From somewhere high up, there came a shout.
“We are out of arrows!”
In the silence that followed, another crack trembled through the ground and sky. The fissures in the Boundary Sealglowed white-hot as the Elantians’ fire assaults began to seep through. Fragments of woven qì—perhaps pieces of Seals—curled up into the air like paper burning, each a flicker of light, fast fading. The night seemed suddenly filled with decaying stars, and the weave of energies that had guarded Skies’ End over the timeless, relentless churn of dynasties fell like ash as, at last, the Boundary Seal shattered.
The Falcon’s Claw, one of the twelve legendary swords of history, took its name under the General Yeshin Noro Fulingca, founder of the Yeshin Noro noble house of the Jorshen Steel clan. The blade was so quick, it was said Fulingca cut off a falcon’s claw mid-flight on a hunt.
—Various scholars,Studies of the Ninety-Nine Clans
A gale whipped through the entryway of Skies’ End, bringing with it the crushing energies of metal. Below the mountain, stretching into the white pine forests, Elantian soldiers poured up the nine hundred ninety-nine steps of Skies’ End, a metallic river of armor surging through a broken dam.
Nine hundred ninety-nine steps: all that stood between them and the remaining Elantian army.
Lan looked around as the disciples of Swords and Fists took their battle stances: a hundred or so practitioners—children—shivering in thin, rain-soaked páos. It was suddenly almost laughable how inadequately prepared they had been for an Elantian invasion. Lan had seen Elantian armor up close, plates thick and heavy compared to the fine scales of Hin mail, and impenetrable without hefty swords. Not to mention the sheer magnitude of how much the Elantian army outnumbered them.
“We must retreat.”
It was Yeshin Noro Ulara who spoke. Rain clung to her hairand eyelashes, dripped down the rigid press of her lips as she watched the encroaching army far below.
Her eyes flicked up, and this time she addressed what was left of the school. “We will not win this battle. I propose to retreat.”
Uncertainty rippled through the other masters and disciples.
“Ulara-jie, we cannot,” Master Ip’fong said quietly. “We must guard that which is Sealed in the Chamber of Forgotten Practices—”
“Wewill not retreat,” Ulara said, and then nodded to the clusters of disciples watching, wide-eyed. “The disciples will. They have no part in what was begun many cycles ago. I would not ask them to sacrifice themselves for the Order when it is their lives that we pledged to protect.”
“I concur.” Master Gyasho’s soft voice rose through the rain. “The disciples should take the back way through the mountains as Master Nur and the Nameless Master did with the youngest children. We, masters of the School of the White Pines, will concentrate our defense in only one area of the mountain: the Chamber of Forgotten Practices.”
“Should we come face-to-face with the Elantian army, we take out their magicians first,” Master Ip’fong said slowly, nodding. “And if all fails, we release that which is Sealed rather than let the Elantians take it. They know nothing of what is hidden in the chamber; we have the element of surprise on our side.”
“Then let us make haste,” Master Cáo chimed in, arriving with his bow and empty arrow quiver. “The Elantians have entered our grounds: nineteen magicians and about one thousand soldiers.”
Lan looked around at the masters. Even surly Master Nán and pugnacious Master Feng appeared to be in silent agreement, nothing but grim resolve written on their faces.
She had so many questions, yet time trickled away from them like rain, the presence of Elantian metal growing ever thicker in the air.
Dilaya spoke Lan’s thoughts aloud. “É’niáng, do not ask me to abandon you. I have my sword, and I have my duty.”
“And what is your duty, Yeshin Noro Dilaya?” Ulara turned to her daughter. Her voice rang out through the night like thunder. “Your duty is the same as mine: it is to our heritage, and to our people, and to this land.”
“It is toyouas well, É’niáng!”
“Our ancestors have not paved the way for our present day only to watch you foolishly throw yourself into the River of Forgotten Death.” Ulara’s eyes burned. “Our ancestors wrote in theClassic of War,‘Of the Thirty-Six Stratagems, retreat is best.’ Most misunderstand this to mean that the classic encourages a coward’s surrender. But this stratagem tells us that when the odds are insurmountable,survivingis the only way forward. Living on to see another day means another chance to fight back—and another chance to win.”
“The Order of Ten Thousand Flowers,” Master Nán said in the sudden silence, and Lan realized all the disciples around them had turned to listen. “Why did we choose such a name? Flowers are fragile yet fierce in their tenacity to grow. This is a land of ten thousand flowers, a land ofyou,of all the cultures and clans and histories you hold. The masters here have dedicated our entire lives to planting the seeds of our culture, our heritage, the beauty of our different origins and bloodlines that make up the Last Kingdom. And you, children, carry our legacy. Live, and show them that this is the land of ten thousand flowers.”
The words rang a bell. She thought of Zen in the Jade Forest on the first night they had met.So long as we live on,he’dsaid,we carry inside us all that they have destroyed. And that is our triumph; that is our rebellion.
Words that were suddenly more significant, now that she knew his clan origin and the depths of his history. Her throat closed; she pushed the memory from her mind. Numbly, she watched the masters issue orders, dismissing the remainder of their disciples. The disciples were silent, frozen, rain dripping down their faces and soaking through their páos.
Among them, a figure suddenly moved.
Tai.
Everyone watched in astonishment as the Spirit Summoner prostrated himself before Master Nán, the master to his discipline. Lan would never have thought Tai—proud, haughty, cold, sarcastic Tai—capable of such an act.
“Shi’fù, it has been Chó Tài’s life honor to study beneath you!” Tai shouted above the sound of rain. “This disciple will carry your teachings in his mind, heart, and soul into eternity!”
