“Next time, you fool,” Min La muttered to himself. “Walk away from the fighting, not towards it.”
He had slipped through the east gate of Rensoth easily enough thanks to the new golt he had used to replace the one that had been stained with the mercenaries’ blood. He had left the old one buried in a patch of cold earth behind the house from which he had stolen the long brown golt he wore now. It did not fit him as well, but with the buttons cinching it at his waist, it was good enough.
The bag he wore across his chest bore now also the small parcel that had been given to him by Sen Rin Hŏnol, a royal bodysword who had hidden his noble charge in an abandoned farmhouse just outside the city walls.
“Take this,” Sen Rin had said, pressing the parcel into Min La’s hands with bloody fingers. “There is a boy. The son of a powerful Housemaster.”
“I do not want anything to do with this,” Min La had argued, trying to push the parcel away.
“He is sick,” Sen Rin had argued. Then, desperately, “You will be paid.”
“Your charge is not mine.”
“He cannot go much longer without this medicine.”
“That is not my concern.”
“He is just a boy. The same as you.”
Min La had known, even before he had taken the parcel from the dying bodysword, that he would agree. He had already killed the mercenaries. For that matter, he had already given away all the silver he had. Enough had changed already that he knew that refusing Sen Rin’s request would have been impossible.
He held the sack tightly across his chest as he ducked off the main road, eyes darting all around in search of more mercenaries.
“There are many of them,” Sen Rin had said. “We are being hunted by an army.”
“We?”
“Two more of my fellow guards survive. Our charge is the only child of a powerful Housemaster,” he repeated.
“Not your House, of course.”
Sen Rin Hŏnol had smiled wryly. His Housemaster, the Housemaster of the palace House, was the Grand Attendant, the head of the king’s household. The Grand Attendant, Min La knew — anyone knew — was an eighty year-old man with no wife or children.
Though Sen Rin kept up the pretense, they both knew that he was not being entirely honest about the boy he had hidden outside Rensoth. According to Sen Rin, they had been hunted for days after being attacked on the road by mercenaries who had wanted to kidnap his young charge for ransom.
Min La had heard of this scheme in the mountain towns and in the great stretches of forest roads between cities. Mercenaries would kidnap the children or wives of wealthy Housemasters in order to demand ransom. But he had never heard of any mercenary pack bold enough to kidnap a Housemaster’s son in Sona Gen. As much as they were willing to defy the law, Sona Gen was the Royal Princedom of Láokoth. Mercenaries who dared to draw innocent blood in Sona Gen risked bringing down the fury of the king’s army who were barracked just over the mountains at Osa Gate. This was no simple matter of kidnap and ransom. Min La knew that, yet still he could not bring himself to refuse.
According to Sen Rin they had been hunted for three days. According to Sen Rin, they had had to flee the capital for reasons that he seemed unwilling to share. Min La felt himself reticent to step into the mire of whatever power struggle Sen Rin and his charge had brought to Rensoth. As that was all this could be, a power struggle, probably between Houses. Though what House would hire Houseless mercenaries to do its dirty work, Min La could not begin to guess. Especially in Sona Gen. It was this, the boldness of Sen Rin Hŏnol’s enemy, that worried Min La the most.
He had stayed with the bodysword until he died, which had not taken much longer. His colorless face had been pained when he had finally closed his eyes, a furrow knitted permanently into his brow. Min La felt pity for him. A bodysword dying to protect his charge was one thing, but this bodysword had died before his charge was certain to be safe. He would be restless when he went to the banks of Ávoth’s river. He would hesitate there, looking back. Ávoth might even let him linger for a day or two. The thought of Sen Rin watching him fulfill the task he had given him made Min La strangely confident of success.
He found the little farmhouse exactly where Sen Rin had told him he would. Its short stone walls still stood even though half the straw roof had collapsed. What farm there had been had long since been reclaimed by the forest, which had risen up around it like the fingers of a hand closing over its palm. Min La saw a faint glow in one of the windows. Just as he did, an arrow flew from the shaded doorway and embedded itself in the tree next to Min La’s ear. With a hissing breath, he dropped low, behind a knotted bunch of bushes.
“I have been sent here by Sen Rin Hŏnol,” he called out. “I mean you no harm.”
“Where is Sen Rin?” called the response.
Min La dug through his cloth bag until he found the martial seal — Sen Rin’s own martial seal — that the dying man had pressed into his hands with a simple, “they will kill you without this.”
They may still kill me with it, Min La thought.
He knew that telling the other bodyswords, who were exhausted, paranoid, and on edge, that their leader had just been slain was a sure way to get himself killed as well. He would need to be careful if he wanted to walk away from this farmhouse alive.
He tossed the martial seal over the bushes and heard it clang against the stone wall of the house. “He sent me with the medicine you need.”
He heard a shuffling, the creak of the old house’s metal door hinge, boots on damp earth.
“Where is he?” the voice asked. “How did you find this place?”
Min La took the chance to stand then, slowly, with his arms up. “He gave me the medicine that you need and asked me to bring it here. He told me how to find you.”
He took the bag off his shoulder and held it out. The man stepped out of the shadows, bow drawn. He wore the same black and green as Sen Rin, though the color was almost completely obscured by dried mud. A bloodied bandage bound his left thigh and he had blood dried in his hair and across his forehead.
Min La stepped cautiously around the bush and toward the house.
“That’s far enough.”
He stopped, and held out the bag. “He told me to bring this here. He said it was a matter of the utmost urgency.”
“Sen Rin told you how to find us?”
Min La nodded. “Yes.”
The bow lowered a little. “Where is he?”
He took a breath. “He is dead.”
As expected, the bow went up again. Min La could hear the string tighten, he could see the exhausted guard’s arm shaking.
Min La pointed to the martial seal that was looped around the guard’s wrist. “He gave me that as proof that what I say is true. He told me that your names are On Lŏn1 and Hílo Hon2 and that you have been fleeing from Houseless mercenaries who want to kidnap your charge, the son of a wealthy Housemaster.” He held out the bag again. “And that he needs this medicine.”
The bow did not move. “How did he die?”
“He was killed in an alley in the city by two Houseless mercenaries.”
“How do you know they were Houseless mercenaries?”
“He told me.”
“How do you know all this? Were you there?”
“I happened to witness the fight. By that time, your friend was already mortally wounded.”
“What of the mercenaries?”
“I killed them.”
At that the bow slipped a little. The man blinked several times, thinking. Then: “And who are you?”
“My name is Min La.”
“Your Housename?”
“I am a Houseless beggar.”
“A Houseless beggar killed two mercenaries by himself?”
Min La shook his head. “I was lucky, is all. I surprised them.”
The man did not entirely believe that. Min La could feel him assessing him, measuring his build, his stance, his demeanor. Min La was confident that he looked like exactly what he said he was. Thin, pale, with rough skin and poor, ill-fitting cloth. He did not look like a soldier or a mercenary. Though, in that moment, he wished he had not combed his hair this morning.
To finish the picture forming in the guard’s mind, Min La added, “He told me that if I brought you this medicine, I would be paid.”
At that the bow came down. The guard snorted as he put the arrow back in the quiver. Then he held out a hand for the bag.
Min La remembered enough from his old life to know that houseswords and bodyswords defined themselves by their loyalty to their Houses. There were few in Láokoth who had any love for the Houseless, and no one despised the Houseless mercenaries more than an honorable House’s swords. For them, raising steel for nothing but money was the most dishonorable act a man could commit. Min La’s brother had had this opinion, as did all the swords he had ever known.
In much the same way, a Houseless beggar who did a good deed only for payment was also despised. If these bodyswords looked down on him, they would no longer fear him. And that was good enough.
Min La brought the bag to him. Up close, the guard looked even worse than he had from behind the bushes. A tall man no older than thirty-five, he was muscular but his arms shook subtly with the weight of the bow. He leaned against the door frame to support his wounded leg. The weighted strain of days without sleep had darkened his worn face.
Min La could see that this man was affected by the news that his comrade had died. It was such a distant idea that had been lost to him for almost a decade: grief. The sight of it on this man’s face almost surprised him.
He took the bag from Min La and looked through its contents, one eye always on the Houseless beggar before him.
Min La stood just outside the door until the guard motioned him inside. He hesitated before he complied, but he didn’t see himself getting paid if he didn’t go inside. And if he didn’t get paid then this entire day would have been a wasted risk.
“Should’ve stayed at the temple,” he muttered to himself as he edged past the wounded guard and into the dimly-lit farmhouse.
Inside the afternoon light was concentrated only in the distant corner where the roof was half collapsed. By contrast the rest of the space was almost in darkness save for a small wax candle that flickered on a rickety wooden table. A cold porcelain stove hunched against the opposite wall. Leaves and dirt were mounded high in the corners.
As Min La’s eyes adjusted to the darkness he realized that a mound in one of the corners was not dirt and leaves but was a shape wrapped in a blanket or a cloak. A face appeared from under the blanket as Min La walked into the house. A pale face, thin and tired.
Their charge was indeed a young man, barely more than a boy. Almost the same age as Min La, by the looks of it, certainly no older. He was sitting on the floor in the darkest corner of the house, his knees against his chest, a blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders. As Min La walked in, he looked up. The motion seemed difficult for him, as he held his chest and breathed in heavy, ragged inhales and exhales. His thin face was whiter than the stone wall behind him and his lips were almost blue.
The other guard was standing in the corner between Min La and his young charge, his sword out, his eyes flashing. He was not in much better shape than his comrade, with a bloody bandage on his shoulder and another wrapped around his left knee. Min La took a step back to allow him the opportunity to relax. But the guard answered by stepping closer, sword still out. He used it to motion at Min La’s golt.
He sighed. He hadn’t carried a weapon since he had lost that battered old dagger last spring when he’d had to swim across Nol Nan3 River. But this wasn’t entirely unexpected. Or unreasonable. So he unfastened the buttons on the belt and held his golt open. Under it he still wore the thin, worn linen tunic tucked into patched gray pants which he had drawn tighter around his skinny waist with a length of twine. There was blood on the front of the tunic where it had soaked through the thin red fabric of his old golt. The guard was still not satisfied, so he took the golt off entirely and turned around slowly to show him that he was hiding no weapons on his person. Finally, the sword was lowered, though it was not sheathed.
“You killed two mercenaries?” he asked, a note of disgust in his ragged voice.
“I surprised them. I could barely lift your friend’s sword.”
He regarded him for a moment, as if judging whether of not that was believable.
Min La put his golt back on and fastened the buttons on the belt, colder now and more annoyed than he was nervous. Although the apprehension remained. There was the sense that he was trapped in this little house with these two well-armed, well-trained guards. Swords who had been running for days without rest, who were injured, exhausted, nervous, and now robbed of their captain. They were, he realized, much more nervous even than he was.
The room was damply cold and drafty. With a brightening flicker, the candle on the table guttered violently and nearly went out as the guard from outside came in and handed Min La’s bag to the other. He still carried Sen Rin’s martial seal. They looked at it and then each other, exchanging, Min La realized, hurried expressions of grief.
While he waited, they took the bag to the table and emptied its contents. He waited while they pushed aside his own belongings and then sorted through the wax paper envelopes and the glass vials. He waited while they whispered to each other in a kind of panic. They seemed to have forgotten about him. He didn’t move and didn’t speak, certain that he would not be allowed to merely go without their leave. And he certainly wasn’t going to leave without his bag.
Truth be told, he also did not want to leave without being paid. If he wasn’t paid, this would all have been for nothing. Glancing over at the young man huddled in the corner breathing hoarsely, he reminded himself that that was why he was here, to get paid. But still the guards ignored him as they worked to determine what needed to be done with the medicine.
Min La knew a little about medicine from years ago when he had spent most of his time caring for his ailing mother. He recognized a few of the ingredients on the table and understood what they were for. As the minutes passed and the apprehension in Min La’s chest began to build, he said, in an effort to remind them of his presence at least, “You have to boil those.” And he pointed to the envelopes.
They looked at him. “What?”
“Those ones there, you boil them in water and let him breathe the steam.”
One of the guards held up the glass vials. “And these?”
“I’m not sure.” He took a small step closer so he could see the papers that hung from the necks of the bottles. “That one looks like loka root and that’s probably gindun, you’re supposed to drink them diluted in water.” He paused. “They are for pain.”
The guard put his bow on the table and motioned to their charge in the corner. “Prepare the medicine.”
Min La shook his head. “He told me—”
“I know what Sen Rin told you. Now I am telling you, prepare the medicine and then we will pay you.”
He sighed again and glanced over at the young man in the corner. “Do you have water?”
Both guards took the water skins from their belts and set them on the table with a synchronized thud. They sounded full.
“Find a pot, then. Boil it.”
With the efficiency of veteran bodyswords, the two guards set to work, though one remained always within reach of Min La and the boy. That one found a pot near the stove and gave it to the other who filled it with water from one of the skins and disappeared outside with the envelopes of herbs.
Min La used his foot to sort through the broken stoneware around the stove until he found a bowl that was intact. While the guard watched, he poured a little water into it. Then he uncorked the vials and smelled them. He was right about their contents and so he started to add a few drops into the water. The young man huddled in the corner was frail and seemed weak and sickly, so he used a much smaller dose than his mother had needed. The guard stepped forward suddenly, his dagger out but not raised.
“If you are wrong—”
Min La nodded and smiled coldly. “If I am wrong, you will not pay me.”
The guard was more disgusted than he was nervous. He motioned to the bowl and then to Min La. This habit of his to speak with his steel was getting very annoying. Grudgingly, Min La sipped from the bowl and then raised his eyebrows at the guard. He watched him for a moment, then the dagger was put away.
He hadn’t drunk enough to feel the full effects of this particular concoction. A few mouthfuls, he knew, would fill the mind with fog. A few more would bring a deep, restful sleep. Something their young charge probably needed but could certainly not afford. The full contents of the vials, of course, would bring a quiet, painless death. Gindun, Min La knew, was very hard to buy because of that. He expected that Sen Rin had had to use either his identity or a tremendous amount of silver to obtain that tiny vial.
Min La took the bowl to the corner where the young man sat gripping his knees, struggling to breathe. He crouched before him and held it out. The young man looked at the guard, who nodded once. But when he tried to reach for the bowl, his arms shook and his fingers seemed to have no strength. So Min La held it for him.
Face to face with him Min La could see the way his eyes brightened with pain at every breath as if fire ran through him. His long, limp hair was dirty and his neck and wrists were covered in small scratches and smears of mud and what looked like soot. He smelled like he hadn’t bathed in some time. Fear darkened his fine brow. A wide-eyed hollowing fear that always followed hard upon near-death. Min La knew it well.
Despite this young man’s fine golt, Min La could not help but be reminded of the orphan beggars. They could not have been more different, yet both seemed terribly pitiful. Still, the orphans had had a certain strength to them — borrowed perhaps from their sister — that this young man did not. He had been worn down to nothing by ceaseless fear. He wondered when he had last slept. Or eaten. In his condition, if he continued on like this he would not last another week.
Despite his guard’s approval, he seemed uncertain about the contents of the bowl, so Min La tried to reassure him. “It will help with the pain,” he said quietly. Maybe it would be enough to carry him through a few more days.
After he sipped, he coughed a horrible dry retching cough that shook his whole body. Min La caught him by the shoulder to keep him from collapsing. The motion made the guard flinch. But then he relaxed again.
Presently, the other guard returned gripping the pot by the stubby handles wrapped in the corners of his golt. Steam rose from it in great clouds. The fragrant aroma of the herbs filled the small space quickly. Min La motioned for him to bring the pot closer and set it between the young man’s feet.
When Min La reached for the blanket around his shoulders, he flinched so hard he almost kicked the pot. But Min La nodded at him reassuringly and gently draped the blanket over his head and the steaming pot.
“Try to take deep breaths,” he said and patted his blanket-shrouded shoulder. Even through the blanket, Min La could hear the rasping strain of each painful breath.
The guards, meanwhile, had begun to argue. Min La couldn’t help but overhear. That was what he told himself, that he just happened to be able to overhear. He had no reason to care about the fate of this nameless young man. He did not care about the plans his bodyswords were making. None of that mattered to him. He would leave as soon as they paid him.
“Every time we try to go back, they cut us off. There are enough of them to encircle the entire capital.”
“We cannot stay out here forever. We must return him to the palace. He has already been absent too long. The king will—”
When Min La glanced at them, they stopped talking as if they had only then remembered he was there. Min La looked back at the shape breathing hoarsely under the blanket.
“The king must know he lives,” one guard whispered. “The other three— the king must know he lives. And without the capital patrol there is no one left in Sona Gen we can trust. And the two of us are not enough to fight through an entire army of Houseless mercenaries.”
“An army is exactly what we need.”
“You’re not suggesting—”
“I don’t know that we have a choice.”
“But Osa Gate is a hundred miles away. Farther. That will take weeks.”
“They are the only ones we can trust. They are—” he glanced over at Min La and then continued as if convinced Min La was no real threat, or, more accurately, as if he was no one at all, “They are his father’s men.”
Min La looked at the shape of the young man’s head under the blanket. The pieces were falling into place to create an image that made a great deal more sense than three royal bodyswords protecting the only child of some nameless wealthy Housemaster. A chill ran through him at the realization. This boy was, indeed, the only child of a Housemaster. The Royal House. If Min La’s guess was right, the young man hiding under this dirty blanket in a corner of this abandoned farmhouse was the crown prince of Láokoth.
The guard shook his head. “We do not have the right to take him that far away from the palace. It is already unforgivable that we left the capital.”
“We had no choice. Sen Rin made that decision and he was right. He would agree if he was here. This is the only safe option. And his safety is the only thing that matters.” He gestured vaguely at the corner where the young man continued to take shaking, heaving breaths under the blanket.
“If we want to keep him safe, we need to take him back to the Palace as quickly as possible. He will only be safe in the Palace.”
“You can still say that? After what happened?”
The argument continued while the guards’ young charge breathed his medicinal steam. Min La noticed that his shoulders seemed to be less tense, his breaths more even and smooth. He could no longer hear the terrible wheezing that had scraped through his chest with each inhale. The medicine was working, and he found himself feeling relieved.
It had been many years since he had been in the same room as a prince. Such a strange thought, from a strange, distant, past life that he was unhappy to recall.
But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that this young man before him was royalty. Nothing had changed. All this meant was that his bodyswords would be able to pay well. He had to focus on that. Once they paid him, he would leave.
And they would leave, too. And take this sick young man to either the capital or Osa Gate, by the sounds of it. The latter journey would take them weeks with their charge in this condition. And if he really was the crown prince, the Houseless mercenaries would already know that if he wasn’t going back to the capital, he would go to his father’s army at Osa Gate. They would, he expected, be waiting on the roads.
Standing, Min La said, “You should avoid the roads.” Though what compelled him to speak, he could not say. And try as he might, he could not seem to make himself stop. “They will probably be watching the roads closely.”
One of the guards answered, “He is too weak to trudge through the woods. He will not last an hour.”
The other put his hand on his comrade’s arm. “This does not concern you, beggar.” Then he took a small purse from the inner pocket of his golt and let it drop with a heavy clink onto the table. “Take your payment and go.”
Min La watched the purse land on the table. He felt his heart race when he saw the way the rickety table shifted under the weight of it. The ties were loose and the candlelight glinted off the shining yellow metal within. There was gold in that purse, not silver. It was more than he had dared to hope for. That gold would take him all the way south through Bá Hoth to the coast at Lun Bay, and then across the bay to Srenléth. His mind raced. He would probably have enough left to buy a farm, a large farm. An estate, perhaps. The old monk had been right, Héothenin had showed him the right path after all.
When he turned back to the corner where the young man had pulled the blanket off his head, he saw that he was watching him with calm eyes. He was studying him, Min La realized, watching his reaction to the bag of gold. He had a strangely unreadable face; Min La sensed that he was assessing him and he felt himself smaller, perhaps even wanting in his eyes. The helpless, weak child seemed suddenly neither weak nor a child.
“Beggar,” the guard said and rapped his knuckles on the table next to the purse.
He went to the table and picked up the purse gingerly, half afraid they would snatch it away as soon as it was in his hands. It was even heavier than he had expected and he needed both hands to hold it. They watched him put it into his bag with the rest of his belongings and then loop the bag over his shoulders, tight against his chest.
“Min La,” he said. To their confused expressions, he added, “My name is not ‘Beggar.’” As he moved to the door, he stole another glance at the boy in the corner. He was still watching Min La closely, unblinking. Then he looked at his bodyswords, then back at Min La.
As he put his hand on the worn iron handle, behind him he heard the shuffle of boots across dirt-covered wood. He heard the near-soundless singing of metal being unsheathed. It was in that moment that Min La realized that he had been incredibly stupid. He would never be permitted to leave this farmhouse. These two tired bodyswords guarded the heir to the throne of Láokoth. Protecting him was their sworn obligation, and letting a Houseless beggar go free who could lead the mercenaries directly to them would be foolish. Min La closed his eyes and considered his options. His best chance was bolting from the house as fast as he could, and then hiding in the woods. With their injuries he could probably outrun them, and they wouldn’t leave the prince alone long enough to hunt him. Though he’d have to watch for their arrows.
Just as he was about to rip the door open and make a break for the trees, a voice behind him spoke quietly, stronger than Min La expected, though worn down on the edges by fatigue and the day’s ravages of his illness.
The prince said, “Let him go.”
And Min La opened the door and left.
Ohn-LIE-ohn
Hy-loh-HOHN
Nole-NAHN
I might say one of my favourite chapters. Though I can't say why