Clouds of war (2)

The rebel camp was thick with tension. Beneath a leaden sky heavy with low-hanging clouds, the worn canvas tents trembled in the wind, which carried the scent of burned grass and metal. In the central tent, dimly lit by the dying glow of an oil lamp, Luo Wen held the parchment in his calloused hands. His officers, forming a semicircle around the battered campaign table, held their breath. The only sound was the crackling of the paper as it was handled. 

"They say they are furious over Yuan Guo's capture," Luo Wen announced, raising the letter so everyone could see the broken wax seal of the Four Families. His deep, rough voice cut through the air like a blade. "They offer reinforcements to help us attack Guangling. They insist that the old general cannot remain in An Lu's hands." 

Zhao Min, a lean man with piercing eyes and a scar running across his chin, crossed his arms over his rusted breastplate. His laugh, dry and short, echoed like a gunshot. 

"Since when have the Four Families been on our side?" he asked, dragging out the words with sarcasm. His fingers drummed against the hilt of the dagger hanging from his belt. "The last time they sent 'help,' we ended up trapped in the Huangling Pass. Have you forgotten how they stabbed Liang Chen in the back?" 

Luo Wen placed the parchment on the table with deliberate slowness. The sound of the paper striking the dry wood made several officers shudder. His fingers, marked by old rope burns, began tapping against the surface as his dark, deep eyes scanned every face. 

"They have never been on our side," he admitted, holding back a sigh. "But An Lu controls the mountain passes and the water wells. If we combine our forces with theirs, even if only temporarily, we could strangle him. Yuan Guo is key—without him, the morale of the southern troops will collapse." 

A younger officer, his cheeks still round with youth, cleared his throat. The sweat stains under his arms betrayed his nervousness. 

"But if we fail…" he murmured, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. "An Lu won't just keep Yuan Guo; he'll absorb our lands. The Families will wash their hands of it, and we…" He swallowed dryly. "We'll be remembered as traitors or fools." 

Luo Wen closed his eyes. Flickering images danced behind his eyelids—the banner of Yuan Guo dragged through the mud, the screams of the wounded at the Battle of the Blood River, the gleam of chains as they were clasped around the old general's wrists. When he opened them again, his gaze was forged iron, burning hot. 

"That is why," he said, gently striking the table with his fist, "we cannot fail. We will accept their troops, but we will place them at the front lines. If they betray us, they will be arrow fodder before we are." 

An Lu's throne hall was a monument to calculated oppression. Crimson silk carpets muffled the footsteps of the delegation, while the carved dragon faces on the ceiling beams seemed to spit contempt upon the visitors. An Lu, reclining in a chair lined with tiger fur, swirled a goblet of wine between his gloved fingers. The ruby liquid shimmered with every motion, casting dancing reflections on his golden-scaled armor. 

Xie Han, leader of the emissaries, bowed in a perfect reverence. His midnight-blue robe, embroidered with silver-threaded cranes in flight, rustled faintly. 

"My esteemed Lord An Lu," he began, his voice as smooth as oil on water, "the Four Families implore reason. The detention of Yuan Guo has… unsettled delicate balances. We fear that an open conflict will leave only vultures circling our borders." 

An Lu brought the goblet to his lips, taking a slow sip. Silence stretched heavy, until the sharp clink of metal as he set the cup down on an ebony table made one of Xie Han's guards flinch. 

"Defenders of peace now?" An Lu asked, arching an eyebrow in theatrical amusement. "Two moons ago, your spies poisoned the wells of my eastern camp. Is that what you call 'reason'?" 

Xie Han maintained his smile, though a muscle in his jaw twitched almost imperceptibly. 

"Maintaining power requires sacrifices," he replied, clasping his hands over his stomach. "But even the wildest rivers eventually seek their course. Release Yuan Guo under neutral custody, and we will guarantee the withdrawal of the rebels." 

An Lu leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The scent of musk and hot metal from his armor enveloped Xie Han. 

"I see your game," he whispered, his smile revealing teeth that were too white. "You send troops to Luo Wen so that we bleed each other dry while you collect the spoils. But Guangling is no granary for the taking." He straightened suddenly, his voice rolling like thunder. "Do you think I don't know about your mercenaries disguised as rebels? About the supply carts you're sending through the northern pass?" 

Xie Han blinked, but his tone remained unwavering. 

"Our troops protect the interests of the empire. They do not threaten Guangling; they merely… stabilize the region." 

A harsh laugh burst from An Lu's lips. He gestured to his generals, who formed a living wall behind him. 

"Hear that? Stabilize!" he continued laughing loudly, wiping away a false tear. "Tell your masters that I don't buy their gilded lies. If they want Yuan Guo, let Luo Wen come and take him." He pointed to the window, where Guangling's walls loomed against the sky. "If you don't offer me a fair price for Yuan Guo's freedom, I'm afraid he'll have to keep me company a while longer."