by G R Matthews
“You have to come now,” Haung blurted out.
“Why?” She stopped rubbing her eyes and squinted at him.
“My wife,” he said. “She’s having a baby.”
“Wait here, I will get my bag. Young man, babies can take a long time to be born and you would have had the time to ensure that you were fully dressed before knocking on my door.”
He looked down.
# # #
Haung paced up and down the corridor outside the closed door to his rooms. The thick wood muffled the sounds but he could still hear Jiao’s cries of agony. On every cry, he picked up the pace a little and had to fight down the urge to smash open the door and rush in to help. He would be little help, Haung realised, and would probably just be in the way. The cries were coming more often now. Haung paced even faster.
A married Jiin-Wei was an anomaly, even if he did command the duke’s bodyguard. A Jiin-Wei father was unheard of. In all the records he had been through in the months leading up to this night there was mention of only one other. That Jiin-Wei had fathered a child outside of marriage. The child and its mother had died in an accident after barely a week had passed. The Jiin-Wei had been killed soon after. During a mission, so the record said. It did not take Haung long to read in between the lines.
Weyl and Marbu had been quite clear when he joined that marriage and children were not permitted. Marbu had threatened Jiao’s life and only Haung’s position with the duke forestalled any action.
What am I doing? He asked himself for at least the thousandth time in the past nine months. How can I keep my family safe? The predictable follow up question. He had toyed with the idea of running away, taking Jiao and the baby with him but where would they go? The famine in the north had created a stream of refugees that he could lose his family amongst, but there were few places they could find safety. The Duke’s magicians would trace a runaway Jiin-Wei quickly enough and then there would be no chance. No, much better, he decided, to stay with the duke and do his duty to the best of his ability. If the duke stayed alive and happy, then Marbu would be happy and Haung’s family would live.
Then, through the door, came a different cry. Haung turned, barged open the door, and raced into the bedroom. The old midwife was holding a small bundle of white cloth and it was from this that the cries came. Jiao was laying on the bed, hair plastered to her forehead and exhaustion written clearly on her face. Halfway down the bed, between her legs, the red stain of blood and other fluids.
“Young man,” snapped the midwife, “you should wait to be called. This is not the place for a husband.”
“Jiao?” Haung ignored the midwife and looked to his wife.
She gave him a weak smile, “A boy, Haung, a boy.”
Haung smiled back and felt the prickle of tears in his eyes. Sight blurring, he stumbled over to the bed and enfolded his wife in a gentle, tender, embrace. She clung onto him, her own tears of happiness dampening his shoulders.
The midwife carefully placed the bundle of noise between the two of them and Haung took his first look into his son’s soft grey eyes. The wrinkled, red face looked barely human, forehead too low, eyes too small, nose too tiny, mouth too large.
“I’ll have a bath run before I leave,” the midwife was saying. “Take the sheets and have them burnt, young man. Jiao will need to sleep very soon and you’ll be in charge of your son. Take good care of him, Captain, protect him from harm, and teach him to be a good and independent man. Teach him wisdom and common sense but don’t be surprised if he doesn’t listen too well or attentively. Never give up on him. Your reward will be his and your line will go on.”
She paused but Haung could sense there was more and so he turned towards her. She sighed. “He is a rare child. A child of a Jiin-Wei, of the Captain of the Duke’s bodyguard. He has enemies already. Some are obvious and some are hidden. You have a hard road ahead of you. Keep him safe.” The midwife turned and began issuing orders to the servants who had now arrived.
Haung looked back at his son and then into the beautiful eyes of his wife. Projecting a calm confidence, burying his feelings and the echoing concerns of the midwife’s words far down in his heart, he smiled.
“What shall we name him?” he asked Jiao.
# # #
There was a loud knock at the door. Haung stumbled out of bed, bleary eyed and aching with lack of sleep.
“Ssssh!” He whispered, directing a concerned look towards the cot where the baby, his son, slept, at last.
He crept as quickly as he could to the door and opened it a crack.
“What is it?”
“Sir, the...” the soldier outside said.
“Keep your voice down,” Haung hissed. “We’ve only just got the baby to sleep.”
The guard smiled, “They can be little buggers for that can’t they, Sir.”
Haung grunted in agreement.
“Sir, the duke has requested your presence. Immediately, Sir. Sorry.”
“Give me a minute to get into some appropriate clothes. I’ll meet you at the end of the corridor. Go quietly.” Haung closed the door and rooted around on floor, seeking his uniform, dragging the tunic over his head, pulling his trousers on and belting his sword around the robe. He gave Jiao a last look. She was oblivious to the world, dark hair fanned across the pillow, mouth open a tiny amount, her chest rising and falling in regular rhythm. Haung realised he was jealous.
He opened the door again and slipped through, closing it as quietly as possible behind him. There was a click as the catch caught, so loud to his ears that it seemed to shake the very walls of the corridor.
“Ssssh!” he whispered to the door. Haung stopped and shook his head. Good grief, I need sleep, he thought.
He padded to the end of the corridor and met the guard, “Come on then, let’s go.”
# # #
The guard left him at the entrance to the duke’s audience chamber. Haung opened the door and stepped into the large hall. The walls were panelled with scenes of farming and war. A strange joining of two very different pastimes. Workers on the land, in rice paddies, with oxen and other beasts, tilling the fields, and, through their efforts drawing the richness of food from it. Soldiers cutting down the enemy, limbs scattered to the four winds, faces full of blood-lust and wildness, death and fire, blood soaking into the land and draining the life from its people. Haung turned his eyes away from the paradox on the walls and towards the end of the hall where a small group of men waited.
The duke looked up from his conversation and raised a hand, beckoning Haung over. Haung performed a little bow and moved towards the group. As he did so, Marbu, Commander Weyl’s secretary, broke from the men and moved towards him.
Haung tried hard to keep the dislike from his face as he and Marbu closed on each other.
“Marbu,” Haung gave him the smallest of nods for politeness sake.
“Jiin-Wei Haung.” Marbu returned the self-same nod.
Haung passed him and let out a small breath of relief, focused upon the duke now.
“Oh, Haung.” Marbu spoke in a whisper from behind. Haung stopped and turned to face the secretary. “I meant to congratulate you on the birth of your child.”
“You are too kind, Marbu.” Haung met the ice cold eyes of the other man.
“New life is a wonderful, precious thing, Jiin-Wei,” Marbu smiled. “Very precious as it is so fragile. I will be thinking of your family a lot in the coming days, Haung.”
“Your concern is appreciated, Secretary Marbu.” Haung struggled to keep the fury from his voice as he tried to match the ice of the other man's stare with a cool voice. “I will know where to look if something untoward or unlucky should happen. For help, I mean, of course. Rest assured, Secretary Marbu, that I would always call on you first.”
“I am always at your disposal, Jiin-Wei Haung.” Marbu bowed to Haung without once breaking his stare and, with a slight smile on his face, the secretary turned and walked away. Haung watched him all the way to
the doors before resuming his own journey.
“My Lord Duke, Commander Weyl.” Haung bowed deeply as he reached the men.
“Captain Haung, it is good of you to come. I hope that your family are well,” the duke said with broad smile on his face. “They are keeping you awake I see.”
Haung bowed again to the duke and felt the familiar light touch on his mind and, though tired, his shields sprang quickly into place. The touch slid off their glassy surface and away.
“Not too tired though. Good,” the duke continued. “Now, these other gentlemen are representatives of the emperor. Allow me to present you to the emperor’s Jiin-Wei, Chen and Shen. And no, I cannot tell them apart either. It is enough to know that the emperor trusts them.”
Haung bowed to the twin Jiin-Wei. They returned the gesture and Haung studied their faces. They were identical, clean shaven chin and head, dark brown eyes and no distinguishing scars or marks upon their faces. Their robes of shimmering grey silk were belted, and hung with twin identical daggers, at the waist.
“Haung, you are here at the emperor’s request. Shen, or Chen, has conveyed the emperor's pleasure at your service to me, and through me, to the Empire.”
“I do my duty, my Lord,” Haung said.
“Of course,” the duke said in reply. “Of more import, the emperor is due to speak with us tonight and he, I understand, has need of you.”
“My Lord?” Haung asked.
“I do not know, yet. Chen and Shen will open the Jade Mirror Portal for the emperor in a moment.” The duke paused and looked at Haung for a moment. “The Jade Mirror Portals are secret to all but the highest ranking administrators, dukes, and now you. To be trusted with this is a great honour, Haung. It is also a great burden.”
“Yes, my Lord Duke,” Haung replied with a calmness he did not feel. “My Lord?”
“The Jade Mirror Portals are some of our oldest relics, Haung. The magicians will tell you they were made by the Jade Emperor himself and given to mortals so that they may learn about the world and behold the greatness of the Jade Emperor's creation,” the duke shrugged. “Whether that is true or not, I don’t know. What I do know, is that the emperor can open a Jade Portal to anywhere that another one exists. They join together. Do you understand? I can never really get my head around how or why. In theory, it should be quite possible for the Dragon Emperor to send an army through the portals, to take the castle or domain of any disloyal lord before the guards would have a chance to react.”
Haung searched the duke’s face for any sign of a trap or lie, there was none.
“Chen and Shen are here to notify us of the emperor's desire to speak to us. And, no doubt, to ensure that he isn’t kept waiting or under threat from us when the portal opens.”
Both of the Jiin-Wei smiled at the remark before one of them spoke, “The emperor is ready, my Lords.”
The Duke climbed the steps up to the raised dais and twisted the throne around to face the wall. It rotated smoothly and Haung peered closely at the throne and the dais but could not determine how it was turning. As the throne twisted, the curtain across the wall behind it opened. It reminded Haung of the stage curtains at the shadow plays, the ones that were popular in the market and especially on festival days. Behind the curtain a large, gold framed mirror reflected the light of the hall's candles.
The two Jiin-Wei walked up to the mirror and placed their hands upon the frame. Shen, Haung assumed for want of a better guess, brought a slip of paper from a pocket in his robe and pressed it against the surface of the mirror. Wisps of smoke rose from beneath his hand and swirled through the glass. The tendrils of smoke expanded and spread until the whole mirror was a grey slate that absorbed the candle light. Shen withdrew his hand and then both Jiin-Wei moved to one side and bowed low.
A velvet slippered foot poked through the grey slate and then the rest of the man slid through. The emperor stepped into to the hall and behind him the grey surface rippled in concentric circles like a pebble dropped into a pond. The Duke and his entourage went to their knees, bowing their heads low. Haung knelt alongside them.
“We welcome the Emperor to the city,” the duke said.
“Rise,” the emperor’s voice was soft and low but it carried the expectation of obedience.
“My Lord, you do us a great honour. Please, will you take tea with us?” The duke indicated the table set with delicate porcelain cups from which steam rose towards the rafters.
“Indeed,” said the emperor, “let us sit and talk. I have long been absent from these halls. You have news of your efforts to provide for the refugees and I have news for you of the larger Empire. I also bring you a warning.”
Commander Weyl paused in his walk to the table and turned a questioning gaze towards the duke.
“A warning, my Lord Emperor?” the duke asked.
“Something we will discuss later.” The emperor’s eyes did not leave the duke's face but Haung was sure the leader of the Empire was seeing all the subtle messages that the commander and duke were exchanging with their glances. Haung saw a small smile appear on the emperor’s face. “Be assured, Lord Duke and Commander, the warning is brought by me but the threat is not from me. The honoured Duke acquitted himself with honour and duty in the sanctioned war.”
Haung watched as one of the twin Jiin-Wei pulled a chair out for the emperor and checked it for traps. They also checked the tea, tasting it and casting charms from the prepared miniature scrolls they carried in little pouches. The emperor waited, his deep purple and gold threaded robe absolutely still, as his servants fulfilled their purpose.
“Now, come, let us share tea and tell me of the refugees. Has the flow from the north slowed at all?” The emperor sat and held out a hand into which Chen passed a cup of tea.
Haung stood back, away from the inner circle, as the duke, Weyl and the emperor spoke of the Empire, the problems in the north, the threats far to the west from the barbarian tribes and the strained relations with the strange people of the jungle countries to the far south. The servants brought out a second serving of tea and sweet cakes as the conversation continued. Haung studied the emperor as he drank, ate and spoke. He had long dark hair tied back into a long tail that reached to the base of his spine, a fine moustache framed thin lips and, when he smiled, Haung saw perfect, white teeth. Bushy eyebrows left the emperor’s eyes in shadow much of the time and the candle light did not reflect from them except in those moments when the emperor tilted his head to drink from his cups. Haung was sure, in those quick glimpses before the emperor's eyes closed in appreciation of the tea, that he could see flashes of gold and red in the irises.
Behind the emperor stood Chen and Shen. They looked to be studying Haung as much as he studied the emperor. When he lifted his gaze to meet their eyes they did not break the stare, but returned it with dispassionate, measuring, interest.
“Now,” said the emperor as he put down his empty cup, “to my warning.”
Weyl and the duke sat forward in their chairs.
“Send away your clerks and lawyers,” the emperor waved an imperious hand, “your servants too. These words are for you alone.”
“Go, go,” the duke gestured at his staff.
The servants hurried to pick up the serving dishes and cups. The clerks piled up their scrolls, paper and pens and scampered from the hall. Haung bowed low to the duke, and emperor, and began to leave.
“No,” the emperor spoke, “not you, Jiin-Wei bodyguard. You too must hear this warning as it may fall to you to take the necessary action.”
“May I present the Captain of my bodyguards, Jiin-Wei Haung,” the duke indicated Haung. “A most loyal and capable Jiin-Wei who has already saved my life once this year and who fought valiantly in our service during the war.”
Haung bowed to the emperor and then, raising his head, met the gaze of those red and gold eyes. He sucked in a sharp breath. From a distance and with only candlelight, he had not noticed but now, up closer, it was so clear. The eyes of
the emperor were not the usual round pupil and iris; instead they were diamond slits reminiscent of a cat or lizard. The surrounding irises were a molten, swirling pool of red and gold like corralled hot mountain lava.
“My Lord Dragon Emperor,” Haung spoke with awe and bowed even lower.
“Welcome, Jiin-Wei Haung. I have heard the story of your battle with the assassin sent to kill the duke and how it almost cost you your own life. I have heard too of your reward. Most unusual.” The eyes bored into Haung's and he was forced to look away.
“Indeed, most unusual,” the emperor repeated. “Duke of Yaart, Commander Weyl of the Jiin-Wei and, of course, Jiin-Wei Haung, a threat is coming your way. Unfortunately, it is one that could have been easily avoided. However, you seem to have gone out of your way to awake and incite.”
“My Lord?” Commander Weyl asked.
“I have eyes and ears everywhere, my lords. I get to see, and to hear, almost everything that goes on in my empire. There are areas where I make it my special purpose to know all that happens and there are a sect of men that I choose to keep a very close eye on at all times. Indeed, these men and women are on the lists that I ensure each duke has in their possession. Do you know of the list I am speaking of Commander Weyl?”
“Yes, my Lord Emperor,” Weyl swallowed hard. “The list of forbidden men.”
“That is the one. Jiin-Wei Haung will not know of this list, I imagine. Allow me to teach him.” The emperor turned his golden eyes to Haung, “There are men, and women, Haung, who are possessed of skills beyond the ordinary. Some of these men can seem to be invisible, some to pass through walls, some are assassins of incredible skill, some swordsmen of incomparable greatness, some wise and peaceful. But each is special and I have ensured that each duke knows who they are and where they are. I am content to let these men live in peace, and to go about their business without any undue interference. There are times, in the past, and there may be again in the near future, when I will call upon them to do the Empire a service. I expect them to come and serve with all duty and honour. I have never been let down by them. In return, they are free to live and to be outside, within reason, the law of the Empire. This is the list of forbidden men, Haung.”