Gunpowder Magnolia

Please note that the chapter below is an early draft. Names and world-building details subject to change. More chapters are available on my Patreon.

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Two anxious days dragged by without any sign of enemies… then three… then four.

“This hardly means we’re out of danger, Captain,” Githya said darkly. “It just means whoever saw that smoke signal has gone to his spear brothers for backup.”

“Noted,” Lanthe said. “Now—”

“We’re five days out from the body burning,” he pressed, unwilling to drop the matter. “That’s just about the time it would take for an enterprising bandit chieftain to gather support from the surrounding herdsmen. Unless Ensai gets to the Angtei border faster than any rider in history—”

“We’ll worry about an attack when it comes,” Lanthe snapped, at the end of her patience.

Tairo shifted uncomfortably and Suya, now Yansey’s fourth in command, focused pointedly on the table before him. She had never taken quite so cold a tone with one of her… well, technically, these were her officers, weren’t they? Though it still felt strange thinking of them that way.

General Chang said that strength and competence were the only things that really mattered in the military. Still, these higher ranks had always seemed like the rightful province of nobles, who had leadership in their blood. Nobility was lacking here at Lanthe’s war table. Githya Guren was the oldest of the four of them and technically the veteran of the most battles, but most of that experience had been on the wrong side of the law. Suya Deisang was a stone mason’s son from a nowhere village in the north. Tairo was the only one whose lineage afforded him a place at the table and he had happily relegated himself to secretary, quietly taking notes while the others spoke.

“You hadn’t finished your report, Second Lieutenant Githya,” Lanthe said through the palpable tension. “How long before the temporary wall is done?”

“Two hours,” Githya said, “but Captain, it won’t hold back a mounted charge.”

“It’s not supposed to…” Lanthe stopped herself, realizing that her voice had grown defensive. A commander didn’t have to explain himself if he knew what he was doing—and Lanthe was reasonably sure she did. She folded her hands on the table and met Githya’s gaze.

“Just get it done.” That was what Captain Arza or General Chang would have said in a voice that brooked no argument. But those men had decades of victories to back up their authority. Lanthe had just the one, achieved through dumb luck, Dalin’s sacrifice, and, if she was honest with herself, a lot of Githya’s help.

“Alright.” She pushed back from the table. “Stand up, Second Lieutenant.”

Githya did so—too aggressively, his chair screeching backward on the stone—and glared across the table at her. The stocky pikeman wasn’t any taller than Lanthe, but he probably weighed half again what she did in grit and muscle.

“Captain?” The word was a challenge.

Suya had gone still in anticipation, clearly ready to put his bulk between the unqualified captain and the ex-convict if they leapt onto the table to do battle for control of Yansey. Tairo was also looking anxious, though he knew Lanthe better than to think she would engage in a fistfight she couldn’t win. And Lanthe wouldn’t win an unarmed brawl with Githya—not unless she fought as ugly as he did, and she didn’t relish the thought of biting off the man’s remaining ear.

“At ease, Lord Lieutenant, Third Lieutenant,” she addressed Tairo and Suya. “Take a moment to review your numbers. Second Lieutenant Githya, walk with me.”

It was what General Chang said when he needed to smooth out a misunderstanding with one of his high-ranking officers; of course, Lanthe wasn’t usually privy to the conversation that followed. She’d just have to do her best to guess how it was done.

Githya still glowered but followed her out of the war room to the steps that overlooked the gap in the wall. Below, soldiers who weren’t hauling rocks on Githya’s instructions sparred and ran their usual laps around the fort in full armor. Lanthe hadn’t realized how the uneasy days would wear on her nerves when she didn’t get to participate in training. Something in her shortened temper wanted a fight with Githya, just to punch out some of the tension, but that was hardly what Yansey needed.

So instead, she folded her hands behind her back and calmly asked, “What have you been building down there?”

“What you told me, sir,” Githya said with a touch of annoyance. And Lanthe was reminded that, for all his brutal efficiency on the field, Githya wasn’t a strategist.

“Right. And the shape…” Lanthe indicated the convex crescent wall of stacked rubble stood four feet high between Yansey’s broken walls. “Why do you think I had you build it like that?”

“Like a dick?” Githya said.

“It’s not…” Lanthe thought it was shaped more like a rather pointed breast, but this didn’t seem like the hill to die on, so she said, “Sure. Why do you think we built it like a dick, instead of straight across the breach?”

“I don’t know.”

Lanthe bit back a sigh and tried a different question. “You’re worried that horses will be able to jump it. Is that correct, Lieutenant?”

“I know we don’t have the rubble to build it much higher, but yes, obviously—”

“In your experience, is it worth trying to hand-build a wall that stops bandits?”

“No. They know how to get over a pile of rocks.”

“Right,” she said, hoping to steer him in the direction of the answer. “Emergency walls like this one are all about strategically slowing and redirecting the enemy. So, what will happen when horsemen jump the…” she sighed, “dick wall?”

Githya tilted his head, studying the stacked rocks anew.

“They’ll crush together…” he said slowly, “bottleneck into the breach, where we put the larger rubble to trip them up.”

“And how well is their masterful horsemanship going to serve them then?”

“They’ll be lucky to stay mounted,” Githya conceded, “and that’s before the rocks start coming.” He nodded to the walls on either side of the breach, where soldiers would be ready to rain rubble on the crush of men and horses. A smile of understanding finally spread across his scarred face, but the expression was still strangely grim. “I’ll give it to you, Luyang, you are clever bastard…”

“But?” Lanthe frowned. There was still a but in his voice.

The ex-bandit sighed as he turned to meet her eyes. “I’d follow you to Heaven, Captain… It’s just that I’d rather not have to.”

“You’re still angry with me for burning the Yao bodies,” Lanthe observed, finally understanding.

“It was the wrong decision.” Githya had clearly been holding the words behind his teeth for days. “It put Yansey in so much more danger than was necessary.”

Lanthe was tempted to argue the point, having experienced the horrors of a diseased war camp, but there was a larger picture that Githya was missing. “This isn’t just about Yansey, Lieutenant. This is about Ro.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“If we had desecrated the Yao corpses or left them to rot, the Yao prisoners never would have been forthcoming with me about the attack.”

“Respectfully, sir, what does that matter?”

“It’s the only thing that matters.”

“How?” Githya demanded. “What good does all the information in the world do if we’re dead?”

“The information isn’t for us. It’s for Ro."

Tairo had been putting all his reports in the safe beneath the war room table, where only a high-ranking Ro would know to look. Even if no one at Yansey lived to deliver the intel in person, their work here would still be of use. The next Ro commander to occupy this fortress would have access to a full account of the Yao attack, what the graphemancer had done, how they had defeated him, and what they had learned after.

“This attack was part of a larger plot against Ro. If we don’t discover why and pass that on, then the lives we lose here will have been lost in vain.”

Githya considered Lanthe for a moment, thought creasing his brow. “You know, sometimes, I don’t believe you’re a farmer’s son, Captain Luyang.”

“Agh,” Lanthe grimaced. “Tell me Lord Tairo’s fancy accent isn’t rubbing off on me.”

“No. You just talk about king and country like a general.” He shrugged. “Guess, I’m a small man. Always have been. When you’re a marauder, there’s just your band… and then sometimes, the military wipes out your whole band and cuts your ear off.” He smiled wryly, though they both knew how lucky he was that it had been just the ear. General Chang cut bandits’ hands off, but the commander who had taken Githya had been looking for fresh conscripts. “Then it’s just about your little battalion at the river’s edge… just about not dying.”

“I am trying to keep us from dying,” Lanthe said.

“Your idea of ‘all of us’ is just bigger than mine. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, sir,” he added when Lanthe opened her mouth. “You haven’t let us die so far, so if you think this is all about something bigger, I guess I’ll take your word for it."

Back in the war room, Lanthe and her officers finished the meeting with their usual uncultured awkwardness. As Suya gave his report, Tairo paced one side of the table, a nervous habit for which his father would have chastised him. But Lanthe was not Tairo’s father and she certainly didn’t feel comfortable telling him to ‘sit down, soldier’ in front of others. She really shouldn’t have had him scribing at all, but Dalin had been Captain Arza’s scribe, and Tairo was the only person left with the appropriate level of literacy.

It was only after she had dismissed Githya and Suya that Lanthe finally said, “Lord Lieutenant, for the love of God, please sit.”

“Sir.” Tairo took the order without embarrassment or offense, sliding into Githya’s vacated chair opposite Lanthe.

“And report.”

“I combed all Captain Arza’s letters again, as you requested,” he said. Apparently, the first time, he had “skimmed”—a term which made no sense to Lanthe, who had to painstakingly sound her way through the simplest sentence. Picking meaning off a page at a glance seemed as fantastical to her as graphemancy. “It was a lot—months of reports—but I went through all of it, character by character.”

“And?”

“Still nothing about graphemancy or Yao attacks in all his correspondence.”

“All his military correspondence,” Lanthe said, “but he must have gotten the information somewhere.” She narrowed her eyes, thinking back to the few times the stoic former captain had referenced his personal life. “What about his wife’s letters? You said you didn’t touch those?”

“No. Why would I?”

“Lady Arza is a minor noblewoman in the court at Jundao, and the captain mentioned that she was fond of gossip.”

“He talked to you about his wife?” Tairo looked stunned.

Lanthe shrugged. “He wasn’t a difficult man to talk to.” He just hadn’t respected Tairo enough to share with him, but she didn’t say that part. “Think about it, Lord Tairo. Captain Arza’s military correspondence was only with the nearby forts, with occasional contact from the capital. His wife lives at the center of the kingdom and wrote him as often as possible. If news of the Yao was circulating anywhere—secretly or not—it would circulate at the capital first, right?”

“And you think women would be gossiping about war?”

“Of course,” Lanthe almost laughed. Tairo hadn’t grown up with a mother or sisters—he had certainly never sat among women, weaving and chatting until the sun went down—but he should still know better. “Why do you think local girls always get all gooey and gushy about your tales from the front?”

“I always assumed the gushing was about my pretty face, not what came out of it.”

“Well—I guess, that’s a reasonable assumption,” Lanthe conceded, “but I have sisters. Everyone talks about war, Lord Lieutenant. Because it affects everyone.”

“So… you want me to look through Lord Arza’s letters from his wife?”

“It’s our only chance at more information. The late captain would have understood that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“While you do that, I’m going to visit the cells.”

“You don’t want me to come along and scribe, sir?”

Lanthe considered the question for a moment. Tairo had been accompanying Lanthe to Hyonang Yinzo’s cell since the Yao lord had become more talkative.

“No,” she decided after a moment. “All I’m doing is confirming the details from yesterday’s questioning. If there’s anything new, I’ll dictate a report to you later.”

If Githya was right about the threat of bandits—and being a former bandit himself, he had no reason to be wrong—they were running out of time to scrape their intelligence on Yao into something useful.

Over the past few days, Lanthe visited the cells multiple times, gradually coaxing more out of Lord Hyonang while Tairo took notes. Some of the other Yao had been forthcoming as well but, as a member of the court, Lord Hyonang knew the most about Yao’s new ruler—and was almost bizarrely eager to share her secrets. The sharing had surprised Lanthe at first, but that was before the more personal details started to emerge.

“So, it was one month into Princess Kaisin Yelhwa’s reign that you offered her your son’s hand?”

“Yes,” Lord Hyonang said. “We all thought she would do right by her country and select a king from among the eligible bachelors. A woman is only allowed to sit the throne of Yao while she holds it for a younger male relative or while she actively seeks a husband.”

“So you said.” Through all the questioning, Lanthe couldn’t parse Yelhwa’s motives, but she was at least getting to the bottom of Lord Hyonang’s. “And she refused your son?”

“Yes,” Hyonang said, “but not before using two months of courtship to bend his mind.”

“This is the part that confuses me,” Lanthe said. “I know little of noble etiquette, so I could have this wrong, but, at court, doesn’t the man usually make romantic overtures to the woman, not the other way around?”

“Among your nobility, yes. In Yao, it is a weekly exchange of letters, initiated by the man but going both ways. Letters of courtship are meant to impress with intellect and refinement. Princess Kaisin Yelhwa used them to pollute her suitors’ minds. My Ailun wasn’t the only one. Over two hundred of Yao’s high lords and their sons sought her hand—some three times my Ailun’s age”—which, by Lanthe’s count made them twice Princess Yelhwa’s—“She accepted the courtship of every single one.”

“All two hundred?” Even Lanthe knew that was unprecedented. In Ro, a woman who strung along more than four suitors at once was considered vain and cruel.

“All two hundred and four,” Lord Hyonang said. “Every single one ended up trapped in her spell, converted to her cause.”

Impressive, if true, but Lanthe suspected that Lord Hyonang was exaggerating to save face. After all, if men three times Ailun’s age had been tricked, who could blame Lord Hyonang’s hapless son?

“Wait…” Lanthe said, slowly running the numbers in her head. “You said she accepted the courtship of two hundred men at the same time…?”

“Scandalous, I know.”

“No—I mean, yes, very scandalous, but wouldn’t that mean she was writing something like six hundred letters a month?” Meaning… “Twenty per day?” And these had been damn compelling letters, by the sound of it. “Is that even possible?”

Heaven knew Tairo was an excellent writer—Lanthe had heard nobles gush over his speed, fine strokes, and tasteful turns of phrase—and he would still take an hour or more to compose a letter of importance.

“There is a reason Yelhwa has been able to revive a level of graphemancy not seen in centuries,” Lord Hyonang said grudgingly. “For all her wickedness, the woman is a prodigy.”

“You referenced the graphemancy yesterday,” in the middle of a rather vitriolic rant against the princess. “And you’ll have to forgive my ignorance on the subject, my lord, but can you explain exactly how graphemancy works and how it came back into use?”

“I’m sure your noble lieutenant could explain it as well as I can,” Lord Hyonang said and, in fact, Tairo had explained it; Lanthe was just checking that Hyonang’s description matched his. “Graphemancy manifests among the best writers of Old Yao script—I say ‘best’ in terms of the precision of their calligraphy and the subtle grace of their composition. For this reason, only the royal family traditionally learns Old Yao. Kaisin Yelhwa isn’t the only precocious royal to manifest magic in the last few generations, but she is the first to desecrate the gift.”

“How has she desecrated it?” Lanthe said, confused. “By weaponizing it? Didn’t the heroes of Old Yao do the same?”

“She has desecrated it by giving it out to anyone, no matter their breeding or character. The graphemancers of Old Yao were noblemen, great warriors, born and bred to wield their God-given powers. But the Princess isn’t concerned with education, breeding, or character. She disrespects the art by teaching it to those outside the royal line.”

“Like who?” Lanthe asked. “Who is she teaching it to?”

“Who isn’t she teaching might be a better question,” Hyonang scoffed. “She’s recently opened calligraphy schools to slaves and criminals, to foreigners, Heaven help us!”

“Do you know why?”

“If you ask me, for the same reason your kingdom opened its military to peasants and criminals in centuries past. Power. She wants a generation of graphemancers to do her bidding.”

“Power…” A believable enough motive, but too vague and too common to be of use to Lanthe. “Alright, but I’d assume that training an army in a skill as refined as graphemancy takes time?” The bar for the Ro military was marksmanship training at the capital—far simpler than learning ten thousand characters—and that took a few months. “If her goal is power, wouldn’t she want to finish training her army before picking a fight she can’t win? Why invade Ro?”

Lord Hyonang shrugged. “The impulsive actions of a child. She’s been pushing for war with Yao’s neighbors since she was a presumptuous fifteen-year-old.”

“Before she was training graphemancers? Tactically, that makes no sense,” Lanthe said. Ro’s military was four times the size of Yao’s. “An all-out war against Ro is a death sentence for any Yao ruler—even one with many times her experience. This could spell the end of the Kaisin dynasty. So, why?”

“Who can reason with a madwoman?”

They had run up against this non-answer many times now and it wasn’t a response Lanthe could ultimately accept. Weather was the random bane of a tactician’s existence, but human action… there was always a reason behind that.

“I have to say, Lord Hyonang, I’m surprised that you’ve shared this much with me. Appreciative, certainly, but surprised. I’ve scarcely heard a noble speak with such disdain for his ruler.”

“That brat is not my ruler,” Hyonang said. “If she was legitimate, I would never give up her secrets.”

“You keep saying her rule isn’t legitimate, but the king to whom you claim loyalty still lives and continues to give her his blessing?”

A sad smile crossed Hyonang’s fine features. “Do you have children, Luyang?”

“No, my lord.”

“Then you wouldn’t understand, but all of us—even the best of men—can be blind to our children’s faults.” His eyes flicked in the direction of his son’s cell.

“You know,” Lanthe thought it couldn’t hurt to remind her prisoner, “as long as you continue to cooperate, your son is safe.”

Lord Hyonang shook his head. “That’s a lovely thought, Captain Luyang, but I’m afraid he is beyond saving. I’d settle for having my revenge on that monster and saving Yao from her clutches. So you see, we have a common interest, Luyang of Ro.”

“Do we, my lord?” Lanthe said, though she felt a little flare of pride that all her patience and lenience had paid off. She had built enough trust with Lord Hyonang that he was actively trying to recruit her help. Whether or not she could give it was another matter. She was, after all, just the temporary captain of a nowhere fort.

“I’m sure your kingdom would rather have a reasonable man like King Kaisin Yeldan in control of Yao,” Lord Hyonang pressed. “Neither of our kingdoms benefits from the rule of his deranged daughter. Anyone who aims to remove her from power has my support.”

“What makes you think Ro would be invested in removing her from power?” Lanthe said, opting not to mention that this was a decision far, far over her head. “Not that you don’t make a compelling case. It’s just that Ro rarely gets involved in other states’ politics. We defend our ancestral territory. That’s all.”

“Defending your ancestral territory will mean removing her from power,” Hyonang said impatiently. “Don’t you see? These attacks are just the beginning. You’ve barely tasted her true ambition. She may have started with the Yao court, but she means to conquer all of Ten Kingdoms for herself.”

“With all respect to Yao, my lord, that’s a ridiculous plan.” Yao couldn’t win a war against Ro, let alone the eight other kingdoms.

“It may sound ridiculous to you now, but Yelhwa managed to take a throne that never should have been accessible to her either. As we speak, she’s training graphemancers by the hundreds. You may have fared well against High Lord Haran, but could you face a dozen of him? What about a hundred? A thousand?”

It was a frightening prospect… if there was any truth to it. When Lanthe was quiet, Hyonang leaned forward.

“We made the mistake of giving her a chance when she assumed control of Yao in her father’s place. She’s already taken one kingdom that didn’t belong to her. Do not give her a chance at yours.”

“I believe your intentions are good, Lord Hyonang.” Now that Lanthe had the Yao’s trust, she felt it was time to be honest about some of her misgivings. “But you understand that I have to suspect some of your claims against Princess Yelhwa when you have obvious personal problems with her.”

“What are you insinuating, Luyang of Ro?”

“I just need to ask, my lord… is she really a danger to Ro—or Yao, for that matter? Or is this about your son?”

“Of course, this is about my son!” Lord Hyonang returned. “But it is also about all the sons of Yao, who she’s misled, who she’ll drag with her into ruin! Surely there must be someone you can go to with this information.”

“You seem like you care about your country very much, my lord. Are you that eager to invite violent—I think you call us barbarous—Ro into your affairs?”

“Foreign intervention is our only option,” Hyonang said emphatically. “The princess has dismantled the people who oppose her within Yao, demoted us all, and sent us to die in meaningless battles over nowhere territories like this one.”

“It seems to me that you weren’t meant to die here,” Lanthe said. “Given the presence of the mage, it seems like your princess meant to take this fort.”

“Yes, and then leave us here to man it, beset by Ro and bandits, far from any strategic center in Yao. This is her power. She quietly breaks up opposition in a way that seems innocent—like it could just be the blundering of an inexperienced girl—but these are all the calculations of a snake.”

“Captain Luyang,” one of the guards said and Lanthe turned. “Lord Lieutenant Tairo requests your presence in the war room. He says he has something for you.”

“Thank you,” Lanthe stood. “Until tomorrow, my Lord.”

Lanthe knew it wasn’t particularly dignified for a commander to run across a fortress to his war room, but she did anyway, unable to resist the excuse to stretch her legs. She didn’t quite succeed in making herself sweat, even with noon sun hot on her quilted armor, but the jog was satisfying all the same.

“Captain Luyang!” Tairo leapt to his feet the moment she entered the war room. He was smudged with ink, several items of women’s stationery clutched in his uninjured hand. “You were right!”

“About what?”

“Lady Arza was writing her husband about Yao! I can’t believe we didn’t think of this sooner! There were four other attacks prior to ours. Two of them reported men in white robes practicing stroke magic. Lady Arza doesn’t name all of the locations but one of them was Sheino, where her nephew is serving. I guess he survived, but—”

“Sit,” Lanthe said. “Read me everything.”

“Alright…” Settling into the chair behind the captain’s desk, Tairo cleared his throat and read:

“My Dearest Husband,

The magnolia branch, first blushing, now bereft, marks the months since I’ve felt your embrace. As God turns this cog of cruelest time, I while the days aching for your mighty…

Um—are you sure want me to read everything? Not to impugn Lady Arza’s poetry. Most of it is quite tasteful—”

“Alright, not everything. Skip to the important parts.”

As he read, Lanthe rearranged the pieces on Captain Arza’s map. An attack at Sheino, repelled by Ro’s superior numbers, one at the Gunswu River, one at the Bayin border, and one here.

“I don’t understand.” Lanthe knocked a battalion piece against the edge of the table in frustration. “What is the strategy here?”

“I don’t know…” They looked at the map together in silence for a beat. “Two trading outposts and two riverside fortresses… Why would someone want to occupy any of those forts? Even if Yao had the men to hold them—Lanth—sir, where are you going?”

“Back to the cells,” Lanthe said, hauling the war room doors open. “I need to talk to the opposition.”

“You mean Lord Hyonang’s son? Isn’t he violent?”

“Yes, but he may know what his father doesn’t. In fact, bring a scroll and come with me.”

“Yes, sir.” Tairo gathered his inkstone, his brush, and the board he had been using to brace the scroll without the use of his right hand. “And… how are you going to get him to talk?” he asked as he followed Lanthe through the war room doors. “Are you going to hurt him?” The worry on his face, Lanthe realized, was for her, not the recalcitrant Yao. He knew how much she detested torture.

“No,” Lanthe said. “I’ll bring Githya with me, if it gets that rough, but I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Hyonang Ailun was still chained days after his father and the others had been relieved of their manacles. Lanthe would have freed him if he didn’t keep lunging to attack anyone who entered the cell.

“Do your worst, Ro!” he spat as soon as she opened the barred door. “I have nothing to say to you!”

“That’s quite alright,” Lanthe said, stepping inside with Tairo at her shoulder. “I was actually planning to do the talking to start.”

Hyonang Ailun had the pale hollowed look of someone who had been refusing his rations. If he thought starving himself was clever, it was a miscalculation; hunger only made a man easier to throw off balance.

The lordling predictably lunged at her when she stepped into range, but she was ready for him—and far stronger than a slender noble boy. She stopped him with a palm to the chest before he hit the limit of his chains and further damaged his wrists.

“Sit.” She shoved him back against the wall—not quite hard enough to take the breath from his lungs, but hard enough that it knocked a little of the aggression out of him. “For your princess’s sake, I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

The mention of the princess did something to Ailun, quieted him. Pure hatred still simmered in his black eyes but he slowly sank onto the stool against the wall.

“Let me start by clarifying the situation.” Lanthe pulled up her own stool and gestured for Tairo to sit as well. “Your father has told me everything he knows about Princess Yelhwa’s rise to power and her—”

“That man doesn’t know anything,” Ailun said too quickly, his anxiety already showing. “He’s just a traitor!”

“You shouldn’t speak of your father that way,” Tairo said tightly.

“Lord Lieutenant…” Lanthe looked at him sharply. She still didn’t quite have it in her to order him silent, but the look was enough.

“Apologies, sir,” he muttered and wetted his brush to take notes.

“If Lord Hyonang Yinzo has been untruthful with me,” Lanthe said, turning back to Ailun, “then perhaps you can correct some of the details of his account.” Maybe, between these two men, Lanthe could form a picture of the princess at the center of all this trouble. “For instance, he tells me that Kaisin Yelhwa’s claim to the throne is dubious at best, that she’s disrespected the Yao tradition of male succession. I know some even suspect her of poisoning King Kaisin Yeldan.”

“She did no such—”

“Quiet,” Lanthe ordered coolly and her command did what his father’s had not, shutting him up instantly. “I wasn’t finished.” Let him squirm. The more agitated Ailun was the more likely he would let something slip.

“I understand that the general impression at court is that her rule is illegitimate—at least, that was the general opinion, until she sent all her detractors away on fool’s errands like this one.”

“It’s not a fool—” Ailun stopped short, looking horrified with himself.

“Not a fool’s errand?” Lanthe raised her eyebrows. “That is what you were going to say?”

The consternation on Ailun’s face told her ‘yes.’ Of course, Lanthe had suspected as much from the beginning. The graphemancer alone should have overcome Yansey’s defenses. Princess Yelhwa had every reason to think that the fort would be in Yao hands right now, meaning she must have genuinely wanted it for something—if only as a holding pen for her opposition, as Lord Hyonang claimed. Although, Lanthe figured there were plenty of Yao outposts the princess could have used to the same effect without poking the dangerous giant that was Ro.

“Her Excellency Princess Yelhwa doesn’t engage in such pettiness,” Ailun ground out finally, having decided to turn his slip-up into defiance.

“Good Heavens, Lord Ailun, I hope you’re wrong about that.”

Something twitched in Ailun’s haggard expression. “Why?”

“Well, if the only purpose of these attacks was to dispose of Yelhwa’s detractors, then she ultimately poses little threat to Ro. We may not need to remove her.”

Lanthe had hit the intended nerve. Ailun went pale. “Remove her?”

“Being a lord’s son, you must have learned your histories well. You know that Ro does not tolerate a hostile neighbor. You should also know that no monarch in the last three hundred years has invaded Ro and kept their throne—or their head, for that matter.”

The chains clinked. “You think your threats scare me, barbarian scum? You couldn’t dethrone the princess if you tried!”

“Is that why you’re shaking?” This wasn’t entirely fair; Ailun was likely shaking because he hadn’t eaten in days and his pampered little noble’s constitution couldn’t take it.

“You can’t remove the princess!”

“Lord Ailun, put yourself in my position for a moment—or rather, in the position of my superiors, when they receive my report. If everything your father says is true, we will have no choice but to invade Yao and dethrone Princess Yelhwa in favor of a more reasonable ruler.”

“You can’t—That’s idiotic!” Ailun sputtered. “Princess Yelhwa has no interest in taking over Ro—or Medyan, or any of our neighbors. She isn’t stupid.”

“But you see how that claim is at odds with her actions?”

“She is trying to defend our country from invaders like you!”

“By invading us first?” Lanthe said, genuinely confused.

“She is doing what is necessary.”

“Explain then, how is this fortress necessary for her plans? How is incurring the wrath of Ro necessary?”

“It’s… She speaks to God and perceives what others can’t. Everything she does is for a reason.”

“Speaks to God, does she? Is this where she gets her military strategy? Divine inspiration? I ask because it doesn’t seem very smart. I’m just wondering if God is an idiot or she is?”

Ailun narrowed his eyes. His fists were still clenched in anger, wrists red where they had strained too hard against the manacles, but he didn’t take the bait.

“You’re trying to get me to reveal the princess’s plans. It won’t work.”

“Indeed,” Lanthe said. “Is that because you won’t talk or because you haven’t had the privilege of sharing close counsel with the princess? I understand she rejected your marriage proposal?”

“You can mock me,” he hissed. “You can break every bone in my body. It doesn’t matter. Princess Yelhwa will destroy you and all those who would threaten Yao!”

“That’s interesting,” Lanthe said, holding a civil tone. “Your father seems to think she’ll be the ruin of Yao, that she—”

“That man is no father of mine!” the prisoner snarled. “He’s a coward and a traitor to his country! I hope he rots in an unmarked grave with no one to remember him!”

That moment with Hyonang Ailun was more disconcerting than any of Lord Hyonang’s dire warnings about the princess. Courtiers could despise each other for the pettiest reasons; poor Lady Arza had devoted pages to a feud with a Lady Miesul over a slight that Lanthe hadn’t been able to understand after the third time Tairo explained it—something about a folding fan being misplaced at a social function three years ago.

Lanthe had been sure that Lord Hyonang was exaggerating Yelhwa’s competence and malice for his own reasons. But the sheer devotion in Hyonang Ailun’s demeanor… Lanthe had only ever seen soldiers display that kind of maddened devotion for General Chang… maybe for King Josan. How under Heaven did a young woman with a dubious claim on her position inspire that kind of loyalty?

Whatever Yelhwa could do with graphemancy or archers—those were just physical pieces on a board to overcome. This thing manifest in Ailun’s eyes was not a kind of power to take lightly.

“Tell my father that if he’s been licking your boots to keep me alive, to save the little dignity he has left. He has no son.”

For Tairo, it was too much. “For shame, Yao!” he burst out.

“Lieutenant—” Lanthe started but Tairo was out of his seat, his scroll and inkstone forgotten by his stool.

“How can you speak that way of your father? He’s the only reason you’re still alive to say such disgraceful things!”

“Then you should kill me!”

“Alright,” Lanthe tried again. “Calm d—”

“I said kill me, Ro!” Hunger had sharpened Ailun’s already fine-boned face and made his eyes wild. “I’d rather die than be a game piece in any plot against the princess!”

“You’re loyal to a woman who didn’t even want you?” Tairo said in rage. “Over your own father? Your own blood?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Thank Heaven, I don’t.” Tairo had started forward. He had only the brush clutched in his willowy right hand, but he was still Ro. He could still kill a man with one hand and a stick of sandalwood.

“Lord Lieutenant!” Lanthe stepped in front of him, an arm across his shoulders. “Take a breath.”

“I can’t listen to this disrespect, Captain!”

“I know.” She squeezed his shoulder, pressing him back. “I know. Step outside.”

“What?”

“Step outside, Lord Lieutenant. I’ll finish this on my own.”

“What is there to finish?” Tairo demanded, his blue godmarks flushed deep navy with rage. “This brat is insane. The Yao princess has obviously worked some kind of magic on him.”

“You think so?” God, Lanthe hadn’t thought of that… Was it some kind of spell that the princess had replicated over thousands of letters to bewitch the Yao nobility? That seemed about as feasible as a busy ruler writing twenty letters a day. “Can graphemancy do that?”

“I don’t know!” Tairo gestured angrily, flinging ink across the cell floor. “I just know that no sane man speaks of his father that way!”

“You can say that, son of Chang Shuro,” Ailun hissed, dragging himself to his feet. “You’ve never had to choose between your father and your country.”

Lanthe had just hardened herself to order Tairo out of the cell when the alarm bell split the air outside. Her heart dropped. Clutched hard to Tairo, she looked up at her friend and saw the horror she wouldn’t show raw on his face.

“What is that?” Ailun asked.

“Bandits,” Tairo breathed just as a voice from the watchtower confirmed their worst-case scenario:

“Hostiles approaching from the southwest!”

“Well,” Lanthe screwed a grim smile in place. “Time to work off some of that anger, Lord Tairo.” She gave his chest a reassuring thump. “Let’s move.”

“Are we under attack?” Lord Hyonang surged forward to grab the bars as Lanthe and Tairo passed his cell.

“Let us out, Captain Luyang!” another Yao demanded. “Give us bows and let us fight!”

"We don’t need many arrows,” Lord Hyonang added. “We don’t miss.”

Lanthe wouldn’t have respected any other reaction, but she still couldn’t trust the Yao with weapons. “That won’t be necessary."

“How many men do you have left, Captain Luyang?” Lord Hyonang asked in a numb voice.

“Enough,” she said as one of her soldiers threw open the jail door to report.

“Captain, it looks like around two hundred enemies. All mounted.”

Lanthe had already guessed as much. She could feel it. The ground didn’t shake this way for a few dozen horses.

“Positions!” she ordered, pushing the jail door open. “Prepare for battle!”

But she couldn’t help a last look back at the Yao—because this was her deepest nightmare: being confined by walls, unarmed, unable to act, as the danger closed in.

“Don’t worry, Lord Hyonang. There are a hundred soldiers of Ro between you and the danger.”

Well… eighty-three, who could stand and fight, but Lanthe tried not to think in the number of men and horses. One man on foot against two mounted warriors was too bleak a prospect to contemplate. But a tight-knit force of Ro was a good bet against any enemy. They had drilled for this exact scenario so rigorously that Lanthe’s men were all in position by the time she reached hers.

At her right hand, Tairo tore his sling free and grimaced as he used his splinted arm to load his pistol. When the bullets were spent, Tairo would draw his sword and pull back along with the other Ro too injured to hold a polearm against horsemen in that critical first clash of arms. Lanthe fought best knowing Tairo was behind her. Of course, a skilled sword at one’s back was always a comfort, but, in the thick of battle, it was an immediate and burning reason not to let even one enemy past her.

Taking a knee beside Tairo, Lanthe loaded the only ball and patch she had allotted herself. Yansey’s precious extra bullets were reserved for Suya and a few other marksmen of surpassing skill.

Having checked that all his pikemen were in position and properly armed, Githya fell in at Lanthe’s left hand, looking paler than she had ever seen him before a battle.

“Captain—”

“Save ‘I told you so’ for the gates of Heaven, alright, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir. I was going to say… don’t let them take you alive.”

“Noted.”

The horde beyond the breach was a terror to behold. Two hundred mounted warriors bearing guns, bows, and the usual assortment of strange curved swords the herdsmen favored. If Ro troops moved like machinery, these untrained bandits were something like sparrows or shoals of fish, swirling on an amorphous notion of where they wanted to go. There was an effortless sort of pattern to it—something Lanthe assumed came from being raised in the saddle—but it was manipulable by more cunning forces. Lanthe just hoped that her rock constructions and regimented men could corral these bandits like nets and gannets corralled the fish of Kailong Bay.

It was too far to see the insignias they flew but tattered banners and turbans of several colors flapped in the dry wind, confirming Githya’s prediction; whoever had seen Yansey’s smoke signal had taken this past week to go to the neighboring tribes, pooling their forces.

“Do you think they’ll leave us alone if we tell them we’re almost out of supplies?” Tairo asked.

“They’re not after our food,” Githya said grimly. “Out here, Medyan guns and Ro steel are worth killing over.”

At a commanding shout from among their ranks, the bandits rearranged into something resembling lines and advanced on Yansey as one.

Lanthe breathed evenly in the knowledge that she had done all she knew how to do. Now, all that was left was to fight like a Ro and hope that her little trap of rocks had done enough to level the playing field.

“Guns at the ready!” she bellowed into the stillness before the charge. “Hold fire until you can see the color of their godmarks!”

These southerners’ markings tended to be golden-brown, distinct from the blue-gray godmarks of the Ro, the black godmarks of the Angtei, and the red-brown godmarks of the Yao. The moment you could name the color of the stripes, you stood a good chance of landing a shot. Lanthe would fire at the closest possible range before taking up her glaive and meeting the enemy in melee.

“They are more numerous!” she shouted down the line as the bandits lay into a full gallop. “But we are Ro! We thin them, break them, and crush them!”

The secret to Ro supremacy in battle was that they trained for combat at all distances. Every Ro met a high standard of marksmanship, able to take out their enemies before a charge hit. As a wall of polearms, Ro could break any equivalent force of foot soldiers and most lines of horses. In the rare event that the enemy breached their lines, the average Ro could handily wield his polearm against a horseman and his sword against an unmounted fighter. Lanthe got the feeling that this battle would end in that last and closest sphere, closer than a sword’s reach, in a bloody press of bodies, with the knife in her boot and the clubbed end of her pistol, with elbows, fists, and teeth.

“Is this the end, Lanthe?” Tairo asked in a low voice.

“Of course not,” she lied because Tairo would believe her—and then maybe fight like there was a chance. “We can take them.”

As the bandits closed, however, the alarm bell rang again. Lanthe’s gaze snapped to the watchtower in confusion. The bell should have stopped by the time Lanthe gave the order to man the breach. No one would leave their post to ring it again, unless—

“Horsemen!” The soldier cried from the tower. “Horsemen to the east!”

It was impossible for reinforcements from any Ro stronghold to have gotten here this fast; more horsemen could only mean one thing…

“More bandits!”

“Alright, Tairo…” Lanthe said, slowly digesting this new information… “Now we’re going to die.”

Drawing a deep breath into her lungs, she bellowed a new war cry.

“To Heaven, soldiers of Ro!”

With enemies closing from both sides, Yansey thundered in answer.

“To Heaven!”

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