fact the boy thought those five clowns fighting alongside him actually needed rest after three minutes of posing. His people looked uncertain. Three stood up and reached for their helmets while the remaining two stayed seated and continued to slurp their drinks.

The new group of sad fodders that had just been led into the pit for the slaughter looked equally puzzled. These poor cracked eggs were even more pathetic than the last: an old man and two women equipped with matching broadswords and shields. They were probably from the same regiment. They were joined by two others, a sickly man with emaciated arms wearing wooden armor and wielding an oversized ax, and another man wearing only a tight loincloth held together by a few desperate threads and holding a mancatcher over his shoulder. The remaining four looked like peasants carrying farming tools.

The two sides faced each other once more. Taishi wrapped her hands around the railing and squeezed until her knuckles turned white. This was a waste of time. She was tempted to just leave. She had just started to rise out of her seat when a wicked little spark tickled her. She decided instead to stay and prove a point. Taishi really did love making fools of fools.

As the overseer began his long-winded introduction, Taishi carried her whisper to the graybeard leading the fodders. “Seize the advantage while they are unprepared. Move first.”

He hesitated. “But we’re supposed—”

“Now, soldier. Split that gap on the right flank. You have a straight shot at your target. Seize your moment.”

Her whispers spoke to his desires. Soldiers, no matter how beaten down, never lost their taste for victory. Taishi just had to reawaken that part of them. A glint appeared in his eyes as he clenched his jaw and raised his shield to his body. Someone down in the pit was finally taking the fight seriously.

The graybeard, used to following orders, did as he was told and charged, much to the confusion of his squad. He ran between two of Jian’s heavily encumbered bodyguards, who were thrown off by the grizzled veteran’s sudden, aggressive tactic. They just stood there, exchanging I-thought-you-were-supposed-to-get-him looks. Their confusion was brief, because the women behind the graybeard, also pushed by Taishi’s whispers, crashed into them a moment later. The audience next to Taishi sat up in their seats. For the first time possibly ever, a real fight was brewing below.

Jian looked like a startled rabbit as the soldier bore down on him, shield up and blade forward. He sidestepped the charge clumsily and made a looping swing with his sword that bounced off the edge of his opponent’s well-placed shield. The graybeard gave Jian little quarter as he pressed forward, poking at the many holes in the boy’s defense. If it weren’t for the old man’s old reflexes and the young man’s young reflexes, the fight might have ended right there.

Faaru hissed at the overseer. “What is the meaning of this? End the round. End the round!”

“No,” Taishi barked. “Ring that gong and I’ll put your head through it.” The overseer froze in mid-swing and then threw his hands up as if trying to surrender.

The ends of her lips curved upward as she gleefully scattered more encouragement and orders. “Are you meat for the butcher or are you fighting soldiers of the Enlightened States? Use your numbers. They’ve abandoned the center. The Ram-Head is overextended. You two farm boys, Hoe and Shovel, get on either side of him. Mancatcher, come around behind and take Bull from the back. Sword and Boards, get around Lion’s flank. You two with the spears, pull back. No, your other back, you idiots.”

Bull and Lion were quickly brought down while the other animals were busy retreating to the boy’s rescue. By the time they had cut down the graybeard, the odds had turned. Ram got speared in the back while Rooster got bashed in the back of the head. That left the hero and Bear, who found themselves outnumbered.

On the balcony, Faaru stomped his way to the overseer, grabbed the mallet from his hand, shoved the man aside. He was about to signal the end of the round when Taishi flicked her hand, snapped the gong off its hinges, and sent it rolling on its side down the stairs. “Finish the round. I want to see a winner.”

“But—”

Taishi looked him square in the eye. He shut up, but not before whispering something in the overseer’s ear. Taishi pulled the sound over to her.

“Call in the second group. Hurry.”

Four more animal heads ran into the pit, some still strapping on their armor. The fifth hopped in a moment later, trying to lace his sandal. The fodders would not have noticed these reinforcements had Taishi not sent them a warning. They regrouped to face the new threat, but now they were sandwiched and facing off six to seven, the advantage to the animal heads.

Jian looked tentative, lost. This was probably the first time he had had to deal with uncertainty in the pit. It took him a moment to collect himself. He charged one of the farmers sword-first, piercing his gut. Then Jian waved to rally the rest of his unit.

That earned him Taishi’s approval. The audience in the stands broke out into a chant, encouraging the young hero, applauding when he stabbed one of the spearmen who, because of a bad leg, was not able to retreat quickly enough.

Taishi gritted her teeth as the animals closed in on her outnumbered and overmatched renegades. Her eyes darted around the grounds. Her options were limited up here. She had only so much to work with. She should probably let it go. Her ragtag squad would likely lose now, but her point had been made. The rest of this exercise was irrelevant. Winning or losing in practice was just about pride.

Taishi let herself sink back down into the pillows and fingered another peach. She was about to take another bite out of it when she hesitated. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to lose, not even during practice. She chucked the peach into the pit, bouncing it off the helm of Snake. Then Taishi shot out of her seat, finding a soft, whimsical air current to carry her across the arena. The currents here were tame, lazy, forcing her to jump across three more before her toes touched down on the helmet of Elephant, bounded off the shoulder of what she thought looked like a fox, and landed in the sand between her troops and this tacky menagerie.

Snake pulled up short, mouth wide, the ax in his hand quivering.

A wry smile grew on her face. “You’re allowed to try to hit me.”

Snake accepted her challenge and made a good effort as the tip of his blade nearly gashed her robe when he streaked past her. With three quick strikes of the tips of her fingers, Taishi sent him flying off to the side. Fox came next, followed closely by Wolf, or possibly Badly-Designed-Monkey? Fox was blinded by a puff of air before Taishi slapped the consciousness out of him. Wolf-Monkey swung a heavy mace at full force, a killing blow. She diverted its trajectory with the tips of her fingers. He followed up with a series of snapping kicks, which she danced around like a leaf swirling in the breeze.

Taishi countered with her own soft kick to the flesh of his neck, a blow that would have crushed the man’s throat if she had wished it.

Faaru ran down the stairs to the pit, his generous robes fluttering as he flapped his arms. “This has gone far enough. Stop this at once!”

Taishi sent her whispers to the squad around her. “This is your chance. Seize your glory.”

These were true soldiers who had lived through real war, survived death, and sacrificed everything to end up disposable practice targets. They obeyed. They had nothing left to lose, and a trapped enemy was the deadliest. They surged past her, surrounding and hacking at the boy’s remaining animals.

Taishi stood in their midst, intervening with only a few more whispers. Within seconds, it was over. The Prophesied Hero was surrendering to a farmer and a naked man. The loincloth had not survived the fight.

The arena fell silent, save for the labored panting of the participants as they picked themselves up off the sand. Jian stood in the middle of it all, stunned. His various masters seemed no less so.

The ego was a fragile thing; Taishi knew well enough.

Taishi helped the axman who was struggling to stand. She gave him a pat on the rear as encouragement and wiped her dirtied hands on his shoulders before launching herself back to the balcony. Two delicate steps off the railing and floor and she was back in her seat, reaching for a peach.

Taishi turned to Faaru. “My office, now.”

The palacelord looked equal parts terrified and confused. “But you don’t have an office…” He froze, and then dropped to his knees, his head bowed low.

She did now.