Excerpt
The Art of Legend
Chapter OneAt the GatesThe Siege of Vauzan began during a sunny Tenth Day Prayer. Ling Taishi was gnawing on a thousand-layer flaky bun at the Tall Wall Dim Sum restaurant set up at the parapet of the Dauntless Wall, which ran along the eastern perimeter of Vauzan city, the ducal capital of Shulan Duchy. The wall didn’t serve as much of a deterrent. It was wider and squatter than it was tall, and no opposing army had ever been intimidated by a fat wall. The court often rented the grounds of the outer battlement to various businesses and special events. Wedding processions circling the city were especially popular.
Today was Breakfast Club, which happened at every Tenth Day Prayer. Taishi would never admit it, but she savored these meals with the other women of the club. These events were some of her most enjoyable moments in a world increasingly devoid of such small pleasures. The Vauzan Temple of the Tiandi during Tenth Day Prayer was insufferable, so this gave her an excuse to leave the temple grounds and stay as far away from the ghastly, pious rabble yearning to tithe their way into heaven. With the troubles brewing across the Enlightened States, the business of religion was doing well.
She continued to nibble the edges of her bun. Like the wall, her breakfast was also falsely advertised. The so-called thousand-layer flaky bun had many layers, yes, but not close to a thousand. Probably not even twenty. Even worse, it was dry and bland. Every bite sucked the moisture out of her mouth. It was a good thing that Taishi was prepared. She reached for one of the six cups arrayed before her. The one on the left was hot soy milk for dipping. Next to it was the black poison tea—not actually poisonous. Beside that was the plum wine, the ginseng drink, and then the monk fruit drink. The last cup was water, for washing of course.
Taishi drained the hot soy milk in one burning gulp, and then scooped up another bun. It wasn’t that the Tall Wall’s pastries were that good; it was that there was competition here, and Zofi ate enough for three.
Sitting across from Taishi, smirking, was Narwani Bhasani, Master of the Drowned Fist, who said, “Ling Taishi, grandmaster war artist, legend of the lunar court, the most-wanted fugitive—sometimes second—in the Enlightened States, is a messy eater. We can’t take you anywhere respectable, master.”
Flakes dribbled onto Taishi’s lap as she sucked her fingers. “I might not be alive next time we get a table here. I’ll eat how I like.”
It was true; reservations at the Tall Wall Dim Sum, a pop-up open only during Tenth Day Prayers, were difficult to land. That was the thing about time. When she first entered the lunar court, reputation was everything, especially for young women starting out in a man’s world. Now that these masters were older legends, they were practically invisible, which suited Taishi fine. Once you’re close to death, you tend to stop worrying about what other people thought of you.
Taishi popped the last bit of bun into her mouth and flagged down one of the servers moving between the tables. “Hey, pretty miss, another round of soy milk, please.”
The girl with the bright green apron rolled her pushcart next to the table and swapped out the empty pitcher with a piping hot one. She also brought out three stacks of wicker baskets and placed them on the table before scribbling markings on a small wooden tablet next to Bhasani.
She bowed to Taishi. “Will that be all, holy dowager?”
“That’s it, pretty miss.” Taishi objected to the title, but not everyone gets the chance to choose their own identity. She did her best to play the part. She now lived in Vauzan under the alias Dowager Nun Nai Roha.
The legendary grandmaster war artist and criminal Ling Taishi was, by all official accounts, deceased, although she still had the second-largest bounty in all the Enlightened States on her head. According to the carefully crafted and then leaked story that she and Templeabbot Lee Mori had concocted, Taishi had been killed two years ago by her disciple, Wen Jian, the Prophesied Hero—or Villain depending on which clergy you asked—of the Tiandi, the Champion of the Five Under Heaven, and still the most wanted man in the Enlightened States. It annoyed Taishi that her bounty never surpassed his, and never would now that she was dead.
The rumors surrounding them were equally fantastic and unbelievable. The facts were decidedly murkier and needed to be kept under wraps for a while longer. Taishi was not yet ready to reveal Jian to the world, and honestly, he wasn’t ready.
Ras Sonaya and Wu Zofi joined the two masters at the table a little while later. The drowned fist heir was Jian’s tutor, and Taishi’s assistant and ward rounded out the last two members of the Breakfast Club. As usual, the girls were late. Both were dragging a little, their heads bowed and shoulders slumped as they fell into their seats. It must have been another late night for the young people.
Taishi used her chopsticks to pick up a couple pieces of garlic green beans. “Have a seat. There’s more soy milk coming.”
“You’re late, daughter,” Bhasani scolded. She was always a stickler about her heir’s timeliness even though she was the one who was often criminally tardy.
“Apologies, Mother.” Sonaya looked hungover. She double-fisted a cup of water and a cup of tea and took turns sipping from each. The drowned fist didn’t have a strong tolerance, and any drinking the previous night now showed on her usually unblemished face. After Sonaya finished her second cup, she helped herself to the blood orange wine, gulping that until she was out of breath. She set it down and burped, earning a disapproving glare from Bhasani. Sonaya had been spending her free time with Jian, and the two had rubbed off on each other in the worst and best ways.
Bhasani’s puckered lips reflected her views on the two young women’s late-night escapades, but Taishi didn’t mind. They were young, assertive women in one of the grandest cities in the world. Taishi had once been just like them, except with more bar brawls. Bhasani had been too, if the haughty drowned fist master bothered to remember.
Zofi, on the other hand, had an iron stomach and could match the God of Gamblers gourd for gourd. She could probably go for another binge after breakfast if she chose. The former mapmaker’s daughter immediately reached for the wooden menu tablet and took inventory of the spread on the table, as she was wont to do, as if she were running her father’s map shop. She began to mark up the orders as if she were grading one of Jian’s tests, adding two extra plates of garlic spinach and removing one of the small dragon buns.
“You always get too many,” she chided Taishi.
After she was satisfied with the business of ordering breakfast, Zofi began to dig into her plate as if this were her last meal. The girl ate like a large Lawkan ring-push wrestler, swallowing a potsticker with one bite. “This could use a little salt and sesame oil.” She was a food snob too, with an opinion on everything. She crunched a thousand-layer flaky bun. “Gah, so dry.” Zofi slurped her soy milk and made a face. “This could use some sugar.”
The drowned fist daughter had drained her cups and was flagging down the server for a refill. “Excuse me, pretty miss. Girl, hey, excuse me . . . hey!”
The server walked past their table. It was a particularly peculiar trait among the Shulan. If an elderly person was around, they ignored the younger people as if they were toddlers. It was their way of showing deference, but as with everything else, they took it to an extreme. Taishi enjoyed sipping her steaming soy milk as Sonaya tried to flag someone down. The young woman was so used to attention that she got easily riled when it was withheld. Jian might love her, even if he didn’t realize it yet, but she was a handful.
“Little stinkfish!” Sonaya hissed the fifth time the server walked past her. Her eyes narrowed, boring into the back of the server girl’s head. Her lips parted . . . and then closed when Bhasani smacked her across the shoulder.
“Don’t abuse your powers, daughter.”
“But, Mother . . .” She started to sulk, but a sharp look silenced her.
Taishi wished Jian could be so dutiful. She raised a limp hand, and the server immediately rushed over. “Yes, dowager, how may I serve you?”
Taishi smirked. “Refresh our cups, pretty miss, and we’ve added to the order.”
“Very good, dowager.”
Another server arrived a few minutes later with his pushcart carrying an extravagantly glazed green soup bowl shaped like a turtle. He removed the lid with a flourish, revealing bubbling red liquid inside.
“Dragon egg soup.” Zofi rounded on Taishi. “Did you order this? We’re on a budget!”
Taishi frowned. “This must be a mistake, handsome boy. We didn’t order this. You have the wrong table.”
