I have put together a spoiler-free Dramatis Personae to help with the large cast of characters
The low hood of Táno Gín’s heavy wool cloak protected him from the rain. But the cold had begun to creep past his cloak and his layers of clothes and past his skin, taking hold of his bones. Clenching his fists, he felt his knuckles stiffening, and a tremor was settling in his muscles that was making it difficult to think.
In the distance, thunder hummed melancholy against the ashen blanket of clouds. The sky and the daylight were obscured by storms.
They had come upon the burned remains of the carriage a little after sunrise, black as a shard of night sky left behind by the dawn. Táno Gín had already been distracted and ill at ease. And now this presented yet another complication in their search.
It was clear enough that the carriage was part of the merchant caravan that had left Rensoth just two days ago bound for Gimnak Bay. And according to information his men had gathered at the White Inn some miles back, two young men of the correct age had been among the caravan’s paid passengers.
Táno Gín did not like coincidences. No one else in all of Láokoth knew of their mission — none save those who had hired them — and so whatever had befallen this carriage did not, he knew, have anything to do with the prince he was hunting. And though he knew that was true, looking at the black shape of the burned carriage — a hulking, dead beast on the road — he felt keenly the inescapable pull of fate.
Whatever had happened on this road had been charted on the walls of Héothenin: the ugly, mysterious workings of chance. And when the twisting paths of Héothenin caused the tiles of chance to overlap with his own, it made him nervous. If the last young prince and the path of fate were moving in the same direction it was likely his efforts would either come to naught, or they would end in disaster. More and more it seemed to him that the Ădol had set a path for the fourth prince and Táno Gín was fated to flounder always two steps behind.
He found himself giving the boy some credit, however. It was clever to hide himself within a caravan of merchants from On Dŭn. Perhaps the last guard he had with him was smarter than his other swords had been. If Táno Gín was lucky, the prince would have been burned with the carriage. But there were no dead in the fire. And Táno Gín had never been lucky. The tiles of fate, after all, had never seemed to move in his direction.
He sent the bulk of his men into the forest to search for tracks, or any clue as to what had happened. While he waited, he leaned against a tree for shelter and pulled out the letter he had received last night, delivered by Hŏ So, his fastest messenger. The letter had been carried from the capital, but it had been sent from Gŏhíth. He had dreaded its arrival.
It had been written by Doma Orin Han1, the Orin Han Housemaster’s second. As his House was the princely House of Gŏhíth, the Orin Han Housemaster, Ulno Ban2, was a ruler of some power in the south. And as he was childless, the loyal but untested Doma Orin Han was his appointed heir. Táno Gín knew that Doma had a habit of doing nothing that he had not not been expressly commanded to do. And so this letter contained merely the words of his prince and Housemaster, delivered indirectly so that the Ulno Ban Orin Han could pretend that he had no direct involvement with the ignobility of mercenaries.
A pretension, to be sure. The Orin Han Housemaster was not a complicated man and had achieved most of the success he now enjoyed by cruelty and brute force. As a rule, Táno Gín had always refused his commissions. He knew that the Ulno Ban Orin Han saw this as an insult. And so every day since Táno Gín had been forced into his employment, he had made sure to find ways to make him suffer. Whether it was the placement of Ŏlo Hin among his ranks, or…
The letter was composed of four simple sentences:
“We have heard of your failure in the capital.
Your brother has also been made aware.
Finish the job before winter begins.
Or wait for spring to retrieve your brother’s corpse.”
Presently, Namo Non appeared, adjusting his hood and wiping rain from his face.
“Captain,” he said, “We’ve found something.”
He led Táno Gín to a small clearing where a mounding of rocks had been used to bury the body of a man of about fifty. A merchant, Táno Gín assumed, run through in three places. The killing blow was the one near his heart. With a gesture, he ordered his men to recover the body and they set about obeying.
In time they found the other bodies. A group of three buried with greater care and with scraps of blue covering their faces.
“A woman, a man, and a child,” Namo Non reported. “All robbed and slain.”
“A man?”
“Older, probably the woman’s husband.”
“The killing and burning was certainly the work of bandits,” Táno Gín observed. “But then who buried the bodies?”
Namo Non shook his head. “We’ve found a number of tracks around the grave and deeper in the forest, but most of it is obscured now by the rain.”
“What of the road?”
“Ŏlo Hin went to look.”
Táno Gín glanced back through the trees to the dark smear of gray where the Prince Road wove through the forest.
“Are these not Ŏklo lands?” he asked, thoughtfully.
Namo Non glanced around the trees to get his bearings and then pointed northeast. “Yes, captain. A little ways into the mountains is the main eastern Ŏklo estate.”
Táno Gín nodded, but said nothing more on the matter. The Ŏklo House was one of the Fourteen Ancient Houses. For all that he needed to move through these lands in order to find the fourth prince, he also had no desire to come face to face with Ŏklo swords. In the west, the Ŏklo Houseswords had a fierce reputation; he was certain his own men, as skilled as they were, could not stand against them. They would need to take greater care here.
He wadded the letter into a ball and shoved it back inside the pocket of his golt. Namo Non watched, his brow dark.
He asked carefully, “He is displeased?”
“Of course he is. We were hired to finish the job in one night.”
“At least he has been patient. And what of—”
“There is a limit to his patience.”
Namo Non dropped his eyes. The rain had paled his face and soaked his thin beard. Tiny ice crystals had formed around his lips. He said. “I don’t understand what Orin Han hopes to gain from all this.”
“None of this was Orin Han’s plan. The prince of Gŏhíth serves the same master we do. The same master Ŏlo Hin serves. Like us, he is just doing as he’s told.”
“But I don’t under—”
“And you never will. The likes of us are not meant to understand. The schemes and machinations of the Houses amount to little more than a reshuffling of power. None of it means anything to anyone but the men in power. Whoever commands the Orin Han Housemaster has this alone as his goal. Power. Nothing more.”
“All this for power?”
“I have seen men do far worse for far less.”
He directed Namo Non to recover the bodies of the slain, reminding him to do so with the same care with which they had originally been buried.
He bowed. “Of course, captain.” And together with several others, they carefully rearranged the blue linen and replaced the earth they had removed, taking care not to harm the dead.
Ŏlo Hin returned some minutes later. He dismounted his horse and tossed the reins to Ado Tín who stood nearby and caught them with a look of open revulsion. Wiping the rain off his face with the back of his hand, he approached the captain, the hem of his blue cloak snapping in the biting wind. Before he spoke, he pushed back his hood. His pale face was almost gray in the low, white daylight.
“There is little to see on the Prince Road,” he reported. “But there are signs of a carriage turning off the road some ways ahead.”
Táno Gín regarded him from beneath his hood. “Is it the path taken by the caravan?”
“It seemed to be only one carriage.”
“Is there something of interest down that road?”
Ŏlo Hin’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I am asking you if there is some reason a carriage would turn off the Prince Road.”
“Why are you asking me?”
“You needn’t be so disturbed by the question, Ŏlo Hin. But as a member of the Ŏklo House I would assume you’d—”
“I am not a member of the Ŏklo House,” the pale man replied with flashing eyes.
“Is not your father Ŏklo?”
“Who my father is makes no difference. I know nothing of Ŏklo. I know nothing of their lands. I am not a member of the Ŏklo House.”
Táno Gín took a steadying breath. “Very well.”
Before he could dismiss him, Ŏlo Hin had already drawn his hood low over his shining eyes. Turning, he stormed into the forest. The others in Táno Gín’s company watched him go with thinly veiled looks of disgust or contempt. Few among them could tolerate the haughty, short-tempered stranger in their midst. But their derision grew when they saw him treat their captain with such disrespect.
Ado Tín bowed to Táno Gín and then said, as if to apologize on Ŏlo Hin’s behalf, “He is anxious, I think because the Ŏklo estate is nearby.”
“How far to the next inn on the Prince Road?”
“At least three hours by carriage. Longer in this weather.”
Táno Gín nodded and then motioned to the half-filled grave. “When we are finished with this, we will set out.”
Namo Non asked, “Which road should we take, captain? Do we follow the single carriage off the Prince Road? Or do we follow the rest of the caravan?”
“Does the road taken by the single carriage lead to Osa Gate?”
Namo Non shook his head. “I’m sorry, I do not know. The only map we have of Sona Gen is old and incomplete. It does indicate, however, that it leads to the Ŏklo estate.”
“Very well. I will take the rest of the company down the Prince Road. You and Ŏlo Hin will take the other road to the Ŏklo estate.”
Namo Non took a step closer and whispered, “Captain, is it wise to take Ŏlo Hin that close to the Ŏklo House? If he is seen and recognized—”
“If he is recognized, he will be nothing more than an Ŏklo calling on his House’s estate to pay the appropriate respects.”
Namo Non gave a small smile and nodded. “This carriage I am following, do you think it is the prince, or is it these bandits?”
“You will find that out yourself.”
“And if they are bandits?”
Táno Gín looked at him darkly. “You know what to do.”
“Even on Ŏklo land?”
“Even if we were inside the walls of the king’s Palace, our purpose would remain unchanged.”
Namo Non bowed his head. “And if it is the prince?”
“Kill him and bring his body back to me.”
He bowed again and turned to go.
“And Namo Non,” Táno Gín added.
The man turned back around. “Yes, captain?”
“Watch Ŏlo Hin closely. His mood has been foul of late and we cannot afford one of his outbursts. Especially not on Ŏklo land.”
Namo Non pulled his hood low to block the driving rain, which was increasing in intensity, as he trudged through the thin underbrush in search of Ŏlo Hin.
They had been burdened with this outsider for almost three months now, ever since they had set out from Gŏhíth with their orders. In all the years he had known him, Namo Non had never seen Táno Gín take a commission he did not want to take. But he had had no choice this time. The prince of Gŏhíth — the Housemaster of Orin Han — had found the only weakness Táno Gín possessed. Namo Non still wasn’t sure how the Orin Han swords had captured Sono Gín, but he had been there when Táno Gín had learned of it. It was the same day they had been given Ŏlo Hin. Though Ŏlo Hin was not Orin Han — and only obeyed the Orin Han Housemaster because his true master had ordered it — Namo Non still considered him a part of what had happened to Sono Gín. He hated Ŏlo Hin, as did most of the company.
Some ways into the forest Namo Non spotted a few of their number, scouts Táno Gín had sent to search the area for more dead. Within a nearby flurry of movement, he also, at last, found Ŏlo Hin pushing past the scouts as he stormed deeper into the forest.
“There, now,” one of them called after him. “You shouldn’t go too deep into these woods. There’s a fair chance wolves are about.”
“Do not lecture me, you Houseless swine,” Ŏlo Hin snapped, without breaking stride.
Namo Non caught up with the scouts just as one of them, angered and on edge, seemed ready to run after Ŏlo Hin and force him to fight for his words. He patted the man’s shoulder and reminded him of their captain’s orders — and of the reason Ŏlo Hin was among them.
The angry scout calmed himself and said, “I do not know why he is always so eager to mock us when he is himself less than a bastard. His own father won’t claim him.”
Namo Non answered, “If you were his father, would you claim him?”
“I have heard that after what he did nine years ago, his father threw him out of the Ŏklo House. He is less than Houseless. He is like an animal.”
Namo Non patted his arm again and said, “You will set off soon. You should start back now.”
As the scouts began to make their way back to the road, Namo Non turned and continue to follow Ŏlo Hin.
When he found him — deep in the forest, in a small space between several leaning maples, one of which looked like it had been felled by lightning some years ago — he was standing very still.
Namo Non paused, hidden behind a tree, and tried to find the reason Ŏlo Hin had stopped. In that moment he had the strange instinct that approaching the man would be dangerous.
It was then that he heard the low growling. On the other side of the clearing a large gray wolf stood poised and alert, his head down, teeth bared. The animal’s gray coat had been matted by the rain, but his large yellow eyes were bright as lanterns.
Their small patch of forest was, in that moment, utterly still. The rain had ceased its musical percussion against the low-hanging maple leaves, crimson red and casting the dim space in a reddish hue. The wolf’s building growls vibrated against the uneven forest floor; Namo Non could feel it in the soles of his tired feet. He could feel the way the air had thickened and turned sour.
Ŏlo Hin pushed his cloak aside and retrieved his bow and a single arrow. This he held, bow drawn, arm trembling from the strain, for so long Namo Non began to think he had not the nerve, or the stomach. Then he loosed the string and the arrow sailed through the rain, landing hard in the wolf’s hind leg.
“He is a poor shot,” Namo Non murmured to himself, shaking his head. It was, after all, a surprise given all the rumors they had heard about him.
But then Ŏlo Hin put the bow aside and took out a short dagger. The wolf could no longer run and could barely stand. He hunched to one side and snarled fiercely at the approaching man. Namo Non was surprised at Ŏlo Hin’s speed. He caught the wolf’s snapping muzzle and held it tight, while he thrust the blade into its exposed belly. Another strike at the throat and the wolf was dead.
But Ŏlo Hin did not stop. With a cold emptiness upon his pale face, he thrust the knife again and again into the wolf’s still carcass, his gaze fixed not on the animal’s bleeding flesh, but on some spot deep in the woods. As if the knife, Namo Non observed, was digging into Ŏlo Hin himself, excavating some hated quality that he could remove from himself and leave with the dead animal in the frozen earth.
After the fourth blow, Namo Non could no longer watch. He slipped farther behind the tree to wait for the procedure to be completed. As he did so he was overcome with the sense that there was something missing in the mind of Ŏlo Hin, some thread of humanity that was common to all men and which he lacked. And because of this, for the first time, Namo Non was afraid of him.
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DOH-mah OH-rin-hahn
UL-noh-bahn
Strong. Direct. Introducing new interesting characters... and another story layer that will undoubtedly fuel the next Chapters. Good work.