A Game of Kings and Paupers 1 Read online

  Hyun-Ki glanced at the board and figurines. “Please, Sergeant Jing-Sheng. I only come to seek the Emperor’s audience. I have an important message for him.”

  Pointing his sword to the board, the Sergeant asked, “What message? Does it involve this child’s game?”

  “Yes,” Hyun-Ki said, nodding his head vigorously. “Yes, it does. Please, allow me to see the Emperor. I only need one mom—”

  Metal flashed in the noon sun as Sergeant Jing-Sheng swung his sword. It’s sharp edge cut through the wood board. Watchman Wu-Kong yelped and jumped back, dropping everything he held onto the ground. The board clattered. The figurines spilled out. They bounced against one another, against the small stones that littered the dust. Faded paint chipped. They cracked.

  “No,” Hyun-Ki shouted.

  He lunged for them, but Sergeant Jing-Sheng’s sword pierced the ground before him. His nose hovered in the air less than a pinky’s length from the sharp edge.

  “No one sees the Emperor unless summoned.”

  “Please. I have traveled far—”

  “No one sees the Emperor unless summoned,” Sergeant Jing-Sheng repeated. “First Constable Hui.”

  One of the soldiers stepped forward. His nose cringed.

  “Escort Intruder Number Three to his destiny. I will be in my residence for the rest of the day. I leave Watchman Wu-Kong in charge.” As the Sergeant stormed away, he stripped himself of armor and shirt. “See to it that I am not disturbed.”

  “Wait,” Hyun-Ki called out.

  But the Sergeant did not listen.

  “W—”

  Watchman Wu-Kong crouched in front of Hyun-Ki. “Please, Intruder Number Three. I ask that you quiet yourself and accept your title and your destiny.”

  “What?” Hyun-Ki asked.

  “Intruder Number Three. That is your title and your destiny. I ask that you accept this.”

  “But the Emperor. I have come here to—”

  Watchman Wu-Kong shook his head. “My apologies, Intruder Number Three. But it is not your destiny to go before Emperor Bataar. Not now and not ever.”

  Hyun-Ki shivered. It was the way Watchman Wu-Kong’s lips smiled warmly even as his eyes only held the cold air of the desert night. It also did not help that the Watchman patted Hyun-Ki’s head as one would an injured animal moments away from being put down.

  “And what is my destiny?” he asked in a whisper.

  Watchman Wu-Kong’s smile widened. “Why, to be tortured and killed, of course.”

  ✽✽✽

  The oxen that pulled the heavy-laden carts of the supply caravan tromped down the narrow dirt road. They lowed and snorted. The soldiers surrounding them gripped their bows and spears as they scanned the flat landscape.

  At the caravan’s head marched a man, dressed in furs and leather of the Altians. In his hand was a spear. This he leaned against his shoulder. His steps kicked up dirt, which drifted in the air before it floated down and settled on the beasts and people behind him. This pleased him.

  A soldier, jostled forward by his comrades, broke from his rank and jogged forward. He cleared his throat.

  “No sign of danger, Captain Changhatai.”

  Without turning around, Changhatai pointed the tip of his spear in the soldier’s direction in both acknowledgment and threat. The soldier yelped and hurried back. This pleased Changhatai, though he bristled at the soldier’s words.

  Captain. These foolish Ming people with their foolish titles and their foolish rituals. They are fools, fit to be caged in that pathetic Royal City. Not like me. And Altian.

  His teeth ground together.

  Why am I here? I should be with my brethren, not babysitting these… these… babies.

  He envisioned his horde shaking their spears at him, mocking him for marching at the head of these false warriors.

  This is child’s work, not fit for me. An Altian. A true warrior.

  “Still no sign of danger, Captain Changhatai,” another soldier reported.

  “Shut up. All of you. I will have no more interruptions. Stop telling me that there’s no danger. Only inform me when there is,” he snapped.

  What did I do to deserve this? he wondered. Did I not ride with Dzhambul the Stone Cliff, one of the Seven Stars of the Altian Sky? Did my spear not skewer his enemies? Did my blood not spill, adding to his renown? Was I not counted among his horde? He sighed. Then why? Why, Dzhambul? Why did you give me this assignment? Why humiliate me?

  Changhatai shook his head. He wiped the sweat from his head. His hand glistened. He studied it.

  Yes. The Pale Hand. I must not forget. The Pale Hand. A scourge to Dzhambul the Stone Cliff. And these Ming weaklings have shown themselves incapable for even this simple of a task. Of ridding the world of their accursed presence. I must remind myself of this. That Dzhambul chose me because the Ming have failed. This is the reason why. This is not punishment. This is an honor.

  A wave of calm washed over Changhatai. He straightened his back and held his head up high.

  Yes. It is an honor to be given this mission by one of the Seven Stars of the Altian Sky. One of Emperor Bataar’s—what was the word these Ming used? Generals? Yes. One of the Emperor’s generals. And who knows, if I am successful in this mission, perhaps word of my loyalty will spread. Perhaps Dzhambul will hold me in high esteem. Perhaps I will even be given greater honor among my horde.

  A soldier called out. “Captain Changhatai—”

  Changhatai stopped and shouted back. “I told you not to—”

  He gasped when he felt it. Tension. A tug. A pulling on the top of his foot. He looked down and noticed a string the color of dirt. It had snagged onto his boot.

  Crap.

  Wooden spikes shot up from the ground.. They pierced through the leather soles of his boot. They rent flesh. They broke bones.

  As Changhatai fell to the ground, a cloud of dust rose and trailed over the caravan. Figures popped up on either side of the caravan. Grass and dirt and mud slid off their cloaks as they raised their bows and fired their arrows at the Ming soldiers. The soldiers tried to run, but there was no cover, no escape in the flatlands. And as the dust from Changhatai’s collapse settled, the last of the soldiers perished.

  A man appeared, covered in shadows. He approached Changhatai with a friendly wave.

  “Greetings,” he said. “We are the Pale Hand.”

  Changhatai fought through the pain. He willed his hands to let go of his foot and grabbed his spear. However, before he could hurl it at the approaching man, a knife sunk into his arm. He howled in pain and fell back to the ground.

  The man withdrew a long handkerchief from his pocket. With a flick of his wrist, he opened it and lay it on the ground before sitting on it. He twisted the corners of his finely shaped mustache as he studied Changhatai.

  A pale man with gray eyes? Why is one like him so far away from his people? Why is he here, deep in the Altian Empire? Changhatai wondered through his pain.

  “Now that the rumpus has concluded, allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Piolo Markus. Humble member of the Pale Hand. And who do I have the pleasure of meeting this fine day?”

  Piolo Markus smiled. His teeth sparkled, as did his eyes. He pulled at the hem of his suit and swept dust from his sleeve as he waited for Changhatai’s answer.

  Drawing a deep breath, the Altian spit in defiance. It would have struck Piolo had he not slapped Changhatai the moment before the projectile could leave his mouth. The liquid landed on the ground with a splat.

  “My dear Altian, is that any way to treat a friend?” Piolo asked.

  “You are not my friend. All you are is dead, whether by my spear or the spears of my brethren. We will kill you. We will kill all of you and leave your bodies out in the open. Shame in death. There will be no honor for you,” Changhatai said.

  He tried to sound menacing, but the blood loss caused his voice to sound hollow.

  Piolo Markus nodded with compassion. Sadness filled his ey
es. “So. We are not to be friends. I am hurt that you would not even consider the possibility of it, especially given the fact that many consider me affable company..”

  “I would rather die than be counted among your horde,” said Changhatai.

  With lips pressed tight together, Piolo nodded his head as he considered this. His nodding turned to swaying. Though he remained seated, he moved as if dancing to an unheard song. “Are you sure? I mean, doesn’t being friends with me sound much better than death?”

  Changhatai growled.

  “Very well, noble Altian. Let it be known that I have offered my hand of friendship and that it has been rebuffed.”

  With a twirl of his fingers, a knife appeared in Piolo’s hands as if summoned by magic. And with a flick of his fingers, the knife disappeared from his hand. It flew swiftly through the air and sliced across Changhatai’s throat before sinking into the dirt road.

  The Altian grasped his neck as he slumped down. He felt the blood drain from his body, the life leave his limbs. And the last words he heard before he passed away were those of Piolo Markus as he addressed his fellow members of the Pale Hand.

  “It’s so hard to make friends these days, isn’t it?”

  They laughed.

  And Changhatai died.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bataar leaned back against his chair. Despite what others have called it, he always considered it a chair rather than a throne. He did all to ensure that it would be known as such, even going as far as to provide explicit instruction to the artisans and craftsmen who constructed it. Made of bones and wood and furs, it stood in stark contrast to the Royal City’s former ruler’s gold, silk, and gem encrusted seat that lay dust covered in the corner of the throne room. But despite these differences, he knew that people still considered his chair a throne.

  An affectation not easily transformed, he thought to himself as his eyes roamed the dimly lit room formed of stone and wood and metal.

  His gaze settled on the dancing flame of a candle. He studied its twisting and flickering, the tendrils of smoke that rose and disappeared into the dark shadows of the ceiling. But for as many times as he’s contemplated the candle’s light during these past three years, he could not predict its patterns.

  “Emperor Bataar, LONG MAY YOU REIGN,” intoned Great Administrator Bogan. “Nugai the Wild Dog. He has suppressed another rebellion. Taxes have been collected.”

  “You have been heard. Proceed,” he said, eyes still focused on the flame.

  “Emperor Bataar, LONG MAY YOU REIGN. Monkhbat the Unyielding sends his regards. He also sends double the yield of crops. The fruit of his rice paddies and farms.”

  “You have been heard. Proceed.”

  “Emperor Bataar, LONG MAY YOU REIGN. Near the city of Touss, a rebel faction, the Pale Hand, disrupts our supply lines. Dzhambul the Stone Cliff, member of the Seven Stars of the Altian Sky, LONG MAY THEY ROAM, has sent word. He has the situation under his control.”

  “You have been heard. Proceed.”

  “Emperor Bataar, LONG MAY YOU REIGN. Pirate activity has increased near the coasts of Enetkeg and Sima. Our shore cities make haste to build warships. Sailors will soon be conscripted.”

  “You have been heard. Proceed.”

  Again and again, the Great Administrator reported all that happened in the kingdoms that formed his empire. Shifting his gaze, Bataar studied the old… man.

  There was a hesitation in using that word to describe Great Administrator Bogan. Age had robbed him of hair. His skin sagged, causing any features that would indicate his true gender to disappear beneath the hills and valleys of his wrinkles.. Likewise, the years had contorted his voice until it became shrill and taut, towing the line between masculine and feminine. The only reason Bataar even used the word, man, was due to the function of the title of Administrator.

  We are all men, as are we all administrators, he remembered Great Administrator Bogan informing him when he began his reign.

  Casting his gaze over the other administrators that crowded the throne room, the dark-cloaked men with long sleeves and feathered hats that marked them as “men” who hailed from the conquered Kingdom of Rus, he found himself longing to sigh. However, he withheld from doing so.

  He recalled his father’s wisdom.

  Do not let your pride hinder your growth. Learn from those you conquer. Take from them that which is of value.

  These Rus Administrators had their use. They had value. So he allowed them to persist in their titles, just as he had most others in the Royal City. Just as he had most within the boundaries of his empire.

  ✽✽✽

  Hyun-Ki struggled to open his eyes. Each time he did, he felt a tug as his lashes, held fast together by dried blood and mucous, refused to part. He shook his head. It throbbed. His cheeks burned.

  “Whu?” he asked, groggily, as he tried to scrape at his eyes.

  However, his hands were bound. It was the same with his feet and waist and neck. He tried to struggle but all it gained him was tiredness and rope burn.

  “Help,” he shouted, cracking the scab on his lip. It bled freely. “Ow. Help. Ow.”

  There were footsteps. Soft, treading lightly. And a voice. A low soothing voice. A woman. Deep and sweet like honey mixed with drops of molasses.

  “Quiet,” the voice said.

  “H—help. You have to—”

  A finger, smooth and warm, pressed against his lips.

  “Shh.”

  Water splashed. A warm, damp cloth ran against his cheek, wiping away blood and dirt and filth. He could smell the faint hints of vomit.

  Delicate hands pulled at Hyun-Ki’s lashes, allowing him to open his eyes. The light of a single candle dimly illuminated the room. It cast a shadow across the woman’s face as she dipped the cloth once more into the bucket of water and wrung it. She lifted her gaze and wiped his face.

  She smiled. It was a youthful smile, one devoid of the lines and weight of age. However, most of the women of the Kingdom of Ming looked this way. Clear skin. Almond eyes. Brow free of wrinkles. For all Hyun-Ki knew, the person in front of him could have been twenty years of age or forty.

  “Hello, Intruder Number Three,” the female said, scanning the parchment that lay on the nearby table. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I see here—”

  “W—where am I? Wh—who are you?

  The female smiled once more. “Please, stay calm and quiet. I ask that you do not interrupt me. Speak only when I ask you a question—”

  “What questions?”

  “Again, Intruder Number Three. I implore you. Only answer the questions I ask. To do anything else would be improper. Rude, even. And I do not appreciate rudeness. Do you understand?”

  Hyun-Ki nodded as much as he could, given the rope tied around his neck.

  “Good. Now. The first question. What is your name?”

  “Hyun-Ki. Bak Hyun-Ki,” he said, his eyes roaming around the darkened room.

  “Thank you, Intruder Hyun-Ki,” the female said as she wrote on the parchment. “And what Kingdom do you hail from?”

  “Solongas—listen, can you—”

  The female cleared her throat. “And your occupation?”

  “I… I was a scribe. But now—”

  “Scribe will suffice,” she said. “And now, on to the last question. Are you ready to begin your torture?”

  ✽✽✽

  “Put your back into it, my children,” Captain Shih shouted over her shoulder.

  Her voice rose above that of the coxswain’s rhythmic commands of “Row. Row. Row. Row.”

  Water splashed and foamed as oars dug into the ocean. Mist rose, dampening clothes and hair and hands. With each wave the boat crested, the horizon appeared and disappeared.

  “Faster, my children,” Captain Shih yelled as she brandished her sword and pointed it toward the Ming Treasure Ship. “Faster. Row towards your destiny. Row towards treasure and wealth and honor and renown.”

  “Aye,”
twenty voices cried out in response.

  The rowboat jerked forward. It glided upon the ocean like a swan upon a lake.

  “Arrows,” the coxswain warned.

  Captain Shih grabbed a shield and raised it high. Half of the rowers pulled back their oars and did the same.

  Arrows slipped into the water all around them. They thudded against the shields. They sank into the wooden frame of the rowboat. But still, the coxswain called out each stroke. Still, Captain Shih rallied her men.

  “Hooks. Ladders. Archers, give us cover,” she ordered.

  The pirates returned fire, driving the Ming soldiers back from the edge of their ship. They did not relent from their assault until they bumped against the hull of the Treasure Ship. A ladder was raised from the rowboat. Hooks attached to rope were flung and affixed to the ship’s railing.

  Captain Shih sheathed her sword and grasped the rungs of the ladder. To her left, she caught sight of another rowboat approaching the Treasure Ship. She smiled as she climbed, knowing that eighty-eight of her children would rise from the waters and overwhelm the Ming soldiers like a tsunami washing over a tiny island.

  With this, I will make my mark. I will seal my place as head of the Congress of Piracy. They will not deny me what is mine. That fool, Chung-Po, will not keep me from what is mine. Not again. No ever again.

  With a grunt, Captain Shih leaped, pushing off the ladder with her legs. At the same time, she pulled with her arms. Her body flew through the air in a graceful arc. She landed and rolled before standing upright in front of a Ming soldier.

  He stared at her in surprise. His expression changed to anger as he raised his sword to strike her down. It was too late, however. Captain Shih’s knife was already in her hands, and its sharp edge had already cut through his leather armor and pierced his stomach.

  “There, there, young one,” she said as she patted the soldier on the head. “Soon, it will all be over for you.”

  She withdrew the knife. The soldier fell to the floor. The Ming soldiers raised their weapons and pointed them in her direction.