Author's Note: Well! I definitely should have mentioned in the last chapter that, seeing as how I'm taking 21 hours this semester, I would not have much time to write for leisure. What little personal writing I can do is scribbled in notes between classes - so until December, updates will be few and far between. Still, I'm beyond grateful that so many of you continued to read and leave feedback for this story; rest assured it's not been forgotten!
A great deal of people were clued into the assassin's identity by their hair. I did remember a few scenes with Ishvalans having brown hair, but when I looked to confirm I saw that those scenes came from the first Fullmetal Alchemist series. Much less accurate; my mistake! Let's just pretend that some Ishvalans have brown hair, kay? ;)
Day Fifteen
Around the time Ling – suspicious of the chi-less and lovely Ishvalan woman – agreed to take some soup, Lan Fan remained in the temple, dealing with her own problems.
"If you would just follow me this way, Miss Lan Fan…" The guard, Talib, she remembered, led her through a secluded hall near the back of the temple. Despite the early hour, the place remained cast in shades of black and gray, the windowless walls lit by the occasional mounted torch. Firelight glinted off the metal fingers of her left arm as they went, swiftly, turning first one corner and then another.
Lan Fan was not happy. Talib walked quickly, smooth, and steady – but unease rolled off of him in waves. Despite his even breathing and relaxed shoulders, his hands trembled beneath his long robes. She could see beads of sweat trickle and drop, one by one, down the dark brown skin of his neck. They left black tracks which glistened in the low light, confusing Lan Fan greatly.
Talib's nerves were baffling, but also none of her business. She did remember him having spent quite a while yesterday afternoon staring at her automail arm. Perhaps he considered its artificiality an offense to his god.
Or perhaps he remembered how she had almost strangled him in her haste to receive aid for Master Ling and Mei Chang, that first morning she had arrived in Nasesh-Arem.
Either scenario justified his unease, but that did not mean Lan Fan had to like it. Such extreme distaste filled the air that it soured her already-aching stomach. Her very-tired opinion: the sooner they reached this resting area, the better.
Rounding another bend – the third right after a series of inter-changing rights and lefts, she made sure to note – Lan Fan caught sight of two doors at the end of the corridor: one large and ornate and obviously her intended quarters, the other too small to serve as anything more than a broom closet.
With her privacy in sight, Lan Fan eagerly pushed forward – but Talib only slowed his pace, anxiety clouding around him like a stale funk. Exasperated, Lan Fan shouldered her way around him. "Thank you. I have it from here," she muttered, reaching for the door handle.
Abruptly he snatched her hood and pulled back, snapping her collar up to cut into her throat. Shocked and choking, Lan Fan grabbed at the fabric, wresting her fingers between it and the soft flesh of her neck. Using it as leverage, she leaned forward almost parallel to the ground and kicked back as high as she could.
Something crunched beneath her heel, and she heard an "oomph," before a large hand clapped around her mouth. Talib's considerable size and strength effortlessly lifted Lan Fan clear off the ground.
Furious, she twisted in an attempt to angle her metal arm and expose the sharp blade of its elbow. But Talib followed the movement, catching her momentum and adding it to his throw. Lan Fan heard the creak of an opening door, and then experienced a disorienting weightlessness as Talib heaved her through the air.
Buckets and bottles broke and shattered on the ground as she crashed into the small broom closet. Dazed, she quickly sprang to her feet, kunai drawn, to face Talib as he wrenched the door shut behind them. Blood ran down his nose. Broken, she thought viciously. Good.
"That was quite a kick," he whispered and – ridiculously – grinned. Palms out, he raised his hands in supplication. "Don't worry. I won't hurt you."
Lan Fan slammed his face against the hard wood of the door before he could blink.
"No. You won't," she hissed, locking his elbows and wrists behind him. "I will make sure of it. What you will do, however, is tell me who you are, and what exactly you think that you are doing."
"Y-you," he grunted. "You really are strong. A great bodyguard."
Her stomach turned to ice. "What?" He knew of her oath to Master Ling? Flipping a knife in her left hand, she brought up a knee to hold him still and pressed the blade just below his arm pit. One easy slide and she could pierce his heart.
"I know you're a bodyguard, but – don't! – I'm trying to help you!"
"Explain."
"I cannot breathe!"
Lan Fan increased the pressure of her hold. "Explain quickly then," she suggested venomously.
He complied. "Yesterday, after you left, I went to take some fresh food to your traveling companion. Outside the hospital I noticed one of the newer guards talking to his sisters. He'd been asking about you a lot, and so, I was curious why – but then I overheard him mentioning taking out the heir of Xing – ow!"
Fisting her fingers into the hairs of his nape, Lan Fan pulled. "Talk faster," she ordered coldly. Inwardly, she reeled. Somebody knew Master Ling's identity? But their clan had been so careful about keeping his departure from Xing a secret! She had to get to him –
"The guard's name is Uzon. He and his sisters Sera and Relena arrived here about a year ago with another man named Li. Ever since you arrived, they started asking questions about you, strange questions. Then I heard Uzon telling his sisters 'yes, she's the Chang heiress, I'm sure of it. Those other two must be guards hired by the family.'"
Simultaneous relief – Master Ling was not the target! – and dread – Mei Chang was sick and unguarded! – loosened her grip on Talib's hair. Pushing away, she forced him to face her. "Mei Chang?"
Talib nodded, rubbing at his nape and wincing. "I heard…they're assassins, I think. I heard Uzon talk about helping Li capture the princess, and then getting you out of the way once you'd returned."
"And what of Master Ling?" she demanded. His eyes widened.
"Master…?"
"My other companion!" Lan Fan barked. Talib cupped a hand around his nose to stop the trickle of blood, and met her eyes.
"The sisters were to dispatch of him. Uzon would kill you." Ridiculously, his cheeks grew red. "When I heard, I knew I had to do something. I couldn't just let – not when you're so – "
"Tell me where the sisters live," Lan Fan growled, pulling her mask and hood into place. Talib appeared alarmed.
"But Uzon is looking to kill you somewhere! You can't just -" Impatient, Lan Fan held her sword to his throat. "Second street to the right of the temple. The white house. But you can't – "
She was out the door and down the hall before he could finish.
"Wow," he breathed. For a moment he stood, head throbbing, side slightly punctured, and joints aching. But he was a guard too, of sorts, and he wasted no more time before bolting out to find Master Hamou.
With most of the village gathered for morning prayers in the temple, Lan Fan easily picked up on the nearest auras in the street. Years of familiarity and affection recognized its signature; she tore in Ling's direction faster than a bat out of hell, bombs in hand as she leapt from rooftop to rooftop.
"You failed the Young Master again, Lan Fan?" a voice, heart-achingly similar to her grandfather's, whispered through her mind. A shingle broke beneath her foot, and she stumbled. Her muscles ached from a night spent hunting in the desert without rest, but she willed them to push her even faster. "How could you have failed, again?" Her lungs screamed. Was she not breathing? "Why did you let him leave your sight?" He had been fine at the temple – how long could he have been in danger since then? "You must always place the Young Lord's needs above your own."
Heart so full she thought it might burst, Lan Fan clattered to a halt before she could bound to the next roof. Master Ling's aura was the strongest here.
And there, exactly down and across the street from the shambled roof upon which she crouched, was a white house. Traditionally Ishvalan in style, the door opened widely, giving her a perfect view of the goings-on inside. She registered the situation in one glance.
Disarray: broken dishes and spilled food scattering the ground, Master Ling sprawled atop a pile of cracked and splintered wood. Two women: one crouched low, pinning him down, and the other knelt over his head. That one had a knife in her hand, and its blade rested against the hollow of Master Ling's collarbone.
If Lan Fan made any sudden movements, did anything at all to alarm these women, that blade could slide effortlessly through the delicate skin covering Ling's jugular. Quickly, she smothered her chi; if the assassins were of Xing, then it was highly likely they had trained in the Dragon's Pulse.
But then how could she alert Master Ling to her presence? If Lan Fan acted, the woman would slit his throat. If Lan Fan hesitated, the woman would probably just slit his throat anyway.
She forced herself to relax, remembering their training. Grandfather had drilled them countless times in their youths – even in hostage situations.
"If acting endangers the Master, Lan Fan, then you must not act," Fu held a short sword against a nine year-old Ling's throat, another blade pointing across the room at Lan Fan. "Trust the Young Lord's training and wait for the opportunity to strike when the enemy is distracted."
Ling sighed exasperatedly. "Well then what am I supposed to do Fu? Why can't I trust Lan Fan's training to get me out of it?"
"You have hands," Fu scolded, pressing the blade closer to the small boy's throat. "And a brain. Use them to distract your enemy."
It had taken fifteen minutes, but Ling had eventually drawn Fu's attention away from Lan Fan long enough for her to dispatch a blade of her own. Hopefully Master Ling did not resort to the same methods now as he had done then. She doubted the sisters would respond well to tickling.
Resigned, the muscles in her legs itching to move and protect her liege, Lan Fan withdrew several more weapons from her arsenal. Wires from her sleeves, needles in her hair, flash bombs ready in her hands – she would wait.
A sudden swell of Master Ling's chi: a signal to grab her attention! Ignoring the brief warmth in her cheeks – so he trusted that she was there, even without knowing for sure, even against the odds – Lan Fan crept closer to the edge. He was going to act. She must be ready to intervene quickly.
She looked down to see what weapon her Young Lord had found, and saw him holding a small, depressingly-unthreatening, spoon.
Lan Fan repressed a sigh. Better than nothing, she supposed. He released his chi in another sharp burst, his hand so tight around the handle his fingers showed white. Any moment now… Her keen ears picked up the knife-wielding woman's hissed words: "Long live the Shitong!"
And Master Ling rammed the end of the spoon into the soft flesh between the woman's ribs. She spasmed, coughed blood. The blade slipped on his neck.
Lan Fan flew down to the street, clenched her eyes shut, and flung her flash grenade into the house. It exploded a split-second before Lan-Fan herself erupted through the door, heat buffeting her face, the air filling with light and sulfur. She opened her eyes to see knife-woman reeling in surprise. The motion jolted the blade on Master Ling's neck. It broke skin; Lan Fan's mind turned to stone.
Thud. Thud thud. Her first kunai buried itself in knife-woman's shoulder, the second ripping a gash through her side. Reacting instinctively, knife-woman raised her arm just in time to shield her face – the kunai sunk hilt-deep into her forearm instead. Stunned and blind, she stumbled backwards. "Sera!" she called out for help.
Even though he had anticipated it, the hot rush of whiteness had completely bleached the room and burned Ling's eyes. In its wake, darkness had filled his vision. Immediately his other senses had compensated for the loss of sight; he tasted iron from where Sera had coughed blood onto his chest, mingling with the smells of smoke, oil, and spark powder.
Relena and Sera cursed. Movement rippled the air as they leapt backwards blindly, followed by a clanking of metal, delicate as wind chimes: Lan Fan's kunai.
"Sera!' he heard Relena shout behind him. Lan Fan's flash bomb would only stun the two assassins, and they were of Xing. They did not need to see Ling, to know his location. He wasted no time, rolling off the heap of broken wood to his feet.
"Lan Fan!" he called, flinging his hand out to the side. The blade of a short sword cut through the air. Whirwhirwhirthunk! Ling caught it by the hilt and grinned. "Thanks. This'll work much better than a soup spoon, don't you think?"
She did not respond, but Ling heard the snap of bones and Relena swearing. Focusing, he followed the faint smell of blood to his left. His vision had started to return, showing a blurred form crouching by the wall. Ling swiped, missed, and kicked out, feeling his foot connect with a cheekbone.
"Ass!" Sera swore, spitting the curse and a volley of needles towards his face. He dropped to a crouch, put his weight back on his hands – his wrist twinged, sprained, yet easily ignored – and kicked out to lock his feet around her knees. Sera fell, reaching into her sleeves. Ling caught sight of a small, round, and dark egg in her hands and promptly turned; the happou-egg shattered at the base of his skull, releasing a cloud of ground glass that, had he been a second slower, would have torn into his eyes.
They were good. He and Lan Fan were better. A loud boom rattled dust and debris from the rafters were Relena fought to keep Lan Fan at bay. "Leave something of her left, Lan Fan!" he called out, turning. His vision had grown much clearer, but still he did not see Sera's fist until it had slammed hard into his gut. He grunted, feeling sharp pricks of pain where the spikes of a nekote protruded from her knuckles.
She grinned victoriously, and Ling scoffed; he had felt worse. He grabbed her fist and yanked it up and to the right, locking the joint, and Sera's smile turned to a grimace. She leaned back to put distance between them, her eyes red-rimmed, watery, and absolutely furious. Blood oozed sluggishly from the puncture in her side.
"Relena?" she asked desperately, swinging her knee up towards Ling's neck. He caught it and twisted. It snapped, and she fell to the ground with a pained snarl.
"Normally I'd have a good friend of mine transmute a very strong cable," he informed her casually, leaning into the hold. "But you aren't nearly as strong as the homunculus, so this will do. You aren't going anywhere."
A cry, and Ling looked up just in time to see Lan Fan slide her elbow-blade out from between Relena's ribs. The assassin slumped down, and Ling felt a twinge that was less like pity and more like sympathy. Knife wounds littered Relena's torso, the right side burned red, and her left arm hung at an unnatural angle – she had never stood a chance against Lan Fan. Ling watched his bodyguard catch the body as it fell, lowering it to the ground respectfully. She turned to face him, blood dripping from her automail, expressionless mask smeared black and red.
"Well done, Lan Fan," he said solemnly. She covered the distance between them, kneeling down by his side. Sera looked up, saw the blank Yang mask, and turned white with rage.
"We underestimated your skill. You've killed Uzon. You've killed Relena. And now you will kill me."
"I did not kill a man today," Lan Fan responded flatly. "Nor will you die – yet. Talk."
The assassin turned her head to the side, and said nothing.
Ling tightened his hold, feeling the bones of her wrist bend under the pressure. "That's okay," he said. "Why don't we trade – we'll tell you what we know, and you'll tell us what you know. I'll start:
"The Xing Empire is pretty vast; there are all sorts of different levels of wealth. Your companion happened to mention that you are from the Shitong clan. Not a very well-off family. In fact, I'd be hard-pressed to find a worse. Now, Lan Fan and I, we're pretty lucky. The Yao family happens to be one of the richer clans."
Sera's head snapped up. "The Yao - ?"
Ling held up a finger. "Now now, I'm not finished," he smiled. "Where was I?" he asked Lan Fan.
"Demoralizing, sire," she replied.
"Ah yes. The Shitong – it's taken quite a while for the Shitong wife to have a daughter, hasn't it? Little Sister Peizhi Shitong, as I recall, is only three months old. Add that to your destitution, and it makes sense that the family is a bit desperate to take out the rest of the competition. But then, so are most of us, so I won't begrudge you that.
"Now here's where I start guessing. The Chang family is only a few rungs higher than the Shitong. Better class, I have to say, and better warriors – not so good at keeping secrets. I'm thinking that your clan got wind of Mei Chang's plan to journey to Amestris. But why follow her all the way there? Better to wait, just along the borders of the desert, to ambush her once she returned.
"You must have felt lucky, that when she did cross your path, she was bed-ridden and weak." His eyes hardened. "How many of your men did you send after a sick twelve-year old girl?"
"Two, my lord," Lan Fan answered in Sera's stead. "Two men named Uzon and Li were to dispatch Mei Chang, before going on to deal with me."
Sera looked first to Lan Fan, and then back up at Ling. "You are Ling Yao," she breathed. "The Twelfth son."
"I'd like to say it's a pleasure to meet you…but you did just try to kill me."
"Our sources told us that the Yao heir was studying in the palace!"
Ling nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right." He looked over his shoulder. "How long ago did we start that rumor, Lan Fan?"
"Over three years, sir. You will have gained quite the scholastic reputation by now."
Mouth gaping, Sera shook her head. "Ling Yao is only sixteen years old! He is anemic and weak! You are a full-grown man!"
Sighing, he looked up at the ceiling. "Oh come on, I know I'm not the only tall person in Xing! And I got over that weakness years ago. I'm not interested in the lies spread by my family – what I want is you to tell me where your clansmen are taking my little sister."
"Why would you be traveling with – protecting! – the Chang heiress if you are not her guards?"
"Sire," Lan Fan interrupted. "She is stalling. We must see to Mei Chang's situation."
"You won't have much luck," Sera said, smirking. A trickle of blood escaped from the corner of her mouth. "Uzon and Li will have taken her by now. She won't have been much of a challenge, especially against two members of the Shitong. She will –"
Ling struck her neck with the flat of his hand. "Oh I don't know. We beat two of you easily enough," he commented airily as she slumped down, unconscious. "Lan Fan, bring the geng."
"Sire?"
"It's a sedative. Just bring whatever's left in the pot – she won't stay out for very long." He stood, slinging Sera over his shoulder with a grunt. "Now let's go."
"She will not thank you for having spared her life," Lan Fan noted as the two of them took to the rooftops. The morning sun had heated the tiles considerably; Ling could feel their heat seeping through his thin shoes. "You could have just as easily ordered her killed."
Ling heard the detachment in her voice, and rolled his eyes. "Yes well," he said lightly. "I've just about had it with servants thinking that they're useless after one tiny defeat. It's just ridiculous."
"…oh."
Together they shot towards the medical center. Morning worship had evidently concluded, releasing a gradual trickling of Ishvalans throughout the streets. Ling increased their altitude, and motioned Lan Fan to do the same. Grateful to Lan Fan the Ishvalans may be, Ling still did not think they would appreciate the sight of Sera, slumped and beaten over his shoulder. They stayed out of sight on the higher levels, quickly coming upon the clinic.
His heart jumped; a small crowd had gathered about the small entrance, curiosity and fear stagnant in the air around them. He and Lan Fan had no time for reassurances. Speedily, and without preamble, they darted around the many bodies and through the entrance before any Ishvalan could notice.
In the short distance between the entrance and Mei's quarters, Ling had imagined the worst. Still he stumbled with shock at the doorway of his and Mei's room. The previously immaculate and comfortable space lay in a chaotic mess – linens and throwing needles littered the floor, the walls spattered with browns and reds. In one corner, Doctor Pirro lay slumped against the cabinets; in the other, a trembling Ishavalan boy was covering a body with a sheet.
Doctor Pirro snorted. "They didn't manage to kill you, then. How unfortunate; you were annoying." His head lolled awkwardly, and he spoke with a heavy lisp. To Lan Fan, he said, "I am glad you are unharmed, miss."
"Mei?" Ling demanded, crossing the room quickly to where the young boy knelt. He dumped Sera unceremoniously on the palate next to him, and Lan Fan quickly set to securing down the assassin.
"No," Pirro said as Ling rolled back the sheet. Scattered black braids were thankfully absent, and Ling looked at the severely bruised face of a strong old man. "That's Uzon – he's been a volunteer medic for the past year."
Ling exhaled heavily, rocking back on his heels. It wasn't Mei…
Lan Fan did not hesitate. She strode over to where Pirro lay, and knelt by his side. "What happened here? Please be quick." But before he could say anything, the door creaked, and the young boy let out an astonished cry.
"High Priest Hamou!" He exclaimed, bowing deeply. "Please, this place is not fit to receive you."
"Ishvala sends his servant where He wills, Navem." Hamou waved a hand, panting. The old man leaned lightly on an accompanying guard, who looked around the room before gasping. Immediately, he abandoned Hamou's arm and crossed the room to where Lan Fan sat. To Ling's surprise, the man promptly knelt and placed a hand on Lan Fan's shoulder.
"You're alive!" Talib breathed.
Lan Fan nodded. "Yes."
"I worried my soul to threads over your safety, all for nothing it seems." Ling did not think much of how the young man's eyes shone. It looked vapid, he thought, especially through the heavy bruising purpling the man's nose. "I brought Master Hamou as quickly as I could."
"And without much explanation, I might add," Hamou interjected, taking in the state of the room with shock. "Is this what you meant by an emergency, Talib? Pirro, what has happened here? You are not moving – are you injured?"
The doctor attempted to sit, but only slid further down the cabinets. He scowled. "I am well, your Grace. I believe Uzon simply drugged my tea."
Ling looked down and saw the spilt liquid, green and foaming, at Pirro's feet. "Yep, that sounds about right," Ling nodded. "They tried to pull that on me, too. Can't believe you fell for it."
Lan Fan repressed a sigh, and Pirro glared before snipping: "Uzon has been a member of our community for over a year now. I do not usually anticipate my Brothers in Ishvala to paralyze me."
Talib tore his eyes from Lan Fan's profile, looking back towards Hamou. "As I reported, your Grace. Uzon is not truly a devout Ishvalan, nor is Li. I discovered it just this morning."
"As did I," Pirro slurred dryly. "Upon taking my tea, I discovered that I could no longer move. I could do nothing, only watch, as first Li and then Uzon entered the room and attacked the young Xing girl."
"What happened?" Lan Fan demanded. Ling saw her hands twitch towards her knives.
Pirro's head lolled to stare at the tattered remains of Mei's futon. "They shouted many things – some in your language, and some in the Merchant's Tongue. I could not understand it all. It was more than clear, however, that they meant to capture your friend.
"I believe they anticipated an easier time with it, however. That young girl is quite a fighter, and the panda as well." Pirro sounded mystified. "They managed to severely injure Li before he took off with her. Uzon did not survive the encounter."
Hamou knelt to pray over Uzon's body and caught sight of Sera. Dismayed, he cried, "Is this Sera, as well? What has happened?"
"She and her sister attacked Lord Ling," Lan Fan replied tersely. "We responded in kind."
"And Relena too…" Hamou shook his head, looking truly mournful. "Miss Lan Fan, you have been so kind to our village, only to be treated to the worst kind of treachery. Believe me when I say that the true followers of Ishvala in this village knew no part in this."
"You are too hard on yourself, High Priest." Pirro insisted, his speech improving as the sedative wore off. "I do not believe our guests have been completely honest with us, either. Miss Mei Chang is apparently heiress to the Xing Empire."
"Heiress!"
"And we are her guards," Lan Fan insisted, looking sternly at Talib. "We must leave immediately to find her. Every moment wasted is one where this Li could take her life."
"No," Pirro shook his head, raising one hand experimentally. It wavered before dropping back down to his lap. "Uzon and Li mentioned something about immortality – and keeping her until they found the secret." His voice hardened. "I don't know what kind of heathen magic your heiress has practiced, to gain such a thing, but I do know that those assassins meant to take her back to the Shitong lands. Alive."
"Immortality!" Hamou looked overwhelmed, and Ling shrugged.
"I understand that this is a lot of information to take in at once, but it's a very long story, and we really don't have the time. Mei's in trouble, and this Li has a head start on us."
Talib rose from where he knelt by Lan Fan and turned, looking imploringly at Hamou. "Perhaps," the guard said, his hand still resting on Lan Fan's shoulder. "We can make amends on that front."
Half an hour later, Ling stood with Lan Fan and Talib in the back of the temple, trying very hard not to glare. Hamou was busy shifting through stacks of old documents, and Talib spoke to Lan Fan in a low - and irritating - voice.
Ling knew he should feel grateful. By all accounts, he owed Talib his life; not only had he looked out for Lan Fan and attempted to hide her from Uzon, but he had warned her of Ling's attackers as well. Not to mention he had gone directly to Hamou, interrupting a worship ceremony to try and help Mei. Then, on top of everything else, the young guard had suggested that they, two foreign Xingians, be allowed access to sacred information regarding the surrounding area. Still, when Hamou returned with a tattered old piece of parchment, Ling made certain to stand between the young guard and Lan Fan.
The brittle page cracked lightly as Talib unrolled it. "Here is Nasesh-Arem," his finger left a print in the dust on the map. "And here is Xing. Your assassin would have taken the most direct route to Xing from here, which is this pass."
Hamou interrupted: "what Li will not have known, something which is known only to those who guard our valley, is that there is another route. Because you have served our village, and because you have come to such danger while under our roofs, we will share this knowledge with you." Hamou grabbed Ling's forearm. "You must keep it a secret – for the path leads through a sacred holy site of our people."
"Its name is Malecktrot – or Angel's Pass," Talib said, looking up and smiling at Lan Fan. Ling's eyebrow twitched. "It is fitting, then, that you should learn of it."
"What way do we take?" Lan Fan asked, and Talib traced a path in the dust, curving up and around the valley.
"If you cut through the mountains here," he said, cutting a finger across a jagged rock formation. "You will intersect the path of the assassin before he reaches the end of the desert. Malecktrot is not an easy way, but this map will show you how to get through."
Lan Fan nodded, straightening up and carefully rolling the dry parchment. "We will guard this secret with our lives, and return it back to you safely."
Straightening as well, Hamou reached for her hand. "If you protect this map half as passionately as you do your heiress, then I am confident in your word. Talib," he said, still smiling at Lan Fan. "Escort Miss Lan Fan and her companion to Malecktrot's head." Hamou squeezed her hand earnestly. "You are truly a gift from Ishvala, Miss Lan Fan. Our village will forever be open to you. I wish you luck."
Lan Fan blushed, almost smiling, and covered Hamou's hand with her own. "Thank you," she said seriously. "Now, we must go."
"Yes," Talib said, gesturing both Ling and Lan Fan out the door. "Li will be laden with your companion, but he still has a considerable start on you. Follow me." The three of them climbed, a steep trail winding around the face of Arem, and as they went Talib warned them. "You will need to be wary, for there are many wild beasts in those mountains. There is a place for water six hours into the trail. You must not drink from the first pool, for it is toxic. The second is clean."
Ling nodded. "Sure," he said flatly. He did not know why, but something about Talib truly bothered him; the man was just too…earnest. Still, Ling did owe him his life. "Thanks."
"You are welcome," Talib replied as they reached the end of the path. It veered sharply to the west. "That is the way Li would have taken." He pointed to their right, directly at a jagged rock face. "That is the beginning of Malecktrot. I trust the two of you are nimble, for it is a difficult climb."
"We'll manage."
"I…" Talib stuttered, and a deep blush showed through his bruising. Stepping forward, he took hold Lan Fan's automail hand. "I would go with you," he confessed, "to see you safe, but you have already proven yourself a brilliant warrior. I will aspire to your level, then, in my own training."
Lan Fan looked shocked, staring down at their intertwined hands with awe. "You are very strong already," she said. "But that is wise."
"Will you promise me that you will return?"
And to Ling's complete surprise, Lan Fan smiled joyfully. He felt his stomach turn to lead as she looked up, still smiling, and nodded. "Yes, of course."
"Yeah, sure," Ling said loudly. "You got it – we'll come back. You guys take care of our camels while we're gone, and keep that Sera girl under control. Alright? Good. Lan Fan, let's go."
"Yes my lord."
Talib's shouts of blessings echoed with them for some time, as they scaled the face of the mountain. "He's a nice guy," Ling grunted, hauling himself up a particularly steep boulder.
"Yes sire," Lan Fan replied.
The sun had reached a low point, sending beams of red light across the rocks as they climbed. Lan Fan offered a hand down to Ling, and the color glinted off her fingers. "Still," Ling said casually, watching her face. "I'm surprised you promised to go back."
"Are you?" She balanced carefully on a thin outcrop, looking for the next handhold. "We are honor-bound to do so. We did promise to return their map."
She did not blush, and Ling felt his shoulders relax. "So we did!" He grinned, and swung up another level. There he stopped, for just before him a trail stretched out, far and winding. "But first, we must get to Xing, and Mei." Ling looked over his shoulder, just as Lan Fan pulled herself over the ledge. Flexing the fingers of her automail, she came to stand by his side. Ling smiled. "That assassin doesn't stand a chance."
And Lan Fan nodded: "yes my lord."