In the final decades of the Shan dynasty, the Shuli Go – magic-infused lawmen and women who had kept the peace for two thousand years – were disbanded as a caste. Forced to wander the land in search of work, they were met with hostility wherever they travelled. Yet every Shuli Go also swore an oath to uphold the law above all else, even when that law no longer had a place for them.

Aui 10, 3276 – Weiwei Kingdom

Gaunt with exhaustion, Zhao Lian entered the Three Paths inn to an assault on her weathered senses. The inn was filled with the usual combinations endemic to small town meeting places: sweat, shouting, amateur wine, and fatty meat cooked poorly. Here they were given the additional flavors of the town’s remoteness. Lian had learned these particularities over her years: a local spice in the food and air, the accents of drunken boasts, the poverty of color in clothes and furnishings. Three Paths also boasted something else, the sound of an entirely different music in the air. Wamaian instruments, imperfectly tuned and imperfectly played.

The main hall was large and half-filled, and Lian had entered quietly, so only the innkeeper noticed her entrance. He was tall and had likely been imposing twenty years earlier, but at this point he was a balding, overweight, middle aged man whose workplace had worn him down. Despite his appearance, he latched on to her with his eyes and his sneer called her to the counter.

“Ah, to what do I owe the honor Madam meddler?”

Lian approached upright, hoping the fact that she had not eaten anything but hares and berries the last week did not show in her appearance. She stood in front of him and bowed in the formal fashion.

“Good sir,” the formality drifted into her speech, “I am here to serve. I heard of discontent as I travelled nearby. Is there anything—”

“Stop that proper shit in my home. There’s nothing for you here meddler. Been a quiet week here and you’d be wise to go on.”

Lian heard the lie as clearly as his desire to be rid of her. The innkeeper’s voice was stressed, and more importantly, the source of that stress was in his very tavern. Head still bowed, she rotated her neck to cast a glance over the entirety of the long hall. She spotted the cause of his concern at a nearby table and decided on a new tactic.

“Fine, I’ll just have a room then,” she lifted her head and stared the man in the eyes, “I assume you’ve got one available?”

At the prospect of money changing hands the innkeeper’s tone changed slightly, though his agreeableness was unaltered. “Ten copper a night for your distinguished self,” he said in a very undistinguished tone.

It was twice what anyone else visiting the town would have paid, but Lian was not in a position to haggle or decline. She was also not in a position to pay.

“I’ll take it. But first I need to speak to my associate.” Without waiting for a reply or even capturing the inn-keeper’s reaction, she set off down the length of the hall trying to look as official as her weakened, tired body allowed.

Her associate was a man named Jiang whom she had spotted sitting amidst a contingent of Wamaian men. Jiang was a merchant who Lian had met several times in the past – usually under less than ideal circumstances. She could not remember if the last circumstance had been made un-ideal by her, or by Jiang himself. She suspected the fault last time was his, meaning she was due a favor this time.

Jiang and the Wamaians were speaking quietly at one of the long tables that filled the main hall of the inn. The other patrons, all locals, had left a buffer of empty tables in all directions around the Wamaians. Even the volume of the otherwise boisterous farmers, labourers, and tradespeople who made up the clientele of the inn began to fade as Lian approached, the crowd wary of the foreigners’ presence. The Wamaians and Jiang sat at the center of that quiet, their voices low and their heads close together. Lian knew they would spot her before she could truly startle them, but she nonetheless approached and announced herself loudly.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but I must speak to this traveler.”

The Wamaians all turned, as did Jiang. For a split second, his eyes fell on Lian but lacked any sort of connection. Then, through the cloud of alcohol, the trader’s eyes came alive and he stood up from his bench at the table. “Zhao!”

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The trader was tipsy, not completely drunk, which meant Lian had a decent chance of getting the favour she needed out of him. As she recalled, Jiang’s mood peaked early in the drinking and soured quickly afterwards. “Jiang, how are you?” She asked.

“Good, my friend!” Jiang stepped over the bench, threw his arms up, and gripped Lian in a friendly embrace. “What brings you to this edge of the world?” He asked as he pulled away, his face flushed and his smile easy.

“Actually I’m hoping I can call in one of those favors…” Lian let the implication hang, grinning and hoping the alcohol would help it sink into a favorable place in Jiang’s mind.

Lian didn’t have to wait to find out, Jiang’s response was immediate. “Of course! How could I forget the Shuli Go who saved my life from the avalanche at Shuddering Peaks? Anything, just ask it!”

“Well, to be honest I’m just short of cash right now,” Lian scratched behind her neck and looked down, not wanting to point out that she’d never actually been to the Shuddering Peaks. “I could use a room for a night or two.”

“Of course! Tell Zu behind the counter you’ll have the Queen-Consort room, right next to mine! All paid for.”

“Thank you. It’s been a few days on the road – a warm meal would be great too.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Anything for my friend.” He leaned towards her conspiratorially. “The pork’s the only meat I’d eat here, but the bread is delicious. And the wine,” he brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them.

“Thanks, Jiang, you’re a life safer. I’ll pay you back as soon as I have some work.”

“Bah! Don’t think of it. Money comes and goes, a merchant knows this better than anyone.”

Jiang – in fact, all merchants – did not believe that particular maxim, and Lian knew it. Even approaching the dawn of a rather lively bout of drunkenness, Jiang was not typically loose with money. The only time Jiang and money parted easily was when more of it was coming his way.

With a quick glance Lian took in the Wamaians which had remained seated and stared intently at her. They were dressed in traditional Wamaian garb – a tight fighting one piece linen, their hair cut short and clean, and their faces unreadable. Lian had only met two other Wamaians, and they had worn the same unreadable expression. As far as Lian knew all Wamaians were incapable of laughter or even a smile. But somewhere behind those implacable expressions was a sum of money substantial enough to loosen Jiang’s purse strings. Lian didn’t really care in this case though, she’d got what she needed.

“Thanks again. I won’t forget this.” Lian bowed informally and Jiang did the same before turning his attention back to the Wamaians and picking up the bowl of wine on the table.

Lian returned to the inn-keeper with all the confidence someone else’s money could buy. “Well, Zu, it looks like I’ll be having the Queen-Consort room, and a plate of pork and bread. On my friend Jiang’s tab.”

The inn-keeper was caught between wanting to hit Lian’s confidence with something hard, and wanting the extra money. As was often the case, money won out.

“Of course, madam,” he bowed in a mockery of Lian’s own formal introduction, before mumbling, “meddler.”

Lian let the remark slide, returning to an empty table and awaiting her food, her mouth already salivating at the thought of something not tiny and chewy and covered in fur striking her taste buds. Shuli Go could last longer than normal on no food, but poor food day after day hit her the same as anyone else.

Pushing away any worry about the inn-keeper, or whether Jiang may go back on his offer to house and feed her once sober, she leaned her head back and cracked the ache out of her spine. While she imagined just how soft a bed in a room as gaudily named as Queen-Consort might be, her instincts would not let her ignore the fact that one of the Wamaians had not stopped staring at her.

Let him stare, she thought, probably never seen a Shuli Go before. She cast a sideways glance in his direction and made eye contact, just to let him know she’d caught him. He didn’t look away, didn’t even blink. Lian noted it but knew she wasn’t in the best of shape to confront a stranger from another country. Then her stomach rumbled loud enough for the locals two tables over to look in her direction and laugh.

Eat first, then tell them to go fuck themselves, she reassured herself as the first plate arrived on a platter. Or maybe just eat and don’t stop eating.

Jiang was right – the pork was good, and so was the bread. If Shuli Go could drink, she would have gone into the wine too. As it was, she ate herself so full the rest of the room disappeared from view and she made her way straight into the Queen-Consort room with the bed that was almost as soft as she’d imagined, and fell asleep almost at once.

They came for her in the middle of the night. Comatose with food and exhausted by the weeks of walking to Three Paths, her body was not at its peak. She was off just enough for the six Wamaians to get all the way to the head of her bed before she so much as opened an eye.

They were quick too, quick enough that even with her enhanced reflexes she was helpless as four of them attached to her limbs and the one nearest her head brought a cloth to her mouth. A cloth reeking of the foul-smelling concoction called Sleeping Mu: an extremely potent form at that. She tried to hold her breath to keep from inhaling the poison as she fought the grips on each limb, but the Wamaians had latched on tight and she had been too surprised to plan her breathing effectively. She felt the drowsiness of the drug start in her fingers and toes before working all the way up. And then she slept.