Weaves of Ink and Song

Another Path (Part 3)

"Why don't you ask your friend here?" Shiyao tilted his head at Junmo. "I barely get two letters from him a year, and then he suddenly sends three missives in quick succession, imploring me to delay your retrieval to Ariq'khan's main camp."

No wonder. He had wondered why the Ba'yens dared to keep a hostage so loosely tethered.

"Who are you?" Mengzhang glared at Shiyao. "How can you have such power? Why would you help me?"

"Who? I'm just a musician in the Ba'yen court," Shiyao smiled. "But I know people in power. I can make them listen."

His music. That face.

"That doesn't explain why you acceded to Junmo's request."

"Why? Did you want to be sent to Ariq'khan? They don't treat their hostages half as well over there." Shiyao's eyes narrowed in amusement. "Or did you think you would be able to get close enough to assassinate the Ba'yen leader? Win yourself a war that way?"

"Why not? Killing Ariq'khan rips the head off the Ba'yen power structure. His heir is in our hands. His court will fall apart. The war will end."

"And if you die in the process?"

"It's still worth a try."

Shiyao threw a smug glance at Junmo before turning to address Mengzhang. "I'm afraid I've saved you the trouble then. Though it would have been fun to watch you try."

"What do you mean?"

"There's going to be an assassination attempt on Ariq'khan today. The Secondary Chieftains are revolting. It took me a while to lay the threads, but everything is finally in place," Shiyao said. He could have been talking about the weather.

"You're talking about civil war." Junmo's face paled.

"Mmm... Infighting. Best way to keep an enemy busy." Shiyao shrugged. "Apart from Ariq'khan and Nurbolat, no one else has the ability to unite the Ba'ye tribes. His other sons can't hold this empire."

"The violence will spill outwards. The civilians-" A horn's blare swept the air, cutting Junmo's words mid-sentence. Its long wail thinned, dipping into silence before rising again, followed swiftly by another horn in the distance, carrying the news of the Ariq'khan's demise into all corners of his empire.

"Speak of the devil." Shiyao laughed. "Time to head home, General Liao. Before all hell breaks loose in Ba'ye." He waved as he swivelled to face the entrance, striding swiftly towards the doorway. There he stopped, turning to regard Junmo. "I guess you're staying?" His amber eyes were unusually bright.

Junmo nodded. "For now," he said. A golden tide surfaced within his brown eyes, then dimmed, sinking slowly until it disappeared.

Shiyao gave a wry laugh, then turned and left them. It was almost evening. Light dulled within the yurt, throwing half its interior in sullen shadow. The sound of horns blanketed the air, punctuated by the occasional shout of frightened refugees heading back into their tents.

"Is Ariq'khan really dead?" Mengzhang asked.

Junmo nodded. "Shiyao has never failed an assignment." He regarded Mengzhang. "What will you do now?"

Mengzhang paused. This liberation was too sudden. "Go home, I guess." He tightened his right fist, wondering if his freshly healed wrist would be able to wield a weapon. "I wish I had a sabre. You reckon I can steal one off the Ba'yen guard?"

Junmo was riffling through a medical supplies box from a low cabinet. He extracted a roll of bandage, then wrapped Junmo's right hand securely in a half-splint, leaving the fingers free. "This will provide support if you need to fight. Though I hope you choose not to."