Battle Magic

He did up his furs and bedroll, and went to breakfast with Jimut. They were about to see if Parahan or Souda had orders for them when a horn sounded a long, low call throughout the temple compound. Everyone stopped what they were doing and waited, their eyes on the central temple. The highest tower there was capped by priests wielding horns so large and long that the curved ends rested on the ground.

The biggest of the horns sounded again, a long call, then three short calls. A long call, and three short calls. This second repetition was picked up by every temple horn. Briar didn’t have to ask what the calls meant. Every temple warrior was scrambling for the walls, crossbows in their hands. Briar’s warrior companions did the same.

Priests ran to bar the gates. Others backed wagons full of stones up against the gates once they were closed. Priestesses covered the large courtyard wells to keep arrows or stones from landing in the precious water. Novices guided the herds back into the barns just as they had begun to lead them out for the day. More temple workers gently urged the refugees that had come outside back into the buildings, where they might be safer.

Briar and Jimut gathered up their own weapons. Then they, too, ran up to the walls. They found their commanders on the southern wall, just over the main gates. There, together with the warrior-priest in command of the temple troops, they watched as three hundred Yanjingyi soldiers galloped up the road and fanned out before them, just out of shooting distance. A novice ran along the walkways to speak quickly in the warrior-priest’s ear.

“Two hundred more at the north gate,” the commander said to Souda, Lango, and Parahan. “We are nearly evenly matched unless they have others hidden on the far side of the ridge. I doubt this. None of our watchers has reported movement, and our guard changes have occurred without incident. The last change came just with the morning bell.”

“They could have used magic to get closer,” Parahan said uneasily.

The commander had a rich, deep chuckle. “It would have to be very unusual magic to get past our watchers, their dogs, and the guarding spells in the tunnels the watchers use to return here,” he assured Parahan. “A spy did get into the tunnels last year. He did not get out. They never learned where he vanished to. Captain Lango, will you reinforce my people on the eastern wall?” The Gyongxin captain nodded and ran down the walkway, beckoning for his soldiers on the ground to follow him.

A Yanjingyi soldier was riding up to the gate. He bore a white flag.

“They’re coming to talk,” Souda remarked. She slung an arm around Briar’s shoulders. “But he doesn’t need five companies just to talk. Maybe we’ll see action against these curs, eh, Briar?”

What a bloodthirsty girl! he thought in admiration.

The Yanjingyi messenger halted his mount and waved his white peace flag on its long pole. “Honored priests of the great Temple of the Tigers, I bring you salutations from General Jin Quan of the Imperial Army of South Gyongxe!”

“The blessings of our tigers be upon his head,” the commanding priest replied.

“I wonder if that’s a good thing,” Souda whispered to Briar.

“Our glorious general is merciful, and our mighty emperor, sixth of his dynasty, beloved of all the gods, Weishu Maorin Guangong Zhian of the Long Dynasty, holds this realm of Gyongxe close to his august bosom,” the messenger went on.

“So it was strangers that killed all those people in the river and the gorge?” Briar murmured to Souda.

“The blessings of our tiger gods be also upon the head of your emperor,” the commander replied. “In the Heavenly Time to Come, they will surely reward him in the most fitting manner.”

If the messenger thought this, or any of the commander’s replies, to be strange or double-edged, he did not show it. “My master the general bids me to say, we hope to make our visit to your glorious temple a brief, peaceful affair. Give to us the smallest of tokens of your esteem for our lordly and puissant emperor. If you do so, we shall proclaim our desire for peace between our great empire and your gods, and leave here.”

“Interesting,” murmured the commander. “What exactly are these small tokens?” he called.

“Four people,” the messenger replied. “The runaway slave Parahan. His sister Soudamini. The woman Rosethorn. The boy Briar Moss. Your peace, and the peace of all those within your walls and on your vast lands, in exchange for these four, who have offended against the imperial majesty.”

“I may not answer this,” the commander said. “Only the head of our temple may do so. You will have to wait.” He went to the steps. Instead of taking them to the ground or sending a messenger for the head of the temple, he sat there. A novice who waited with a large pot of tea and a basket full of cups poured one for him and handed it over. The commander seemed in no hurry to pass the message to anyone.

The rest of their group on the wall turned away from the messenger and sat on the walkway, where they could not be seen.

“Just like a Yanjingyi.” To Briar’s surprise, the old priestess who had roused him had somehow made the climb up to them. Now she sat cross-legged in front of him, Souda, and Parahan and let Jimut pass a cup of tea to her. At her side was a tall, gangly young tiger cub on a leash. “Because they trade people to and fro like trinkets, they believe others will do so.” She patted Briar on the knee. “What did you do, boy? Twist the imperial nose?”

“I did no such thing!” he protested. “I was perfectly nice! Rosethorn and me even made him his very own rose, unique just for him!”