Queen of the Eight Banners

Part 3, Scene 6 - Past

It took hours to check every nook and cranny of the Imperial grounds by torchlight. By the time she was sure they had rid the place entirely of rebels, Ilha's chills had worsened. Her fingers and toes felt numb with cold and her cheeks flared hotter than could be justified by battle-fire.  Her head seemed stuffed with nebulous clouds. Every thought was hazy. She could barely string two together. The longer the night drew on, the more she drew on instinct to save her. Still, she dripped blood from wounds of her own, roughly bandaged.

She hoped--desperately--that she was doing the right thing.  Her heart called her husband's name, and her head begged his ghost to show her a sign the path she trod would not destroy all he'd fought for.

No sign came.  

She could have wept--maybe she did weep, she couldn't remember.

She did remember to send messengers. One to their warcamp about her intention for headquarters to transfer here, and why. One to the other half of Dorgon's men guarding the surrendered rebel army to keep them from the Gui City a little while longer. One to the Eight Banner City far to the north, alerting them of all that had transpired.

If the messengers understood why she propped herself against a wall as she gave their instructions, they gave no sign. 

After she sent them off, she went to find General Sangui and her turncoat Gui lieutenant, Liurong.  She trusted General Sangui, but only so far. Interpreting would be the perfect occasion to slip in a message to his Empress. If this was to work, she would need an interpreter on her side, and Liurong was the best she had.

She was easy enough to find once Ilha had spotted General Sangui working with a handful of his men to collect the Gui dead into one of the courtyards.  Liurong was ostensibly helping the others, her hands occupied with lifting someone's legs as she helped a Gui warrior move his fallen comrade. The woman looked as weary and worn as Ilha felt. Her eyes were slightly dull. Her hair had come a little loose from her bun, hanging in damp, somewhat bedraggled strands.  Her armor was a Banner-issued hauberk, sword and bow, but her jawline, cheekbones, and complexion gave her Gui heritage away. If the others recognized Liurong's loyalties, would they converse freely in front of her?

Ilha strode forward, pushing the thought aside. "General Sangui, I wish to speak to your Empress and I'd like you to accompany me," she announced with more confidence and vigor than she felt.  She was glad he understood the Hu language. Her head was too murky to form her thoughts in Gui.

The fire was in his eyes again when he looked up, but he straightened, gave his men a quick word, then came towards her, squaring his shoulders. No longer was he simply an old, wounded man. Now he exuded bearing, nobility, wisdom, age, experience--legitimacy.  Ilha tried not to let on that it'd worked--no, that she was already intimidated by the task ahead--as she gestured Liurong to leave the others and follow.  Then she turned and strode off through the palace.

She'd marked the route to the Empress' temporary quarters as if the walls and pillars had been trees, the many corridors an unknown forest.  If General Sangui recognized the markings or her method, he gave no sign. For the hundredth time she wished Dorgide--or even her father--were here, to reassure her that what she did was right, that this was the only way to see peace for both their peoples. To be the confidence she could not find within herself, walking beside this General, going to see the Empress.

She rested her hand on her bow sheathed snuggly at her side, rested her other hand on her sword stuck in her belt against her hip. She'd killed a man who'd threatened her, her family, her people, her future. She'd dealt with its consequences by confronting his widow.  Now her husband was dead--

She couldn't finish that thought.

This is right, she told herself firmly. This is the only way for peace. If I don't believe it, no one else will.