Ken Liu - The Grace of Kings

One day, a messenger from Mata arrived at the docks of Dimushi, where Luan Zya greeted him.

“Welcome, welcome! You come bearing a message from Master Pering? How is he?”

The messenger, whose name was Luing, was confused. “A message from Master Pering?”

“Oh, of course.” Luan Zya looked at him and winked conspiratorially. With a show of nonchalance, he glanced at the two guards the messenger had brought with him. “Too many ears here. May I inquire after the health of the hegemon?”

Luing replayed the comment from Luan in his head again and again. What did Luan mean about Pering? And why was he so happy to see me?

Luan brought Luing to the best restaurant in Dimushi, where Luan ordered a lavish lunch of thirty courses, served with eating sticks made from ivory and inlaid with gold. A serving woman came in to light incense burners that filled the room with thick, fragrant smoke.

“It’s fashionable to eat Dasu food with smoke,” explained Luan. “It cleanses the palate and brings out the flavor of the spices.”

The meal went on for hours. Luing felt light-headed and drowsy. After a while, the two guards accompanying Luing seemed to have trouble staying upright.

“They’ve drunk too much,” said Luan, laughing. He summoned servants to bring them downstairs to nap in a private room.

“Now that we are alone, you can feel free to give me the message from Master Pering,” Luan Zya said.

“There is no message from Master Pering,” Luing said, bewildered. “I’m here on the hegemon’s orders to discuss fishing rights around Kidima upriver.”

“You are not sent by Torulu Pering?” Luan asked, incredulous.

“No,” said Luing.

Luan sighed, shook his head, and rolled his eyes. He then forced himself to smile. “I have no idea what I’m talking about. I think I’m drunk. Forget everything I said today. It must be this herbal mixture I’m taking for my gout — it’s making me very confused. Please excuse me… I… need to go.”

He got up and hurried downstairs.

Though the smoke from the incense burners continued to hover in fantastic, shifting shapes — flexing rings, pulsing domes, translucent, billowy bubbles — the air in the room seemed to clear, and Luing felt clarity return to his mind. He thought and thought about the day’s events and came to a bold conclusion, like a monstrous shape glimpsed through fog. But he needed more evidence.

Servants came to show Luing to his room in the inn. When Luing asked when he would get to speak with King Kuni’s representatives about the matter he came to discuss, the servants replied that they had no idea.

The next day, a minor Dasu functionary named Daco Nir came to see Luing. Daco was rude and cold to Luing, and the negotiations went nowhere. When it came time for lunch, Daco handed a few copper coins to Luing and told him to get some food from the street vendors.

“I don’t think we’ll make any more progress, right? I’m busy for the rest of the day, so I don’t think I can see you off at the pier. Have a safe trip home.” Daco disappeared.

Luan Zya, Lady Risana, and “Daco Nir” watched from the window of a warehouse as the small boat of the hegemon’s emissary left the docks.

“Your skill is indeed unparalleled,” Luan said to Risana. “He saw exactly what you wanted him to see yesterday.”

Risana inclined her head in acknowledgment. “You’re too kind. It was but a parlor trick.” She turned to Rin Coda and smiled. “But look at you! Your face today was so frosty, I could have sworn I heard ice chunks clink in his tea.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice. When I use that expression, people pay me more to get access to the king.”

Luan shook his head, and all three laughed.

Luing compared his treatment today with his treatment yesterday. The day before, Luan, Kuni Garu’s closest adviser, treated him as an honored guest because he thought Luing was a secret envoy from Torulu Pering. But today this minor bureaucrat dealt with him arrogantly and dismissively because Kuni’s men had ascertained that Luing was an ambassador from the hegemon. The facts spoke for themselves.

“Hegemon, don’t you see that this is nothing but another trick from Garu?”

Mata regarded the trembling figure of Torulu Pering coldly. He had always found Pering untrustworthy.

The man was not a warrior, but an adviser , the sort of man who naturally gravitated toward Kuni Garu, who relied on tricks. He had no appreciation for the nobler virtues that could only be understood in battle. Even though Pering had come up with some good ideas, generally, he was meddlesome and often got in the way. Mata was quite willing to believe that he was secretly in league with Kuni Garu, plotting against him.

“Luan Zya was expecting a message from you. Were you going to offer a detailed listing of my order of battle? Were you going to offer to bribe my officers? Were you going to offer to present Kuni my head on a platter?”

Torulu Pering trembled not from fear, but anger. He had served Mata Zyndu loyally all this time, trying to get him to fight smarter, to be more vigilant against the wily Kuni Garu. Yet Mata was falling for such a simple trick, a trick that a five-year-old would have seen through.

“If you really don’t trust me,” Pering said, “then please accept my resignation. I would like to go home, to my ancestral farm near Çaruza, and plant yams. I won’t serve a lord who cannot tell friend from foe.”

“I accept. Go home, old man.”

Torulu walked along the road, but his mind was all chaos and his heart in turmoil.

He was consumed with grief and anger at his own failure. He had failed to teach Mata Zyndu to appreciate the value of strategy. He had failed to make him see how dangerous and manipulative Kuni Garu was. He had failed as an adviser. For all his service, in the end, he had only earned the dismissive moniker of “old man.”

But Torulu was indeed old, and he was not used to the exertion of journeying far on his own, without a comfortable carriage and a staff of young aides. His stomach ached, and in the heat he felt dizzy, but he was too angry and sorrowful to stop and rest and drink some water. He pressed on.

Men and women rushed by him, telling him to turn around and run. “Bandits are coming!”

Torulu didn’t hear them. He was still thinking about what he could have done differently. Foolish Mata, know that I could have guided you to victory!

The Whirlwind Riders of Dasu rushed by. Carelessly, casually, one of the passing horsemen slashed out, and Pering stopped feeling sorry for himself, stopped thinking altogether. His head flew through the air.

Luan and Kuni toasted each other on the success of their plot.

“Now Mata has no one to counsel him at all.”

Kuni drank, but he felt a gnawing sense of regret. Torulu Pering was a capable man who had saved the rebellion at a critical moment, and he deserved better. Kuni was uneasy about how much blood he was spilling in the pursuit of victory. Did the end always justify the means?

He wished the gods would give him a clear answer.

“There are no clear answers,” Luan Zya said.

Kuni realized that he had paused, mid-drink. He laughed weakly and drained the cup.