The Flute That Split the Night
Hong-wi wailed.
"Look—there she is... the Queen is right there!"
"Your Highness, the Queen herself commanded you to flee! You must... you must go at once!"
Jeon Jung-jae shouted, half dragging Hong-wi by the arms as they broke into flight. They tumbled down the sloping path more than they ran. Right beside him, Hong-wi could hear Ho-in sobbing—and in the next moment, he realized that he himself was weeping too.
Behind them, shouts rang out.
"They're running!"
The hissing whistle of wind cleaved the air, and Hong-wi ducked instinctively. An arrow whipped past a fist's width from his head and buried itself in a tree. More arrows streaked past them one after another, and in a kind of despairing surrender, Hong-wi ran on through the rain of shafts.
And so Hong-wi fled, leaving the woman he had yearned for so desperately just an arm's reach away, abandoning every last shred of hope.
He ran and ran, yet the anguish would not subside. The party staggered up the mountain trail, so numb with grief and shock that they moved on without truly knowing where they were or where they were going.
The old man Jeon Jung-jae panted for breath.
"Let us... rest a while."
"Are you all right, Father?"
Ho-in looked down at his father with anxious eyes. Though he had torn cloth and bound it tight around the wound, his shoulder was soaked dark with blood. An arrow had found him only moments before.
Jeon Jung-jae smiled faintly.
"I'm fine. It's not a deep wound. It will mend with a little rest."
Hong-wi sat down at the old man's side. His face, struck with shock, was frozen hard as stone.
"I am sorry, Your Highness."
"What is there to be sorry for?"
Hong-wi murmured the words quietly. He still could not tear himself free from the grief of losing Hyo-bin.
Ho-in cried out, choked with fury.
"How in the world did they know? We sensed nothing suspicious the whole time we were in Yeongwol!"
"We forgot that Suyang's spies are spread everywhere," Jeon Jung-jae answered wearily. "We were certainly discovered somewhere. There is no other explanation."
"But what do we do now? We've lost the horses as well."
The old man gazed up at the sky for a moment.
"We must carry on as planned. Somehow."
He rose with a groan. Hong-wi and Ho-in moved to support him, but he declined their help.
"I am all right, Your Highness. I still have strength left to fight."
As if to prove his words no idle boast, he drew his sword and held it aloft. Hong-wi forced a smile.
"That is a comfort. But you said 'as planned'—what plan is that?"
Even as he spoke, Hong-wi knew that one plan above all had slipped away forever. Ah. How can I go on, having lost the wife who held me together? And yet go on I must. He steeled himself. From this day forward, his life belonged to Hyo-bin as well.
At Hong-wi's question, Jeon Jung-jae tilted his sword aside and turned to face him.
"First we must get clear of this place. Those were skilled warriors—if all has gone as they intended, then by now—"
The old man never finished the sentence. At the very instant he turned toward Hong-wi, the sword in his grasp caught the moonlight and flashed with a cruel gleam—and in the same breath, two sharp whistles tore through the air, followed twice over by the dull, sickening thud of shafts punching through flesh.
Hо-in cried out in alarm.
"Father!"
"Quiet..."
Jeon Jung-jae muttered, gripping the fletching of the arrow that had just pierced his own body. The next instant he tried to rise—and collapsed where he sat.
Hong-wi stared, eyes wide, at the arrows jutting from the left side of the old man's chest like black feathers. Every time Jeon Jung-jae gasped and opened his mouth, a bloody froth bubbled between his lips.
"Quiet... be quiet... they are reading our every movement..." he managed, his voice fading to an ember.
Ho-in shook his head helplessly. What were they to do? Even from his voice alone, it was clear his father was in grave condition. Jeon Jung-jae strove to smile up at Hong-wi.
"Your Highness... Your Highness, you must stay low..."
"Yes, yes, old friend—I know. Stay still."
Hong-wi dropped low and whispered urgently. Where were the arrows coming from? Where were the enemy?
"Your Highness, we must hurry... we must carry you to safety..."
The old man's voice trailed into silence. Ho-in stared at him with disbelieving eyes. Hong-wi, too, gazed at him, stricken.
Then a cold voice drifted down through the darkness.
"Run all you like—you're still nothing but fleas."
Both men flinched violently. The night was utterly black, and the voice echoed off the trees until they could not tell from which direction it came. As they looked wildly about, laughter rippled through the woods.
"What a bother you people are..."
There came the soft rustle of footsteps. Both heads snapped toward the sound. Men in black closed in around them in a half circle, blades gripped tight in their hands, encircling Hong-wi and Ho-in.
The squad leader sneered.
"Regrettably, your midnight stroll ends here. An arrow wound, and still you ran this far—more spirit than I expected."
He glanced briefly at the old man and went on.
"But you must disappear from this world now. Only then will His Majesty be spared the unpleasant task of personally sending poison to his own nephew."
"What of the Queen?"
The squad leader smiled with icy menace.
"You will see her again soon enough. Trade your greetings there. Truly, though—how did you live with such a stubborn woman at your side?"
Hong-wi counted the assassins. A dozen or more, at the very least. Just then the moon slipped free of the clouds again, spilling pale light over the clearing—and in that instant, Hong-wi recognized the gaunt face of one man standing apart from the rest.
"You there—is that Gongsaeng?"
The man flinched at the words. Hong-wi spoke in a low, level voice.
"Now I understand. How long have you been betraying me?"
Gongsaeng averted his gaze and began to mumble, his words tripping over one another in excuse.
"How could this humble one ever have been careless in serving you? Truly, it was never so. But if you keep fleeing like this, Your Grace, I will be the one put to the sword for it. Please, do not take it amiss."
Even now, it seemed, betraying Hong-wi did not sit easily on him.
"Even now it is not too late. Turn yourself in at Hanyang and beg the King's forgiveness. Ask pardon for your wrongs—perhaps he will grant it."
"Do you truly believe that?"
Hong-wi laughed in sheer disbelief. If matters could be resolved so easily, they would never have come to this pass in the first place—and his wife would still be alive!
The next moment, he decided it was pointless to say anything more to Gongsaeng. What more could he gain by berating a wretch like that?
"I see. Then so be it. There is nothing to be done."
Hong-wi smiled a lonely smile.
Ho-in, who had just laid down the body of his father—breath already gone from him—rose slowly to his feet. In the eyes of the young man, grinding his teeth, blue sparks of fury flared.
"You son of a bitch."
At Ho-in's outburst, the squad leader roared with laughter.
"Heh heh heh. Hold your tongue, boy. You are one of the traitor's party—your crimes are already heavy enough that dismemberment will not be spared you. Better to die here; it will be a mercy."
"That is not yours to decide."
The squad leader looked Ho-in over with contempt. Judging by the way he held his blade, the boy had some training in the sword—but in his eyes he was nothing more than a pup baring its teeth.
Hong-wi, meanwhile, looked down at the old man Jeon Jung-jae. His grief was beyond the reach of words.
"A loyal servant stepped forward to protect a worthless wretch like me... and I could not even save his life. What kind of king am I? What kind of lord?"
Murmuring the words, Hong-wi drew his sword. In the moonlight, the blade looked like a shard of cold light torn from the night itself. He glared at the assassins, his eyes blazing sharper by the moment, killing intent burning plain upon his face.
"...Hmph."
The squad leader chuckled coldly. His second-in-command, who had been chewing on a stalk of plantain, spat it out.
"Shall we shoot? The archers are ready."
As if on cue, the two archers flanking them each nocked an arrow to their short bows. The moment the order fell, those arrows would strike home.
"No."
At the squad leader's answer, the man with the drawn bow glanced back at him. In the darkness his expression was hard to read, but the look plainly asked: why hesitate now, of all times?
"He once sat upon the throne that guarded this realm. He is owed... proper ceremony."
The corners of the squad leader's mouth lifted slightly.
"All the more so, if it is to be his final road. Would you not agree?"
A faint ripple passed through the air at his words. These were seasoned killers—none of them laughed aloud in such a situation—but the atmosphere eased noticeably all the same.
Hong-wi took his sword in both hands.
"No, Your Highness!"
Hо-in shouted and barred Hong-wi's path, pointing at the assassins as he roared.
"If you want to take His Highness, you will have to walk over my corpse to do it!"
Laughter broke out on all sides. The squad leader sneered.
"Hm. You've had some schooling with the blade, it seems... I admire the courage, truly, but a man must learn to choose his opponents. You think you could survive ten exchanges with me?"
Ho-in paid the mockery no mind. He turned to Hong-wi and bowed.
"Will you grant me leave?"
"Gladly."
Hong-wi, who had long since abandoned any thought of walking out of this alive, nodded with a wan smile.
"It was a short time, but thank you."
"Enough talk."
The squad leader, wiping even the ghost of a smile from his lips, stepped forward with his blade at the ready. Ho-in nodded and stepped out to meet him, and Hong-wi advanced with sword raised as well. The squad leader, knowing full well that neither of them was a match for him, sauntered forward at his leisure.
One exchange. That's all this will take.
Like a crane extending its long legs in a graceful stride, the squad leader quietly drew his right foot forward—the very instant he was about to strike, his body seized and went rigid.
From somewhere, a single note of a clear, liquid flute came riding on the wind. A melody wholly out of place with the moment sliced through the ice-thin tension and shook it apart. The taut air shattered in an instant.
"Who's there?"
Everyone searched the darkness for the source. Hong-wi frowned. The flute sounded strangely familiar.
That melody...?
"What devil is this?"
The squad leader muttered, whipping his head toward the sound. There, having appeared from who knew where, stood a man in a black overcoat and a broad-brimmed sedge hat, an expressionless face, eyes closed, lips pressed to a bone-white flute.
The assassins stood bewildered. Hong-wi and Ho-in were no less at a loss.
"Han Ga-ryeong...?"
Han Ga-ryeong brought the final mournful phrase of the melody to a close, tucked the flute into his breast, and slowly opened his eyes. The second-in-command spat out the grass stalk he had been chewing.
"Han Ga-ryeong!"
Slow, simmering rage seethed beneath the squad leader's low cry.
"You know me."
Han Ga-ryeong said quietly.
"Of course I do... What business brings you here?"
Hong-wi wanted to know the same thing. The squad leader smiled coldly.
"If you've come to steal the kill, I'm afraid that won't do."
"The kill."
Han Ga-ryeong only smiled, calm as still water.
"Do ten men who set upon two call it an honorable kill?"
The squad leader's brow furrowed.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"They say righteousness and honor make the gentleman."
Han Ga-ryeong murmured the words while gazing up at the sky. The squad leader scowled again.
"Do you even know what that means?"
The assassins, squad leader included, answered only with silence. Under the soft moonlight, only spear points and blades glinted thinly. Into that stillness, Han Ga-ryeong's voice descended.
"I will tell you. However lowly the blade-for-hire, a sword swung without honor is no different from the blade of a common butcher."
"So what of it?"
The squad leader snorted. Yet though only his mouth curled upward, his bloodshot eyes stayed locked on Han Ga-ryeong.
"You discover a conscience for honor at a time like this—and what then? What, you mean to fight for those children now, is that it?"
Han Ga-ryeong did not answer. The squad leader's mouth hardened.
"Have you gone mad, Han Ga-ryeong?"
He read the situation in an instant and flicked a glance at his men. They nodded and shifted their formation, closing in on Han Ga-ryeong. The two archers leveled their nocked arrows at his chest.
"A tool should content itself with being a tool. But if you insist on concerning yourself with whys and wherefores, one by one..."
Letting the squad leader's words pass through one ear and out the other, Han Ga-ryeong calmly surveyed their formation. One man beside the leader—likely the second-in-command—two archers, one on either flank, and six more men with blades.
Ten in all.
As Han Ga-ryeong tallied the enemy's strength, the squad leader finished coldly:
"There is only death."
As if that were the signal, both archers loosed—no, more precisely, they were about to. Han Ga-ryeong's hands split the air like lightning a heartbeat sooner.
"Wha—?"
The archers stared down in disbelief at the throwing knives buried in their chests. Two dull thuds followed almost at once. The squad leader looked down at his fallen men, then back up at Ga-ryeong. Fury burned naked in his eyes at the loss of two men he had cherished.
"Damn you... KILL THEM!"
At his sharp bark, the two assassins at the fore charged in from two directions. Han Ga-ryeong's hands moved with fluid, lightning grace.
"Not a chance. Not against men like you."
The assassin racing to strike Ga-ryeong's center pitched forward with a strangled cry, tumbling at the very speed of his own charge. Before the man had even struck the ground, Han Ga-ryeong spun on his heel and smoothly drew the sword sheathed across his back. With a ringing shing, the blade flashed out of the darkness.
"Still far too slow."
He lightly deflected the blade driving in from his right and, in the same motion, seized the opening it left behind—carving a deep cut into the man's side.
"Guhh."
The man let out a short groan, his knees buckled, and he crumpled where he stood. Without pausing even to confirm the kill, Han Ga-ryeong dropped low and swept his blade in a rising arc.
"Gah!"
The assassin who had been bringing his sword down with the force of a falling mountain burst apart at the chest in a spray of blood and collapsed.
"Good heavens..."
The second-in-command, still chewing his plantain, stopped mid-chew without realizing it, his eyes going round as saucers. Having felled three men in the blink of an eye, Ga-ryeong slowly lowered his sword.