To help with the large cast of characters,
I have put together a spoiler-free Dramatis Personae
Ŏlo Hin had parted ways with Namo Non just outside the Ŏklo estate.
“He isn’t here,” Namo Non had said, sounding foolish as usual. “We should report back to Táno Gín.”
“Do what you like,” Ŏlo Hin had replied. “I will continue to the mountain road.”
“And if you find him?”
Ŏlo Hin had offered the mercenary a thin smile. “If I find him, I will, of course, bring him to your captain.”
Namo Non had seemed displeased by this, but said nothing. He had left soon after, to Ŏlo Hin’s great relief.
Ŏlo Hin preferred solitude. He had since he was a child. Men confused him, with their lies and their hypocrisy. None more so than his own father, Sivo Hin Ŏklo, that wretch of a man. His father had made promises to Ŏlo Hin’s Houseless mother and then, after he had been been born, had refused to keep them.
“The child is wrong,” he had said. “Something about him is wrong. I will not claim him until he can prove himself.”
She had not been much better. When Ŏlo Hin was five, she had abandoned him at a temple in Ŏno Soth not far from his father’s estate. He never saw her again, not that he wished to. She had no love for him, and so he had no love for her.
Not long after, the monks had offered him to the army. In this his father had finally intervened. He had plucked Ŏlo Hin from Houseless obscurity and set about training him in his own estate. He had not been not permitted to call him “father” nor could he share in his daily life, but it had seemed like a beginning, at least.
“Once you distinguish yourself,” he had said again and again, “I will add you to the Ŏklo House register.”
It was during this time that Sivo Hin had sent his daughter to live at the eastern Ŏklo main estate in the Osa Len Mountains, Von Ol’s estate. Ŏlo Hin had overheard the maids say that Sivo Hin feared for his daughter with him there.
Ŏlo Hin had decided then to prove himself to his father. He would prove that he was not a mindless, Houseless brute. He would prove that he was superior to the rest of his father’s swords. He would make his father sorry to have doubted him.
And so he had begun to train. Within a year he could defeat any of his father’s swords in archery, despite being only sixteen. It was not long after that he could overcome any of them in single combat, though they often complained that he had cheated. This had always amused him. He had laughed at them and said, “Do you think your enemy will follow your rules? If you do not cheat, you will die.”
But no matter what he did, his father still was not pleased. It was true there were times when Ŏlo Hin’s anger would overcome him and he would take it out on one of the servants in his father’s estate. But they were only women and children. His father did not value them anymore than he did. But he only pretended to do so. And didn’t that make him much worse? What worth is a man’s protection or affection if it is all pretend?
Nine years ago Sivo Hin had summoned him. He had never before been summoned by his father and thought that perhaps he would finally receive his due.
“You will go east,” he had said. “To Nŭnoth in Hin Dan. The king has condemned the Nŭnon House and I have arranged to have you placed in command there. You will be my sword.”
He had bidden his son to kneel to receive the king’s command. Ŏlo Hin’s heart had hammered in his chest. At last! He would finally receive a command befitting his skill and his birth. After all, his father was the brother-in-law of the Ŏklo Housemaster. He was part of the Ŏklo high family.
Ŏlo Hin, nineteen years old, had ridden at the head of the king’s own swords with all possible haste to the Nŭnon estate in Hin Dan. And, according to the orders from King Mŭ So himself, he had carried out the execution of the entire Nŭnon House. And he had done so faster than anyone had believed possible. Not a single soul survived. This he reported with great pride, together with a collection of signed confessions from the prince’s officers and highest ministers.
But the king and his father had not answered his service with thanks or congratulations. He was not praised or rewarded. He was sent away. Even now, nine years later, he did not understand why.
It was after his father had been made the royal officer at Osa Gate — after he had, once again, refused to claim him — that Ŏlo Hin had met his true master.
“They do not understand you as I do,” the old man had said to him when they met in secret. “Your father is a fool and so is the king. But if you serve me, I swear to you that I will not abandon you.”
Ŏlo Hin had asked why he had chosen him.
“Because of what you did in Hin Dan. Only a great commander could have carried out such a deed without question or hesitation. You will be an invaluable part of my mission.”
“And my father?” Ŏlo Hin had asked.
The old man had studied him before answering. “Do you not hate him?” he had said at last. “How many times has he lied to you? Do you not understand? He is using you, my son. He knows your value but he wants to pretend it is his. The reason he does not claim you is so that he can claim your deeds as his own. He has done it countless times in court. But I see the truth.”
“And Hin Dan?” Ŏlo Hin had asked. “What of that?”
“Your father used it to see himself placed in Osa Gate. He thinks he has power now. But he is just my puppet. You will see.”
“You are using him?”
“And soon I will destroy him, and his entire House with him.” The old man had tilted his head to look into Ŏlo Hin’s eyes. “Does that please you?”
Ŏlo Hin had not answered.
“All these old Houses are veined through with rot. All of them. And your father’s, Ŏklo, is one of the worst. Houses like his will not survive. You will see. They will spoil and rot, and then they will turn to dust. I promise you, my boy, one day soon you will see your father and his House crushed under the weight of his own hypocrisy.”
It was true that this thought brought Ŏlo Hin happiness. But it also brought him sorrow. He still didn’t understand why. But his master cared for him and praised him. And so he trusted him.
And if he wanted Ŏlo Hin to remain among Táno Gín’s Houseless mercenaries, then that was where he would stay, no matter how much it annoyed him.
As he wove through the forest near the mountain road a night and a day after leaving the Ŏklo estate, Ŏlo Hin spotted a trio of scouts. These were not Táno Gín’s men, that was plain enough by the yellow cloaks they wore. They were not Ŏklo, either, nor did they come from Osa Gate. He wondered if they could be Koda.
Their yellow cloaks were like streaks of dull gold in the building darkness. They were unadorned, as was their armor — simple breastplates of leather and metal — but he was not able to make out anything they were saying.
On a whim, he decided to follow them. Perhaps he could ask them. And if they wouldn’t answer…
Three men wouldn’t be missed, especially if their bodies were never found. The thrumming tension of his meeting yesterday with his father still vibrated through him, like a plucked bowstring. If he spent a bit of that energy, he would certainly feel more at ease.
He kept soundlessly to the forest while they wove down an old dirt path, a narrow passage through the woods. As he followed, he tried to determine their origin. But he knew little of Koda, or any of the other small Houses in this part of Sona Gen.
As night fell, their path led them to a small village, one of those deep mountain villages of the old, small Houses that sought neither glory nor riches. Though this one seemed abandoned. Looking upon the dark shapes of its small houses, Ŏlo Hin wondered if his father had brought his borrowed swords here from Osa Gate to eliminate these villages so Ŏklo could take their land. Following Von Ol’s orders, of course. Just as Ŏlo Hin had been following the king’s orders in Hin Dan. There were times when Ŏlo Hin thought that there was no greater hypocrite in all of Láokoth than his father.
The three men had stopped. They were whispering to each other and motioning. Looking in the direction of their attention, Ŏlo Hin saw that one of the house’s windows was glowing with light. The three men seemed to be both surprised and worried by this and had put their hands on the hilts of their swords.
Curiosity overcame his desire to spill blood, and so Ŏlo Hin crouched behind the trees, watching.
The men approached the house slowly. The light in the windows went out for a moment, and then reappeared. Their approach had been noticed; Ŏlo Hin wondered if they would be attacked. But after they burst through the little house’s door, he heard nothing for several long minutes, no screams, no report of metal, just muffled footsteps. Just as he was starting to grow bored, the three men emerged from the house, bringing with them two others, both bound.
Ŏlo Hin stood with a start. The two prisoners were young men, of the same age, both with long tolibin hair, both dressed like travelers or pilgrims.
He had found them, the prince and his last bodysword. He had found them. So surprised was he by his luck that he nearly forgot to stay hidden. Crouching back down, he considered what he ought to do.
In his most recent letter, his master had told him not to touch the fleeing prince. This order confused Ŏlo Hin as it seemed to contradict the orders Táno Gín had received. But, Ŏlo Hin reminded himself, Táno Gín worked for the Orin Han Housemaster in Gŏhíth. He did not work for Ŏlo Hin’s master. Although, Ŏlo Hin’s master was supposed to be working with Orin Han.
He shook his head. Politics was the arena of his master, not him. Even if it made no sense to him, he had only to follow his master’s commands. And his master had bade him serve Táno Gín, but not to kill the prince. Perhaps he just wanted Táno Gín to be the one to kill him. That made some sense.
In any event, he wouldn’t attack. Instead he would follow the three men and their prisoners and once he knew where they were being held, he would report to Táno Gín.
Keeping at a distance, as before, Ŏlo Hin followed the group as they moved away from the village along the narrow dirt road. The scouts in yellow had lighted a lantern and were using it to illuminate the path before them.
One of the two prisoners walked with a noticeable limp; he wondered if that one was the prince or if the other was the prince and that was his last bodysword. They were otherwise identical, he decided. At least, there was no real difference between the two that Ŏlo Hin could detect. Táno Gín would have to kill both to be sure.
After an hour or more of walking they reached a small encampment in a little clearing on the bank of a creek. Ŏlo Hin had encountered this trickling creek before but here it had widened into something resembling a river. A simple narrow bridge had been built over it for carts, but in some places a man could probably cross it in a leap.
A half dozen tents had been erected on the western side of the river. Lanterns and torches illuminated the camp which was otherwise quiet save for two guards. These greeted the approaching group with surprise. The prisoners were handed over with a brief explanation, then the three went to one of the tents — their commander’s, no doubt — to deliver a report. Ŏlo Hin would have to wait till morning to determine how many swords there were here. Too many and Táno Gín might not be able to take the prisoners by force.
He settled in behind a tree. The night would be long and cold, but if they were successful, this would finally complete their mission and he would be allowed to return to the capital, and to his master’s side.
Reaching for his bag, he retrieved a piece of fried bread he had been saving. He tore off little pieces and chewed thoughtfully, watching the two guards who had deposited the prisoners in one of the tents as they returned to patrol the perimeter of the encampment.
Leaves crushed behind him and he turned, dropping the bread. A man stood there, his yellow cloak gleaming in the darkness, a look of shock on his face. Ŏlo Hin put his hand on the hilt of his sword, he pulled the blade loose a few inches just as the scout lifted his fingers to his lips to whistle.
But then the man stopped. His brow furrowed and he stared at Ŏlo Hin with a look of recognition.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” he said. “Sivo Hin’s bastard son.”
Ŏlo Hin didn’t let go of his sword.
“Relax,” the man went on, holding out his hands. “You and I are on the same side. I didn’t know you were here. Did your father send you? That old fool Von Ol has us combing these woods for Koda spies like he thinks it’s the First War with Srenléth. They just found a couple, as it happens. Would you relax.”
“You’re Ŏklo?” Ŏlo Hin asked.
The man scoffed. “Don’t insult us. No, we’re Tolo Dol. You’ve not heard of us. A few villages around here used to be ours, before…” He shrugged and looked away.
So they were one of Von Ol’s victims, a House brought low and then made into slaves. Ŏlo Hin laughed through his teeth and sheathed his sword.
The man narrowed his eyes and said, “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”
“What business is it of yours?”
“Did you father send you? I had heard he threw you away.” And he grinned, his teeth shining in the darkness.
Ŏlo Hin’s eyes flashed. The man did not know to be afraid at the sight of it. Instead he laughed.
“You stupid little man,” he said. “Do you still think that old fool will claim you? And now that he’s getting a So Hoth son-in-law, what use does he have for a bastard? Especially after what you did in Hin Dan.”
Ŏlo Hin’s sword was out of its sheath before the man had even finished speaking. With a single, deft motion, he pierced the blade through his throat. Shock contorted his face as blood poured like a waterfall down his body. Seconds passed and he crumpled in the leaves, his wide eyes bulging, blood still streaming from the wound in his throat.
As he cleaned his sword and put it away, Ŏlo Hin murmured, “I did nothing I was not ordered to do by my father and the king. Why do you all cast away the sword and not the arm that wielded it?”
Or, if you’d prefer to make a small, one-time donation, you can