"They will be sufficient for our needs," Prince Jen replied. "See to my carriage immediately. I wish to leave as soon as possible."
"Your visitation will be short? I am filled with unbearably painful regret," returned Cha-wei, brightening. He clapped his hands, ordering attendants to conduct Prince Jen and Mafoo to the best available chambers.
"Hardly the Celestial Palace," observed Mafoo, after servants had brought fresh robes, "but not too bad for the provinces. I'd guess that Cha-wei treats himself well enough. What official doesn't?"
Mafoo was correct, as Prince Jen discovered when they were led to Cha-wei's private apartments. There, tables had been spread with quite acceptable refreshments. In addition, Cha-wei had summoned his household musicians. With the melodies of zither and flute, the chiming of bells, the tuneful sounds mixing with incense from iron braziers, Prince Jen felt reasonably at ease for the first time in a trying day. He briefly explained the events that had brought him to the village.
Cha-wei gave him a puzzled look. "How interesting that Your Lordship mentions a downpour. Highly localized atmospheric disturbances, of course, are not impossible. Nevertheless, here we have not had a drop of rain for five days."
"You saw our clothing," Jen curtly replied, "wet and muddy. Honorable Cha-wei, I know when I've been rained on."
Cha-wei tactfully let the matter drop and begged his royal guest to speak more of the purpose of his journey. Prince Jen's fatigue, however, must have weighed on him more heavily than he realized, for he found his thoughts drifting away, floating with the music, soaring with the shimmering tones of the flute. Only when Mafoo nudged him did he abruptly raise his head and open his eyes.
"Whatever Your Lordship requires ..." Cha-wei was saying.
"Oh? Yes." Prince Jen blinked. He had, for the moment, been happily elsewhere. The voice of the flute had led him spinning like a leaf in a silver stream, past waterfalls that turned into rainbows and rainbows that turned into bright-plumaged birds. Cha-wei's yamen was a dull, boring place in comparison.
"What His Lordship requires," put in Mafoo helpfully, seeing his master look around absently, "is an armed escort. With dangerous bandits in the vicinity, the Young Lord must not travel unguarded."
"Mafoo is right," Prince Jen said. "Yes, we wish an escort. Assemble them, have them ready with their weapons. A dozen mounted men should suffice."
"It should, if only I had them to offer," Chawei replied. "Lord Prince, I beg your gracious indulgence. There is not one able-bodied man in Kwan-tzu. They are all in the countryside, seeking to capture the bandits."
"The Young Lord must have a suitable escort none the less," Mafoo said. "Lacking anyone else, that leaves yourself and your attendants."
"That would be an honor beyond what I deserve," replied Cha-wei. "My servants-mere cooks, clerks, low-ranking deputies and their assistants-are entirely unworthy of such a noble task."
"Then," demanded Mafoo, "what do you suggest?"
"Ah-yes, what I suggest," Cha-wei answered, "is another joyful possibility." Cha-wei looked as if he had swallowed a bowl of scalding tea as he continued. "I urge His Lordship to accept my hospitality, wretched and despicable though it is, for a week, ten days perhaps, until the village men return."
"I cannot be delayed that long," said Prince Jen.
"Out of the question," agreed Mafoo. "There's nothing else for it," he added, as Cha-wei's features grew more and more pained, "you and your servants will have to do. So, put on your armor if you have any. You'll need swords, lances, bows and arrows."
"What bliss," Cha-wei murmured in a strangled voice, "to die in the service of the Young Lord."
"If His Lordship permits me to address him, I know a better way."
These words came from one of the musicians, a girl who set aside her flute and came forward to approach Prince Jen.
"Forgive such impertinence," Cha-wei hastily put in. "This pitiful creature is Voyaging Moon, a bondmaid who has shown some small ability in music. I have taken a slight degree of-of benign interest in her wellbeing. Ignorant, ill-favored though she is, her thoughts might conceivably be of value. Your Lordship may deign to favor her by listening to them."
"Let her speak," said Prince Jen. Until now, he had taken little notice of the individual musicians. The flute girl, however, had caught his full attention. Compared with the noble ladies in the Celestial Palace, Voyaging Moon could hardly count as beautiful. Far from an oval perfection, her face had the sharp, high cheekbones of eastern province peasants. Instead of being arranged in a lacquered tower, the girl's black hair hung loose over her shoulders and was held only by a white headband. He motioned for her to continue.
"An armed escort might offer some protection," Voyaging Moon said in a voice that Jen found as melodious as her instrument. "At the same time, it would attract unwanted attention. These bandits will stop at nothing. Their leader calls himself Natha Yellow Scarf. He's worse than the rest of them put together. He'd be more than happy to cut your throat. So, the best thing would be to go quickly, quietly, and not be seen at all."
"Exactly as I was about to say," exclaimed Cha-wei. "Much as I yearn to give my life defending the Young Lord, I reluctantly admit that her idea has merit."
"In other words, I'm to travel secretly? Furtively?" said Prince Jen. "Do you think it honorable for me to skulk like a coward through my own kingdom?"
"I'd have supposed that skulking was part of a princely education," Voyaging Moon said. "Certainly not," retorted Jen. "Then here's a chance to learn," said Voyaging Moon.
"She's right," Mafoo whispered. "Better to be unnoticed than dead. A little skulking never harmed anyone."
"I was born and raised in this district," the girl continued. "I know pathways that will keep you clear of Natha and his gang. They'll never catch a glimpse of you. Now, I can see Your Lordship's about to suggest taking me as a guide. A brilliant idea. For my ignoble self, it would be the honor of a lifetime, enshrined forever in my memory. Naturally, my esteemed master would have to agree to do without my worthless presence for a short time."
"Oh, I agree, I agree," burst out Cha-wei.
"Yes, well then," Jen began. The girl was looking straight at him. She had used all the proper terms of self-deprecation, but he had the uneasy feeling she meant not a word of them. "Now that you've suggested-or I was going to suggest," he stammered, "your presence with us would be a pleasure. That is, useful. Very acceptable."
Cha-wei, sighing with happy relief, eagerly offered to provide a horse on which the flute girl could return to the village. It was decided that all would be ready by daybreak, and Prince Jen and Mafoo were again installed in their sleeping chamber.
"About that flute girl," Jen said as he stretched on the couch, "I'm glad for her help. But-did you find her somehow irreverent? Impertinent, even?"
"No more than I am." Mafoo yawned. "You'll manage to put up with her."
Prince Jen did not reply, and soon fell asleep. But the voice of the flute echoed in his ears. The features of the girl filled his dreams. He awoke feeling vaguely unsettled and too distracted to observe and properly admire the rising sun.
The artisans had repaired the wheel. The girl, in coarse cotton trousers and jacket, waited at the carriage. Because of her knowledge of the countryside, Mafoo allowed her to take the reins. Cha-wei, at the yamen gate, did his best to look heartbroken by the early departure of his royal guest.
Prince Jen would gladly have conversed with the flute girl, but each time he tried, he grew strangely tongue-tied. At last, he gave up his attempts. His glances, nevertheless, continually went to Voyaging Moon.
For her part, the girl was as good as her word. She followed practically invisible paths and trails, driving quickly and efficiently. Prince Jen, in fact, felt a twinge of regret at reaching the road so soon.
His regret turned to alarm when Voyaging Moon drew up at the spot where he had left his escort. He sprang from the carriage. Looking in every direction, he saw nothing of Li
Kwang or a single one of his men. The road lay empty.
• • • • •
Has our hero begun to develop some affection for a cute girl? A more urgent question: What has become of Li Kwang and his warriors? The answer is given in the next chapter.
5
• The Tale of the Warrior's Saddle •
HONORABLE GENERAL LI KWANG had never lacked in courage or failed in duty. Among themselves, his men called him Broken Face because of all the battle scars crisscrossing his cheeks and brow. They were devoted to him, though, and would have followed him to the ends of the earth.
Now, on this journey to T'ien-kuo, Li Kwang had vowed to guard his prince with his life. Uncomfortable at the Young Lord's decision to part from his escort even for an hour, Li Kwang watched, frowning, as the carriage turned off into the narrow lane. Li Kwang thought, first, of galloping after him; but Prince Jen had ordered Li Kwang to wait, and so he did.
Telling himself that his unease was groundless, that no harm could befall the prince in such a brief period of time, Li Kwang ordered his men to stand to their arms while he turned his attention to the saddle he had undertaken to mend.
As he worked, Li Kwang marveled at the craftsmanship given to the making of the saddle. Intricate patterns had been tooled into the leather, itself soft and smooth as silk. The stirrups and the bit were of burnished gold.
"This truly is a gift fit for a king," Li Kwang said. "Never have I seen anything to match it."
Most astonishing to Li Kwang, however, was not its excellence but its lightness. Finishing his task easily and quickly, he now found the saddle and all its harness weighed next to nothing.
"No more than a butterfly!" he exclaimed. "Less than a feather!" The more he marveled, the more he yearned to try it out for himself.
"Such a saddle will never again come into my hands," Li Kwang thought. "Still, it would be improper for me to use what is meant as an offering to a mighty monarch."
While he stood, chin in hand, admiring the saddle, his roan mare, Autumn Dew, trotted to his side. She was the most faithful and obedient of steeds, answering to Li Kwang's lightest touch on the reins, to his smallest gesture or softest word of command.
"And you," said Li Kwang, stroking her high-arching neck, "you have long gone heavily burdened and carried me, my weapons, and my armor without complaint. Would it not be a pleasure for you to feel the comfort of such a fine harness?"
Autumn Dew nuzzled the saddle, then whickered and tossed her head. "You admire it as much as I do," Li Kwang said, smiling wistfully, "but it is destined for the great Yuan-ming, station." and too magnificent for any of lower about to put it carefully aside, Li Kwang hesitated a moment.
"This is a piece of ancient workmanship," he said. "Who made it and for whom, I do not know. But, in all those years, many must have ridden on it, and they could not have been every one a king. What difference could one more rider make?"
Nevertheless, he told himself that as long as it was in his charge he would not meddle with it. Still, he could not keep from running a hand over the saddle, which grew more beautiful the more he looked at it.
"Once given to Yuan-ming, what then?" Li Kwang said. "No doubt it will be locked in his treasure house. Yuan-ming may well have a dozen others more splendid than this, and it would mean nothing to him. What a waste if it were merely stored away to gather dust."
But that, Li Kwang told himself, did not concern him. What Yuan-ming chose to do with the gift was a matter for the king's own judgment.
He turned away, hoping that Prince Jen would soon come back so they could set off again and Li Kwang could rid his mind of tempting thoughts.
"One thing troubles me," Li Kwang said. "Suppose Yuan-ming does not store it away but makes use of it. How can I be sure it is well mended? How do I know the repairs will hold?
"Suppose, for example," Li Kwang went on, "Yuan-ming rides to the hunt. What if the saddle gives way and he falls? If he falls, he might break a limb, or even be killed. That would be my fault."
Satisfied that he understood his responsibility and obligation, he unharnessed Autumn Dew and replaced her saddle with the gift for Yuan-ming. The mare pranced and curvetted with pleasure, and it gladdened Li Kwang's heart to see how handsome his beloved steed looked. All the harness leathers seemed firmly in place.
"Even so," Li Kwang said, "nothing is proved without practice. If there is any risk, I must be the one to take it. I must seat myself and ride a few moments. Only then will I be certain. That is my duty. Afterward, I will put it away and explain to Prince Jen what I did, and why, and how thoroughly I completed my task."
Hesitating no longer, Li Kwang mounted. No sooner was he astride than Autumn Dew reared, whinnied, and shook her mane. Then she laid back her ears and bolted like an arrow down the road. The startled Li Kwang pulled back on the reins. The usually obedient Autumn Dew only stretched into a faster gallop.
Li Kwang was a skilled horseman, but he could do nothing to curb Autumn Dew. He called out to her, coaxing with every endearment, soothing, commanding, all in vain. He thought, then, to risk leaping from her back. He could not kick his feet free of the stirrups or lift himself out of the saddle. He waved his arms and shouted for his men to help.
Li Kwang's cavalry troopers, seeing their commander's gestures, believed he was ordering them to follow. They leaped astride their horses and galloped after him. The foot soldiers likewise misunderstood. They seized their weapons and set off running as fast as their legs could carry them to catch up with their comrades. The drivers of the baggage carts and supply wagons whipped up their animals. In moments, all the train of warriors and retainers was streaming down the road. The wagoners caught their breath in astonishment at the speed of their usually slow-paced horses. The pack mules sped over the ground as if their burdens weighed nothing. The foot soldiers found themselves racing without effort, their boots barely skimming the road.
The wind whistled in Li Kwang's ears as Autumn Dew galloped ever more swiftly. After a little while, the mare veered sharply eastward off the road and plunged into the undergrowth. Twisted branches sprang out at Li Kwang. He flung up his arms, expecting to be swept from Autumn Dew's back. Suddenly the branches drew aside, the brambles and bushes opened before him, the undergrowth parted, and a clear pathway rose toward high mountains ahead.
Li Kwang glanced back. Behind him, his warriors never slackened their pace. Still they climbed, higher and higher. The time must have sped as quickly as Autumn Dew, for Li Kwang grew aware of the sun setting or so he supposed, for the mountaintops, gray and bare, blazed red as rubies.
Autumn Dew galloped on. The mare made straight for a rocky mass towering above the neighboring peaks. At the foot of the mountain, she' still kept her wild course. Li Kwang saw the black mouth of a cavern. Autumn Dew sped into it.
Here, Li Kwang was sure she must halt. A wall of stone rose just ahead. At the approach of Autumn Dew, it split in two and the huge slabs of stone fell open. Li Kwang was borne past these massive portals into the mountain's heart.
His men followed, riders and foot soldiers alike. Once they had entered, Li Kwang heard an earthshaking rumble as the giant slabs swung shut behind him and all his troops.
Li Kwang was a brave warrior, but seeing himself and his men so trapped, his courage almost faltered. Autumn Dew trotted on, picking her way delicately over loose stones rattling beneath her hooves. Li Kwang could see nothing in the darkness that had swallowed him. He dropped the reins and let Autumn Dew go where she pleased. The mare, unhesitating, continued down long galleries and corridors.
A burst of light dazzled Li Kwang. Autumn Dew, he thought as his heart leaped, had found a passage outward. When his vision cleared, he knew he was still deep within the mountain. He rubbed his eyes but still did not believe them. Stretching to a horizon wide as the world spread rich green fields, woodlands, and terraces. Rivers and streams sparkled under a cloudless sky. As he looked, his amazement gave way to a sense of peace and harmony.
Li Kwang's delight grew as the mare carried him down a well-paved street into a large town.
Here, he saw busy marketplaces, open-fronted shops, weavers at their looms, potters at their wheels, passersby, men and women in bright costumes, children at their games. At the sight of the train of warriors, the townsfolk ran to wave and smile, as if Li Kwang and his men had been long awaited.
There now approached Li Kwang a tall woman clad in robes of silver spun as fine as silk. Long silver tresses fell from beneath a headdress set with every kind of precious gem. Li Kwang at last found himself able to swing down from the saddle as the woman drew closer.
"I am the Lady of Fearful Awakenings," she said, making a graceful gesture of welcome. Smiling, she gazed at him with eyes the color of burnished copper. "And you are the one called 'Broken Face Kwang."
"How do you know this?" Li Kwang murmured. "Where have I come?"
"Where you have often wished to be."
She beckoned for him to accompany her, indicating an unwalled building a little distance ahead. The structure was more palatial than Li Kwang had ever seen, with high-peaked, sharply curved roofs set one on top of the other, tall towers, and ornamental bridges. All around were gardens filled with blossoms and orchards laden with golden fruit. Li Kwang heard bird songs and the chiming of wind bells.
Li Kwang held back for a moment. "What of my men and horses? And my own steed, Autumn Dew? We have ridden hard and far."
"They will be as well attended as yourself."
The Lady of Fearful Awakenings spoke so reassuringly that Li Kwang went happily with her. As they walked side by side, hand in hand, Li Kwang gathered from her words that she already knew of Prince Jen's journey and its purpose and the happenings that had brought Li Kwang into the mountain. How was this possible, wondered Li Kwang, and why should one so beautiful be so unfortunately named?
These questions vanished from his mind as the Lady of Fearful Awakenings led him up a broad flight of steps and into a spacious chamber. The ceilings rose so high that he could not see where they ended. Shafts of sunlight filled the room and the hallways beyond. Yet he barely glanced at the handsome furnishings, for a heavy weariness had come to settle over him. His eyes began closing despite himself, his legs felt leaden, and he gladly allowed the Lady of Fearful Awakenings to draw him to a couch that seemed in readiness for him.