The world of the wealthy was entirely different from the world everyone else lived in.
This didn’t come as a surprise, because on a basic level, Jorani had always known this was the way things were, but having never been a wealthy man, this was his first experience with just how different their lives really were. Like this carriage for example, a beautiful, gilded piece of art on the outside and a sturdy, spacious, luxurious affair on the inside, bedecked in so much silk, leather, and cotton he worried he’d foul the whole thing just by sweating. The interior was so big, all four passengers could lay down and sleep comfortably, or rather as comfortable as Jorani could be considering present company. Then there was the table he was using, a polished, hardwood piece which probably cost more than ten of his watches. When not in use, the table came apart in the middle and folded into the sides of the carriage through a bit of clever carpentry and, for all he knew, impossible magic.
Despite all the bells and whistles, the carriage wasn’t even unique. Another just like this one was following behind and Mother knew how many more in the Legate’s convoy. Each one was pulled by a team of six creatures which were probably horses, but looked so arrogant and condescending they’d probably be offended if ever called one. Prancing, long-maned, white-coated buggers, they set a speedy pace, pulling the carriage over grass and stone so smoothly his inkwell barely trembled. Hell, if it weren’t for the sound of synchronized hoof beats and the parted curtains revealing grasslands passing by at breakneck speeds, Jorani would have thought their carriage had yet to set out, still sitting in the courtyard he’d been ordered to report to early this morning.
Reminded of said orders, he went back to mapping the Canston Winery and noted down everything he remembered, from guard positions and patrol timings to obvious and possibly hidden defences. Sitting beside him, Siyar did the same, expertly waving his brush to create a shockingly detailed rendition of the outpost, so neat and orderly, Jorani suspected this wasn’t Siyar’s first time doing something like this, not too far a stretch considering his former profession. Memorizing layouts to draw them out later seemed like a useful skill for a smuggler and sneak thief, but seemed just as useful to a military scout.
Seeing his ugly scrawls laid out next to Siyar’s masterly strokes had Jorani burning with shame, and he wasn’t the only one who noticed. Sitting across from him, the nameless old man peered at Jorani’s work with both disgust and interest, like he’d been presented with one of them lewd drawings the bossman seemed so fond of collecting. “What are those?” he asked, pointing at Jorani’s markings.
“Err, thems represent the guards, Ser. Eight swords, eight guards, out on patrol.”
“Mhmm... And this line is their route?”
“Yes ser.”
“This... this is a clock? Indicating they complete the patrol in a half hour?”
“Yes ser.”
Proud someone could parse through his scribbles, Jorani’s ego deflated as the old man asked, “And you’re the superior officer? A commander of a hundred men?” Gesturing at Siyar’s work which included what Jorani assumed were detailed written instructions at the side, he added, “More specifically, his superior?”
“...yes ser.” This old wet-nurse... Don’t show the anger Jor. Smile and nod.
Shaking his old, wrinkled head, the Legate’s Seneschal fell back into his cushions with a sigh. “The Bekhai are truly an unorthodox bunch. Strength is important, this I do not dispute, but to have an illiterate warrior in command of a hundred soldiers? How is he supposed to write an after-action report or read sealed orders?”
“He’s no Bekhai.” The fourth occupant of their carriage was another old man, one whose name Jorani knew well. With a look of disdain, Old Du sneered and said, “You can see it in how respectful he is, like a proper subordinate in the presence of his superiors. Were he a true Bekhai warrior, he’d outright ignore your questions or answer them in obvious irritation, as if you were a simpleton wondering why the sky was blue or water is wet. A cold and arrogant bunch, with little respect for status and no love of courtesy. Besides,” Old Du added, showing signs of a smile before catching himself, “The Bekhai teach their children how to read and write, even their orphans. Least there’s one thing they do right.”
The old Seneschal fixed Jorani with a stare and raised his eyebrow in question. “Is he right, soldier?”
“Lieutenant General Du is correct, this one be Sanshu born and raised.”
Jorani could almost see the old Seneschal put the pieces together, his eyes widening as he said, “Ah, I thought the name sounded familiar.” Glancing at the Spiritual Weapon looped over Jorani’s shoulder, he added, “Should have noticed it sooner, but you weren’t carrying the weapon first time we met. A smart move, it’s not exactly subtle, now is it? Put the brush down, you’ve wasted enough ink and parchment. Instead, tell me how a ‘righteous’ bandit like yourself ended up in Falling Rain’s retinue?”
“Er... Well, I suppose I’ll start from the beginning. See, I used to be a Freebooter...” Cursing his stupidity for forgetting the bossman’s orders to keep his weapon hidden, Jorani launched into the prearranged version of their tale, how he evaded capture from Falling Rain’s forces by sheer luck and returned home to find honest work. Disgusted by the blatant exploitation and abuse of his fellow commoners, he gathered his like-minded cronies and formed the Mother’s Militia to strike back against the greed and tyranny of the Merchant Council of Sanshu. Privy to their back room dealings with bandits, he developed informants amongst their paid thugs and thus knew exactly when, where, and how to strike at the Council’s shipments. The rest of his mythos he attributed to rumour and hearsay, the idle talk of drunkards and housewives, while barely touching on his part in the defence of Sanshu.
Listening intently, Old Du waited until Jorani finished his tale before speaking up, opening with a contemptuous snort. “A fine tale indeed, for that’s what it is. Pure fiction and make-believe. According to the reports, you stole every shipment the Council dispatched, yet the Northern Wall reported no late or missed deliveries. Are we to believe you robbed the Council and shipped their goods the Wall out of patriotic duty?”
Wilting beneath the living legend’s glare, Jorani had no answer to give, but the Seneschal spoke in his defence. “Old Du, your eyes must be failing. Look closely and you’ll see the strings attached to our virtuous bandit. Who benefited the most from the entire debacle? Why, the talented Marshal Yuzhen, of course. While penalties for late shipments are standard procedure, her idea to charge compound interest was inspired work. She knew the Council would believe it more important to send out another shipment before paying the ‘paltry’ penalty, and by the time they realized what a costly a mistake they’d made, they owed more than what the contract was worth. A brilliant woman, far better than those fools in the Society who believed themselves the reigning kings of the North.”
Stifling his grin, Jorani imagined how they’d react if he told them the identity of the true puppet master. Everything, from robbing the Council to charging them compound interest had come from the bossman’s beautiful mind.
“Hmph. Petty merchant trickery and deceit,” Old Du retorted. “What use are they in the face of absolute strength?”
“Ha, that’s rich coming from you. Had you learned a trick or two, you might’ve kept your relatives from robbing you blind.” Appalled by the lack of respect, Jorani made himself as small as possible while the Seneschal lambasted the Hero of the Hoplesh Rebellion. “I don’t know what you were thinking. You want to adopt a foreign grand-daughter, fine, but why did you make no effort to secure your holdings before announcing it? What did you think would happen? The girl has talent, far more than you or I at her age, but is it really worth it? How many years do you have left? A decade, at most? Do you really want to spend your twilight years in a drafty hovel with no one to care for you?”
“Shows what you know.” Unconcerned by the lack of respect from someone who was essentially a glorified servant, Old Du retorted, “What else can I do? You think I should order the deaths of my flesh and blood? I held each one of those children in my arms and swore to keep them safe, named three of them myself. When they came of age, I gauged each one’s potential, and after finding them lacking, I did everything I could to ensure they’d succeed in life.” Sighing, Old Du deflated in his seat, appearing to age twenty years in the blink of an eye. “I had hoped they would understand that it wasn’t about my fortune, but alas, they don’t understand a warrior’s mindset. This is about my legacy. The Great Teacher Du who lacks even a single outstanding disciple, what face would I be left with?” After a brief pause, Old Du added, “Besides, you might have grown old and feeble, but I’ve never been stronger. I still have a hundred years of life left in me, so my ungrateful nieces and nephews can have my wealth. It’s a small price to pay to cut ties and I can always earn more money. Even if I can’t, I won’t die in poverty. My granddaughter will care for me, for in ten years, she’ll be a force unto herself, far above the likes of Wu Gam and Falling Rain.”
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Rolling his eyes, the Seneschal said, “Fine, fine, as you say, you’re in peak physical condition and the girl the greatest warrior the Empire will ever know.” Snickering, he continued, “I must confess, for a time, I was worried you’d truly fallen from grace, but I should have known better than to believe the rumours. The people do so love to exaggerate, I heard you were shambling around with a limp and addicted to Dream Smoke.”
“Both true.” The Seneschal’s smile died mid-laugh at Old Du’s admission. “In part, I owe my recovery to my grand-daughter, so even if it costs me a thousand times more than what I’ve already lost, I would still believe it well worth the price.”
“Well... I wish I’d known that before convincing the young master to trust you...” The Seneschal fell into silent contemplation, only for his eyes to light up a second later. “The Bekhai’s Medical Saint?” At Old Du’s confirmation, the Seneschal whistled in admiration. “My young master hoped to meet him, but he’s a strange one. I couldn’t even make it in to see him, stopped by his guards at every turn.”
Strange didn’t even begin to cover it. Lately, the hare-eared Healer had taken to teaching the bossman’s retinue while wearing a bowl on his head, but none of the soldiers batted an eye, well-used to his bizarre and unusual behaviour. What guards though? As far as Jorani knew, the Healer kept to himself, and the Seneschal was a damn sneaky bastard who made Siyar look clumsy in comparison. When he woke to find the old bastard looming over him with Imperial Edict in hand, Jorani’s shrieking would have woken the entire city if not for the Seneschal’s Chi shenanigans keeping things quiet.
Sucking his teeth like a disapproving house wife, Old Du wrinkled his nose at the Seneschal. “When you first left for the Eastern Province, I believed you were bound for glory and greatness. You can imagine my disappointment upon learning my old rival has been playing nursemaid to an Imperial Scion. Deliver his messages, launder his clothes, prepare his meals, what a glorious life. You wipe his ass too or would that be reaching beyond your station?”
Old rival? Forgetting to hold his tongue, Jorani blurted out, “Yer Solitary Sword Zhang?!”
“Oh?” Wagging his bushy grey eyebrows, the Seneschal smiled and offered a mocking bow. “This one is honoured to be recognized by Hangman Jorani.”
No wonder the old fart had the audacity to talk down to the Sanguine Tempest, he truly had the qualifications. “Are you kidding? Every kid in the Empire’s heard of ye! Zhang Jun Bao, the orphan and commoner who, on his twenty-second birthday, came down from the mountains for the first time and defeated all five members of the Hwarang in a single day.” Excited to meet one of his childhood heroes, Jorani continued listing Jun Bao’s exploits. “They say ye learned the forms from studying real mantises and orioles in the wilds, defeating each of yer opponents in a single, decisive blow. Even Du...” At this, Jorani trailed off, withering before Old Du’s glare, and for good reason. He’d been about to bring up the old man’s defeat at the hands of Solitary Sword Zhang, shortly after the former rose to prominence.
“Ha. To think, after so many years of absence, there are still those who know my name.” Studying Jorani with a practised eye, he added, “Though you hardly look old enough to have been alive during my prime.”
With a sheepish grin, Jorani confessed, “I used to sneak off and watch the park operas in the mornings. Twas always second-string actors performing outdated works, so I got to know the classics real good. The Butcher of Kun Lun was always me favourite, but Solitary Sword Against the World is a close second.” It was actually the reverse, but since Jorani couldn’t afford to offend Old Du, he offered a little flattery to smooth things over.
Despite his snort of derision, Jorani could tell it worked as Old Du changed the subject. “Enough. Leave the past in the past and let us look to the future. Tell me about the boy. What sort of man is he? Be honest, for if I catch you lying, I’ll have you bound and dragged behind the carriage for the journey back.”
Unsure why Old Du wanted to know, Jorani merely shrugged laid out the truth as he saw it. “Ain’t no two ways about it. He’s the best person I know, which ain’t saying much, but he’s better than any man I could even imagine.”
“Yes, yes, you’re a loyal, devoted soldier who would die for him, but what of the man himself?” Elbows resting on the table, Old Du tented his fingers and awaited Jorani’s answer.
“Beggin’ your pardon,” Jorani began, scratching his head in discomfort. “But the Lieutenant General is wrong. I wouldn’t die for him.” Ignoring their puzzled expressions, Jorani pushed on. “See, the bossman ain’t like the rumours. Yea, he’s a little hot-blooded and ain’t afraid to step on toes or make enemies, but truth is, he ain’t a man in love with bloodshed. He’s damned good at it, true enough, but he’ll always try to solve his problems without killing anyone.” Chuckling, Jorani added, “Even though lot of the time, things’d go easier if he did.”
Taking a second to gather his thoughts, Jorani carefully chose his next words. “You know he lost a good half of his soldiers in Sanshu? It’s why he took me and mine in, but when he got home, he didn’t forget about his people. He saw to it their families were taken care of, fed and clothed, educated and employed, a damn sight more than the army does.” Shaking his head, Jorani’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The way I sees it, If I die, I’d be a burden to him, a debt owed. I won’t die for him, because he’d be happier if I lived and looked after me people meself, ye get me?”
Scowling, Old Du shook his head. “The boy shows weakness unbecoming of a commander. Death is unavoidable in war, and sometimes hard decisions must be made in the heat of battle. What good does it do to save a handful of soldiers if it dooms his entire retinue, or worse?”
Glancing at his rival, Old Zhang shrugged and asked, “Why are you so interested anyway? You’ve already poached one Bekhai talent, surely your skin isn’t thick enough to poach a second?”
“Never you mind why I’m interested,” Old Du snapped, before turning his attention to Siyar. “You done drawing the map? Good. Explain it in detail. Jorani, chime in if you see anything he missed.”
They spent the next few hours poring over the map and answering Old Du’s questions while Old Zhang sat and watched in silence. The thickness of the door, the density of the buildings, how many slaves and how many guards, Old Du was relentless in his quest for knowledge, full of scathing condemnations and blistering retorts each time Jorani failed to give a satisfactory answer. Luckily, Siyar had a sharp eye and a sharper memory, and while he couldn’t answer Old Du’s answers directly, he supplied enough information to silence the cantankerous bastard’s venomous tongue.
Truth be told, Jorani wasn’t sure what they were here to do. Even though the bossman seemed convinced the Canston Trading Group were Defiled traitors, he wasn’t exactly what you’d call an unbiased bystander. Then again, the reports spoke of stone walls crumbling to dust at dawn, and now they found the Canston Trading Group had a substance which ate stone in the light of day, but it was still a leap of logic to go straight to traitors of the Empire. For one, how were a bunch of merchants supposed to spread their black gunk over the fort walls without anyone noticing? Maybe Old Du was here to investigate, with Old Zhang to oversee everything?
When the carriage rolled to a stop, Jorani followed Old Du’s instructions and left his Spiritual Weapon in the carriage. Hiding his rat-ears under a metal helmet, he stepped out into the mid-afternoon sun and blinked in surprise at the familiar fort standing before him. A distance which took him three days to cover on foot only took the Legate’s super horses six hours, and they weren’t even breathing heavily. Granted, he’d been taking his time and had to live off the land, but still...
Hands clasped behind his back, Old Du strode towards the door with Old Zhang at his side, followed promptly by a fox-eared vagrant in dirty robes and a colourfully armoured southerner wearing a fearsome, metal mask. Around them, the Death Corps dismounted from their utilitarian wagons and spread out, surrounding the fort in short order as the Bristleboar guards watched on from the parapets, with their weapons at the ready and their steel-reinforced doors shut tight.
The moment the Death Corps finished encircling the fort, Old Du spoke in a quiet, yet commanding voice, using Chi to relay his words to every ear inside. “This one is Lieutenant General Du Min Gyu, here on orders from the Emperor. Lay down your arms, open the gates, and prepare to receive the Imperial Inspector.”
The Canston Trading Group’s reply was utter silence, the tension settling uncomfortably on Jorani’s shoulders. Dammit, how was he supposed to fight without a weapon? The only weapon he had was a dagger, though to be fair, it was almost as long as the bossman’s sword. Glancing around in search of a spare spear or bow, he prayed the bristleboars didn’t see fit to use their horrific gunk against them. Even with two living legends at his side, Jorani had no confidence to face the Canston Trading Group’s flesh-eating sludge in full daylight.
After five minutes without a response, Old Du turned and glanced at the half-fox vagrant. “It appears they do not mean to comply. Eccentric Gam, if you would be so kind as to open the gates?”
While Jorani reeled at meeting a third living legend, Eccentric Gam replied, “Hmph. How typical, send the half-beast in to do all the heavy lifting while the humans stand around with their thumbs in their asses. Perhaps you’d like me to curtsy too, and afterwards, I can have the honour of sucking your shrivelled cock.” Without uttering a word, the armoured southerner strode off and Eccentric Gam’s rant came to an early end as he asked, “Where’s he going?”
Picking up speed with every step, the armoured southerner sprinted towards the towering gates. Reaching back with both hands, he grabbed hold of his massive, long-handled scimitar and brought it over his shoulder in a powerful slash. The fort trembled at the impact and several bristleboar guards at the top lost their footing, but still the gates stood. Undeterred, the armoured southerner struck a second time, then raised his foot and kicked the gate with a resounding boom. With a tortured shriek metal, a triangular section fell to the ground, revealing an opening large enough for three men abreast to walk through. The armoured southerner disappeared into the opening and soon after, the sounds of slaughter drifted out.
“Hmph.” Mouth set in a pout, the Eccentric marched up to the broken gate, and Old Du, Zhang, Siyar, and Jorani all followed behind. Glaring at the opening made by the southerner, the strange half-fox moved to the other half of the gate and threw a half-hearted punch, more of a knocking gesture really. Although the execution was rather lacklustre, the results were anything but as the gate splintered and exploded inwards from the touch, leaving an opening twice the size of the southerner’s. Sniffing primly, Eccentric Gam strode through with his head held high, almost as if out on a stroll instead of wading through a battlefield. Any bristleboar who came too close received one of his half-hearted slaps and smashed into the ground, their bodies pulped beyond recognition by the Earth-blessed warrior’s prodigious strength.
Old Du and Old Zhang traded grins and shrugs before running off to join the fray, and Jorani watched as the four experts ran roughshod over the defenders, leaving little for the Death Corps to do but clean up the remains. Awed as he was by this display of overwhelming strength, he was curious to know: If this was their plan all along, why was he even here?
Chapter Meme