The Moonrise Warrior
By Vy Nguyen
Prologue
The moon brought radiance to the night, but to Khanh’s life, only darkness. The boots of the palace soldiers crowded into his room. Dust tickled his nostrils. Swords rang as they were unsheathed.
“Coward. The boy’s run away,” stated a nasally voice. “Couldn’t bear the shame of the king’s announcement tomorrow.”
Khanh gritted his teeth. He had never thought his father would go that far. But everything had changed after that one night in the jungle.
The carpet smelled musty. The subtlest scents teased Khanh nowadays. The same was true for slight sounds, even with these human ears. It would only get worse before the night was over.
“Search the grounds. The prince must not be allowed to escape!”
The soldiers murmured fearfully at the prospect of splitting up, but they obediently shuffled out to the hallway. They weren’t smart enough to check under the bed.
The first place you would check for a monster.
Khanh crept out from underneath and vaulted over the windowsill. His bare feet whispered on the palace roof tiles. He streaked downward and landed lightly in the queen’s garden.
The boy crouched like a feline, golden eyes darting for a way to escape. He was always searching for a way to escape. But the moon followed you wherever you went.
“Anh,” came a firm whisper.
Khanh spun around. Only one person would call him brother.
A small girl inched out from behind a pillar of the grooved, ancient palace. “You can’t do this,” Vinh pleaded. “You can’t leave.”
Khanh’s turbulent gaze fixed on her. “Tell that to Father. He’s the one exiling me.”
The two siblings faced one another tensely. The leaves rustled in that tranquil garden.
“People think I’m a monster.” Khanh’s fists clenched, as did his stomach. “Tomorrow, Ba will confirm to them that it’s true. That somehow, this spell didn’t just make me a freak. It also made me not his son.” Khanh’s voice wavered. He angrily locked his jaw.
“You’re still part of the family.” Vinh took a step forward. “Má said nothing can change that.”
His mother. He didn’t say farewell to her. Khanh tried to ignore the lump in his throat.
“Nothing like this has happened before.” He turned and strode from the garden. “I know where I’m not wanted.” Khanh swung his knapsack over his shoulder. “You should too.”
“Why are you always pushing me away?” Vinh’s confusion accelerated into anger. “You promised you’d never leave me behind. You promised you’d never be like Jadaran’s brother!”
Khanh gave a strangled laugh. “Jadaran’s brother?” He whirled around. “I’m not the one who’s stealing the throne, Vinh. I’ve seen you reading books on ruling. You knew there was something wrong with me.”
Khanh marched closer and glared down at his sister. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you’ve never entertained the thought that you would be queen.”
Khanh’s fiery gaze burned into Vinh. The trickling garden streamlet echoed hollowly, recalling two siblings who had once laughed and played together by its same shores.
Vinh’s deep, russet-brown eyes filled with tears. Khanh’s anger seeped out of him, but nothing came to fill the empty hole it left.
“We’re not children anymore, Em,” he said quietly. “Whatever bond we once had is history. We have to go our different paths…and those paths can’t cross.”
Khanh turned away from Vinh. The last he saw of her was a slight movement—a step back.
The lump in his throat grew bigger. He broke into a mad run toward the gate, forcing himself not to look back. Why should he look back if he could never go back?
The wind whipped through his short black hair. Khanh no longer cared for stealth. The guards by the archway turned in surprise.
“Open it,” Khanh growled.
“Prince Khanh—”
He swiveled his head to stare daggers at the soldier. The man’s face grew pale. He stammered and unbolted the thick wooden door. The guards heaved it open.
Khanh slipped through as the soldiers hurried to distance themselves from the boy.
So, it was true. Rumors could strike fear into the hearts of grown men. Khanh felt a tightness in his chest. Fear was the only thing left on his side.
Who was he not to accept its help?
Chapter 1
A high-spirited horse galloped past rice fields. Vinh’s ebony hair was thrown back like a soft banner, and her loose silk pants shone in the cheery mid-morning light. At times like this, Vinh could throw her cares to the wind.
But alas, she was needed in that stuffy council hall filled with creaking chairs, chairs that always complained and protested whenever you sat on them. Even worse were the king’s advisors on those chairs who also always complained and protested whenever they sat on them.
“Greetings, Princess Vinh!” a royal guard called.
Vinh waved and steered her horse inside the courtyard. The captain bowed with his fist joined to his hand.
“Greetings, Captain Jiang.” Vinh slid off and responded with her own bow.
Jiang took her horse’s lead rope. “Go ahead, Princess. I’ll have a stable boy rub him down for you.” The old captain smirked. “You’re running late as it is.”
A flash of alarm crossed Vinh’s face.
Jiang laughed. “I jest, Princess. The council hasn’t convened yet.” He winked. “If you ask me, there’s such a thing as being too committed to your tasks.”
Vinh shook her head. “Never too much of a good thing, Captain. I see your soldiers know that.” Vinh smiled warmly at the attentive guards, but her mind raced. Was there any way to ease the anxiety she knew they were hiding?
Jiang’s grin faded. He gazed out over the countryside behind Vinh and lowered his voice. “Any luck finding the lân?”
A hush filled the courtyard. So much for easing the anxiety.
“Not as yet, Captain,” Vinh said hesitantly. “I’ve spoken with all the search parties from the jungles. There’s no sign of them.”
“It’s a bad omen.” Jiang shook his head. “We must have displeased the heavens somehow.”
Vinh bit her lip. The missing lân were more personal to the captain than to most. One of those mysterious, horned felines had saved his life in the last invasion of their country.
But they couldn’t linger in the past. On fickle companions.
“I’m sure we’ll get by fine without the guardians, Captain.” Vinh gave a dramatic bow. “I am confident in your prowess, and that of your soldiers.”
Jiang forced a smile. “Your hope is contagious, Princess. Thank the heavens you were too young to remember those brutal Taumon warriors.”
Vinh averted her eyes. She hoped the soldiers’ horrible tales of the last war had been exaggerated.
“Well now, don’t let me keep you back,” Jiang said cheerfully. “Without you, those king’s officials are going to spend hours talking about politics. And by politics, I mean they’ll be grudging against someone who annoyed them last year or something. We’ve got a war coming soon, for heaven’s sake!”
Vinh laughed, sprinting across the courtyard. The tiles were cool against her soles as she rushed barefoot through the palace halls. It was strange how this building still didn’t feel like their home, even though she had lived in it all her life. The palace of Manteiva had switched owners numerous times in its history. Her own grandfather had risen up and overthrown the king in his day.
Vinh cut across the throne room, slowing as she passed a wall lined with paintings. They depicted the proudest moments of her family’s rule, from the rebuilding of their small country to the defeat of invaders. It displayed the glorious lân fighting by their side as they faced the feared Taumon tribes.
But it was none of these paintings Vinh was ruminating on, but a blank section in the line of art.
The missing painting was nothing important. It had once depicted just the four people in their family. Together.
Guilt and longing pressed down on Vinh. Her mother had died still clinging to the hope that someone would find her son soon. Vinh imagined her brother roaming in the wilderness, alone, waiting for a chance to return home. He didn’t deserve exile.
Vinh shook herself. They had taken down their family portrait with good reason. They couldn’t let themselves fall into depression. All families would break apart someday; Khanh had said it himself. Vinh just had to focus on the future. She was nearly of age.
As she hurried to the meeting hall, Vinh quickly twisted her hair into a neat bun. If her father had a pet peeve, it was messy hair. She impaled the bun with a trâm, a small polished stick, to keep it from unraveling.
Impale. Every time, Khanh would make a deathly gurgle on behalf of the hair bun.
But she couldn’t linger in the past. On someone who thought she was worth nothing.
Vinh slowed as she reached the great painted doors. On the other side was the world of grown-ups. At least they wanted her. The girl took a deep breath and pushed away any wistful thoughts of Khanh.
And yes, also any thoughts of the impaled hair bun on her head.
The officials groaned and made overlapping comments. The creaking chairs groaned along.
As the bearer of the bad news, Vinh shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks burning. King Quân squeezed his daughter’s hand, and Vinh glanced at him gratefully.
“We must not give up hope on our guardians.” The king scrutinized the map before him. “There must be a reason for the disappearance of the lân.”
Vinh clasped her hands on the table. “No problem can be solved without knowing its cause.”
Quân smiled at his young daughter’s formal facade.
“That may be so,” Quartermaster Cao said in his irksome nasally voice, “but we have a bigger problem at hand—the Taumon. We all know the cause for that one. I won’t deign to mention his name, but you-know-who helped our hostage escape, and now there’s nothing to stop those barbarians from pulverizing us beneath their horses’ hooves.”
Quân rubbed his temples. Khanh and Jadaran were complicated cases. After the first invasion, they had kept a Taumon prince as a hostage. It was the only way to ensure his father wouldn’t attack their people again. It was true, he had felt sorry for the boy, so when Khanh had befriended him, Quân didn’t separate them.
But if he had, then Khanh wouldn’t have helped Jadaran escape. Then, Khanh wouldn’t have run into the creatures that cursed him. He wouldn’t have left home. Quân’s beloved wife wouldn’t have died of grief. The Taumon wouldn’t be attacking.
Life is complicated.
“…and you should have seen that Taumon boy’s face,” Cao was saying. “Impertinent scum! If I weren’t his taskmaster, Jadaran would just as likely attempt to assassinate our king as he would—”
“—as he would kiss your boots, Quartermaster Cao.” Vinh’s eyes flashed. But then she averted her gaze. “Pardon me. All I meant was, what’s done is done, and we must look to the future.” She nodded solemnly. “Our intelligence reports say we have at least a month before the Taumon arrive.”
“Vinh,” Quân said suddenly. The king’s gaze was out the window, fixed on a dark line near the horizon. “None of the search parties have tried the Jungle of Myth.”
“Of course not, Your Majesty,” sputtered Cao. “It’s crawling with the yêu-quái and their spells.”
Vinh shuddered at the mention of the yêu-quái. It was whispered that those shapeshifting creatures had prowled Manteiva since the beginning. Man-eating monsters that wore bewitching disguises, sometimes animal, sometimes human.
“The Jungle’s center is also the ancestral home of the lân,” the king continued. “If there are any left on the face of the earth, they would gather there.”
“Ba, no one in our land has entered that jungle and come out alive,” said Vinh. “No one except…”
Quân nodded. “Except…”
Cao growled. “Khanh.”
The word echoed threateningly in the silent council room—the same room that had decided on his exile.
Unexplainable fear pierced Vinh. She felt as if her brother were gripping the back of her chair, waiting for their father’s next words.
“It is time to revoke Prince Khanh’s banishment.”
“No!” Cao exploded. Vinh flinched at his shout. Voices muttered and bodies shifted. Chairs complained.
Vinh tried to close the door to the rush of conflicting emotions. Hope and joy—her brother would return. Fear and uncertainty—what would that entail?
“Vinh,” said the king, “as I finish assembling the army, you should find soldiers willing to help you search for your brother.”
Vinh couldn’t speak. “Why me?” she squeaked.
The king’s eyes were closed, and his hands were clasped on the table. “Because for reasons I do not think I have to mention, Khanh would be less than happy to see me.”
He looked up, and Vinh saw the tired lines around his sad eyes. She was seized with a sudden urge. If reconciling with Khanh would make her father happy again, she would do anything to bring him back.
“Your Majesty, you disowned that boy with good reason!” Cao snorted. “That shapeshifting freak cannot be the heir. The people will revolt against having a king who is half yêu-quái.”
“Khanh is not half yêu-quái,” Quân growled.
“But he will be remembered as one. And your line will be remembered as cursed.” Cao pressed his thin lips together. “They may think your dynasty needs to…be replaced.”
Cao jabbed his finger at a black ink painting on the wall. It depicted the victory of Quân’s father and his loyal rebels over the self-indulgent monarch.
“I was there, Your Majesty,” Cao stated. “Our fathers have sacrificed too much for this country to have it fall into ruin and discord again.” He fixed his gaze on the king. “I do not want what happened to the old monarch to happen to you.”
Vinh paled. She couldn’t lose the last person who loved her. Vinh wasn’t sure how she felt about her grandfather seizing the throne. But one thing she did know. All that drama and bloodshed had been because the previous, apathetic monarch had broken his coronation promise, to serve and protect his people. And hundreds had suffered for it.
Her father never risked making the same mistake. He taught her to do likewise. The people deserved a worthy ruler. They needed an heir who could solve their problems, not create more.
“Whatever happens to me, I vowed to protect our people,” Quân replied, undaunted. “How can we do so without the lân? This is the Taumon we are facing. Those warriors have waged and won ruthless battles in the frozen forests of Sia, the deserts of Kilmor, the plains of Golgon, the mountains of Hilta…”
“But no jungles.”
Quân looked at Vinh. Everyone did.
“Never a hot, humid jungle,” Vinh repeated, “and we have lots of those.” She gazed around at the men and women on the council.
Vinh’s stomach knotted. Would this be better for the kingdom than bringing Khanh back into the family?
“We don’t have to fight the Taumon head-on.” Vinh traced her finger on the king’s map. “This is our homeland; we can survive in the jungles. If we retreat there, they’ll follow in pursuit.”
Vinh continued, “Then, we’ll use guerilla warfare—small, quick attacks to wear them down. They’re not used to the climate. They’ll get tired of the diseases and the surprise attacks, until they’re so fed up with mosquito bites that they go home.”
Vinh watched the officials’ faces. Some were skeptical. Others were thoughtful.
Quân stroked his beard. “If we evacuate the villages now, the people can hide in the jungles with their food stores. Burn the fields as well, and the Taumon will be forced to end their campaign early. They take the provisions they need after conquering villages.”
“All men must eat,” agreed the quartermaster. “Not to mention their horses.”
“I can send messengers out today, Ba,” Vinh said eagerly. “We’ll get through this somehow. We won’t give up on our country.”
Quân nodded, but his weary eyes were unfocused. “If only we could say the same about our family.”
Vinh clutched her chair. A memory of a black scroll case flashed in her mind. Her mother would want her to find Khanh.
Cao put a kind arm around Vinh’s shoulder.
“Your daughter never ceases to amaze me with her ideas, Your Majesty,” he declared to Quân. “In my humble opinion, replacing an heir like her would be an unwise decision.”
“Let no one say I am not proud of my daughter.” Quân directed his soft words at an unsettled Vinh. Then he sighed quietly and turned to give further instructions to the officials.
“Quartermaster Cao—” whispered Vinh.
“Your Highness,” Cao said sympathetically, “you cannot trust Khanh. You cannot give him a chance to betray Manteiva again. He’s not the kid you remember.”
Dread settled on Vinh. After five long years in exile…
Maybe she shouldn’t hope to find her brother. Maybe she should hope to never run into him again.
The warships were spotted at sunset, sailing toward the capital on blood-red waves. Vinh ran out on the balcony, her breath catching in her throat. It couldn’t be. The Taumon were here already?
Blood pounded in Vinh’s head as she snatched up her sheathed sword and fled to her father’s room. His armor was laid out, and he was shouting orders to the throng that had gathered.
“Grab all the weapons. Bundle as many provisions as you can onto the animals. We’re burning everything we can’t take into the jungle.”
“But this will mess up all my rations,” protested Quartermaster Cao. “And the antiques! Our houses—”
“—will be destroyed by the Taumon in any case.” The king grimly fastened a sword on his belt. “From the size of that fleet, we don’t stand a chance. We must retreat deep into the jungle before the Taumon disembark.” He pushed his way out of the room, hefting a bundle onto his shoulder. “Vinh, help get the people out of the city. Keep them calm.”
People are beings that cannot be kept calm.
“Stay with your neighbors!” Vinh shouted. “Everyone, leave by the east gate and follow Captain Chung!”
She glanced at Captain Jiang, who was mounted by her side. “The people on the other side of the city—who’s keeping that stampede under control?” Vinh tried to smile.
“Captain Liêm and her soldiers,” Jiang replied tightly. “They will lead them to shelter in the northern jungles. The rest of the army will follow the king.”
Jiang turned to hand his torch to a civilian. The man nodded grimly and threw it into his barn, catching the hay and grain on fire.
The captain beckoned to Vinh. “Let’s go.”
“Má! Ba!” A panicked voice rose in pitch. “Anh! I’m over here!”
Vinh scanned the thronging villagers in the distance.
“It’s that little one!” Jiang pointed.
The small girl was screaming, tears streaming down her face.
Vinh hurriedly sorted through her memories of names and faces. “It’s Cam!” she cried. “Her family went the other way with Captain Liêm!”
Cam gave a sharp cry as a rushing villager bumped into her. Her wee knees buckled.
Vinh spurred her horse over. “Out of the way!” She leapt down and snatched the girl off the ground. “Upsy-daisy,” Vinh grunted.
Cam’s arm was badly bruised, and blood trickled from her nose. As the human stampede surged around her, Vinh struggled back on her horse. In front of her, the girl clutched the saddle, too terrified to speak.
“Princess! The king’s men are waiting for us!” Jiang’s voice came from behind the smoke.
“Go on! I’ll catch up.” Vinh quickly calculated the fastest route through the city.
“Wait!” Jiang said angrily. “By the time you return, we’ll be long gone.” The soldier reined in his horse in front of her. “Bring Cam with us.”
Vinh bit her lip. “She can’t lose her family, Captain. It’ll scar her for life.”
A look passed between them. Jiang opened his mouth.
“And no, you can’t go with me,” Vinh interrupted. “I’ll be fine. You need to return to your soldiers and tell King Quân I’m safe with the northern group. I’ll stay with them.”
Vinh’s voice was level, but her stomach lurched. She would be apart from her father for months. Vinh locked her jaw and put an arm around the girl in front of her.
Reluctantly, Jiang moved his horse. “Make haste. And keep away from tall buildings.”
A flaming beam crashed down as if to punctuate his words. Jiang checked his horse as sparks danced up behind him.
“May the heavens watch over you, Princess.” He bowed from the saddle.
“Wait.” Vinh grabbed his arm. “Captain Jiang, please—protect my father. He’ll become restless from hiding, but if the Taumon slay the king, the war is over. Do not let that happen.”
He nodded tersely. “I’ll protect him with my life, Princess.”
As they parted ways, a dread settled on Vinh. Everyone she had seen today, there were some she would never see again.
The war had begun, and this time, she was old enough to fear the future.
Chapter 2
It was funny to think all this destruction was taking place before the enemy even set foot in their city. Vinh coughed as she urged her nervous horse past buildings ablaze with flame.
Behind her, the sound of thundering hooves grew fainter. Cam’s brother had met them halfway through the city. Vinh should have known someone would come back for Cam. That was what all civilized older brothers did.
Vinh had declined his invitation to join them, suddenly filled with hope. She didn’t have to bring Cam all the way to the main party. There might be time to catch up with her father.
She passed their tiered palace, still proud and untouched by the chaos. Who knew if she would ever see it again?
A memory crashed into Vinh’s mind. She immediately pulled her horse to a stop.
Her mother’s scroll! She had forgotten the black case in her room. Vinh hesitated. There had to be enough time to retrieve it.
Nearby, their poor storehouse was being consumed by flames. Vinh steered her horse through the courtyard and into the palace itself. The hoofsteps echoed through the solemn halls. Everything was eerily dark, tinted with a blue hue, a strange sight after the flashing fires outside.
Vinh leapt her horse up a flight of stairs. The contents of the scroll was a mystery. It was the last thing her mother had given her, and she had promised to deliver it. For years, she had put it aside, and her conscience hated her for that.
Vinh yelped as an amber fire flared. The wood of the palace gave a loud crack. Her horse neighed in terror and bucked her off, bolting away from the flames.
“Ouch! No! Come back—” Vinh coughed and covered her nose with her sleeve. Fire engulfed the escape. The hungry flames were too greedy. They weren’t satisfied with the food in the storehouse. The wind had carried them to the palace itself.
Vinh had never realized how loud fire could be. Her lungs begged her for clean air. Amidst the blinding smoke, there was a rectangle of moonlight. Relief flooded her.
Vinh clambered out the window onto the extended roof of the lower floor. She plastered herself against the wall outside, gasping for air.
The view from the roof was heartbreaking. The whole capital was ablaze, the streets empty. Above, the moon looked down, as aloof as ever.
Vinh inched along the red tiles toward her bedroom window. She chewed her lip. It was dumb to go back inside the burning building.
But she had promised to deliver her mother’s scroll.
Vinh groaned. Breaking a promise was worse than being dumb.
She slipped back into the doomed palace, landing with a thud on the floor. An orange light glared from under her door.
Rummaging in her drawer, Vinh pulled out the scroll in its black and silver case. She threw a purse of jade coins into her knapsack. She would have to find her way to the royal guard without the provisions on her horse.
Vinh stood to leave. She looked around, for the last time, at the room she had grown up in. How long ago it seemed, those nights when she and Khanh would linger outside their separate doorways, joking and talking about random things before bedtime.
Then afterward came the nights when Khanh would lock himself in before the sun had even set. How many times had she been jerked awake by agonized cries? Her parents had told her Khanh simply had night terrors, but she soon discovered it was more than that.
He was spellbound. He was forced to shift into different animal forms every moonrise.
She had figured that out the hard way.
Vinh suppressed a shudder and moved to the window. The air was very warm. Actually, the floor—
A great crack! rang out. Vinh screamed. She grabbed the windowsill as her whole bedroom plummeted downward. Plumes of smoke and swirling embers rose around her.
Naughty, greedy flames! Vinh fought back a fit of coughing as she tried to keep her grip on the windowsill. The fire reached up at her.
Breaking a promise was worse than being dumb. But was it worse than being dead?
Stinging tears streamed from her eyes. Vinh hauled herself out the window. As she crawled along the roof ledge, the only thing on her mind was to get away from the smoke.
She couldn’t stop coughing. Her mind ached, and everything lost focus. Vinh stumbled and lay sprawled on the palace roof. As the dark air weighed down on her like a warm blanket, she slipped away into its embrace.
A light breeze blew, and soft silk tickled her legs. Vinh’s eyes flickered open. Through a curtain of her long hair, she saw the capital washed in moonlight. White-gray ash floated through the air in complete silence.
Then the noise flared back—resounding horse hooves, blood-chilling howls.
Vinh jerked upright, almost falling off the roof. Horror enveloped her. There, in the streets of her own city, rode the feared and fabled Taumon warriors.
Powerful tanned arms swung wicked glaives and curved swords. Every man was riding bareback, whooping their bloodlusting war cry. Vinh shrank back, imagining what they would do when they found no one to maim in the city. No one but her.
Riding at the front was a rugged chieftain, bull-necked and bearded. His black armor was edged in gold, earning him and his predecessors the feared title of Black Chieftain. The man seemed to direct his horse with his mind; trenchant twin swords glinted in each hand. With the force that backed him, he would avenge the last defeat of the Taumon.
Despite being terrified, Vinh was also mesmerized. So, this was Jadaran’s people, and that chieftain was once the notorious prince who had tricked his younger brother to take his place as a hostage.
The Taumon were combing the city for anything left to sack. Vinh snapped to attention; she had to sneak out of the capital. She glanced at the river in the queen’s garden. It eventually wound out of the city…
Vinh lowered her leg by a tree that could lend its boughs as stairs for her.
The calm, lilting voice of a child rang out. Vinh blinked. Wait—a child? In the midst of these ravaged surroundings? Two saddleless horses trotted around the corner into the palace garden.
“I don’t get it,” said the miniature rider. He couldn’t have been more than ten. “Why did we have to sail all the way here? We could have rode through villages and screamed to our hearts’ content back home.”
“That’s a question for Tarshan,” came the absentminded answer.
Vinh froze. She knew that sullen voice, that guarded tone, that dry accent. Vinh’s fantasies about her old playmate were shattered.
After all these years, Jadaran hadn’t gotten over his bitterness. He wasn’t working to amend the barbaric culture of his people. He hadn’t nobly refused to join his chieftain in invading the country of his best friends.
He was mindlessly going along for the ride.
A bright laugh sounded from below. “We beat him to the palace, Jadaran!” The child nudged his horse’s sides. “Come on, let’s go wait for Tarshan in the courtyard. So when he opens the gates, he’ll see…us.”
“Hilarious,” came the sarcastic reply. Jadaran moved his war horse after what looked like his younger brother.
Vinh willed him to leave quickly. Take his handsome face with him so she could properly be mad at his gutless betrayal.
Just before he left the garden, Jadaran brought his horse to a quiet halt. His long, deadly glaive hung loosely in his hand. He surveyed his surroundings, then his head tilted upwards.
Their eyes met and locked.
Vinh’s breathing ceased; her heart raced. Hair strands blew away from her face as deep-set eyes stared into her soul.
He had eyes that lived under a shadow; he always had.
But they weren’t dimmed, bent by another’s will. They were as sharp and calculating as before.
That made him all the more dangerous.
Jadaran tightened his mouth and gathered the reins. The clicking of horse hooves echoed down the path, and the Taumon continued on his way.
Silence fell once again in the moonlit garden.
Chapter 3
A narrow, capsized boat drifted down the river. Underneath, Vinh clutched its wooden seats, her gasps echoing in the dark curve of the craft.
Though it was wet and uncomfortable, this was her escape from the capital. Vinh allowed her face to be submerged in the cool water again. She thanked it for muffling the harsh shouts of the invaders. She could forget their presence, granting that none of the warriors deigned to check an overturned boat for spoils.
Now, if only she could forget about Jadaran. Why didn’t he raise the alarm? She was tempted to return to the palace, to discover all of Jadaran’s new secrets. But like this river, life must keep flowing.
Still, there was the place where the river began. It was fresher, clearer there. As far back as Vinh could remember, Jadaran had already been at the palace, always a part of her life. The same with Khanh.
Where the queen’s garden hugged the young river, bright, clear laughter could be heard for a kilometer around.
A young girl of seven splashed at her brother. “Anh, come over here! I think I see a crayfish.”
Khanh sloshed toward her. He yelped and looked down. “I know I see a crayfish.” With a splash, the boy fell backward and stuck his bare foot into the air. A miniature lobster hung by its pincer from his big toe.
Vinh burst into a fit of laughter. Khanh chuckled. He shook his leg, and the crayfish went flying into Vinh.
She shrieked. “Anh! Your dirty toe crayfish touched my arm!” Vinh gave a holler and tackled her brother, throwing them both into the water.
Vinh and Khanh resurfaced, helplessly coughing and laughing at the same time. “You’re crazy.” Khanh splashed her playfully.
“JADARAN!” came an infuriated shout.
Vinh and Khanh sank into the water until only their eyes popped out. A boy’s form, tense with irritation, strode into view. Vinh was intrigued by Jadaran. A hostage was a rare specimen, especially one not much older than Khanh.
Cao stomped up behind Jadaran. “Don’t you dare walk away from me!” The taskmaster quickened his pace. “Turn around right now, you impertinent scum!”
Jadaran whirled around, his face stony. Cao skidded to a halt. He took a second to compose himself.
“Being sloppy in your chores is one thing,” said Cao, “but dumping horse manure in my flowerbeds after cleaning the stables is another.” He glared dangerously at the boy. “I know you purposely did that.”
“You are correct, Taskmaster,” said Jadaran, in his fascinating foreign accent. “I heard the royal gardener say that fertilizer was good for plants.” He cocked his head, a little too innocently. “Was he wrong?”
Cao looked like he was about to explode. “Fertilizer is not—” He paused. “Well, it’s not just…”
“It’s okay if you didn’t know,” Jadaran said coldly. “You should tell the gardener you want to learn about the nourishing properties of horse manure.” With that, Jadaran stalked away.
Cao shouted in frustration. “You are hopeless! I should skin you alive!”
Vinh shuddered. Jadaran’s back stiffened, but he didn’t stop.
“Bow to your elders before you leave, boy!” Cao marched after Jadaran and grabbed him. “It’s basic manners!”
Jadaran mumbled something Vinh couldn’t hear. Cao twisted the boy’s arm and struck him savagely across the face.
Vinh gasped and turned to Khanh. But he wasn’t beside her anymore. Neither was the bucket they had put crayfish in to show their mom.
Splash! Cao cried out as streamwater and crayfish rained down on him. Jadaran yanked his arm away.
Cao spun around, furious, to see a shirtless prince gripping a bucket. Khanh blinked.
“I-I’m sorry, sir.” Khanh bent into a respectful bow. But Vinh thought he could also be hiding a grin that couldn’t be suppressed.
Even the Taumon boy’s mouth lifted in amusement. Cao did look quite funny as he disgustedly shook the river muck and crayfish off. One remained unnoticed, clinging to the seat of his robes.
Cao glowered at Khanh. The impulsive boy waited resignedly, unflinchingly, for his punishment. Disrespecting your elders…a crime most serious.
“If you weren’t the prince, young Khanh, this wouldn’t be so easily forgiven.” Cao drew himself up. “Yet I assure you, your father will hear about this.”
Khanh lowered his head miserably.
Cao marched toward the palace door. “Good day, Your Highness.”
Vinh came ashore as the boys stood staring at each other. A shout sounded from inside the palace, and a crayfish was hurled into the courtyard.
Khanh burst into laughter, and Jadaran allowed a small chuckle.
“You have the most peculiar laugh,” he told Khanh. “Taskmaster deserved that, though.”
“Really, boys? I know he’s mean sometimes.” Vinh wrapped herself in a towel. “But he just misses his kids.”
“The other Taumon killed his family, not Jadaran,” said Khanh. “He’s taking it all out on him.”
Jadaran grumbled. “Lucky me.” He tramped away.
“Hey, where are you going, Jadaran?” asked Khanh.
“Are you going to start making me bow to you, too?”
Khanh grinned. “Of course not. I just thought you might want to go riding.”
Vinh frowned. Whenever the boys went gallivanting through the fields, she would be left behind, bored, in the stuffy palace.
“I have to scrub your ridiculously long hall today,” answered Jadaran. “It’ll take two hours.”
“Actually, it took one hour and forty-five minutes.”
Jadaran looked back. “What did you say?”
“I…might’ve stolen your job. And finished it.”
“Khanh! Do you want to get me into even more trouble?” Jadaran gestured angrily. “If Taskmaster catches the prince doing the work he gave me—”
“He didn’t catch me. Besides, the work will be done by a prince either way.”
Jadaran’s eyebrows slowly unfurrowed. He looked toward the fields. “An afternoon riding Ke-Xin would be a nice change.”
“Great. Just let me grab my shirt.” Khanh ran over to fetch his neatly folded tunic.
“Khanh,” Jadaran called after him. He hesitated. “Thanks.”
“Yeah.” Vinh stomped toward the palace. “Thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome,” Khanh said cheerfully. “Wait. Was that sarcasm?” He frowned. “Did my seven-year-old sister just ‘sarcasm’ me?”
Jadaran nodded, grinning. “Yeah. She did.”
He stopped Khanh. “You know she barely knows how to ride. Do you want someone holding us back?”
Vinh looked over her shoulder to see what Khanh’s answer would be.
He looked uncertain. “No…”
Vinh laughed and clutched Khanh’s arm. He steadied her in front of him as he rode his horse bareback like Jadaran.
“Khanh, see if you can get bows and arrows for us next time,” Jadaran shouted over the wind. “I want to show you a trick that all the Taumon boys learn.”
“Mounted archery? Cool.”
“You have to time it just right, and when all four of the horse’s hooves are off the ground—” Jadaran let fly an imaginary arrow. “Dead enemy.”
“Taumon boys sure are lucky,” said Khanh. “You get to do so much. Do your tribes really travel all over the known world?”
“Killing everyone in their way,” Vinh added sweetly.
“Yes, Khanh,” said Jadaran. “And no, Vinh. We travel nice and peacefully. Sometimes. A few times.”
“Yeah, I could go without the killing and maiming part,” said Khanh. “But they don’t call you the Traveling Empire for nothing.”
“Everyone thinks Manteiva is the lucky country,” said Jadaran. “What made the mythical lân so dedicated to protecting this tiny strip of land?”
Khanh lit up. “Well, as the legend goes, the dragons used to live here. And the Tiên, which, I believe, are fae…or were they phoenixes? They attacked, but then one of the dragons befriended the daughter of one of the phoenixes, or fae, if that’s what you want—”
“Okay, never mind. I regret asking.”
“Yeah.” Vinh giggled. “Don’t get Khanh started on magic or he’ll talk all afternoon about it.”
“That’s because the myths have so much to talk about.”
Jadaran urged Ke-Xin, one of the captured Taumon horses, into a gallop. “Race you to the rice fields!”
Khanh nudged his horse’s sides, but Vinh saw he didn’t push it into a full out gallop. His mount was already carrying two people.
“I thought you were going to leave me behind again, Anh.” Vinh smiled as the cool wind brushed her cheeks.
“Jadaran’s brother left him behind. Not all brothers are like that.” Khanh forced the words out, as if he wanted to prove it.
“All these years, I’ve always wondered why a Taumon boy was living in our house.”
“You mean you never heard? Ba wanted the Taumon chief’s oldest son, the heir, as a hostage.”
“But Jadaran’s not—”
“I know.”
Vinh felt Khanh shift behind her.
“I suppose Tarshan cared more about his agenda than about his brother. He didn’t want to lose his freedom and his throne, so he made seven-year-old Jadaran take his place.”
“That’s horrible.” Vinh felt awkward. “I’m seven.”
“Em. I’d never do something like that. You know that, right?”
Khanh’s arm went around her. Their horse jumped over a log, and she was jostled back into her brother’s warm, steady frame.
“I’ll always have your back,” he said. “I promise.”
Chapter 4
The water was a cold bed around Vinh as she willed the river to go faster. The Taumon proved an even bigger threat than they had first thought. Their only hope was the lân. Which meant their only hope was Khanh.
Vinh pulled herself up for air. No. Her poor brain wasn’t thinking straight after marinating in a river of memories. At least she had recognized Jadaran, with his aura of hidden ire. But didn’t Cao warn her Khanh wasn’t who he used to be?
Vinh just had to find her father and the royal army; they would figure out another way to deal with the Taumon. Amidst charred debris, Vinh’s boat continued to drift through the city.
A voice came from the unseen shore. “You promised us man-flesh…”
The otherworldly drawl penetrated through Vinh’s cold bones.
“Where are the s-s-slain victims-s-s from your first battle?”
Yêu-quái. Vinh’s skin crawled. She was a stone’s throw away from man-eating monsters. And she could only see darkness. Her heart palpitated.
A horse nickered and shied away from the atrocious sight.
“They’ll be heaped before you soon enough,” a strident voice said impatiently. “My father’s deal still stands. The lân are gone, and my brother said the mere sight of an yêu-quái can throw whole villages into panic.” He gave a bark of laughter. “Between the two of us, Manteiva is easy pickings.”
The Taumon chieftain shouted orders as horse hooves pounded, and he left the yêu-quái behind.
Horror and dread for the future enveloped Vinh, a feeling now all too familiar. But on top of it grew a hard anger.
Waging war was one thing, but working with monsters as they devoured innocent people? Were the Taumon so unscrupulous as to virtually take part in cannibalism?
Vinh trembled. The yêu-quái were still around—
A feline snarled. Something heavy landed on her boat as it leapt to the other shore. Vinh’s stiff fingers lost their grip. She choked on streamwater; her mind shot back to when she had almost drowned as a child. She splashed wildly to grab the canoe.
Vinh’s feet sank into the muddy riverbed, and she realized sheepishly she was in the shallows. Water dripped down her face.
On the other shore, a leopard looked back with a surprised, yet pleased expression. Vinh blinked droplets away, and there, in place of the beast, stood a handsome youth. He was tall and clean-shaven, with clear green eyes.
“Are you alright?” he asked worriedly. His gaze drifted over her. “Where did you come from? Beauty such as yours shames that of a water maiden.”
His gently swaying tone was entrancing. But the Taumon—Vinh jerked her head away.
“Don’t worry, I won’t call them. Come here, you’ll be safe with me. Come…come to me…”
The sedative melody of his voice drowned out the alarm in the back of Vinh’s head. His flawless face with its glassy eyes moved closer and closer to her. No, she was the one moving.
He helped her out of the river and brushed hair strands from her face. His hand lingered on her smooth neck.
Then his fingers tightened.
Vinh drew her sword, slashing it through the man’s stomach in the same movement.
She broke away, gasping. “I know what you are.” Vinh pointed her blade at the yêu-quái.
The man stared at the deep gash in his belly. He laughed. “Don’t be silly,” he purred. The air rippled around him, and a hideous creature revealed itself. “You’ve never seen me before.”
Leopard markings mottled his bare, bulky chest. Fur bristled on a huge, deformed back. Fangs descended from his maw. His face stretched into a feline head shape, though his features remained aberrantly human.
The yêu-quái leapt at Vinh; clawed, furry hands sought to disembowel her. She twisted to the side and lashed out again with her sword. He roared in annoyed pain, whipping his tail.
To her surprise, Vinh found she was actually very calm. She knew full well the stakes, but that made her all the more focused.
But why? She couldn’t beat the monster, even with all the sword forms her father had taught her. Somehow, he knew his children would need to survive in the wilderness on their own. You would always end up on your own—
Vinh ducked as the yêu-quái snapped at her with bleached fangs. Her cold arms trembled from the sight of her nightmarish enemy.
She dropped back into the river, hoping for a respite. The leopard monster hesitated, then plunged in. She dived and pulled the boat over her as the yêu-quái’s paw smashed down.
Through the dim water, Vinh saw his open chest—she thrust her sword out of the water, through the creature’s ribs, and into his heart.
The silver river slowly turned maroon. Vinh gagged and struggled to stand, spitting out the sullied water. The yêu-quái was draped over the boat. Feeling queasy, Vinh flipped him over. Bile made her mouth sour as she tugged her sword from his limp body. She fumbled under the boat to retrieve her soaking pack from its compartment.
Vinh wearily trudged to the river’s edge. She looked back, her body leaden, but her mind still on high alert. She had come face-to-face with an yêu-quái. How was it possible she was walking away from it alive?
The heavy carcass slipped into the water, sending the indifferent boat sloshing on its way.
Vinh gazed into the river, but all she could see was her distorted reflection. Soot from the fire, mud from the river, blood from the monster—they all stained her damp body and clothes. Some beauty that shamed water maidens. Vinh hefted her pack to leave the city.
The water started glowing. Pinpricks of light spread out from where the yêu-quái had fallen.
Glowing. Not good.
Vinh broke into a run. In essence, yêu-quái were all otherworldly beings trapped in a primitive form. In spite of that, they retained some of their powers, such as—
The water broke, and a defiant snarl rang out. The head of a leopard emerged.
“Foolish man-child!” the yêu-quái screamed. He came ashore, dropping on all fours. “You cannot escape your fate!”
Vinh fled, bracing herself to feel the feline’s teeth on her neck. But there was only an enraged yowl, and another voice spoke.
“Its-s-s fate is to be my s-s-supper.”
Vinh risked a glance back. A huge snake wrapped around the leopard, who ferociously fought back. So the other yêu-quái she had heard speaking with the Taumon was a python. Each yêu-quái had its own specific animal.
“Fresh meat will go to waste for you.” Teeth snapped on air. “Why swallow it whole when you can rip it apart limb from limb?”
“I don’t have any limbs-s-s.”
Vinh never did find out how the duel ended. All she knew was she ran faster than ever before.
Even when she couldn’t sprint anymore, she hiked on for countless kilometers. Finally, Vinh dragged herself off the trail and curled up under a bush, her mind foggy with exhaustion. Tomorrow was a new day. She should be safe under here tonight.
The moon had already sulkily slipped beneath the horizon. Now, the world held its breath and waited for the sun to rise.
Chapter 5
Rough, but dry sheets were pulled up to her chin. Vinh’s eyes flickered open. A woman’s face hovered over her.
Vinh yelped and jerked the covers up. She rolled off the bed, sending a sword clattering to the ground. Vinh snatched it and scrambled to her feet, wild-eyed and bedecked with blankets.
“Princess Vinh—”
Waking up with an old woman in the middle of nowhere. Either really good, or really bad. She could be an yêu-quái.
But…a monster wouldn’t leave their prisoner’s weapon nearby.
Orange afternoon light slanted in. Outside, other houses lay scattered around the village. A potted orchid sat by Vinh’s bedside.
“Your Highness.” The homely woman jerked into a nervous bow. “Greetings.”
Vinh’s face reddened. “G-Greetings.” She hurriedly sheathed her weapon. “My apologies, kind woman. I’ve…had a disturbing night.” Vinh bowed in return, her tangled hair falling over her face.
Her father would want her to brush it. He would want her to clean her sword blade. Vinh’s heart raced. “Which village am I in? How did I get here? Who are you?”
The woman lifted sad eyes and gently seated Vinh back on the bed. “My name is Mai, Your Highness. My husband owns the Hung village tavern. He spotted you lying by the country roadside. I cleaned you up while you slept like a log.” Mai continued, concerned Vinh might still be suspicious. “I washed your clothes for you. Their quality was what told me you were royalty.”
Vinh smiled warmly. “I am indebted to you both. Please, don’t tell anyone I’m here. I don’t want to bring any trouble.”
Vinh took a deep breath and glanced at the foot of her bed. Her clothes were folded alongside a dusky, sleeved cloak. That would be useful as she traveled to her father.
Or maybe she had to travel somewhere else. They could no longer evade the enemy. The yêu-quái knew the jungles as well as the Manteivese. Only one creature could dispel yêu-quái—the legendary lân. She had to find them. By herself.
Overwhelmed, Vinh lay down to gather her thoughts.
“Pardon me, Your Highness.” The woman pressed her cheek against Vinh’s forehead to check her temperature, like her mother used to do. “You were in quite a sorry state when we found you. The smoke from the capital could be seen from here.”
“The Taumon came a lot sooner than we expected,” Vinh said wearily. “They were working with the yêu-quái.”
Vinh fully expected to see fear and apprehension. But Mai clasped her hands together and stared blankly at the wall.
“Ma’am, what’s wrong?” Vinh pushed herself up. Mai was fighting back tears.
The woman shook her head. “Ever since the lân disappeared, the yêu-quái have been preying on us again. My daughter—” Mai turned away.
Vinh felt a pang in her heart. It was the royal family’s duty to protect their people. “It can’t go on like this.”
Her father would give up anything; he would never break his coronation promise. Even if she wasn’t ruler yet, Vinh felt obliged to live by that same promise. “Ma’am, how far away is the Jungle of Myth?”
“It’s west of here, not far,” said Mai. “But you can’t go in there by yourself, Princess!”
Vinh glanced over at her knapsack, where her mother’s scroll still lay. She set her jaw. “I’m not.”
The masculine smell of beer filled the tavern. Vinh gingerly made her way through the rings of men seated cross-legged on the floor. She was used to the chairs of the palace, but most people in Manteiva saw no need for the extravagance.
Vinh approached a boisterous band of bearded men. They looked promising. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Might I put a question to you?”
They looked up at the prim and proper young lady. Bursts of guffaws broke out throughout the tavern.
Vinh let her sword hilt peek out from the slits of her cloak. She withdrew her hand from her sleeve, twirling a large jade piece. The laughter ceased.
The burliest man cleared his throat. “What would you like to know?”
“I need to go into the Jungle of Myth,” Vinh said levelly, “but I’ve heard only one person has ever gone into it and lived to tell the tale. Where can I find him?”
The whole tavern quieted to listen. Mai and her husband glanced up from behind the bar.
“The Moonrise Warrior?” The thug shook his head slowly. “That mercenary is dangerous. Only the desperate dare approach him.”
“I am desperate.”
The broad villager took a swig from his cup. “I see. What have you got to pay him?”
“He got no interest in jade,” a man from another circle drawled. “‘Tis information he be wanting.”
“Information?” Vinh asked, confused.
“Magic, legends, spells, curses that were broken…” a feminine voice joined in.
Vinh turned to see Mai carrying a serving tray and a pensive expression.
“He knows the truth," the woman continued. “Our land once thronged with benevolent mythical creatures.”
Someone cackled. “But he’s into the dark ones, too. He actually goes looking for certain yêu-quái—and survives the encounter!”
Vinh shivered. Why would anyone seek out creatures like that hideous leopard?
“Say what you will, you won’t find a mercenary more competent,” put in another villager. “Once a commander locked him up with a legion of soldiers outside the door. He didn’t want the warrior to do the job someone gave him, see? But the next morning, they found the job over and done and not a trace of him in the city. The Moonrise Warrior escaped, for sure—but there were no broken locks or cell doors. The soldiers never heard a thing.”
“He’s a phantom, if you ask me!” said yet another ruffian. “Don’t anyone think it strange that no one actually sees him doing the job? But it gets done nevertheless!”
“He can’t be no phantom. He’s got a punch that hurts like a lead fist! Or so I’m told. ‘Point is, you don’t see them ninjas until it’s too late too, now can you?”
“My cousin’s friend saw him once,” Mai’s soft voice broke in. “He’s actually rather young. Poor lamb. He’s a restless soul. A family is what he needs. Hopefully he’ll meet a lovely girl one day who can help him forget his obsession, whatever it is, and settle down.”
“A lovely girl indeed!” The burly man chuckled and lifted his tankard at Vinh. “Watch your back, girly. He may have helped some villages get rid of yêu-quái, but he’s no angel. Oftentimes he turns on people he once worked for.”
“I’ve heard he wiped out a whole family in their sleep. They were found dead without so much as a dagger thrust in them.”
“Right. You can tell him a name, any name, and he’ll put it on a gravestone for ya.”
Vinh shuddered. She hoped not all these rumors were true.
“That’s enough, men,” said Mai’s husband from behind the bar. “It’s bad luck to speak of such things. What did your mothers tell you? Don’t talk about others behind their backs.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” came a wry voice.
Vinh jumped. The bartender whirled around.
A darkly clad figure leaned against the wall. “You weren’t.”
Chapter 6
Vinh staggered back as if someone had slapped her. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hide under a table. She wasn’t prepared to face him so soon!
The warrior shoved off the wall and stepped into the lamplight. It was uncanny. He had the same features. The same dark, direct eyebrows contrasted against fair skin. But the softness of boyhood had melted away, leaving the contour of his face more angular and defined.
Khanh set a glassy orb upon the bar. “One of you placed this on the roof. Clear as a beacon, I might say.” His sharp eyes traveled across the room.
Bodies shifted nervously, and even the roughest of men looked uneasy.
“I’m not the only one who knows what this is,” Khanh continued. “How did you get this?”
Vinh saw his surveying gaze flicker from one person to the next, until it finally came to her. Vinh’s breath caught in her throat.
His eyes lingered for a moment, as if trying to recall a lost memory.
There was something disturbing about that hollow stare. He was unable to grasp who she was. It was as if a black vacuum in his mind had forced everything in the past—everything that had once made him happy—to fade away to nothing but darkness.
Vinh’s fears were replaced by an ache in her heart as she stared back at his blank face.
He didn’t know her anymore.
He didn’t know his little sister.
It was funny how everything in the palace looked exactly the same as it did six years ago—the parts that weren’t burnt, that is. Jadaran saw the same vases in the exact same spots. The same porcelain animals guarded the same doorways.
He hated those vases and animals and fancy chairs that took hours to dust. He hated those smooth, pompous halls that grew longer every time you had to scrub them on your knees. He hated that Cao and the king had escaped before Tarshan could capture the city.
“Feels good to come back as a conqueror, doesn’t it, Jadaran?” A heavy hand clapped Jadaran’s back as a sonorous laugh rang in his ear.
“We didn’t conquer anything,” said Jadaran.
His brother, Tarshan, chief of the Taumon, roughly pushed him toward the window. “What are you talking about? You never told me they’ve become such cowards! Look at that, they burned their own city and ran away with their tails between their legs!”
Jadaran didn’t bother saying people didn’t have tails. Stating the obvious was Dilan’s job.
As if on cue, their little brother squeezed between them to look out the window too. “Do the Manteivese have tails, Jadaran?”
“No,” he said. “You can’t trust everything that comes out of Tarshan’s mouth.”
“Oh, come on, Jadaran. Go sit on the old king’s throne. It’ll make you feel better.” Tarshan laughed at the irony.
“That throne is just a chair,” stated Jadaran.
“It’s a power chair,” said Tarshan. “We captured the capital, didn’t we? This will be the easiest invasion ever.”
“Don’t be so sure about that. Have you thought about why they burned everything?” Jadaran pointed at the royal storehouse, now a charred heap. “It’s the scorched earth tactic. They knew we needed those provisions to push deeper into the country. We didn’t—”
“—didn’t get to destroy anything!” Tarshan yelled, suddenly quite angry.
Jadaran stepped back as Tarshan pulled out his double swords.
“Weeks on the sea dreaming about bones crunching under my horse’s hooves and men shrieking as I chopped up precious heirlooms—” Tarshan swung his sword at a painted vase. It left its ancient place and tumbled to the floor, shattering.
That had been Cao’s favorite vase. Jadaran felt the corner of his mouth lift in a half-smile.
“The king couldn’t have gone far,” grumbled Tarshan. “Tomorrow, we’ll get the yêu-quái and track them down in the jungle—”
“—with all of our horses?” interrupted Jadaran.
“Well, of course!” sputtered Tarshan. “I’m not leaving my horses behind in anyone else’s care.”
Jadaran shook his head. Tarshan and his horses. “What I’m saying is, we lose our advantage in the jungle. Our cavalry does the most damage if we fight on the plains.”
“And I’ll get to use my arrows?” Dilan held up his recurve bow.
Jadaran frowned. Dilan was a little too young to be dragged into a war.
Tarshan chuckled and plucked the bow from Dilan’s grasp. “Right you are, little man. Though you’d better work on your aim.” He tossed the bow back to the boy, who fumbled to catch it.
“You’re going to see what war is like, and I’m going to make sure it toughens you up. Even the youngest Taumon needs to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies, am I right?”
Dilan nodded enthusiastically.
“Good. Then stop looking like a cute, happy teddy bear.”
Jadaran cleared his throat. “We were deciding where to strike next?” he reminded the chief. “Let the royal guard cower in the jungle. News of our early arrival and the king’s disappearance will throw the cities’ militia into panic. We shouldn’t throw that advantage away by going on some wild goose chase. Conquer the cities now, before they can make preparations, and deal with King Quân later.”
Tarshan looked thoughtful, or at least slightly more thoughtful than usual. “I do like surprises.”
He grinned and punched Jadaran’s shoulder. “What would I do without your brainy little head? And here I thought you’d relentlessly chase down the king for your revenge.”
Jadaran stepped away as another hard clap came for his back. “Well, Tarshan, you did tell me once that revenge is a dish best served cold.”
Tarshan nodded smugly. “I did, didn’t I?”
“You did.” Jadaran looked his older brother in the eyes. “And I’ll never forget it.”
There. That was the culprit.
The woman with the serving tray faltered under Khanh’s gaze. He recognized the haunt in her eyes. They were all the same. The only people who wanted anything to do with him were either hopelessly desperate or hopelessly mad.
“I don’t have all night.” Khanh jerked his head at the fist-sized pearl. “How do you know what this is?”
The woman swallowed. “I know it came from an yêu-quái. One that plagued my cousin’s village, and that you slayed. I need you to do the same to the one that abducted my daughter.”
“She’s still alive?” the girl beside her spoke up. There was something familiar about that voice, like something from a dream. A dream that no longer mattered.
A clatter sounded, and the bartender rushed to his wife’s side. “Mai, you summoned him here?” he asked, in what was supposed to be a whisper. “This is dangerous bargaining. How do you even know Chi is still alive?”
“Yêu-quái like their meat fresh,” offered Khanh. “They trap people in their caves and eat them one by one as the others look on.”
“Thank you. That makes us feel so much better.” For some reason, the cloaked girl sounded annoyed with him.
“Can you help us?” Mai asked.
“I can,” said Khanh. “But whether I will or not depends on—”
“—if I know something that can help you undo your curse,” said Mai.
Khanh fell silent. How could she know he was cursed? He felt the eyes and ears of everyone in the tavern on him.
Mai raised an eyebrow. “Zodiac animals? Moonlight? Sound familiar? You trans—”
“Alright, woman.” Khanh tossed her the dull pearl, ignoring the subsequent clatter of the dropped tray. “I’ll bring you one to match this. If your daughter is eaten before I arrive, it’s not my fault. The deal still stands, and you tell me everything you know. Understand?”
Mai glanced at her worried husband.
“If you know what you’re doing, dear,” he said.
She looked back at Khanh and nodded grimly. “The yêu-quái is called Gấu. He comes and goes from the Jungle of Myth, often in the form of a bear.”
Khanh strode to the door and took the knob.
“Wait! Take me with you.”
He hesitated. Random Girl in a Tavern wanted to go with him. Okay. This was new.
“The Taumon attacked with the yêu-quái—I need to find the lân—it’s the only way to save our kingdom!”
“Why would I care? I’m not a chaperone, and this is not my kingdom.” Khanh pushed open the door and walked out into the night.
That familiar memory was nagging him again, teasing him from the darkness in the back of his mind.
Why would a village girl be charged with finding the lân? Was the kingdom really in trouble?
No, Khanh thought bitterly. His father always had everything under control. And he was always disappointed in his son because Khanh never did.
Behind him, the tavern door creaked open. Khanh imagined the cloaked girl staring at his receding form. He angrily quickened his pace. He didn’t like people staring at him.
“Anh.” The girl sounded hesitant, disturbed.
Khanh froze. Anh. Brother.
She was no village girl.
His eyes moved, as if he actually wanted another chance—a chance to comprehend the sister he hadn’t seen for five years.
But his stubborn head wouldn’t turn. Khanh’s fists clenched and trembled. He wouldn’t let it. He couldn’t go back. As long as he was spellbound, he had to be alone.
Khanh swallowed. He took a step and continued on his way to the jungle where the yêu-quái roamed.
