To help with the large cast of characters,
I have put together a spoiler-free Dramatis Personae
When Namo Non lifted the flap of Táno Gín’s tent, the captain expected him to be bringing news of the two boys — it was two, they knew this now because of what Ŏlo Hin had seen — but instead the man fidgeted for a moment before bowing, which could only mean one thing.
“Captain,” he began, but Táno Gín quieted him with a gesture.
“Bring him in,” he said, and poured himself tea.
His tent was a simple one, and quite small. But it was enough to contain a thin mattress on a short wooden frame, as well as one table, one short stool, and a stove. It was before the stove that Táno Gín was sitting, the stool drawn close. A pot sputtered and gurgled on top and the door was partly ajar, spilling warmth into the enclosed space that cut the building, wet chill that had become increasingly bitter.
He was not wearing his cloak but had it draped across his knees. The white roots of his long hair shone orange in the firelight producing the impression that his head was crowned with embers. This was the image the visitor received when Namo Non again opened the tent and showed him in.
Táno Gín knew the man by name, but had never met him before. He was Hŏ Dan1 Orin Han and came from the south, from his master’s estate, to serve as messenger and perhaps spy. Táno Gín had wondered when Orin Han would make such a move, no doubt Housemaster Ulno Ban was growing restless in the absence of news. Or perhaps Hŏ Dan had been sent by the Housemaster’s second, Doma. In either case, he was an unwelcome burden.
He bore his high status within the Orin Han House in his fine silk golt, embroidered in gold along the collar, and in his thick wool cloak lined with white rabbit fur. Despite the cloak, he still shivered in the chilly tent reminding Táno Gín that he was from the south, and also that he was not the kind to allow himself to acclimate to discomfort. With some hesitation, the man peeled off a pair of glossy black leather gloves as he entered the tent.
Táno Gín did not stand to greet Hŏ Dan and the man did not bow. He clasped his hands behind his back and scanned the tent’s interior for a place to sit. Táno Gín motioned to Namo Non, who bowed quickly and left, returning almost immediately with another short stool. This he placed near the stove. Then he bowed and took up a position on the other side of the tent’s opening. Táno Gín gestured to the stool. Hŏ Dan offered his teeth in something like a smile and then gingerly sat upon it. The firelight made his blue-green silk shine like a pool of wet ink. Táno Gín did not offer tea.
“My lord Táno Gín,” Hŏ Dan began, but he was interrupted.
“I am Houseless. I am no one’s lord.”
“Ah, yes. Force of habit, I’m afraid. Captain Táno Gín, I have not come to scold you on behalf of our master. Indeed, I was not sent from Gŏhíth, you understand, but from Ŏno Soth.”
Táno Gín’s gaze flickered over the man. “You were in the capital?”
“Yes.” He showed his teeth again and drew forth a sealed envelope from his golt pocket, handing it casually to the captain. “I have been sent with this.”
Táno Gín glanced at it, recognizing immediately the seal of the Sonen House. Though it startled him to see a message from Sonen borne by a member of Orin Han. He had known for some time the two were aligned somehow, but had always assumed it was a carefully guarded secret.
Hŏ Dan seemed to read his surprise on his fire-lit face and offered a light laugh. “Oh it’s nothing like that,” he said. “My master has need of his man. You know the one.”
Táno Gín’s confusion deepened. “Ŏlo Hin?”
The man made a gesture with the sealed message, to suggest that he read it. And so Táno Gín finally plucked it from his hands and tore it open.
It was true, the message did nothing more than request Ŏlo Hin’s return to the capital.
“Our master,” Hŏ Dan repeated, “has need of him.”
Táno Gín considered that. “Your master? Is not your master the Housemaster of Orin Han, the prince of Gŏhíth? This letter is from Balo Sonen.”
Hŏ Dan smiled, lips covering his teeth. Then he said, “You will obey, of course?”
“Impossible. I have need of Ŏlo Hin. He has seen with his own eyes the one we hunt.”
“I have heard that he has also caused you some trouble.” And Hŏ Dan frowned, sticking out his lower lip.
So, he had heard about the dead Folo Dol sword. Of course he had. Táno Gín said nothing and sipped his tea.
“Will you not offer me some tea?” Hŏ Dan asked, smiling.
“I have only the one cup.”
“Ah.” Hŏ Dan’s smile remained unmoved. “Pity.”
“I will send Ŏlo Hin back to the capital when we have finished our task.”
“No, that will not do.” He clicked his tongue and smoothed his long golt over his legs. “He is needed immediately.”
“Perhaps you do not understand. I require Ŏlo Hin with me. He possesses knowledge I will need in order to complete my task.”
Hŏ Dan laughed lightly, muttering, “complete your task.” Then, shaking his head, he pulled another folded, sealed paper from his pocket. This one was not sealed with the mark of the Sonen House or the Orin Han House, or any House at all. The imprint in the black wax was blank.
“My master has considered that,” Hŏ Dan said, holding the paper out to Táno Gín.
He took it slowly, somewhat concerned about its contents. But inside he found only a list of herbs and—
“This is medicine.”
Hŏ Dan nodded. “Indeed. Apparently, your quarry can’t get far without the things on that list. If you check the apothecaries in the villages around here, I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for.” Then he smiled and leaned forward. “Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job.” He pointed at the message, to a section that Táno Gín had not yet unfolded. “There’s a bit more.”
The final section of the message read simply: “Do not enter Osa Gate.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Táno Gín said, rereading the message.
Hŏ Dan stood suddenly, gathering his cloak around his shoulders and putting his shining gloves back on. “It’s simple, really. Kill the little prince before he enters Osa Gate.”
“He said that? ‘Kill the prince’?”
“Does he have to? Are those not your orders?”
“Why must I not enter Osa Gate?”
“It is not my place to know the details, of course, but we do know that the fort is crucial to our master’s plans. It must remain untouched. Ko Gŏth Enlin, too. You mustn’t touch him.”
Táno Gín stared at Hŏ Dan and then looked again at the paper in his hands. There was a thread of contradiction within that he could not quite place and it worried him. He was used to his orders coming from Orin Han, not Sonen. Though he knew Sonen directed most of Orin Han’s actions. Still, his brother Sono Gín was not in the hands of Sonen, but Orin Han. If he was to obey only one—
Hŏ Dan said, “Perhaps you do not yet understand, captain. You have already failed. But if you can somehow prevent the last little prince from reaching Osa Gate, perhaps they will only take one of your brother’s legs, or one of this arms. I suppose it depends on the old man’s mood. Maybe he’ll take one of both. But at least he’ll be alive, right? However, if something happens at Osa Gate…” He let the sentence trail dramatically into silence and for a fraction of a second Táno Gín considered killing him.
But he said merely, “You’ll find Ŏlo Hin on patrol to the north. Take him and go.”
That evening, Min La sat with So Ga in their cabin eating their last dinner in the Nal Dor and in the monks’ company.
“I will miss them,” So Ga said abruptly. “Is it wrong that a part of me wishes I could stay with them, maybe even shave my head and grow old in the service of Ávoth? It seems a simpler life.”
Min La nodded. “It does.”
“Have you ever considered it? After you were—?” He stopped short, then averted his eyes.
Min La offered him a reassuring smile. “Many times. But it never seemed like the right choice.”
“What do you mean?”
He chewed a potato thoughtfully and searched for the words. “One shouldn’t become a monk in order to hide, I don’t think. It’s too important a calling to be diluted that way. I think doing a good thing for the wrong reasons will warp the goodness in the end, and make it ugly.”
So Ga watched him speak with a small smile upon his face, but he said nothing.
“What?” Min La demanded.
“Nothing.” He shook his head. Then, after a pause, he added, “You are wiser than you look.”
“Are you saying I look stupid?”
“Yes,” So Ga answered solemnly. “Very.”
Min La raised his potato as if to throw it at him, while the little prince smiled and hid behind his arms. At that moment a knock came and Ŏnin quietly entered their cabin.
Min La lowered the potato but So Ga could not conceal the mirthful smile on his face. Ŏnin looked from one to the other and gave a solemn bow.
“It is good to see your spirits restored. We will be saddened to see you go.”
“We have burdened you long enough,” Min La replied. “And the kindness you have shown us is beyond what we could ever repay.”
So Ga smiled as he watched Min La speak.
The monk took a step closer to them and said, “It is another matter that has brought me this evening. I had told you that we would give your brother a final dose of medication before you leave us, but alas, we have no more ingredients.”
Min La’s face fell. He thought for a moment. “Is there a village nearby?”
“There are several. The largest is called Osenok and we will reach by morning. They will have a well-stocked apothecary.”
Min La nodded. “I will collect what we need in the morning and then my brother and I will leave immediately after.”
Ŏnin smiled and bowed. “If that is what you wish,” he said. And his gaze lingered on Min La before he left the little cabin, a sorrowful look on his aged face.
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