CITY OF LANTERNS

  PEASANTRY RANK: 1st

  FORTIFICATION RANK: 1st

  SPLENDOR RANK: 1st

  CONTROL: The Emperor of the Land Under Heaven

  IMPERIAL PROVINCE: Oxfields

  IMPERIAL PROTECTOR: Grand Marshal Oxblood of the Tan Ox Clan

  A spearpoint skewered the card for the City of Lanterns and lifted it from my hand.

  “You’re approaching a city that could have any number of enemies hidden within, and your face is buried in a book!” said Uncle, plucking the card from his lance-tip.

  “That’s an official Imperial card!” It had been tucked into a text on the city’s history, which I quickly stowed in my saddlebag to prevent from meeting the same fate as the card.

  “Then there will be plenty of copies distributed throughout the kingdom. And there will be plenty more every time anyone shits.”

  “The Imperial card system is the single greatest feat of social engineering known to man. Every city ranked. Every person catalogued. Even famous horses, weapons, and treasures have a card. And yes, if someone were to shit atop their wall and make it that much bigger than their neighbor, cards would need to be updated, copied and redistributed to anyone who matters.”

  Uncle flung the card over his shoulder to be trampled in the mud. “Bookworms tallying the spoils of better men. Look at the walls boy! You think a card can do them justice?! You think some bent-backed clerk can tell you what it would feel like to try to take something like that under a hail of arrows and burning pitch?! Not to mention whatever Mandates are flung at you...”

  The walls were sixtyspan high, encircling a city sprawling over a hundred square li. It was almost impossible to fathom such construction without many incredible Mandates, and yes, what one person with a fireball Mandate could do to an entire army from up there. But apparently, according to the text I had been consulting when I found the card, the City of Lanterns had been built almost entirely by powerless peasants.

  The book away, the city itself now dominated my field of view, looking every bit as imposing and impenetrable as it was meant to be. I had to admit, Uncle was right; there was no way a ranking system could truly capture the feeling of insignificance when faced with a construction as cyclopean as the eastern capital’s fortifications.

  “How many men,” my father mused to himself as he rode just ahead of my Uncle and me, “are buried beneath our feet because they thought to take these walls?”

  How many powerless peasants had been crushed between the stones while building it? I didn’t give voice to the thought. How many bones are encased within the mortar?

  Wailing had risen up from the gates as we approached. At first I thought it the keening of the wind, but as we drew closer, the sound of a city in great mourning was unmistakable. White banners, the color of grief, flew above the battlements. I looked from my uncle to my father, but their faces and postures betrayed nothing.

  I got no answers until we left our army camped in the fields around the city and the three of us rode under the Pristine Gates with only a small honor guard, picked not for their combat prowess, but because only members of a certain rank were allowed where we were going. I barely made the cut-off. In fact, I might not have if I weren’t accompanying my father.

  “The Emperor,” cried the official from atop the walls, with the full list of traditional titles, “is ill! The suffering of his people under the scourge of famine and rebellion has weakened his heart! His Radiance names Prince Bian his successor. Long may he rule under Heaven! Long may he rule all the lands beneath it! The Emperor…”

  The crier repeated the message, and likely would until every clan leader was inside the city, the sun had gone down, and the gates had been sealed for the night.

  “That was fast,” chuckled my Uncle.

  I looked to my uncle as my mind whirled. It wasn’t too hard to come to the conclusion he had. “The Emperor is being poisoned?!”

  Uncle shrugged. “Convenient time to fall ill, don’t you think? Right when the people believe you’ve lost the Mandate of Heaven? Matter of fact, he might already be dead.”

  The Commandant nodded.

  “Probably the work of the Ox Empress,” Uncle added when he saw that I still couldn’t quite believe him. “She’s the sister of the Grand Marshal. On top of being one of the highest ranks possible in the Land Under Heaven, it's said that she can poison a cup of wine just by being in the same room as it, though I don’t know what star you have to be born under to get that power. Ha! Perfectly suited to court life that woman is. She was probably just waiting until her brother’s army was at the gates to do it.”

  “But she’s the Empress,” I said. “Her child would be the favorite to succeed regardless. Why hurry the Emperor along?”

  “Not what I heard,” said Uncle. “There’s a rumor that the Emperor was leaning toward his second son, by his favorite concubine. Some no-name with no power. And, listen to this. Want to guess how that concubine died?”

  This wasn’t a hard one, either. “Poison.”

  Uncle thumped my breastplate. “Right you are! The late concubine’s son, also a prince, also a potential heir, has been under the care of the Gray Dowager ever since. She’s his grandmother and the sick Emperor’s mother. Somehow, the Gray Dowager is the only one the Ox Empress can’t quite get to, and now she’s got control of the only other potential heir who can challenge the Ox Empress’s boy.”

  “But the Emperor named an heir. There’s no ambiguity.” I didn’t care to think about what a battle between Empresses might look like. More than that, I didn’t need the constant reminders that failing to manifest a Mandate from Heaven meant almost certain death in these circles.

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  Another hearty chuckle from my uncle. “Says that guy!” He thrust a thumb back over his shoulder toward the crier above the gate.

  It took me a second to pull myself away from my own troubles. “You think it's a lie?”

  “All I know is that we’ve got two Empresses backing two different heirs. Who knows what happens behind closed doors? And this is just one of many court rivalries. We haven’t even mentioned the eunuchs.”

  “Eunuchs?”

  “Take it from me, Sparrow. Stay out of court politics.”

  “I plan on it.” If Emperors who didn’t manifest got poisoned, I didn’t want to think what courtiers would do to me if they found out I was powerless.

  “Too late now,” intoned my father.

  Our small retinue, along with representatives from a dozen other clans and their honor guards, passed beneath another gate, this one smaller, but far more ornate, where my father and Uncle quickly dismounted and passed their reins to an attendant.

  I followed suit and handed over Windshear.

  The stablemaster paused upon seeing my horse.

  “You Sparrow?” he asked.

  “I am,” I said, surprised and, honestly, a little thrilled that someone within the capital had heard of me.

  “This your horse Windshear?”

  “It is.”

  “Congratulations.”

  He pulled a card from his leather vest and thumped it against my chest. Stunned, as he led my horse away without another word, I looked down at the card.

  WINDSHEAR (Horse Mount)

  COLOR / MARKINGS: Dapple Gray / Snow on an Overcast Sky

  STRENGTH RANK: 115th | SPEED RANK: 7th | DISPOSITION RANK: 543rd

  RIDER / TRAINER: Sparrow of the Silver Falcon Clan / Sparrow of the Silver Falcon Clan

  FOWLING: Iron Tower, Silver Falcon Plains, 17th Year of the Reign of Established Calm

  “It seems your horse's reputation precedes you,” said Uncle, punching me on the shoulder. “He’s climbing the ranks faster than you are!”

  If my powers never manifest, I guess there’s a future for me shoveling horseshit, I thought bitterly. I didn’t say it. Not where others could hear. Not in front of Uncle.

  “He’s a fine mount,” said my father. “Be sure to work on his disposition.”

  Right. Seventh fastest horse in the Land Under Heaven, but they all saw him rear and then bolt on the yellow plains. I did find it hard to believe that five-hundred-and-forty-two horses were catalogued with better dispositions than Windshear, and someone had arrived at that ranking without ever having set foot in a corral with him. But then again, I had just been marveling at the intricacy and scale of the Land Under Heaven's Imperial systems. Windshear's rank might not have been perfectly true-to-life, but no doubt there was a logical way they came to that conclusion, and I didn't exactly disagree with it. Windshear was certainly fast, but he was no more an ideal warhorse than I was the ideal soldier.

  “A wild horse is as likely to get you killed on the battlefield as a slow one,” my father finished, as if he could sense my admiration for Windshear's independent streak and sense of self-preservation.

  Presently, another attendant appeared, this one clean, beardless, and impeccably dressed.

  “Please, follow me to your rooms,” they said. “The Grand Marshal will summon you if there is news on His Radiance.”

  “Summon?” rumbled Uncle. “This really is starting to sound like court politics.”

  The attendant smiled graciously and bowed, but said nothing. He might have lost his head if he did.

  We were allowed our swords, and our armor, but our honor guard was turned away at the palace gates, and presumably shown to a barracks or perhaps an inn somewhere within the city that catered to low-middle ranks. The implication from the dying Emperor, likely crafted by one of the Empresses or their many ministers, was clear: "men with swords are no threat, but armies are." They would allow no situation to occur in which a warlord – for that was what every clan leader, commander, and Imperial Protector of a Province was, in effect – could control the Emperor by force of arms.

  The palace itself was a maze of power and luxury, and I marveled once again at just how many talented people had dedicated their life’s work – and perhaps Heaven’s – to ensuring the safety and majesty of the Emperor. Two palace gates built by the greatest engineers, one wall around the city built by the greatest masons, endless protocols surrounding armies and armed men, all fine-tuned over generations of coups and assassination attempts, and now, one wooden, architectural marvel that made it impossible for any outsider to navigate from their own quarters to those of the Emperor or the other key figures surrounding him without an attendant’s help. No doubt there were many more layers of security that I had no intention of ever discovering.

  No doubt the greatest of these marvels were crafted by men and women with very powerful Mandates from Heaven.

  ***NEW BASE OF OPERATIONS***

  NAME: Residence of the Ever-Burning Lamp, Imperial Palace

  DESCRIPTION: A humble residence by Imperial standards, the Residence of the Ever-Burning Lamp caters to the needs of traveling dignitaries while they conduct business within the court. All of a guest's needs are attended to by the palace staff, including food and drink, diversion and stabling services, hygiene, and, of course, security. Armor, weapons of war, and personal security details larger than the Imperial standard five attendants are strongly discouraged.

  INFORMATION ACCESS: +15

  SPLENDOR: +5

  INCOME: +0

  SECURITY: -15

  DISCRETION: -30

  I made to toss the Imperial card back onto the table by the door, but paused at the final two numbers. Now, they both read '0.'

  I could have sworn that a moment ago the card had just said that there were negative values for the room's security and discretion. But, no, that would make no sense. Why would someone in the office of Imperial Heralds advertise to the room's occupant that it was both unsafe and under surveillance. I mean, it was probably both of those things, but if anything the palace staff would want to promote a sense of security and comfort, even if it were untrue. I must have misread the card on my first glance. I shrugged and put it back.

  My quarters turned out to be far more luxurious than I had expected, possibly even as opulent as those given to my father and uncle. Though I didn’t particularly care for the overly plush cushions and couches after so many years on campaign, nor did I know what to do with three full rooms all to myself, I did delight in the fact that I had been afforded so much respect. This, despite my position within the clan – and within the Empire – being tenuous at best.

  Moreover, one room had a small writing desk, a seemingly infinite supply of candles, and a library of lacquered shelves spanning three walls. Thumbing through, it included some of the most important works written or proliferated in the last four hundred years: the complete Silk Texts, The Art of War, The Collected Sayings of Kong Qiu, and of course, the Book of Changes. I had read them all at least a dozen times, but to me, they were like old friends waiting for me on the other side of a war.

  It also had exactly the types of texts I had been hoping to hunt down, now that I was in the capital: court intrigue.

  I read while Imperial servants piled mountains of food before me, including everything from meat buns to rice wine. I read while other servants stripped me of my armor, bathed me, combed my hair, and trimmed the few whiskers beneath my chin. I read while they measured me and anointed me with oils and tinctures and then cut bolts of silk to fashion new clothes for me before my eyes, in accordance with our clan colors and motifs.

  Finally, at a suspicious pause in the activity around me, I lowered the scroll. The servants were gone, and there was a gentle knock at my door.