Fox and Phoenix (Lóng City 1)

It was the Phoenix Empire.

10

WE TOOK AN EASY ROUTE DOWN THE LAST MOUNTAIN slopes. Our goal was Silver Hawk City, a neutral territory that sprawled between the foothills and the plains. Old-time legends said its first ruler was a bandit queen who got tired of fighting for her gold. She retired from the road, promoted all her sergeants, and negotiated fearsome treaties with the Seventy Kingdoms and the Phoenix Empire. All the caravans that passed between the mountains and the empire paid a road tax, a water tax, a guard tax, and taxes on anything else the queen could imagine, as well as high tariffs on all their goods. In return, Queen Bao-yu and her descendents ensured the highways and railroads remained well maintained and peaceful.

The last mountain pass had left us all exhausted. Even our ill-tempered pony had turned docile. Yún didn’t argue with me, but she also wasn’t talking much, except to mention necessary things. We’d left snow and sleet behind. The rains had slacked off to a drizzle, and we trudged through a blanketing gray mist. Luckily the roads were good. Our goat track widened to a regular highway road, marked with white painted stones touched with magic flux, which glowed like lamps in the fog.

We reached the border of Silver Hawk City by late afternoon, only to find a wall of soldiers armed with electric stun guns guarding the gates. They waved us off to one side, where we joined a never-ending queue of caravans, mule drivers, trappers on foot, and even a string of camels laden with goods. Neutral or not, Silver Hawk City guarded its borders. No one passed in or through without showing papers and paying their tax. We stood in line, passports in hand, for hours, while our pony stamped its impatience and our griffin stalked up and down the lines.

“How much longer?” I grumbled. “It’s almost dark.”

Yún sighed like the wind. “Soon.”

“You said that last hour.”

“Kai, shut up. I can’t—”

“Next!” called out the guard.

We shambled forward, one cranky pony, two humans, and a dead stuffed miniature griffin, recently re-restored to life. The snow and sleet had died away in the southern passes, but rains had overtaken us. We were damp to our bones, our clothes stank of mildew, and even Yún couldn’t do more than scowl and shove our papers at the guard.

“Kai Zou,” he said.

I grunted.

“Yún Chang.”

Yún waved a weary hand.

“Anything to declare?”

With a squawk, Yao-guài materialized in a cloud of sparks.

“One magical creature,” the guard intoned. “Special tax and form A401-3 . . .”

Yao-guài rose onto his hind legs and trilled loudly.

“Shi,” I told it. “Hush!”

The griffin trilled louder. Was it my imagination or were there syllables and stops in between those clear high notes?

“What’s wrong?” Yún whispered.

“I don’t know.”

Chen? I asked. What’s going on?

A brief pause followed before Chen replied. I’m not sure. But there is something strange here.

What kind of strange? No answer. Chen! Say something!

With a pêng and a p’ong, two distinct presences crowded into my mind—Chen and Qi. Dizzy, I sat down in the dirt. Yún staggered and grabbed the pony’s neck; it started back, snorting and whuffing. The mists around us had turned thick and dark, and my ears buzzed with magic. The griffin’s trills pierced through, loud and emphatic.

Go on ahead, said a whistling voice. We have something we must investigate.

What kind of thing?

Yún’s voice doubled with mine. We both sounded frantic.