Disclaimer: I do not own Mulan.
Betaed by: Zim'sMostLoyalServant
AN1: What's this, a new chapter of Hachin, is this possible?! Actually, it isn't possible; I posted some old stuff from my own work as a joke. Kidding, kidding, kidding, enjoy the new chapter.
"The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon." Hoid the King's Wit, The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson.
Looking Back and Riding Forth
Predawn light creeped over the steppes, revealing a ghostly assemblage of spirits, Modu's spirit standing over the assembly of horses and hawks. The sounds of Mushu's pained cries could be heard over the chanting from the spirits. Nodding his head, Modu raised a transparent hand to his brow, checking the horizon.
Holding out his hand, a striker formed in it from the morning mist, a nao bell forming next to him. With a swing, he struck the bell, sending a deep note across the plains. The guardian spirits below ceased their revels, looking up at the ancient ancestor.
"Tis done. The green stallion is painted blue!" he declared. Without another word, the ancestor dissolved back into smoke on the wind; with a cheer, the guardians followed him in similar fashion.
Which left Mushu in the dispersing smoke riding a very hairy runaway pony with a bell on its neck, while wearing a small dress and blindfolded. With a buck, the pony sent Mushu flying; with a cry equal parts panic and irritation, the dragon hit the turf and rolled out on the grass.
Spitting up grass, Mushu got to his feet, tearing the blindfold off. He shook his fist after the pony, heading back towards the encampments.
"Don't let me catch you around here again. Just try pulling that stint without your pals, bell boy!" he called after the retreating animal.
"Heh, well that's one thing they got in common north and south of the wall. Hazing! There oughta be a law," Mushu grumbled, ripping the pink dress off.
"Still, least it wasn't as bad as the Fa Guardian hazing… stupid monkey. Never did get him back for the rice pudding bit," Mushu griped as he began to scurry back to the Summit. High above, Suren rode the wind, watching the dragon with interest.
XXX
Oyunbileg chewed a piece of grass as she leaned forward against the corral fence, her son seated atop it to the left of her. Smiling, she silently mouthed a countdown as a white horse ran past them, reaching zero as a sweaty woman pursuing it stopped in front of them.
"Stupid nag!" Hachin shouted, throwing down the saddle she had been carrying into the dead grass. After her initial failures earlier in the morning, the Shan-Yu's wife had asked for more practical clothes to deal with the horse. Oyunbileg was only too happy to provide her with what was practically a spear wife's uniform.
'Maybe I can get her wrapped up before Choeten comes up for air?' the one eyed woman thought with a smirk.
"You sure you don't want help?" she asked the newly minted royal.
"No! This is my stupid horse and I will get it under control," she panted. The mare trotted by her, showing its teeth and making a sound suspiciously like laughter. Taking up the saddle, the girl took off after the horse with a war cry.
"That's not going to work," Qorchi said.
"Yep," his mother agreed.
"Is she crazy?" Qorchi whispered.
"No, just her first time dealing with a horse that takes exception to being ridden," Oyunbileg said, watching the game of tag taking place in the corral.
"The Shan-Yu is her husband now, he's great with wild horses! She should ask him for help," Qorchi decided, clapping his hands together in excitement.
"Good idea, don't suggest it to her," Oyunbileg told him, ruffling his hair.
"Does she want to race again?" Qorchi asked. Oyunbileg thought about how to answer, before a new voice cut her off.
"No, it's about pride," Queen Altan said. She walked up to them in sensible finery, her daughter from the other day running ahead to climb the fence. She took a seat next to Qorchi, giving him a cursory glance before turning her attention to the battle of wills playing out inside. Qorchi himself looked at the strange woman as she stopped before the fence.
"Slaves are not permitted to ride horses among the Huns. She had to walk here, as is a slave's lot. If Hachin rides out of this summit, that will demonstrate in a way nearly equal to the wedding that her status has risen above mere property. Of course, she could ride in a Ger wagon, or just buy a tamer horse with some of the wealth she received in her wedding," Altan explained. Oyunbileg looked away from the spectacle to meet the blue-eyed woman's look.
"No, another horse is not her wedding gift. Bataar gave her a challenge; to not take it up would be an insult to her pride," the spear wife said.
"Spoken like a true spear wife. Pride is for those who posses power already or those who lack ambition; the road to acquiring power requires a willingness to endure indignity," Altan chuckled.
"She did it!" the kids shouted. The women turned their attention to the Han girl, who sure enough was sitting mounted atop the horse, both panting.
"Whew, I think I'll name you Min. It seems to fit," the victor said, slumping in the saddle. The mare bucked, throwing the girl off to land on the ground, and cantered away.
"She still has quite a way to go," Altan remarked.
"But you never expected her to get that far so quick either, did you?" Oyunbileg grinned.
XXX
"Would you care to repeat that?" Bataar demanded. His half-brother smiled from his spot in the Circle of Chieftains.
They had all gathered one last time before the summit officially broke up. Some would leave immediately. Yomo in particular seemed anxious, no doubt wanting to report to his brother and distant tribesmen what had happened here. Others would linger for some business or other. But it was in everyone's interest to begin the end of the Summit quickly; the steppes and Hun ways did not lend themselves to lingering long in one place, much less in such numbers.
This last meeting should have been a mere formality, reaffirming they would be doing what they said before and receiving the Shan-Yu's approval.
"I said, I have changed my plans," Unegan repeated.
"Decided to go to war with someone?" Yomo asked, interested.
"Hardly, great giant! It has become clear to me during this summit that somehow a degree of hostility has risen between my mighty brother and I. This does not bode well for the Huns, so we as men who share blood must work to calm the horses, as it were.
"His new wife is a new beginning for him, and every husband here can testify to the hardships of their first marriage," Unegan said. He was given a general murmur of agreement, though some like Coyot and Barrago did not join in. Those ones watched the King of the Left as he stood, making a sweeping gesture.
"We have been apart so long we are nearly strangers, my brother and I. But I see now an opportunity so that we can grow close as brothers should; offering my advice and experience on a husband's duties. And in due time, a father's duties.
"Also, my Ger is young; we have many bachelors, who came from your tribes to start with. And despite the recent rash of marriages, the Shan-Yu's Ger has too many widows and fatherless children.
"Let us ride together, so that we and our tribes can be drawn closer together, in a new beginning," Unegan finished with a wide smile. He held his hand out towards his brother, al eyes falling on the wolf eyed ruler.
"…Very well," Bataar smiled back. It did not reach his golden eyes.
XXX
Old Moon was grumbling under his breath as he shambled through the Ger. There was plenty of activity on. Not packing in earnest yet. Huns were a people who lived on the move; there was no issue with getting ready to move out. No, it was the Summit – most people always seemed to remember some bit of business social or otherwise that simply could not wait until next time, at the last day.
The shaman would usually enjoy the bedlam, the young people amusing him, and the elderly more so. But his mood was sour at the moment; it showed enough that even in their haste, the Huns gave him a wide berth.
"Unegan," he said, tasting the name.
He had demanded to know what Bataar was thinking, letting the King of the Left join them like this. Safely out of earshot of disloyal ears, he had gotten the answer.
"Better to have him where I can keep an eye on him," the Shan-Yu had told him.
He hated it when he got good answers for things he didn't like.
Never mind the danger of having Unegan close at hand with more swords at his call than Bataar. Bataar would just insult the quality of his brother's men and say they would not raise their blades to true warriors out of fear. Or that Unegan would plot, but lacked the courage to take direct action.
And it all seemed to be true. Unegan was a great warrior, but he had long struck Old Moon as the type of warrior who reveled more in slaughter than in worthy foes. His deeds as a chieftain and now a king seemed to reflect that. And his warriors would likely be a similar cut of opportunists.
But still it felt wrong. The fox prince had a dark air about him these days, a chill in his wake. Old Moon had spent his long life among other things defending his people from the mischief of dark spirits, and he could find no evidence of illicit sorcery connected to the King. And if he raised these suspicious with anyone without proof, it would seem to just be politics.
He had reached the corrals; the horses were restless, he saw. Reaching into a pouch, he pulled out an apple and tossed it to a pretty grey filly. The horse failed to catch it, the fruit hitting her nose. Shaking her head about, she then lowered it, questing with her nose for the treat.
The sight and smell of the animals brought back memories he had almost forgotten. Ah, he had indeed once been young!
Another old sound caught his attention – cursing in the Han tongue. A short walk brought him into a corral taken up by only one rider and her horse. In time to see Queen Hachin be thrown from her mount. She knew how to land well, at least.
The horse cantered off; at least it didn't seem to want to harm the girl. His arrival must not have been too stealthy, as the girl glared at him. He smiled back at her, hobbling to the fence.
"Good to see you in something less feminine. You may wear the lady look well, but this brings out your spirit, eh?" he asked. Pulling herself up, she pressed her lips together, no answer given. Rater than pursue the horse, she pulled herself up onto the fence and took a seat, watching the animal.
"Have you given her a name?" Old Moon asked.
"Min," she answered sharply.
"'Quick'; good choice, if not very original," Old Moon speculated, rubbing his chin.
"Did you come here to insult my naming skills?" she demanded.
"I didn't come here expecting to find you at all. Young people, think it's all about them," Old Moon huffed. He lowered himself to sit with his back resting against a fence post. He heard her shift out of his sight, the wood creaking.
"Sorry," she muttered.
"Staring at your horse won't reveal the answer. Anymore than trying the same thing over and over again will yield a different outcome. Practice might yield results, but sometimes stepping back lets you find another, better way," the shaman advised. He could practically sense her brighten at the advice. She had experience with such. Good, but the young often had to be reminded of the journey, focusing too much on where they had ended up.
"Come down, share some kusmiss with an elder," he commanded.
"If I am a queen…?" she asked.
"A shaman still commands respect. Why do you think Bataar and that circle of young stallions haven't knocked my skull in yet? Tradition!" Old Moon ranted. He wasn't sure if the sound she made was a snicker or a sigh. He called that progress, and declared it good.
She got down from the fence and moved to stand over him. Getting smaller and bent was the worst part about being old, he had long since decided. Except for the other things higher on the list of course.
Fortunately, she sat down and he could avoid thinking about a young girl being taller than him.
"Unegan will be accompanying us on the trails after the Summit," he told her. She perked up at that, not a good sign.
"You should watch out for him," he told her.
"I'm watching out for all of you," she answered.
"Heh, not bad girl. But your armor is cracking when it comes to hating Huns," he reminded her.
"Maybe, but then I remember what your people did," she shot back.
"…There is a reason for everything that men, and women, do. Both as people, and as entire nations. They may not be good reasons, but this tale has thread you can follow back to the beginning. And you are part of that story now yourself," Old Moon told her.
"…Not by choice," she answered. He offered her his skin of kusmiss, getting only a shaken head in response he uncorked it and took a nip.
"Has anyone told you his story? Bataar's?" Old Moon asked.
"I've heard things," she admitted.
"Ah, but as shaman it is my place to pass down the legends, ancient and new. And you should know the story of your new husband, and your new people," he mused.
Hachin's eyes flashed and for a moment he was sure she would strike him. She didn't, but the glare didn't fade either.
"They are not my people. My people do not slaughter innocents," she told him. Even with one eye his glare put hers to shame; she actually flinched, sitting back down properly.
"And empires just happen, eh? I see I must provide the proper setting for the tale," Old Moon sighed.
"And why would I believe anything you have to say? Shan-Yu is practically your ward," she demanded.
"I can only make you listen, believing or learning is up to you. But it's easier to oppose something you understand, eh?" he asked. She did not object, so Old Moon clasped his hands, cracked his knuckles and began to weave the tale.
"Long ago, before the first stone of the Wall was laid, before the Hill united the Huns, and before the first Emperor, the world was a different place…
XXX
"In the days long past, when the world was young, there was no Empire and the Huns did not ride the Steppes. The people now called the Han lived in many kingdoms, each rising and falling in their turn. We dwelled in a land called Mokar, now lost. Though the way of the horse was with us even then, we were not truly the people of the horse, dwelling in a good land as we were.
"We wandered still in bands in those days, men setting out from Mokar amongst those who bent their backs to fields not their own and bent their knees to the unworthy. We fought in their wars for gold, or raided them for our own banners. And made war amongst our own tribes.
"Such was the world.
"But then there came a king, a great and powerful king. Though his kingdom was strong, his ambition would humble the mountains. A great warrior and ruler, he set out to extend his rule to all he could grasp, plunging the world into years of war.
"The Huns fought for him or against him, depending on who was paying or which tribe they belonged to. Indeed, Hun killed Hun many times in those years. And in the end, when the final sword was sheathed, the young King had subdued the other six kingdoms of his people, and anointed himself Emperor under the Heavens, taking the dragon as his crest.
"Yet he needed to unite his people in spirit, to soothe the wounds of his conquests. And so his eyes turned to Mokar, a land to conquer and a foe hated by all in his new empire. Former enemy or former ally, he sent his armies forth without mercy or remorse.
"The Huns fought the invaders, and victories were won; but the world had changed and we hadn't. This was not the army of one king among many. These were the armies of a man who stood unopposed over a vast nation that revered and feared his might. We fought as tribes apart, dozens of different wars, each chieftain a king. Like spread fingers meeting the bound fist of the Chinese, we broke.
"For each warrior we struck down, it seemed two stepped forward in his place. What could not be taken by horse was abandoned, for the march of the Emperor's armies broke all that stood in their path. And so, piece-by-piece, Mokar was lost. We were driven north, into the Steppes, and that the Emperor saw as punishment enough.
"In time he began to build the Wall that would one day be finished by the Emperor who now lives. Some say it was to forever mark the border of his domain; such was his vanity. Others that he was haunted by a vision the Huns would return and tear down all he had built. Others say it was madness, an excuse to work to death all that raised a hand or word against him.
"Though the Emperor fell at the hands of his own abused people, they raised his destroyer in his place. Though that Emperor halted the Wall, time and again Emperors would return to it, a reminder of what was and still is.
"On the Steppes, Modu rose to unite the Huns, founding the Confederation at the Hill of Eight Bears to stand against the might of the Empire. But though Modu's bloodline ran true, the Shan-Yus have never claimed to be gods, and pettiness and pride at times drove our people apart.
"It came to pass that the Huns divided between a Shan-Yu in the North and one in South. One opposing the other, one nearly always a vassal to the Emperor. Divided and weak, we did more harm to ourselves than our foes.
"It was Tianlinn, Shan-Yu of the Northern Huns, that ended those dreadful days. He spent his lifetime uniting the two through force of arms, marriage, and the charm of a great man. And succeeded in laying low those who valued the Emperors coin more than the pride of the Huns.
"It was on a hunt to celebrate the Confederation being made whole again that he meet the mother of the one who would succeed him. She appeared on the steppes, alone with no mount, and barefoot. A woman of great beauty, a woman with the eyes of a wolf. She presented herself as Zaya, and she had come to be his final wife and bare him a son.
"Her beauty and the advice of his shaman led him to take her into his bed and confidence. Beautiful and possessing a string spirit, all men envied him for having her. In time she bore him a son, his last-born child. She named her son Bataar, hero.
"Though Tianlinn had grown old in his conquests, his great ambition had ever been to lay low China itself. Though he feared his sun was setting, he had a son in ascendance, Bharbo. Mightiest of Tianlinn's sons, and heir to the mantle, he stood tall and true, strong as a stallion, with a laugh like thunder, and thick hair like spun night sky.
"Bharbo was seen as the perfect prince, beloved and envied by all men, and lusted for by all women; a father could not have asked for more. And yet for all his glory, Bharbo was drawn to a brother young enough to be a son, one so far down the royal line as to inconsequential. Whose mother was enemy to his own.
"Yet it came to pass that the greatest brother did more to raise up the least of the brothers than the aging father.
"But the drums of war sounded anew. Tianlinn judged the Huns ready to take revenge for generations of meddling and ancient wrongs done. Lead by the Shan-Yu and Bharbo, the Huns rode south in a great host such as the world had never seen.
"Bharbo vowed to decimate the Han. That he would take the Emperor himself, and force the false god to kneel and acknowledge the power of the Huns.
"And it may have come to pass, had the Shan-Yu and Prince not entered a single fortress on the ride to the Imperial City.
"They rode in assuming the battle won, but perched on a ladder between the wall and courtyard, a single Han swordsman held his attackers at bay. Tianlinn would have had the archers shoot the man down and be done with it. But Bharbo was a bold and brave man, and saw in the Han's unbending spirit a man too great to die such a death.
"He challenged the Han to come down and face him alone. If the Han drew first blood he would be allowed to leave alive and well. And Bharbo would give him a warrior's death if he defeated the Han.
"And there was the seed of so much tragedy. For though all agree both men were skilled, and Bharbo was fresh while the Han warrior was exhausted…
"Perhaps the Prince underestimated his foe. Or perhaps he was merely young and overvalued his own skill. Whatever the case, when blood was spilled on that courtyard, it was Hun blood. Laughing like a storm, Bharbo sent the Han on, hoping they would meet again to finish the duel on the field of battle. He wiped away the blood from the cut, not knowing his doom had come.
"For on the road to the Imperial City, the wound that had been dismissed as nothing grew foul. Shamans may not ride the warpath, but warriors know the ways of wounds. But their ways were for naught, and one day when the sun stood at its peak, Bhrabo fell from his horse and lay feverish and deaf to the world.
"The Hun way has long been clear. In war, when a man can no longer ride, he will die by the blade so as to not drag down his comrades. Even then, had this been done, all may have yet been well.
"But Tianlinn refused to release his great heir. By his order, the host halted, lingering for days in the vain hope that some medicine could call Bharbo off the tract to the land of the dead. And each day passing, Tianlinn shamed Bharbo with his weakness, and himself most of all.
"In the end it was Buriliegi, sole brother of the Shan-Yu, who ended it. Leading Bharbo's horse into the sick tent feigning some mystic cure, the King of the Left opened the mount's throat, splashing Bharbo with its lifeblood. The Prince opened his eyes one last time, and his mount's spirit bore him on from this world.
The host gave Bhrabo's bones to the earth, and once more rode for the capital. But the spirits of the war had shifted. Though Tianlinn and his brother rode at their head, the Prince they loved was dead and disgraced. Men began to question that if Tianlinn was no longer fit for the mantle, who would now lead them?
"And worse yet, the days lost had not been wasted by the Han. The Emperor had gathered as many troops as he could and fortified his capital. Though the Huns ransacked the countryside around the city, the walls stood tall and defiant, Han spears and arrows raining down. They were well provisioned, leaving even their own peasants to starve had they not fallen before Hun steel and shackles.
"It came down to a storm, the steel wind of the Huns against the mountain of the Imperial City, to see who would fall first. Tianlinn led the attack – raging at his son's death, he burned like a man far younger, and gained the walls, clearing the path of his ladder.
"The war and destiny hung in the balance; the Han were terrified of the legendary warrior in their midst striking them down, mocking all the walls they had thrown up before him. The Huns' spirits rekindled and they followed; the city seemed about to fall as Han warriors fled back toward the palace, abandoning their city to protect the Emperor.
"But a man stepped forward, sword drawn to meet the storm. And Tianlinn saw it was that same man whose blade had ended Bharbo's life. Striking down the Huns between him and the swordsman, the Shan-Yu came down on his foe like a spirit of vengeance.
"It was all the Lone Han could do to defend himself. But that he did atop the falling walls, Huns foolishly stopping to witness what was certain to be a legendary battle. But they did not watch alone; the Han warriors saw a single man standing bravely against disaster, and were shamed into courage.
"Tianlinn knocked the blade from his foe's hand, and his foe ducked under his blade and struck a powerful kick to the Shan-Yu's legs. Tianlinn fell, to the ground outside the city, screaming rage and despair for vengeance thwarted. Though he yet lived, those above and within did not know it. The Huns wavered, and the Han surged forth with desperate hope and rage at the invaders.
"The Huns were driven back even as the living but injured Shan-Yu was carried to his horse. The walls were retaken by the Han, their hero lifted high even as Tianlinn gathered his men to once more assail their foes.
"The host assembled anew, every warrior gathered in the twilight; there would be no retreat this time, only victory or death, with riches beyond compare for the man to fulfill Tianlinn's vengeance.
"Thunder and fire rained down on the host, death and confusion sweeping away the discipline of seasoned warriors. Through the smoke, their men saw the truth and despaired. China is a vast land – thought we had ravaged much, it was hardly all. General Li and his White Hose Army had arrived.
"Bharbo's dying had delayed us long enough to let him reach the Imperial City before it fell. Pouring the scouts into the host had left us blind and had let him take up position in three directions. Our failure on the wall left us surrounded. And his new weapons, the cannon, let him become the hammer to the anvil of the Imperial City.
"Fire and thunder burst amongst men and horse, arrows rained down from all directions. Men rallied their tribes, only to fall. Tianlinn despaired and clung to his horse, all his strength being used only to not fall.
"The host might have been destroyed utterly then, but for King Buriliegi. Roaring defiance, a sound more beast than man, he rode forth to the Han center, his men on his wings. Though thunder and steel rained down and warriors fell on all sides, the King of the Left charged on, his contempt for his foe seeming a shield. Ax in each hand, he broke the spear line as if was nothing but a stand of weeds. In their midst he swung his axes, each blow severing a Han head as his stallion trampled men underfoot. Howling like a demon, he taught them terror and his surviving men arrived to teach them death.
"The others saw his wisdom; Li could not fire upon his own massed men as he did across the field. The only way out was through. The host rallied following the King's lead, and though many and more perished on that field and in the press of spears, the host broke through, fleeing to the north.
"Alive but undeniably defeated Huns limped home, Tianlinn vanishing into himself. He who had come south full of glory and the promise of a most worthy heir, returned disgraced and defeated, his host led in all but name by his brother. And at their backs they knew the Han celebrated their ill-gained victory, and the men forgot what Tianlinn had been so they could hate the weakness he had been consumed by.
"In the face of such defeat, and the heir's death, a summit was called to settle the matters. Tianlinn had many sons, and while none shamed him, even the best of them seemed but a pale shadow of Bharbo. Many whispered that the King who had released Bharbo from shame, and delivered the host from General Li, should take the mantle.
"Though his shaman urged strength and quick action against the rising tide, Tianlinn mourned and wallowed with his women and drink. Omens were made, signs were interpreted; disaster, they spoke of, but who would heed such when they could say disaster had already come?
"It had not; the worst was still to come, and it came on the night of the black shroud, when the moon hides her face and the stars above are hidden from sight; the night when dark spirits walk the land with strength. It was then the daggers were drawn in the dark, and the Blood of Modu ran freely.
"Buriliegi seized all, every son, daughter, granddaughter, grandson, or kinsmen who bore the blood. Even beyond, those who had stood against him or whose loyalty to Tianlinn was too strong. It was swift and merciless; those who stood, stood alone, as too many sat back in fear and surprise.
"The royal shaman could only save one son, the child of Zaya. Zaya, who alone was spared of the wives of Tianlinn, and was taken by force as a prize of Buriliegi. Whose tongue was ripped from her mouth for refusing to speak sweet lies to the usurper. Which was only the first of many indignities and injuries to be heaped on her.
"Bataar vowed in exile he would return to save her. And though he would return, it would be to avenge, not too save. A year before the true Shan-Yu returned, in a fit of rage Buriliegi would slay his wife and the mother of his son. Whatever he had once been, the Usurper had become a monster, anointed by the dark spirits as one of their own.
…
…
"And that is the story of how these things came to be," Old Moon finished. He passed her the kusmiss; this time she took it, taking a significant drink.
"That's not the end," Mulan pointed out.
"True, but by their very natures, stories give way to other stories. And the tale of victory is best separated, to think on what was first lost.
"You see, his uncle may have slaughtered his kin, raped and murdered his mother, but that is a foe Bataar has vanquished. Alas, his vengeance is not so easily slated after long bitterness rotting his soul. No, instead he sees another to bring his hate down upon.
"General Li? Yes. The Emperor? Yes. But most of all, the man who set all the ruin in motion with a poisoned blade – Fa Zhu," Old Moon said grimly.
"…" Mulan stared, mouth agape. From that perspective, she had not recognized the old story until just now.
"Yes, Bataar is a monster to you, and our hero. And your hero is the one who began our dark days with false honor. Be a bit less quick to judge, and quicker to think on the actual problem, and you will thrive where others have failed," Old Moon advised. Smiling in the hopes his message had gotten across, he pulled himself up, and hobbled off.
"Old Moon!" she called after him. The shaman stopped to look back; she was standing now. There was some fire in her eyes, but not anger, he noted.
"I don't think you lied to me with that story. But I think you are wrong about one thing; Fa Zhu is a man of honor, he would not use a poison blade, not even on a Hun," she declared.
"…I have never met the man so I could not say. But be careful – your husband hates that man, speak too loud in his defense and he may show that darker side you know so well," the shaman advised. This time she let him walk away.
Letting out a long breath, Mulan leaned back against the fence. Mushu popped up from behind the fence to lean on its top; Cri-Kee leapt out of Mulan's hair to join the dragon on the post. Mushu reached down out of sight and pulled out a small chip of soap.
"Would you like some of this to go with that opera, madam? As if things weren't complicated enough already!" Mushu shouted.
"It hardy matters, Mushu," Mulan told him, rolling her eyes.
"Hardly?! The next best thing to revenge on the actual guy is cutting the bloodline, and you're already between the blades of that guy's scissors!" Mushu ranted. Mulan pinched his mouth close with two fingers.
"Glad to see you're no worse for wear for joining the Hun guardian spirits, Mushu. Anyway, it doesn't matter unless he finds out and only we can let that secret out. Which we won't. Besides, he might kill me anyway, so worrying doesn't make sense," Mulan explained.
"Well, at the very least your dad got some preemptive punishment in," Mushu shrugged.
"No, he wouldn't use a poisoned blade. Honor is more than words for him," Mulan said softly.
"Baby girl, war is nasty. Ol' Fa and others tend to survive by doing what they have too. I mean that's what you're doing, doing what you have to survive, so you can make it home," Mushu said. Cri-Kee chirped in sad agreement. Mulan frowned, turning to watch Min watching her warily.
"I still don't believe it. And ancestors as my witness I will ride that horse out of this camp!" Mualn declared, vaulting the fence.
"*chirp*"
"Don't tell her, but my money is on the horse. That cow set the bar too low," Mushu told Cri-Kee.
Next Day:
Unegan and Bataar stood watch atop their stallions, watching as the Summit tent was taken down. Coyot sat atop his own mare to Bataar's right, Barrago lingering to watch as well. The tent was already lowered to the ground, the woodworks being gathered up and the canvases reverently folded. Though it would likely not serve such a purpose again, the cloth had been consecrated for this function.
"And so another Summit ends. It's been a long time since a royal birth. Will we be getting together to celebrate Bataar's first-born soon enough?" Coyot asked no one in general. He received no answer, Barrago and the royals ignoring him.
Shrugging his shoulders, he turned his tan horse from the Hill to look out over the summit grounds. The damage caused by the vacated rives was apparent; the Steppes were not meant to host such numbers of men and stock for long. Still, most were gone now – all that remained were the tribes whose chieftains were gathered here with him.
"Well, I'll be off then," Barrago huffed, turning his own stallion away. Coyot saw that the work was done and the tent was disassembled and being brought down.
"It was certainly an interesting Summit; one of my wives seems to have taken an interest in yours," the King of the Right noted. Bataar spared him a glance but said nothing.
"The greater wonder is that my brother seems gentler than expected. So surprising he didn't accidentally break such a small girl," Unegan said. They had entered the grounds where the tribes were punted and hitched, ready to move out. Unegan had spoken loudly enough for the words to carry. The joke earned him scattered laughs.
"Hopefully she proves more respectful than Coyot's women," Barrago ground out.
'Why did he linger if he's only going to complain?' Coyot wondered. Reaching Bataar and Unegan's combined Ger, the royal brothers pulled ahead and turned their mounts to face the other two chieftains.
"Until we meet again," Bataar addressed them politely if not warmly.
"Cherish the daylight, good sirs," Unegan smiled at them pleasantly. Barrago nodded agreement, Coyot looked at Unegan for a moment at the odd farewell, but nodded as well.
"I had hoped to see that wife of your one last time. Finding out she comes with a dragon makes her quite interesting," Coyot sighed.
"A small dragon," Barrago reminded him. The old Hun held two fingers close together, in case they had forgotten how small.
"Dragon's a dragon, Barrago, call me impressed," Coyot shrugged.
"Impressed!" a woman called out. Coypt gave a short laugh, smiling at the joke before looking to see who had said it.
Hachin came out from behind the nearest Ger wagon, atop the white mare that the Shan-Yu had given her. She smiled at the four men, kicking the horse into a canter as she came up to them. She even had the saddlebags and blanket in their proper places on the horse, Coyot noticed.
"Well, shall we be going?" she asked them. Without waiting for a reply, she turned away and made for what passed for the front of the joined Gers.
"Well…" Unegan slipped; judging by his look, even the fox was at a loss for words. That made Coyot smile widely.
"A queen indeed. Hurry up with that prince, my Shan-Yu, I want to see how she turns out," Coyot laughed. With a rally cry, he kicked his mare into a gallop, his Ger starting to move as he made his way to the head. Barrago raised his fist, a horn sounding somewhere to set his own people into motion. The elder Hun left the two royal brothers to begin his own journey.
"I know you are up to something," Bataar said to his brother.
"Oh, a man can't want to become closer to his only living kin without sinister intentions? And why worry with that mighty new guardian spirit you have just now acquired?" Unegan asked, looking hurt.
"Unegan, I have let you thrive despite my distaste for your existence. But there is a line carved unto the grasslands, cross it and I will kill you without a moment's hesitation or a drop of remorse," Bataar whispered so only his half brother could hear.
"Tag along, do what you said you would, and go back to where you belong, and there will be no reason you can't spend the rest of your life slaughtering the weak and fathering daughters," the Shan-Yu continued. He silently sent his stallion into a run and the Ger started to lurch into motion, whoops and cries rising from the ranks of the Huns.
Unegan sat still stop his mount a few moments, just watching the motion unfold in the mass of people and animals. He smiled, apparently at the sight.
"Soon enough brother, I will have all you took from me and more. Soon enough," the King whispered.
Kicking his horse into a gallop, he rode to the front of the caravan, taking a place beside Hachin, who was sitting stiffly atop her mount. His wife between him and his brother, Bataar rode a bit ahead of them both. Already the Hill of Eight Bears began to grow distant behind the three and those who followed them.
Author's Note 2:
Yes, I am a George RR Martin fan. I started reading ASOIAF back in 2004, another member of the summer Shakespeare group introduced me to the work. I borrowed some elements here obviously, the idea of a great warrior dying in such a manner seems a reasonable way to hurt a proud warrior race.
Next chapter is looking to be pretty stuffed already, so updates on the situation south of the wall will likely wait until the chapter after next.
Hope the quickness of my update did not result in a decline of quality.
Long days and pleasant night to you all.