BOOK 11: CHAPTER 63: MARCHING ORDERS

Sen hardened his expression as he landed outside of the makeshift camp that contained the cultivators and mortals he planned to take with him. He found it more difficult to harden his heart when he saw what a miserable state the mortals were in, particularly the children. He had ordered that they all be provided with necessities, so there were ample fires, tents, blankets, and food, but there was nothing else. Nor were they allowed to wander far from the confines of the camp. A few from both groups had tried to run. The cultivators were chained at the outskirts of the camp, beyond the range of any warmth that the fires might provide. Nor had their obvious wounds been tended. Knowing that mortals couldn’t withstand such treatment, they had been caged inside the camp, where they wouldn’t simply freeze to death at night.

The camp had also been divided between the cultivators and the mortals. He hadn’t ordered any such thing, so it must have been the work of the prisoners themselves. It made a certain, dismal sense. Most cultivators wouldn’t be interested in sharing space with the mortals, seeing them as beneath the notice of someone from a sect. Not that these cultivators belonged to sects anymore. They had stopped being sect cultivators the moment they abandoned their strongholds and came south to threaten Sen’s people. He pushed his feelings down as far as he could. He couldn’t be Lu Sen here. He had to be Judgment’s Gale. With that thought held firmly in mind, he marched to the center of the camp.

“Who speaks for you?” Sen demanded in a voice that he made carry to the entire camp.

There was a long, silent moment when no one spoke or moved.

“You are testing my patience,” he announced, “and there is precious little of that left where all of you are concerned. Who speaks for you?”

There was a rustling of cloth as the cultivator who had seemingly been in charge stepped forward.

“I speak for these people.”

“No,” said Sen. “You speak for the cultivators. Who speaks for the mortals?”

There was a much longer pause as the mortals traded confused looks. In the end, a wizened old man with a long, wispy beard stood and, with obvious difficulty, walked over to face Sen. It was clear that the man had simply decided that someone had to take the role and had volunteered himself.

“I speak for the mortals,” he said in a voice that quavered from age.

“Very well,” said Sen.

“Lord Lu, if we could just—” started the cultivator.

“Who told you to speak?” asked Sen.

The cultivator froze in the same way Sen had seen prey animals freeze when the gaze of a predator settled on them. It looked to be an almost instinctive act on the cultivator’s part. One no doubt fueled by the way that Sen chose to look through the man, rather than at the man.

“I am here to inform you of what your punishment will be,” said Sen. “You will all march south to the capital under my watch. You will join the army and serve as its vanguard. You will not be compensated. You will only be released from that service when we achieve victory or you die.”

The cultivator had lost all of the color in his face. The implications of Sen’s words were clearly not lost on him. The old, mortal man clearly didn’t understand all of those implications, but he’d understood enough. Sen could see the questions on the man’s face. He considered leaving then and there, but it would save some time to deal with a few pressing issues now.

“Speak,” he ordered.

“Lord… Lord Lu,” mumbled the old man. “When you say all of us, do you mean—”

The words trailed away as the man visibly wilted under Sen’s cold gaze.

“Do I mean what?”

“Surely you don’t mean to make all of us go. What of the children?”

This was what Sen had hoped the man would say, but he couldn’t let it look like he’d been hoping for that. He could show a modicum of mercy, but not too quickly or easily.

“What of them?”

“I… That is… To make them march to war,” said the old man, clearly expecting Sen to fill in the blanks.

“And where was this concern for mortal children when you attacked this city? Children live there. Did you believe that some benevolent god would shield them? Did you imagine that fireballs and lightning would simply bypass them? Were those the lies you told yourself?”

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The old man looked down in shame. Sen looked at the cultivator, who didn’t even have the grace to share that look of shame. It did not bode well for the man’s chances of reaching the capital alive.

“So,” Sen continued, “tell me, why should I show more concern for your children than you showed for those under my protection?”

Sen could see the old man struggling for an answer. When the silence stretched out for too long, a woman stepped out of the crowd. She blocked the child behind her from his sight, but not his spiritual sense. She was a plain woman that life near Mt. Solace had not treated with particular care. Her face was worn, although Sen suspected that she wasn’t actually that old. He turned his attention to her. It was clear she wanted to step back, but mustered her courage.

“And you? Do you have some reason why I should treat your children gently?” he asked.

She swallowed hard, but her voice was firm when she spoke.

“Pity. I beg you to take pity on them, Lord Lu. They’re innocent.”

Sen closed his eyes and tilted his head back like he was contemplating whether or not to act on some whim. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and opened his eyes.

“Do I strike you as a man burdened by pity?” he asked.

The woman stammered to say something, anything, but he waved her words away as he walked over to her.

“Let me see the child,” he commanded.

She didn’t meet his eyes, and he could see that she didn’t want to do what he’d told her to. He just waited as she made her choice. Finally, with a gentle tug, she pulled what turned out to be a little boy from behind her. The little boy looked up at Sen with confused eyes. He didn’t understand what was happening, let alone why. Sen softened his expression.

“What is your name?” he asked.

The little boy shot a look that was half-panic and half-question at his mother. She tried to smile at the boy and gave him an encouraging nod.

“Hu Chao,” whispered the boy, pulling a closed hand closer to his chest.

“What are you holding?” asked Sen. “Please show it to me.”

Looking miserable, the boy shook his head hard.

“Show him,” hissed the boy’s mother.

The little boy didn’t move his hand, just opened it. Sen had no idea where the boy could have found it in the depths of winter, but there was a tiny flower in his hand. I guess I’ve frightened them all enough, he thought.

“Very well. I will spare your children,” he said.

“Why?” asked the boy’s mother.

It was obvious from her horrified expression that the word had slipped free from her mouth out of shock. He gave her a level look.

“Because your son was holding a flower.”

The more arbitrary I make it look, the less likely they’ll all be to ask for the kinds of things that would make me have to punish them in some way, he told himself. Anyone fickle enough to use a flower as a reason to spare children is not the kind of man you ask for favors.

“I will send people to collect the children and arrange for their care. As for the rest of you, be ready to march tomorrow.”

Sen loathed every part of this act he was putting on. He’d been livid when he first arrived back, but he’d calmed down since then. He had no desire to march the elderly to their deaths. Perhaps, I can find some excuse to spare them as well. He took a moment to stare at the mortals before he made a noncommittal noise and turned to the cultivator.

“The same goes for the cultivators. Be ready to march tomorrow. Your task on this journey is to protect the mortals. If you fail in this task, well—” Sen trailed off and let the man’s imagination do the hard work of conjuring torments straight from the thousand hells. “Do you understand my meaning?”

The cultivator nodded. Sen could see that the man wasn’t pleased, which was exactly what he’d wanted. He wasn’t going to be happy on the march south, so he intended to make sure that no one else would be happy on that march either. Without another word, he rose into the air and flew back to the sect compound and made his way to his office. He asked the cultivator assigned to sit outside the office to summon Sua Xing Xing. He was sipping tea when she arrived.

“You asked for me, Patriarch,” she said with a bow.

“Yes. I need you to do something for me.”

“What is that, Patriarch?”

“I need you to find me an excuse not to march the elderly people in that prisoner camp back to the capital. I don’t care what it is. I don’t care how flimsy the excuse is. Just find some use for them so I have the excuse.”

“May I ask why?”

“Because none of them would survive it, and I don’t want that on my conscience.”

“Of course. I should have realized.”

“I’ve already agreed to spare the children. So, we’ll need to send people out there to gather them up and find somewhere they can live.”

That announcement didn’t seem to surprise the woman at all. Sen snorted.

“Am I truly that predictable?”

She thought it over before waggling a hand in the air.

“You loathe the idea of children coming to harm. Most people in the sect know that.”

“Is that a weakness, do you think?”

She thought for much longer about that question before she sighed and said, “Yes.”

“I thought so—” Sen started before she cut him off.

“But it’s not one you should try to fix.”

Sen raised an eyebrow and asked, “Why?”

“Because it would destroy you. Maybe not all at once, but it would destroy you in the end. Every cultivator has something personal, something important to them that is a weakness but that they can’t live without.”

“Do you?”

“I do,” she said. “Are you going to ask me what it is?”

“No,” answered Sen with a smile.

“But that would—”

“I don’t need to know,” said Sen. “In fact, I don’t want to know. I have no desire to hold that much power over you.”

The idea seemed to confuse Sua Xing Xing, which oddly made Sen feel better about not asking. He was as curious as anyone else would be, but that sort of information was a kind of dangerous that made him feel ill. It wasn’t the power to kill someone, but the power to unravel them. And he didn’t want to know how to unmake Sua Xing Xing. When he was just about ready to dismiss her, the woman’s eyes lit up.

“I think I know how to fix your problem,” she said.