Queen of the Eight Banners

Part 3, Scene 2 - Past

Ilha had taken out her pins and combs from her elaborately designed hair and braided it into two simple foxtails, and Nomin was helping her with her blue-painted hauberk when she heard the sound of hurried feet outside her tent.  She and Nomin exchanged a glance, though Nomin's fingers only moved more swiftly at her hauberk's ties.  The feet thudded to a stop at the tent flap door. "Announce me…a messenger from Commander Dorgon."

Dorgide's half-brother.  Why was he sending her a messenger? What had happened to Dorgide?

Her pulse skittered like a frightened hare.  "Enter," she said.

Her guards pulled back the flaps and the man entered. His eyes were wide, but not with joy.  He smelled of heat and sweat. His chest heaved with every breath, though his stance was sure and strong. He bowed.

"Speak," she said.

"Dorgide Khan has been killed, Khatun."

Though it was spring, she felt her body go cold as winter. Then a hard, sharp edge like a knife through her heart followed in its wake.  She lost her breath, and the world spun.

First her father months ago, and now Dorgide.

His next words seemed to come from afar off. "We took the Gui's Imperial City, but it appears the Rebel King left an elite force behind, in case…"

Nomin's fingers finished the last tie at her hauberk's shoulder and withdrew. Ilha strode across the room to her helmet without thinking. She slid her fingers around its red silk tassle to keep it out of the way as she slid the helmet over her head. Cold steeped into her heart and lungs. She looked down at her hands, her wrist guards, her thumb tab. She'd meant to great her husband's victory in her warrior's garb, but now….

"How long ago?" she asked and did not recognize her voice.

"Commander Dorgon sent me immediately."

Ilha calculated the distance to the Imperial City then nodded. Nomin handed over her bow and its string. "How many men?" She strung it in one smooth motion, hefted it.  Nomin had chosen the strength five bow that had been her betrothal gift from the Hu: four feet of wood and bone, recurved and strong, sixty-five pound draw. Not as powerful as her usual, but this would be a battle, not a hunt. She would need her endurance. --And somehow choosing this bow felt right.  Like she could carry a piece of him with her.

"Hard to say, but General Sangui's troupes are exhausted and the Rebel King's force knows the city streets better than we."  Which was to say, they knew the city not at all, besides perhaps the two Banners made of turncoat Gui.

She moved to her quiver, noted how it bristled ready and full, attached it to her belt loops so its weight rested reassuringly against her thigh, then strode through the tent-flap door.  The late afternoon sun warmed her skin but it could not penetrate the cold dark rippling through her chest.  She felt like someone had taken a pitcher, gathered her body's warmth and had slowly begun to pour it out onto the steppes.

What would happen when she had nothing left?

"Inform Jumara to ready her horsewomen. We ride to the Imperial City." The words were out of her mouth before she could retract them. What did she hope to accomplish?

Dorgide was dead.

But his killers were not.  The battle was not yet over.  Gui General Sangui and Commander Dorgon had been fighting for hours, but her horsewomen were fresh and ready.  Like her husband and the Western wind, they would tip the scale.

Her hands found her short sword in its scabbard. She fastened it onto her belt.

"Guard my son," she called over her shoulder.  Her guards straightened as the messenger rushed away. Nomin stopped in her tracks, bowed low, then hurried back inside.

Already the cavalry horns were sounding, blaring against the empty sky.