Sky Pride

Epilogue I- The King of Hell and his Book Carrying Servant

There was a saying in the Broadsky Kingdom- The sword of the King of Hell is a venomous snake, his brush is a poison dragon. When he raises his sword, a head falls. When he lowers his brush, nine generations go to Hell. The saying started amongst the high civil servants, spread to the aristocracy, and quickly flowed down to the merchants, traveling faster than an Imperial Messenger on a post road. It was less flowery and allusive than most of the sayings of the elite. Direct to the point of crudity, in fact.

They didn’t care. It wasn’t metaphorical in the first place. While they might be petty, venal, scheming, untrustworthy, cruel and all the other things they were accurately accused of, they weren’t stupid. Not when their life was on the line.

“Guard Captain Ho, what is the meaning of this?” The merchant prince stood in front of the gate of his family compound, the mercenaries he employed arrayed behind him. He had paid for good iron helmets, fine spears, and tall tower shields. He had paid for crossbows, and in enough numbers to be effective. The guards outnumbered him, but they both knew any confrontation would be far, far too expensive for both to be worth it.

But Merchant Kang had a dreadful feeling he knew why this was all happening. From the hard look in the mercenaries eyes, so did they.

“Merchant Kang, by order of the Imperial Court, surrender yourself!”

“I need more than that, Captain.” Merchant Kang licked his lips.

“No, you don’t. Surrender, or be considered a rebel. Don’t drag your family down with you, Kang! Surrender!”

“Is this how you repay me? Is this how you repay-”

“SILENCE!” Guard Captain Ho roared. “Another word and I won’t bother taking you in alive!”

“Better a clean death, you faithless dog! Better to die on my feet!”

“You would see your whole family die with you, old fool!”

“Without me, without my money, they are dead anyway.”

The Guard Captain’s face fell flat. “I tried. Guards of the Kang family, you can lay down your weapons and walk away with your lives and whatever pay you have accumulated to date, or you can be declared rebels and suffer the same fate as the Kang Clan. You know who is in the black dragon carriage behind me. Don’t make a fatal mistake.”

An eerie laugh rang over the assembled soldiers. With light steps, an old man in brown robes leapt to the top of the compound walls, and with another light step landed on a mercenaryʼs shoulder, and with a third, was in front of Guard Captain Ho.

“I have long heard the famous name of the King of Hell, Hanshen. I have my own fame too. Come out, Eunuch! They won’t run so long as Seven Mercies Ren is on the field!”

There was silence for a minute. Guard Captain Ho’s fist tightened in his gauntlet. The soldiers behind him had crossbows and iron armor, long spears and heavy sabers. But you had to reach someone to use them, and the experts of the rivers and lakes were fast. Damned fast. Seven Mercies was known for his skill with heavy knives and poison. If he broke their formation, the mercenaries might actually succeed in repelling them. And if they fell… If they fell, or even took too many losses, Red Wheat Town would fall, and with it, the province.

The door of the carriage opened, and a servant boy stepped out. Immaculately groomed, dressed as a student, there was a heavy book hanging from a leather strap on his waist. He carried a treasured sword in both hands. Once out, he stepped sharply to the right side of the carriage door, bowed, and subtly presented the sword hilt first.

“Old Freak Ren, you might have lived a little while longer had you stayed away. You might have even lived to the end of your years, if you accepted the Emperor’s amnesty.” The voice coming from the darkness of the carriage was high pitched, and cold as a winter wind.

Colder, really. It never got freezing in the Broadsky Kingdom.

“Ten years of service fighting rebels, heretics and bandits, all for a mere amnesty? Pah!” The old man eloquently spat on the ground and drew his heavy knives. “You are blind, eunuch. The Emperor has lost the mandate of heaven. The immortals who once attended him have sealed the Great Mountain, disasters plague the land, monsters and evil beasts rampage through the villages, and here you are.”

A slender man, tall and pale in the moonlight, stepped out of the back carriage. His scholar’s robes were immaculate, his iron token hanging gently from his waist, his gauzy little hat perched on top of his head. He still wore the robes of a Sixth Rank Lower Division Censor, but no one thought that was his true rank. Around his waist was a python belt, clasped with a buckle of Wuyi Mountain Heavenly Water Jade. No different than a Duke.

A slim white hand grasped the sword and drew it with a bare whisper. There was a faint shimmer to it, as though the steel itself held flowing water within. “Here I am. Is it because your grandaughter died last spring? Do you feel there is nothing left tying you to the world?”

Ren recoiled as though he were slapped. “How-”

Silence gathered between the two armies. Censor Hanshen walked through the ranks of soldiers, blade loose in his hand, not a ripple crossing his eyes or heart.

“Yes, damn you. Yes! What do I care if the world burns! What family do I have to implicate? What do I care about who sits on the Dragon Throne? All I have left is my purse, my knives and my name. I will bring glory to all three this night!”

“Fame, certainly. Glory? I think not.” Hanshen murmured. “Raise those prided knives of yours, Ren, lest your head fall with my next step.”

“Hee!” Ren dashed forward, moving low, his steps erratic and his breath undetectable as a snake’s shadow. With a twist of his body, one knife stabbed down at the censor’s foot, the other thrust at his stomach. Hanshen countered with a sudden stop and a long lunge. The tip of his treasured sword pressed for the spot between Ren’s brows.

Hanshen was taller and had the longer weapon. Ren hopped to the side and rolled away, and when he came up, one hand held a chicken egg instead of a knife. He crushed the egg and flung it in one motion, a cloud of fine blue-white powder hanging like smoke under the bright moon. This time it was Hanshen who had to dodge, shifting to one side with gliding steps before pressing in again.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from . If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Ren welcomed the clash. His blades came hacking down wildly, left-right, up-down, crossing angles. It seemed a mad chaos, the idiotic flailing of an amateur, but Guard Captain Ho and the more experienced mercenaries understood. He was sealing angles, forcing Hanshen to pick his lines of attack carefully. Increasing the chance of the censor making a fatal error and leaving himself open to poison or a sneaky thrust.

Ren overthought it. There was a contemptuous, snarled, “Old fool!” and the Censor was on Ren. Then past him. Seven Mercies Ren, an old freak who had taken more lives than some juniors had walked over bridges, saw his headless body tumble to the ground. The very last thing he saw was Hanshen stabbing his sword through his eye socket and into his brain. Never understanding what happened.

Hanshen looked over the mercenaries and Merchant Kang. The servant boy rushed up with a cloth. He knelt by the eunuch and carefully cleaned the blade, before sheathing it. A soldier rushed up with a small table and camp chair. The boy took the heavy book from his waist and laid it on the table.

“Father! Father! Please, wait a moment, Father!” A young man’s voice, sixteen perhaps? Dressed in silk, with soft hands and a kind face and not a hint of brutality on his person, rushed to his father’s side.

“Fang-er, you shouldn’t be here!”

“When the nest is overturned, what egg is safe?” The young man shook his head and embraced his father.

“Fang.. er…”

Merchant Kang slid down his son’s chest and fell to the ground. A thin knife stuck out of his back.

The young man shuddered, but his voice was steady when he turned to the nearest mercenary and said “Give me your saber.”

It took three hacks and some messy sawing to cut off his father’s head. He didn’t throw up. He picked up the head with both hands, and carried it before the little table. Hanshen had sat down and opened the book while the head was being removed. The servant boy was grinding ink next to him, the fine dog hair brushes already laid out, his stamp ready and waiting. The bright moon provided more than enough light to write by. He knew all the words by heart, and had so much practice writing them.

Feng stopped three paces from the desk and fell to his knees. He bent forward and placed his father’s head on the ground. The cut wasn’t even, the stump was ragged, the head couldn’t stay balanced and fell over, rolling in the dirt.

The young man followed in his father’s footsteps, pressing his own head into the dirt.

“The Kang clan surrenders, entirely. Our guards are loyal only to our coin, and will not rebel.” Without raising his head, he drew two slim books from inside his robe, and offered them up with both hands. The book carrying servant rushed forward and collected them. Hanshen glanced at the covers, but made no move to touch them. The family record, and the master account book.

“I am the legitimate male heir of the clan, and have the right to speak for it. All the men of our clan beg the Censor’s permission to serve in the army on the front lines against the rebellion. We are willing to be horses and oxen, serving however we may. The women ask nothing save that they be allowed to cook, clean and do the laundry for the soldiers.”

A shiver ran through the man’s body. “All our treasures, all our properties and businesses, all our accumulated wealth, we wish to donate to the Court, to help alleviate some of the Emperor’s worries.”

Silence. Aching silence. Not even a breath of wind stirred the trees. Feng pressed his head even harder into the dirt. His fine silks turned black in the moonlight, soaked with sweat.

Guard Captain Ho stepped forward. “Why are you lot still carrying weapons in front of me? Why are you standing in front of me at all?!”

The mercenariesʼ weapons fell to the ground with a clatter. The tall shields fell with thuds, the crossbows were put down a bit more carefully. The spears needed to be stacked more carefully still, as it was always embarrassing to trip one another with the wooden shafts as you hurried to run away. Feng didn’t move a muscle. When the courtyard was cleared and silence returned, Hanshen finally spoke.

“We see your… filial behavior. By the Decree of the Son of Heaven, those willing to serve the army may seek amnesty for all crimes save treason, heresy, and the murder of children. Regrettably, not all of the Kang clan will qualify for amnesty, and must pay with their lives. The rest of you will accompany the Guards to the Black Turtle Army camp to serve as they require.”

“I thank the Lord Censor for his consideration and mercy!”

“Take them away.”

“Sir Censor, should we dispose of the bodies? Or leave it to the Kang family servants?” The Guard Captain asked.

“What Kang family servants?” Censor Hanshen’s voice showed not a flicker of emotion. “If there is meat on the ground, leave it for the dogs. They, at least, can stomach traitors. It will give our new volunteers something to look at as they go to their new lives.”

Back in the carriage, Hanshen leaned back on the padded seats and slowly exhaled. The little book carrying servant thoughtfully laid out some snacks and put a kettle on. Others would take charge of the minutiae, collecting the treasures, securing the properties, making sure that the family records matched their records and that no fish escaped the net. Important, but jobs that should be delegated, and were.

Eventually, he opened his eyes and looked at the servant. “Would you say Feng displayed filial behavior tonight? I honestly think it could go either way. My first instinct is to say no, of course, but a case could be made.”

The servant considered it, then shook his head. He slid a piece of paper over to the Censor. The squad leader of the hidden detachment of the Brocade Guard wanted to know if an accident should be arranged for Feng.

“No. It will help convince others to surrender if they see the heir surviving well enough. Just mark who he talks to and where he goes. Same as ever. All this talk of “out by the roots,” now is hardly the time. If fear alone was enough, they never would have rebelled in the first place. Just mind him, and if he baits out rebels, so much the better. The squad leader knows how to manage this.”

The servant cupped his fist and bowed, moving to deliver the censor’s instructions.

“Little Han… how has your reading come along?” The little servant stopped with a jerk, then his head bowed.

“I thought as much. You may not carry the name Jin, but their blood flows through your veins. One day, it will be your turn to serve the kingdom, be it as a lord or civil servant or some other role. In either case, education and cultivation of self are a must. Your lord father and uncle both are aging fast in this time of chaos, and the legitimate heir of the Jin Clan is now out of the line of succession cultivating immortality on the mountain. That leaves, potentially, just you. As you very well know. Mute or not, legitimate or not, you may yet be responsible for a whole county. So read.”

The little servant bowed once more. Before he could raise his head, Hanshen asked “Did Feng tell any lies tonight?”

The servant shook his head and met Hanshen’s gaze. If you had the right kind of eyes, the sort blessed by the fate dragon of the nation, in the dark of the boy’s pupils, you could make out the faint shimmer of a monstrous shape- a sheep with a single horn from the middle of its forehead, and terrible fangs in its mouth.

It had scared the life out of Hanshen when he first saw it, but he owed the Jin family too much to have the boy killed out of hand. He was glad he didn’t. It had taken quite a lot of research, but he finally figured it out. There was a reason an ancient monster like Starsieve would allow the Jin family to grow so close to his grandson, and a reason the family could serve honorably and continuously since the founding of the kingdom.

Hanshen chuckled, grimly amused and not for the first time. The King of Hell, sitting as magistrate over the sinners of the kingdom, and by his side was his little book carrying servant. A boy who might not have an immortal destiny, nor a tongue that could speak, nor his father’s name, nor his mother’s love, but could unerringly discern lies. And Hanshen devoutly believed in educating the next generation.