An end . . . Yes, there would be an end to everything. But first he had a score to settle. One final duty to perform.
He took a deep breath, summoning the energy to rise, then grew still, hearing a noise behind him, a gentle sobbing. He half turned and saw her there, kneeling just behind him to his right, a young woman, a Hung Moo, dressed in mourning clothes. Beside her, his tiny hand clutching hers, stood a child, a Han, bemusement in his three-year-old face.
He looked down, swallowing. The sight of the boy clutching his mother's hand threw him back across the years; brought back the memory of himself, standing there before his mother's plaque; of looking down and seeing Vesa's hand, there in his own, her fingers laced into his, her face looking up at him, not understanding.
Two she had been, he five. And yet so old he had felt that day; so brave, they'd said, to keep from crying.
No, he had never cried for his mother. But now he would. For mother and sister and all. For the death of all that was good and decent in the world.
Li yuan was standing in the stable doorway when she returned, his arms folded across his chest, his face closed to her. He helped her from the saddle, coldly silent, his manner overcareful, exaggeratedly polite.
She stared at him, amused by this rare display of anger, trying to make him acknowledge her presence, but he would not meet her eyes.
"There," she said, pressing one hand against the small of her back to ease the ache there. "No harm done."
She smiled and went to kiss him.
He drew back sharply, glaring at her, then took her hand roughly and led her into the dark warmth of the stable. She went reluctantly, annoyed with him now, thinking him childish.
Inside he settled the horse in its stall, then came back to her, making her sit, standing over her, his hands on his hips, his eyes wide with anger.
"What in hell's name do you think you were doing?"
She looked away. "1 was riding, that's all."
"Riding . . ." he murmured, then raised his voice. "1 said you weren't to ride!"
She looked up, indignation rising in her. "I'm not a child, Li Yuan. I can decide for myself what's best for me!"
He laughed scornfully, then turned, taking three steps away from her. "You can decide, eh?" He stopped, looking directly at her, his expression openly contemptuous. "You . . ." He shook his head. "You're seven months pregnant and you think riding is best for you?"
"No harm was done," she repeated, tossing her head. She would not be lectured by him! Not in ten thousand years! She turned her face aside, shaking now with anger.
He came across and stood over her, for a moment the image of his father, his voice low but menacing. "You say that you're not a child, Fei Yen, yet you've acted like one. How could you be so stupid?"
Her eyes flared. Who was he to call her stupid? This—this—boyl He had gone too far. She pulled herself up awkwardly from the chair and pushed past him. "I shall ride when I like! You'll not prevent me!"
"Oh, won't I?" He laughed, but his mouth was shaped cruelly and his eyes were lit with a sudden determination. "Watch! I'll show you how—"
She was suddenly afraid. She watched him stride across the straw-strewn tiles, a coldness in her stomach. He wouldn't. . . But then the certainty of it hit her and she cried out "No-o-oh.1," knowing what he meant to do. She screamed it at his back, then went after him, nausea mixing with her fear and anger.
At the far end of the stable he turned, so abruptly, that she almost ran into him. He seized her upper arms, his fingers gripping the flesh tightly, making her wince.
"You'll stand here and watch. You'll witness the price of your stupidity!"
There was so much anger, so much real venom in his words that she swayed, feeling faint, paralyzed into inaction by this sudden change in him. As she watched, he took the power-gun from the rack and checked its charge, then went down the row of horses.
At the end stall he paused and turned to look at her, then went in, his hand smoothing the flank of the dark horse, caressing its long face, before he placed the stubby gun against its temple.
"Good-bye," he whispered, then squeezed the trigger, administering the high-voltage shock.
The horse gave a great snort, then collapsed onto the floor of the stall, dead. Fei Yen, watching, saw how he shuddered, then stepped back, looking at what he'd done, his face muscles twitching violently.
Appalled, she watched him move down the stalls, her horror mounting as the seconds passed.
Five mounts lay dead on the straw. Only the last of them remained, the horse in the third stall, the black Arab that had once been Han's. She stood there, her hands clenched into tight fists, looking in at it. She mouthed its secret name, a cold numbness gripping her, then turned, looking at Li Yuan.
Li Yuan was breathing deeply now. He stood there in the entrance to the stall, for a moment unaware of the woman at his side, looking in at the beautiful beast that stood so proudly before him, its head turned, its dark eyes watching him. His anger had drained from him, leaving only a bitter residue: a sickness gnawing at the marrow of his bones. He shook his head, wanting to cry out for all the pain and anger she had made him feel, then turned and looked at her, seeing now how ill her beauty sat on her.
Like a mask, hiding her selfishness.
He bit his lip, struggling with what he felt, trying to master it. There was the taste of blood in his mouth.
For a moment longer he stood there, trembling, the gun raised, pointed at her.
Then he threw it down.
For a time afterward he stood there, his hands empty, staring down at the red-earth floor, at the golden spill of straw that covered it, a blankness at the very core of him. When he looked up again she was gone. Beyond the stable doors the sky was a vivid blue. In the distance the mountains showed green and gray and white, swathed in mist.
He went out and stood there, looking out into the beauty of the day, letting his numbness seep down out of him, into the earth. Then he turned back and went inside again, bending down to pick up the gun.
The child, that was all that mattered now; all that was important. To make the Seven strong again. "I'm sorry, Han," he whispered gently, laying his face against the horse's neck. "The gods know 1 didn't wish for this." Then, tears blurring his vision, he stepped back and rested the gun against the horse's temple, easing back the trigger.
CHAPTER THREE
The Way of Deception
FEI YEN went back to her father's house. For a week Li Yuan did nothing, hoping she would return of her own free will; then when there was no sign of her returning, he went to see her, taking time off from his duties.
The Yin house defenses tracked him from twenty li out, checking and rechecking his codes before granting him permission to set down. He landed his private craft in the military complex at the back of the estate, in a shadowy hangar where the sharp sweet scents of pine and lemon mingled with the smell of machine oils.
Two of Yin Tsu's three sons, Sung and Chan, were waiting there to greet him, bowed low, keeping a respectful silence.
The palace was on an island at the center of a lake; an elegant, two-story building in the Ming style, its red, corbelled roof gently sloped, its broad, paneled windows reminiscent of older times. Seeing it, Li Yuan smiled, his past memories tinged with present sadness.
The two sons rowed him across the lake, careful not to embarrass him with their attentions. Fei's father, Yin Tsu, was waiting on the landing stage before the palace, standing beneath an ancient willow whose shadow dappled the sunlit water.
He bowed low as Li Yuan stepped from the boat.
"You are welcome, Li Yuan. To what do I owe this honor?"
Yin Tsu was a small, neat man. His pure-white hair was cut short about his neck in an almost occidental style, slicked back from his high forehead. He held himself stiffly now, yet despite his white hair and seventy-four years he was a sprightly man with a disposition toward smiles and laughter. Just now, however, his small, fine features seemed morose, the tiny webs of lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth drawn much deeper than before.