"No, Chieh Hsia. They're bone. Human bone."
The T'ang nodded, then got up slowly, clearly shaken. His fingers pulled at his plaited beard distractedly.
"You were right, Knut. This is not something I would wish Yuan to know of."
He turned, hearing a noise behind him. It was Klaus Ebert. The old man bowed low. "Forgive me for intruding, Chieh Hsia, but I felt you would want to know at once. It seems we have unearthed part of the mystery."
Li Shai Tung frowned. "Go on."
Ebert glanced up, his eyes taking in the sight of the wei chi board and the scattered stones. "The search of the Palace Marshal Tolonen ordered has borne fruit. We have discovered who placed the present on the table."
"And is he dead.or alive?"
"Dead, I'm afraid, Chieh Hsia. He was found in one of the small scullery cupboards in the kitchens. Poisoned, it seems. By his own hand."
The T'ang glanced at Tolonen, his eyes suddenly black with fury. "Who was it? Who would dare bring such a thing into my household?"
"One of your bond servants, Chieh Hsia." Ebert answered. "The one you knew as Chung Hsin."
Li Shai Tung's eyes widened, then he shook his head in disbelief. "Chung Hsin. . . ."It was inconceivable. Why, Li Shai Tung had raised him from a three-year-old in this household. Had named him for his strongest quality.
Yes, Chung Hsin he'd named him. Loyalty.
"Why?" he groaned. "In the gods' names, why?"
Ebert was staring at the board now, frowning, not understanding. He looked across at Tolonen. "Is that what he delivered?"
Tolonen nodded tersely, more concerned for the state of his T'ang than in answering his old friend.
"Then why did he kill himself?"
It was the T'ang who answered Ebert's question. "Because of the message he delivered."
"Message?" Old Man Ebert looked back at his T'ang, bewildered.
Li Shai Tung pointed down at the board, the scattered stones.
"The board . . . that is Chung Kuo. And the white stones"— he shuddered and wet his lips before continuing—"they represent death. It is a message, you see. From our friend DeVore. It says he means to kill us all. To fill Chung Kuo with the dead."
Tolonen looked up sharply at mention of DeVore. So the T'ang understood that too. Of course.
Ebert was staring at the board now, horrified. "But I thought stones were symbols of longevity."
"Yes." The T'ang's laughter was bitter. "But Knut has had them tested. These stones are made of human bone. They will outlast you and I, certainly, but they symbolize nothing but themselves. Nothing but death."
"And yet it might have been worse, surely? It could have been a bomb."
Li Shai Tung studied his Councillor a moment, then slowly shook his head. "No. No bomb could have been quite as eloquent as this." He sighed, then turned to Nocenzi. "Take it away and destroy it, General. And, Klaus"—he turned back—"say nothing of this to anyone. Understand me? If Li Yuan should get to hear of this..."
Ebert bowed his head. "As you wish, Chieh Hsia."
LI YUAN had been watching for his father. He had seen the guards come and go with the mystery package; had seen both Old Man Ebert and the Marshal emerge from the cellar, grim faced and silent, and knew, without being told, that something dreadful had happened.
When Li Shai Tung finally came from the cellar, Yuan went across to him, stopping three paces from him to kneel, his head bowed.
"Is there anything I can do, Father?"
His father seemed immensely tired. "Thank you, my son, but there is nothing to be done. It was all a mistake, that's all."
"And Chung Hsin. . . ?"
His father was quiet a moment, then he sighed. "That was unfortunate. I grieve for him. He must have been very unhappy."
"Ah. . . ." Yuan lowered his head again, wondering whether he should ask directly what had been beneath the white silk. But he sensed his father would not answer him. And to ask a question that could not be answered would merely anger him, so he held his tongue.
He searched for a way to lighten the mood of things, and as he did so his fingers closed upon the eight tiny pieces in the pocket of his ceremonial jacket.
He looked up, smiling. "Can I show you something, Father?"
Li Shai Tung smiled bleakly back at him. "Yes. . . . But get off your knees, Yuan. Please . . . this is your day. We are here to honor you."
Yuan bowed his head, then stood and moved closer to his father. "Hold out your hand, Father. They're small, so it's best if you look at them closely. They're what the Marshal's daughter gave us for a betrothal gift. Aren't they beautiful?" .
Li Shai Tung stared at the tiny figures in his hand. And then he laughed. A loud, ringing laughter of delight.
"Knut!" he said, looking past his son at the old Marshal. "Why didn't you say? Why didn't you tell me what your daughter had brought?"
Tolonen glanced at his daughter, then stepped forward, puzzled.
"What is it, Chieh H«a?"
"You mean you do not know?"
Tolonen shook his head.
"Then look. They are the eight heroes. The eight honorable men."
Tolonen stared at the tiny sculpted pieces that rested in the T'ang's palm, then laughed, delighted. "It's an omen," he said, meeting the T'ang's eyes. "What else can it be?"
The T'ang nodded and then began to laugh again, his laughter picked up by those nearest until it filled the Hall.
He looked down at the tiny figures in his palm. How many times had he seen them on the stage, their faces blacked to represent their honor? And now here they were, sculpted from eight black stones! It was as Knut said; it was an omen. A sign from the gods. These eight to set against the vast colorless armies of the dead.
Yuan was standing nearby, his mouth open in astonishment. "What is it?" he asked. "What have I missed?"
In answer the T'ang placed the pieces back in his son's palm and closed his fingers tightly over them.
"Guard these well, Yuan. Keep them with you at all times. Let them be your talismen."
His son stared back at him, wide eyed; then, with the vaguest shake of the head, he bowed low. "As my father wishes. . . ."
But Li Shai Tung had let his head fall back again, a great gust of laughter rippling out from him, like a huge stone dropped into the center of a pond. •
Let him hear of this, he thought. Let DeVotek spy report to him how the T-ang laughed in his face defiantly. And let him learn, too, of the second gift of stones—of the eight dark heroes; the eight men of honor.
Let him hear. For I will place the last stone on his grave.
END OF BOOK I