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Fate Attendant 1.1
🕑 Added 2025-06-12 23:44:30 +0000 UTCHong Fei knew there would be trouble as soon as he heard the horses. His heart raced at the sound of the rapid drumming of their hooves and the lively ringing of their harnesses. The riders were either soldiers or bandits. No one else would drive their mounts so, and in such numbers.
The road was well-made, better than he’d expected for a place this remote. And dry, too, since Wild Green Island’s spring rainy season had yet to begin in earnest. The nameless track curved and dipped behind him to hide the approaching horsemen. To each side, the ground rose in steep incline, the forest’s green leafiness an assault on his sensibilities which had grown used to the arid plains of the northwest border. Scrambling up would cost him more than his broken body could handle. Not unless he was willing to pay the price of a day’s bed rest. Perhaps more.
His hope to finish the long journey unencumbered by events nearly died. Only a persistent stubbornness kept him going, urging him to stand at the road’s edge with his head down. He angled the scabbard at his side to the back, so that it would be hidden from those passing. Hong Fei knew better than to draw either a soldier’s or bandit’s attention to it.
The riders came into view, the bright red sashes of their imperial uniforms as striking as blood upon their bodies, and the worry in Hong Fei’s gut clenched tight. Bandits would’ve been better. They would’ve taken the damn sword and been done with him. He had nothing else to offer.
Soldiers, though, had their honor—their damned, spiteful honor. Hong Fei had been one long ago, a leader of them, and so he knew.
With head down and teeth clenched, he waited for the calvary to pass. Heart sinking, he saw the squad’s leader, the shízhǎng, gesture for them to stop. A glance from him sent a pair of soldiers from the train’s rear trotting up to Hong Fei.
Their uniforms were freshly pressed, a faint hint of jasmine underlying the otherwise overwhelming scent of horse sweat. These men were not bound for war but ceremony instead, and were running late from the looks of things.
The soldier on the right spoke: “Hold there, old man.”
Hong Fei straightened his back. He was only thirty-three-years old, but as damaged as he was, it was no wonder they mistook him for a graybeard, and a poor one at that given his straw sandals and his clothes threadbare from traveling across the empire’s great expanse.
In his heart, he congratulated the shízhǎng for the good sense of putting a soldier this unobservant at the back of the train. Now, if only a master of horse would speak to the man about the correct way to harness his mount. The straps would eventually rub the animal raw.
The clueless soldier continued, “Is this the road to Ruby Swift City?”
Hong Fei scoffed at the notion that he, a visitor, was expected to know what the soldiers, stationed here, did not. He’d never traveled this road before, but unlike them, he’d spent the last of his money on a map. He took it out and unrolled it for them to see.
Which was a mistake, he realized. Peasants and villagers didn’t need maps, and he certainly wasn’t well-dressed enough to be a merchant, artisan, or heaven-forbid the member of one of the local sects.
It was just an old habit that hadn’t died, just like him.
A hint of interest flickered in the eyes of the soldier on the left. Hong Fei noted how a small scar ran across the bridge of his nose.
The scarred soldier sent his horse circling around Hong Fei, and once behind him, paused. The pit in Hong Fei’s stomach deepened. Then the horse resumed its journey.
When the scarred soldier faced Hong Fei once more, he asked, “You carry a sword?”
“I was once a soldier, now discharged,” Hong Fei replied.
“The scabbard is distinctive, the pattern of flowers… noble.” The scarred soldier shifted forward in his saddle. “Is the sword’s name Fortune’s Favor?”
Hong Fei’s cultivation was in ruins in the aftermath of his military service, but he didn’t need it to recognize the hunger in the man.
All the horsemen in the squad were stable, likely at the body forge realm except for their sergeant, the shízhǎng, at qi gathering. This scarred soldier, however, was surely climbing toward the next realm—he was likely searching for anything to aid in the ascent.
Hong Fei had seen it happen all too often—his own men and women daring to risk the climb to a higher realm and then dying, failed by their insight, their comprehension of the Dao, and of their lack of resources to fuel the inner alchemy needed.
All of them had become desperate at the end. They’d been willing to do almost anything to keep from dying, and the signs then had been the same as the ones now. There was hunger in this soldier’s eyes.
“My name is Hong Fei, and yes, I am honored to carry Fortune’s Favor.”
“I’d heard you were dead,” the scarred soldier said, licking his lips. “That the victory in the northwest came at great cost.”
“It surely did,” Hong Fei said, “and I nearly did die. My discharge came soon after, which is why you see me on the way to Ruby Swift City, where I will meet with Duke Yu to seek employment with him and his people.”
In the safety of his mind, Hong Fei added, Have some sense and leave me be. I’ve given you the hints to understand I’m not worth touching.
Grudgingly, the scarred soldier turned his horse aside and sent it back into line. None of the others appeared to have been paying attention, but Hong Fei knew the story of today’s encounter would run rampant through their barracks.
The remaining soldier offered a smile and threw a coin in gratitude for the directions.
It seemed a light toss, yet the coin stung as it struck Hong Fei in the chest. He had made to grab it out of the air, but his joints creaked and the strained muscles in his back rebelled.
Dust puffed from where the coin landed. A dull bronze, Hong Fei noted. Then his fingers lost their grip on the map, and it too fell to the ground.
“We’ll leave you to your journey,” the coin-tossing soldier said, his smile lingering.
Hong Fei waited until the soldiers had left—the hooves of their horses thundering once more—before he carefully bent over. His joints and the muscles in his back protested again, yet the coin was a welcome addition to his empty purse. The journey to Wild Green Island had been long and expensive. The map came next, carefully rolled up and put away.
Almost there, Hong Fei thought. All that’s left is to survive what’s coming.
He examined the adjacent slopes and instead chose to backtrack to where one side wasn’t as steep. With a breath to steel himself against the inevitable pain, he urged his legs to push him up the incline, his arms jerking the forest’s abundance out of the way.
His endurance was not what it used to be, and he found himself panting not even halfway up the small hill that led to the larger hill that skirted the nearby mountain. The hope of an easier path was blocked by the trees and bushes. The visibility away from the road was terrible—a fact both good and bad. His escape was made harder, but the scarred soldier would also have a more difficult time finding him. And the soldier would surely try. An ascending cultivator couldn’t let such a fine opportunity pass.
Hong Fei cursed under his breath as he climbed, three different languages spilling from his mouth. The spittle, he wiped away with a clenched hand. The pace was slow. It had to be to preserve his body.
Birds sang to mark his passage. Thorned branches clung to his clothes and pulled on them like beggars. The cuts they left behind stung. The sandals he wore were falling apart. Soon he’d be barefoot.
This won’t work, he thought and looked for an easier path in earnest. He stumbled across it a moment later, pushing past a large frond to stop in surprise amid a game path weaving between the trees. The stop lengthened as he put hands on knees to catch his breath. Turning his head, he saw that one direction—the left—led downward and back the way he’d come, while the other—the right—traveled negligently upward and toward Ruby Swift City.
Hong Fei pushed himself into motion, taking the trail to the right. His belly complained, a needle in his side. The last meal he’d eaten had been at noon the previous day. He’d be able to buy a good bowl of porridge with the coin he’d picked up.
How small his life had become! The milestones no longer counted in enemies defeated but in meals eaten. Even his vision narrowed; it pulsed from the exertion.
He stepped over a rivulet barely a finger-width across, went two steps past it, then double-backed to push into the forest once more. His thoughts were starting to cloud, but he had a notion that water would serve to fill his belly.
In the distance, back the way he’d come, a monkey howled and was joined by others of his tribe.
###
The handful of trees poked their heads above the rest of the canopy, their branches spreading to create a single ceiling above. The ground below, deprived of sunlight was clear of the underbrush prevalent elsewhere.
Hong Fei collapsed against the roots of one of these elder trees. He got his back to the trunk, so that he could slide down with some modicum of control. Once seated, his head bent forward, too heavy to carry anymore.
He’d been told at the port that leaving the road was dangerous. The forest was home to monsters and spirit beasts alike, but that didn’t matter to Hong Fei—not in the moment. Death would be a relief from the once-prideful body now fallen into ruin.
Hong Fei gulped the air by the mouthful. Then, in the space of time it takes a man to piss, he recovered his wits enough to look around. The shade from the canopy above was welcome, and the openness of the clearing meant that a breeze blew through it. There were tracks left behind by something big and heavy, but there was no sign of the creature nearby.
The rivulet Hong Fei had been chasing had disappeared somewhere along the way, but he did hear water rushing in the distance. Slowly, he maneuvered to his hands and knees. Using the scabbard like a cane, he levered himself to standing.
He turned to limp toward the stream and stopped, startled by the sight of a body laying against another of the trees. For a moment, Hong Fei thought it was himself there. That he’d died, after all, and that was his body. The feeling persisted despite the evidence to the contrary.
The corpse had clearly been decaying for many days now. Scavengers had cleaned the bones of most of their flesh and organs, and the little that was left was black and putrescent.
The clothes were colorful and strange. The shirt was torn to shreds and covered in dried blood, but the visible material was an orange so bright, it hurt the eyes. As for the pants, they were the color of a deep lake, and the thick cloth appeared durable, though it too was ragged, torn, and covered in blood.
Hong Fei couldn’t help but move closer, and he saw that there’d been a design on the shirt once, now unrecognizable. Also, the shoes had been miraculously left untouched, though they were perhaps the most unusual piece of apparel yet. The material looked like nothing he’d seen before—pliant, tough, and a white so crisp it was unnatural.
An orange, ornamental swooshing shape graced the sides of each shoe. He thought that they were likely artifacts belonging to this cultivator who’d died fighting one of the forest’s monsters.
Hong Fei looked down at his own feet. They were approximately the same size as the cultivator’s. Without access to qi, he wouldn’t be able to make proper use of the artifacts, but they would certainly be more effective protection than his falling-apart sandals.
Caution warred with caution, but if Hong Fei was going to die, he didn’t want to do it with aching feet. He knelt down to remove the artifacts from the corpse, though the process took longer than expected. His fingers were clumsy, and the cultivator had used laces to hold the shoes snug.
He studied how the knot was done in case the trick of it was required for the artifact, then when they were finally on his own feet, his stance felt… springy. Every step was cushioned and comfortable. The shoes truly were an artifact, and the magic didn’t require qi.
The cost to create them must’ve been tremendous. Hong Fei would have to be careful when he eventually sold them. If the local sect found out, they’d likely take offence. Unless the poor dead man was a wandering cultivator?
The corpse wore no rings, jewelry, or badges to denote an affiliation. Nor did the clothes imply a sympathy with one of the elements, which indicated that the cultivator might have reached the Qi-Blossoming mid-realm and gone no further.
Feeling emboldened, Hong Fei searched the corpse and found a small satchel attached to a leather belt. If the shoes hadn’t been trapped or cursed, then these were likely safe too, so he undid the clever buckle and wrapped the belt around his own waist. There were multiple holes drilled into it, so finding the right size was easily done.
Inside the satchel were two, small sheets of thick paper. On one was remarkable painting of a beast, looking something like a ferret-badger. The border around it was green, and there were marks in the top left and right, as well as the bottom, that Hong Fei didn’t recognize.
A horizontally written language perhaps? Hong Fei was literate in two, so the idea wasn’t preposterous. Yes, he decided. Though the script was unlike anything he’d seen before, it was too orderly to be anything but language.
At the top, the symbols looked like unadorned representations of swans, each shape a “2.” At the bottom, they looked like “Uncommon Badger.” On the back of the paper were: “Free” and “Tough.”
Hong Fei noted how some of the symbols repeated. It implied the language was both horizontally written and non-logographic. This man was definitely a wandering cultivator, Hong Fei decided, and from somewhere well outside the empire. Whoever he’d been, he’d traveled far only to die a long distance from home.
The next paper didn’t have a painting, only words. At the top, it read: “Hong Fei.” And below was a sequence of letters and symbols in the same mysterious language.
He marveled at the precision of the lines and their orderliness. The person who’d written these words had had a hand as steady as stone, and Hong Fei wondered if he could find a way to decode the words’ meanings.
Perhaps the lord of Ruby Swift City might lend the use of his library? Or was that hoping for too much?
It was strange to find hope rising when everything had been barren for so long. Yet the discovery of magical shoes and a mysterious language worth puzzling over… could they be presaging a turn in Hong Fei’s luck? Had fate finally set him toward a more auspicious direction?
“There you are.” The voice came from behind him, almost a growl.
Hong Fei took a breath and turned; his hand fell to the hilt of his sword. Before him, the scarred soldier stood, his uniform in disarray. A twig had worked its way into the once-neat bun the man kept his hair in. His sword was already out and stained, dripping both blood and sap. He’d chopped his way through the forest and its beasts to get here.
“You won’t let me go,” Hong Fei said.
The soldier shook his head and strode forward.
Hong Fei slid one foot behind the other and lowered his stance. Sword undrawn, he forced the essence in his kidneys and marrow toward his lower cauldron and from there out into his broken meridians, the pain like knives drawn along his nerves.
The essence spilled everywhere chaotically, but small amounts made to his arms, legs, abdomen, and back. The tension on his face looked like fear. The soldier mistook it so, and smirked.
“I have nothing to help you,” Hong Fei pleaded. “Let me go.”
“You led me on a merry chase and have seen too much. Besides, Fortune’s Favor will be mine.” The soldier raised his sword, the movement lacking essence.
Why would he need it? His comrade had already tested Hong Fei’s reflexes and found them pitiful. A simple overhead cut should be all that was required to kill a cripple.
Hong Fei moved. Essence powered his legs, tightened his stomach, and drew the scabbard from his belt to sweep across the soldier’s undefended torso.
“Oof!” he exclaimed, his breath forced out of him.
The scabbard twisted, turned. Hong Fei went for his opponent’s head, but the soldier leapt back to avoid the blow. So, Hong Fei closed again, but this time the soldier knew what to expect and mobilized his own essence.
Sword and scabbard clashed, and the game was on. Hong Fei was the much better fencer, but the soldier’s healthier body and more plentiful essence equalized the fight. Back and forth they went, and the soldier’s face grew uglier by the step.
“You won’t draw Fortune’s Favor? You think so little of me? I’m going to kill you for this insult!”
You were going to kill me anyway, Hong Fei complained.
The last of his energy faded, and all that was left was inertia and the will to fight. Soon, that too would be sapped from him as the pain truly set in. He could feel it already—the trembling and the pain that sucked his breath away.
I’m dying here, after all, he thought and resolved to make a last attack, one that touched his enemy. With that, he’d die at least somewhat mollified. Ever since he’d left the border, he’d felt like he was living on borrowed time anyway. Fate was just calling the debt due.
Hong Fei moved, a plodding step that carried tired arms to make one last statement about the life of a warrior.
And the scarred soldier’s head fell away. His body lingered standing a moment; Hong Fei watched dumbfounded as it then fell in a heap. Behind the new corpse, a giant ferret-badger sat as if waiting to be praised for the kill.
Comments
RedBlitzenwood
So the implication I'm getting is that the dead schmuck Hong Fei found is some isekai'd sap from earth. That's an interesting way to do it. Looking forward to chapter 2.
3seed
You're spot on with your observation. The Curse of Chalion is one of my favorite books, and I draw on it heavily for inspiration for Fate's Attendant.
Benn
I thought I was reading The Curse of Chalion by Bujold for about half of this!
