Honour, She Obeys

by L. S. Slayford

  Mulan’s heart in her chest froze and her body stilled.

  They’re here?

  “Good,” Prince Kang replied, his tone firm. “Bring them. How many more men are we waiting for?”

  “That’s the last of them.”

  Panic sped through Mulan’s veins like wildfire. With the incredibly severe training schedule they were all under, she hadn’t had either the time or energy to worry about meeting her friends. Now they were here and finally she’d have to face the consequences of what she’d done.

  Fear set in, rooting her feet to where she stood. Would they reveal her secrets? Would Prince Kang uphold the honour of the army and execute her on the spot? Her sweat already covered the ground; would they demand her blood as well?

  Within moments, the travel-weary faces of her friends inched towards them. Dirt dusted each of their faces, their clothes stained with the hardship of travelling a considerable distance. Each clutched a pair of reins in their hands, their horses saddled with weapons and personal supplies.

  Zong led the way, with Daocheng following. Behind him, Digan threw a dark glance her way, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Any hope of him forgetting the little matter of knocking him out dissipated under that grim look. From their faces, it appeared they’d easily recognised her. Straightening her back, Mulan raised her chin and inhaled.

  The moment of truth is finally here.

  Prince Kang crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes betraying no trace of emotion. “I’m glad you finally decided to show up.”

  Not entirely certain whether he was being sarcastic or not, Mulan wisely decided to keep her mouth shut.

  “Apologies, commander,” Zong replied, offering a bow of his head. His eyes darted over to Mulan then back to the prince. “An incident outside our control delayed our arrival.” Behind him, Daocheng’s jaw ticked, a sure-tell sign of his displeasure.

  Shit. I’m definitely in trouble now.

  Sighing, the commander raked his gaze over the group. “Never mind. Zhou will show you to your tent. Since you’re brothers-in-arms, you’ll stay with him. Get rested and report for training in the morning.”

  At the prince’s words, Daocheng’s and Digan’s mouths dropped. “Commander, forgive my impertinence,” Zong said, a hint of panic tinging his voice, matching the slightly flustered look on Daocheng’s face. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for us to share a tent with ... him.”

  A deep vertical line pulled between the prince’s brows. “Why not? He is the son of your chief, yes?”

  Please say yes, please say yes.

  Finally, Zong broke the silence that threatened to shatter Mulan’s heart within her chest. “Yes, sir, he is. But it is ... inappropriate considering our stations.”

  “Tough. This is war. You either share the tent or you’ll sleep outside the walls,” Prince Kang said, the tone of his voice suggesting they were about to cross the line.

  Eventually, Zong bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Zhou, show them the way.” Before Mulan could say anything, he turned and fixed a piercing stare towards her. “And remember what I said; distractions will get you killed. This is the winning side. Understood?” Spinning on his heels, he walked away, leaving Mulan’s gaze trailing behind him.

  As soon as he’d disappeared into the crowd, Mulan finally twisted her head back to her friends. If looks could kill, I’d be dead by now. Sucking in a deep breath, she met their gazes. “You’d better follow me.”

  Strong fingers gripped her arm. Zong’s face hovered an inch before hers. “You’d better tell us what you think you’re playing at.”

  Eyes widening, Mulan lowered her voice to a whisper. “Not here. Too many people.”

  Yanking her arm out of his grip, she turned and strode towards the direction of the tents. The camp was vast, easily half the size of Shenzhou with double the amount of people. After nearly a week, she still couldn’t guess how many men lived within the walls; a thousand, two thousand, ten thousand? It had took her three days just to figure out where everything was.

  And she the only woman.

  Silently, she walked on, her heart hammering away, the pit in her stomach growing with each step. The blazing heat of her friends’ eyes burned her back but still she kept her mouth shut.

  After several minutes of strained silence, they finally reached the tent. Thankfully, the area remained quiet, with most still training back in the heart of the camp. Without waiting for them to tie their horses beside hers, Mulan slipped inside, steeling her nerves for what was to come.

  She didn’t have to wait long.

  Daocheng’s hand gripped her upper arms in a forceful lock, his normally easy-going expression replace with one of sheer rage. “What in the name of the eighteen hells do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m sorry -”

  “You’re sorry? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you?”

  One by one, the others surrounded her, their faces murderous. Gulping, Mulan opened her mouth to speak, but Zong got there before she did. “Your father went crazy when he discovered you were missing.”

  “How crazy?” Terror caused Mulan’s voice to wobble.

  “I’ve never heard him use such language before,” Daocheng said, releasing his grip. Great, another bruise. “Not even when he caught you sneaking out to go to the Autumn Moon Festival a few years ago.”

  Mulan’s mouth opened and shut. That little incident resulted in her father ordering bars to be placed on her window and her door to be locked every night for three months. “He hasn’t followed you here, has he?”

  Each of them paused, and Digan chewed his bottom lip, sending a wave of concern flooding through her. “No,” Huyanti said, shaking his head. “His heart couldn’t take it.”

  “What happened?” she asked, swallowing around the guilt lodged in the back of her throat.

  “When everyone realised you’d run away, Chief Wang went mad. Ordered him to drag you back and marry his son immediately or suffer the consequences.”

  The blood in her veins froze to slush at Huyanti’s words. “Consequences?”

  “Don’t ask me what they were because it was then that your father collapsed. The only thing I heard was that Luwei swore he’d hunt you down personally and drag you back by your hair if he had to.”

  Closing her eyes, Mulan breathed through the shame. Her father’s health had already been compromised from the night before; how much could he take?

  Zong stepped forward and placed a hand on her arm. “You must go home and beg their forgiveness. No one here likes Wang Luwei, but it’s better than the alternative.” The words were low but as strong as steel.

  But she couldn’t do that.

  Mulan stepped back, away from her friends. Defiance rose her chin. “The alternative to Luwei is death.”

  “Great,” Chuo snorted, a sour note creeping into his voice. “You’ll get it if you stay.”

  “Chuo’s right,” Daocheng said. “I’m surprised no one’s discovered who you really are, but it’s only a matter of time. When they do, they’ll kill you. We need to get you out of here and back home where you belong.”

  “You can’t. Guards are posted at all gates to stop deserters. Anyone who tries to leave without permission is executed. It’s too late to get me out.”

  “I bet we could if we tried hard enough.”

  Shaking her head, Mulan squared her shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Silence descended like a thick fog within the room as her friends stared at her, their eyes wide at what she’d just said. “Are you serious?” Daocheng breathed.

  Mulan raised her hands up. “I can’t do anything right at home. Nothing is ever good enough for my parents. I can’t be that perfect daughter like Feng Qing. At least here, I can do something.”

  “You call getting yourself killed ‘something’?” Huyanti sneered, his face a mask of barely controlled contempt.

  “I don’t care what you think – I can’t
go back home. It would kill me to go through with that marriage. Seriously, I’ll be dead before my wedding night. This may not be the perfect place for me, but it keeps Father alive for a little while longer and I can help my country whilst escaping a fate worse than death. You all said that you wished I could fight beside you. Well, now’s the opportunity. Either help me or get out of my way.”

  Daocheng glared at her. “We’d rather you go back home where it’s safe.”

  “I’m safer here than with Wang Luwei. All I need to know is one thing.”

  Crossing his arms, Digan fixed her with a glare. “And what’s that?”

  Mulan let out a jagged breath. “Are you going to tell Prince Kang who I really am?”

  A long beat of silence passed, and she waited it out. Five pairs of eyes glanced at each other before they fell back to her. Digan’s arms fell to his side and Zong rubbed a hand over his dirt-laced face. “No,” they mumbled in unison.

  Cool relief flowed down Mulan’s spine. Suddenly, it seemed easier to breathe again. “Great.” She turned to Digan, a sheepish smile tugging on one side of her mouth. “Sorry about knocking you out.”

  His hand shot to his head where she’d struck and grimaced. “You owe me for that little tap, and I’ll be collecting one way or another.”

  Nine

  The clangs of swords on swords rang through the camp, a constant din within Mulan’s ears as she watched Zong and the others take some of the lesser experienced men through their paces.

  A full week had passed in the blink of an eye, but thankfully her friends had kept their promise. Her secret remained her own.

  A sword went sailing through the air, landing an inch from Mulan’s feet. “Keep a grip on your weapon, boy,” Zong called as the young soldier hurried to retrieve it. “You lose that, you lose your life.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied, falling back into stance only a second before Zong rushed at him once more.

  Despite their young ages, three days after arriving at Black Gate, Mulan and her friends found themselves being transferred into a new training section of camp, their skills far more advanced than the lower ranks. As the ‘son’ of a chief, Mulan’s responsibility lay in overseeing the training of those beneath her.

  With his strengths as an archer, Daocheng helped oversee the production of new arrows and ensuring no faults lay with the bow. Overhearing them boast of his skills, Trainer Gao ordered Daocheng to prove them. Jumping onto his horse, he’d fired several shots into the air, bringing down half a dozen blue-eared pheasants in only a matter of seconds, before landing two more on either side of the prince’s feet with a single arrow to everyone’s astonishment.

  They’d eaten well that night.

  Rubbing a sore spot on her hip from her own earlier training session, Mulan stood to the side, watching Chuo’s double blades swirl through the air at lightning speed, driving back his opponent. Dropping to his knees, and ducking in a fluid, graceful movement, he quickly shot to his feet to meet Chuo’s swords mid-air, just inches from his face.

  Weapons of all kinds darted in and out of her vision, the din of metal and fists on armoured flesh reverberating within her head. Training with her friends gave her the ability to hold her own against a number of the men here, but not how to deal with men on a full-time basis.

  Men were pigs. No, worse than pigs. At least pigs knew how to keep clean. The rank odour of sweat and excrement infused the camp.

  Sharing a tent in the first few days brought a few issues up. Digan’s suggestion of them sleeping outside whilst Mulan stayed inside had been met with everyone’s approval except for hers, until she reminded them that would get the others in the camp talking. Daocheng wanted to put a barrier around her sleeping area; Mulan’s answer had been where would they get the material from? Had they brought a pile of silk with them from home? Silence provided the answer.

  “Shut up, lay down, and let me get to sleep,” Mulan had told them, curling up on the blankets provided, the scratchy material lesser quality than those given to the dogs back home. If these were standard for the chiefs, Mulan didn’t fancy the ones the lowest ranking soldiers received.

  A few days into a new routine and no more issues had arisen, thankfully. We’re all too tired to deal with them, she thought, a small smile tugging on her face as Huyanti let out a screeching cry and flipped three times over the heads of two startled young soldiers, their jaws dropping to their chests.

  A chuckle flowed over Mulan’s lips, triggering a small wave of pain along her right side where her own opponent managed to get a hit in with the end of his poleaxe. Wincing, her hand touched the spot gently, thankful she never removed her armour. Even at night, the fear of someone walking in and discovering her secret never allowed it to come off.

  Something across the way caught her eye. Lifting her gaze, Prince Kang’s scrutinised the training of his men.

  Like herself, she’d never seen him in anything other than his own armour. The dragon designs, even from a distance, were intricate and obviously fashioned by someone highly skilled. No one could create that sense of majesty from simple leather and a few strips of metal without devotion to their craft.

  A line etched between her brows as she tilted her head and stared at him. Something about him made her pause, made the blood rush in her veins a little faster than normal.

  It has to be the magic, Mulan told herself as her eyes dropped to his legs, enveloped in what she could only assume was the finest, and softest, leather. Whatever magic he possesses, that’s what’s causing this reaction.

  Something made her raise her gaze, only to find his eyes looking back at her. Dark eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, his jaws tightening but refusing to back down.

  Is he trying to intimidate me? Well, two can play that game.

  Heart racing, Mulan raised her chin and stared back. She’d caught him staring in her direction several times over the last week, always catching her off guard. Including last night.

  For only the second time since her arrival, she’d found the nerve to spend some time around one of the many campfires where the men would eat, drink, and sing songs of battle and women. Skins of wine passed from hand to hand, laughter following close behind.

  After taking a mouthful, she’d passed it to Daocheng, mirroring her actions. A particularly rowdy song echoed on the breeze, causing them to spit out whatever wine was in their mouths. Giggling and nudging each other, Mulan had leaned into his body, her head light.

  When she’d looked up, there he was.

  Staring once more, the campfire licking shadows across his face for a brief moment before hurrying off.

  Now he was doing it again.

  Why, though?

  The sound of drums rolled through the air, causing Prince Kang’s attention away. A second later, Administrator Yufuluo rushed up, thrusting a scroll in his hands. The beat of the drums faded, leaving only the sound of questions playing within her head.

  Scrunching the scroll within his grasp, a flash of anger rolled across his face. His eyes darted around the way. “Gather all the chiefs in my tent within ten minutes,” he told Administrator Yufuluo, his voice resonating over the din of fighting still carrying on around them. Without waiting for an answer, he strode away.

  Trainer Ma, a burly man easily in his late fifties with scars criss-crossing his face and arms wider than Mulan’s head, smacked her on the shoulder. “What are you waiting for, boy?” he asked. “You heard the prince. Get moving.”

  Confusion stained her voice. “But I’m not a chief.”

  Rolling his eyes so far back in his head Mulan thought it must have hurt, Ma let out a long sigh. “Are you not the son of a chief, Mohuai? Have you not come here to take his place?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t think -”

  “You youngsters never think. As your father’s representative, you’re required to sit in on any war meetings the prince orders. Now get going.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Heart pounding onc
e more, Mulan hurried in the direction of Prince Kang’s tent, situated in the central-north part of the garrison. War meetings were not part of the plan. How in the eighteen hells could she sit through one when she had no clue of what it constituted?

  Just keep quiet and don’t bring attention to yourself. You’ll be fine.

  Then why didn’t she feel fine?

  As she arrived in front of the prince’s residence, a huge tent dominating everything around it and dyed in the most vivid of red hues, several chiefs hurried forward. Some of them she recognised from her time in camp; Yin from Bingzhou who possessed over a thousand bannermen, Lu from Tongwan with several hundred, and Liang from Youzhou, not far from Black Gate, who’d brought three thousand men with him. All were her father’s age, their faces covered in thick bushy beards flecked with grey and intimidating stares.

  Dressed in simple armour over tunics and loose-fitting trousers tucked into leather boots, their swords hanging by their sides, they fixed Mulan with narrowed eyes as they stepped into the prince’s tent. Something in their gazes left her feeling wary. Inhaling deeply, Mulan followed after them.

  Simple opulence and grandeur enveloped the interior, befitting a person of royal station. The red material shimmered a thousand subtle shades with each beam of sunlight through the open doorway. To the north stood a large bed, covered in silk cushions of various colours and furs. Two chests stood in the east, the lids closed. Beside them hung several weapons on some kind of rack, swords and pole axes and daggers, each one polished to a high gleam. Rugs stretched over the floors, designs of dragons and other fearsome creatures woven into the material. A large table sit in the centre, a map held in position with weights on all sides. Behind it, Prince Kang kept his gaze lowered, his jawline hard, and the glint of his sword hilt catching her eye.

  Mulan headed forward until she stood beside someone she didn’t recognise. Several years older than herself, a baby-fine line of hair stretched over his upper lip, his skin a few shades darker than her own. Large brown eyes darted her way but held no warmth. Like herself, he seemed too young to be a chief in his own right; Mulan wondered if he, too, represented his father.