The Conspiracy at the Thantin: Enter Shi Shan

  The air in the abandoned pavilion tasted of damp stone and the metallic tang of guttering oil lamps. Sambodji paced like a caged beast, his shadow flickering against the rotting silk tapestries, while Durjana sat in a heavy, brooding silence.

  From the deepest shadow, Shaivites Shan stepped forward—the last remaining heir of the evil Chancellor Shi Dao. She did not raise her voice; she didn't need to. She carried the stillness of a mountain and the inherited arrogance of a thousand-year lineage.

  Bhairav the Smouldering, Shaivite priest leaned forward, the smell of charred sandalwood clinging to his robes. "The girl was ours by the rites of the pyre, Lady Shan. Akbar’s estates were vast—fields, silk, gold, and silver. Gems! By pulling her from the wood, Zhenjin has robbed the gods."

  "The gods, or your counting house?" Shi Shan replied with that thin, bloodless smile.

  Kapal Ash Eater growled, his skin grey with the ash of a dozen lords. "It does not matter. If anyone can snatch a widow from the flames today, every merchant’s wife in Dadu will be looking to the hills tomorrow. We lose the fear; we lose the gold."

  "You all growl over scraps," Shi said, her voice a cool, academic lilt. "The three priests want to appease their god of the counting house. Sambodji, you want your girl. Durjana, you want your ports. You are children crying over broken toys."

  She turned her gaze toward the palace spires. "Zhenjin is not your enemy because he took what you wanted. He is the enemy because he is a structural failure. He shelters TaraBai and the Majapahit runaways not out of strength, but out of a sentimental rot. He thinks the 'Mandate' is a poem you recite to orphans."

  She smoothed the front of her dark robes with a slow, deliberate motion. "A throne cannot be held by a man who bleeds for everyone. It is top-heavy. It is unstable. While he plays at being the 'Poet-King,' the foundation of this empire is turning to dust. We aren't just here to kill a man; we are here to clear the rubble before the farmers realize the house is empty."

  Durjana looked up, his eyes narrowing. "And what of the Kharaks? What of Khublai?"

  "Khublai is an aging lion who doesn't realize his teeth have been pulled," Shan Shi replied. "He lives in a dream of the past. We," she gestured to the room, "are the reality of the present. We will poison the heart of the palace, and by the time the Xinese in the streets and in the opera house realize what has happened, Ariq will be sitting on a throne we built for him."

  "But first," Shi Shan hissed, "we must deal with the Yuans. We must kill Zhenjin."

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "How? Dadu is impregnable," Durjana said.

  "We hit him where he is weak. Leave it to me.", says Shi

  "And what about Ulaan?" Durjana asked. "After Ariq, she stands to inherit the Thantin throne, not Kaedu. And if we kill Zhenjin, she will seek revenge."

  "We kill her too. Do Ariq a favor," Shi hissed.

  ——————————-

  The Gathering of the Soil

  On the other side of the Middle Kingdom, the Great Patriarch Hongwu was meeting with Lin Feng, his surveyor; Qiao Bo, a palace guard who had accompanied the Vassal Heirs on their tour; and Chen, one of the young commanders of the cadres.

  "He is inviting a war to our country by housing Zalir," Hongwu noted. "He is the author of the Sumpah’t Panata. Wherever he goes, the war follows. And he is here."

  "I like him," Qiao Bo countered. "He is a man of the people. And no one is as knowledgeable about the spice trade. And that Panata? It reads like poetry."

  "Those Queens are his best allies," Chen added. "They will give him all their money. That’s money to raise an army."

  "Zhenjin is an educated man," Hongwu said. "But he may have failed to see that he has more enemies each time he gives an escaping Queen sanctuary. The Shaivite priests expect what is their due."

  "My men say that Durjana and Sambodji are in Kharakhorin," said Lin Feng, Hongwu’s master surveyor and spy.

  "Their enemies are amassing," Chen said.

  "Which means the three terrible Shaivite priests are there too," Hongwu observed. "A complex political scenario is unfolding: three Queens, Zalir of Makassar, and the Crown Prince Zhenjin against three Shaivite priests, Durjana, Sambodji, and Shan Shi."

  "Don’t forget the Vassal Heirs," Qiao Bo interjected. "They are a deadly bunch."

  "Rajiv can’t fight," Lin Feng said.

  "I am referring to Urduja and Cheongsun. We must include them in our calculations. Both are deadly fighters. We don’t have the military sophistication to take them on; few of us are trained to fight." Hongwu turned to the young commander. "Chen, how are our fighting cadres?"

  "We need more volunteers," Chen intoned.

  "I say we quietly support Zhenjin and his Queens," Hongwu decided. "We continue spying. Zhenjin will take a wife soon—a spice trader. He intends to join the Brotherhood of the Sumpah’t Panata."

  "He is sounding more Xinese every day."

  "It is dangerous to know your enemy," Hongwu said. "You might like him."

  ——————————

  The Fall of the Undefeated

  A messenger arrived at the eastern wall of the Lotus Palace. He was brought into the hall smelling of salt and sweat—bloodied.

  "Agatub has fallen," the man gasped, his voice cracking the polished silence of the room. "The Undefeated... he is slain."

  "What? How?" The advisers of Lys, five old, doddering men, looked on in shock.

  "Huyen," sobbed Dihn Bo.

  "Send for Zhenjin! Relay the message now. Immediately," Lys commanded. "Inform Zhenjin that Agatub has fallen."

  Lys was also crying. The crown had fallen off his head—it had never fit well. But in this crisis, he suddenly found his mooring as a leader.

  "Inform the Mongol Ambassador that Agatub has fallen." Lys dried his eyes, composing himself. Clear and determined, he issued his first command as King of Annam. Though not full height, he had come of age.

  "I must save my sister. Tell the Shaivite priests I will give them all my money if they spare her."

  There was panic. Dihn Bo was sobbing without control; Huyen had been his mother since their parents fell defending them. He had been a baby in her arms.

  Lys got off his throne. He picked up his crown and placed it firmly on his head. He doggedly took his seat. He was just a Boy-King—the Boy-King of Annam—but a King in every way that mattered.