The Qilin Fellowship
Pale gray clouds drifted across the Marukani sky, catching the sunlight up in their folds and spreading it out, away from the fields. The cool sea air rode in with the clouds, a deceptively soft counterpoint to the heat of summer. In the top floor of the Pagoda of Infinite Strategy, a Solar Exalt watched the sky and sipped his tea. He said, "a storm is coming."
"Yes," said Red Feather, commander of the Qilin Fellowship.
The Exalt, Storm of Amber, turned towards the sky-child. "Do not let your scale become the first strike of lightning."
"Lord?"
"Abbot Goruk and his monks will seek to goad you to violence. You must not let them. Your presence in Varsi gives us two weeks warning when Ma-Ha-Suchi moves. Violence in the street will see the Voivode toss you out on your ear. Send us your signals, keep your men in check, do your duty."
"A scale of Tiger Warriors, lord. Six amalgamated commanders... We could - "
"Do nothing!" Storm of Amber hit his fist against the window ledge. "Goruk broke The Promise, defeated Nameless Ravine in single combat. He thought his five monks would at least hold back the rest of the circle, and he has been recruiting more men since then. Fight them and your scale dies."
Red Feather bowed his head. "My grandfather would not have bade his warriors stand by while men threw him insults."
"And for his intemperance, your grandfather's army was driven from the field in shame and his Essence scattered." The Exalt stood. "You pride your eyes, Red Feather. Use them to see the wisdom in my words. When your hammer strikes, it will be upon a foe it can crush."
Insolence[edit]
Hasud the Stone was not first among Goruk's disciples. He had not mastered the complex and holy postures of any of the five Immaculate styles. Indeed, he was not even a child of the dragons, merely the cast-off by-blow of one so blessed. But he had not let the meager enlightenment his heritage granted him go to waste. Hasud had disciplined his Essence, trained hard and, finally, mastered the Terrestrial Hero Style. So as he walked through the streets of Varsi one fine day late in the season of Resplendent Fire, he was not surprised that men stepped away from his path and gave short nods. He did not puff his chest with pride at the sight; that would have been beneath him. He merely nodded back and accepted their honor as the mark that he was a puissant martial artist in a city that valued such excellence.
But one man did not move out of Hasud's way. The monk saw him in the shadows the evening sun cast over the end of the street of dustmen, leaning on the wall with one outstretched arm. He thought, at first, that the man was a day-laborer, pausing on his way home; tall, with powerful arms, the man wore a rough wool vest, pants and fraying straw sandals.
However, as he got closer, Hasud saw the coppery shock that topped the man's head was only partly hair - the rest was feathers. The man was a barbarian, from some hill tribe or another, no doubt, and the child of some spirit or anathema. No wonder he did not move aside; barbarian that he was, the man likely knew nothing of the martial arts world.
Hasud would have slipped around the barbarian, but between the width of his shoulders and the stretch of his arm, the man had effectively blocked off the monk's path. He approached the barbarian. "My way home lies past this street. Let me pass?"
The barbarian was gazing down the street, his eyes locked far away, and he did not now turn them towards Hasud. "There are many men for whom I would gladly stand aside. I see none of them here today."
Hasud coughed. "Sir, my home is ten minutes' walk that way. If I must go around, the walk will take an hour. Please move."
Now the barbarian gazed at Hasud and smiled a hawkish smile. He said, "I am waiting for a man, monk, and I will not move until he arrives. Squeeze your belly tight if you would pass." Then turned his eyes back to the street.
Hasud glanced over his shoulder, following the barbarian's gaze, then back towards him. "Is the man you wait for far off?"
"Who can say where the man is to throw me to the ground?"
Stupid, blasphemous barbarian ritual. The gods-child was only after a ridiculous test of strength. Fine. Hasud would show this barbarian what enlightenment meant; he would brush him aside with one of the simplest techniques of the Terrestrial Hero Style and then be on his way. "Ready yourself," he said. The barbarian only smiled.
Hasud lead with a low hook kick, sending his foot past the barbarian's calf and pulling forward with his foot from behind. He trailed that, almost instantly, with an open-palm blow to the barbarian's chest. He shouted, "Current Sweeps to Sea," and the barbarian tumbled out into the street.
The monk followed, only to see the barbarian sit up from the dirt and point four members of the city guard straight at him. "There he is, lords," the barbarian said. "This monk attacked me with no provocation. I demand justice!"
"You'd better come with us, honored sir," said the first of the guards as he laid a restraining hand on Hasud's shoulder. "Just until we get this sorted out."
As the guards lead Hasud off to prison, he heard the barbarian chuckle and say, "the first strike of lightning, indeed."
