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By Shawn Carman
Edited by Fred Wan
Agasha Kamarou sat in the lotus position, focusing intently upon the mental image she had of her distant kinsmen. They were far to the south, fighting to defend a village called Meidochi. They did so not because the village had any value to the Phoenix, but because the Destroyers were an affront to all that the Phoenix held dear, and that for lives to be preserved, theirs must end. It was a difficult concept for Kamarou to embrace, but if that was her duty, then she would do so without complaint. She shifted in her seat to try and achieve a more comfortable position. Her body was older than her years, the rituals that she enacted in order to allow communication with the distant Ivory Kingdoms having aged her prematurely. Her lord Bairei-sama had temporarily suspended the rituals until he could determine if the effect on her could be reversed, but she had accepted it. This was the legacy she would leave for her children, and in doing so she could elevate their position. It was a small price to pay, and one she did not object to.
Cousin.
Kamarou’s eyes popped open, but if anyone could see them, they would marvel at the fact that they had gone completely white. Hoshimi, she thought. What is your status?
Dire, Asako Hoshimi returned. Lord Danjuro’s forces were caught in a pincer attack. Many squadrons were cut off and destroyed. The loss of life is unimaginable. The situation is exceedingly dangerous.
Concern fluttered in Kamarou’s chest. What can be done?
Reinforcements are desperately required, Hoshimi replied. A flanking maneuver could break the assault and permit Danjuro’s forces to withdraw. As it is, the falling back is a slaughter.
Who can I contact? Who is close enough to assist you?
There was a moment’s hesitation, and Kamarou hoped that Hoshimi was seeking an answer rather than that she had been silenced. The Fifth Imperial Legion is in the general area, less than an hour away, she finally said. If you can reach the commander
The message stopped abruptly with a surge of pain so exquisite that Kamarou cried out and collapsed in the floor, clutching her chest and abdomen as if they had been torn by an enemy. The pain subsided after a few moments, but Kamarou’s weeping did not. Hoshimi was gone, and with her, perhaps the entire Phoenix detachment with it.
* * * * *
Doji Yasuyo stood just inside the treeline, allowing the shadows and canopy to conceal her from casual viewing. The village she regarded as long since abandoned, with no sign of the simple folk who called it home anywhere within its confines. The samurai who had defended it up until a short time ago were either gone, having retreated at the order of their commander, or dead, trod under the feet of their inhuman enemies. She mourned for them, regardless of their clans, regardless of their names. No samurai with any glimmer of honor within his soul should suffer such an ignonimous fate.
The village was strangely quiet despite the circumstances of its status. Yasuyo would have expected it to either be in the process of destruction at the hands of its captors, or to see the valiant forces of the Empress fighting to retake it. Instead, it was mostly silent. Silent, that is, except for a strange, searing sound that came intermittently every few moments.
It was no sound like Yasuyo had ever heard before, and it troubled her for reasons she could not name. Something about it struck her as fundamentally wrong, despite that she could fathom what might produce such a sound. She had remained motionless for several minutes, listening to it carefully, attempting to discern its nature or source. Finally, she realized that she had no choice. If something pricks thy conscience, the Tao said, then it must be surrendered. Hearing the noise made something in Yasuyo seek to stop it, and so stop it she must. Bold and unafraid, she strode from the security of the trees toward the village’s edge.
The air within the village thrummed with energy, causing some of her hair to float above her shoulders, almost crackling like lightning. The sound grew louder as she approached the center of the village, and the proliferation of bodies and rent forms of Destroyers grew greater the closer she came. Finally she emerged into the courtyard at the village’s center and stood rooted at the horror that was unfolding before her.
More than two dozen Destroyers stood rooted in place, their legs absorbed into thick, black, unnatural-looking earth up to nearly the waist. The things thrashed and struggled against their imprisonment, rending the earth with their powerful talons, but the ground seemed to heal its wounds almost instantly, and they could not escape. In frustration, some of the things turned on the dead bodies near them, tearing them to bits and turning the earth even darker with blood. It was the most human emotion that Yasuyo had seen from the things.
In the center of it all was a masked man dressed all in black. His robes were those of a shugenja, but Yasuyo sensed nothing priestly about the man. As she watched, he laughed heartily and lifted one hand, palm out. Sickly yellow lightning leapt from his palm and rent the metal form of the Destroyer, tearing it in multiple places. Impossibly, the thing cast about as if in agony, then slumped over as translucent energy coursed upward from its torn form. The man laughed again and clasped his hands like a delighted child. Yasuyo stood there, aghast, until the man noticed her. “Oh! A survivor! How delightful. Come here, my good woman, you must see this. I have finally found a means to bind these accursed creatures so that they can be killed at will! This will change the face of warfare on the southern offensive!”
Yasuyo looked down at the black, churned earth. It was thick with maggots, and reeked of decay. Whatever the man had done, the earth had suffered greatly from it. The thought of such a thing being implemented along the southern front was horrifying, even if it would result in the Destroyers’ forward motion being halted. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I am Takasho,” the man said proudly. “I serve the Spider Clan as Onyx Champion.” He raised his eyebrows at her suggestively. “You are naturally very impressed!”
“This,” she said, gesturing to the befouled earth and the ravaged Destroyers, “this is a terrible thing you have done.”
“Terrible for our enemies, perhaps!” the dark priest laughed.
“You are corrupted. Your soul is a withered, black thing,” she said sadly.
Irritation replaced Takasho’s good mood. “Watch your tone,” he cautioned. “I have just discovered the means by which this war will be won. Do the means matter? What would you do if you were in my position?”
“Take my own life,” she said immediately.
“Insolent cow!” Takasho snarled. “You do not understand the new day that has dawned on the Empire! Look around you! I am clearly the lesser evil! Would you sacrifice your Empire for some pitiful definition of purity?”
“Yes.” Yasuyo moved like the wind, drawing a small blade from her obi and hurling it at Takasho’s head as she surged forward. Her feet churned through the earth, moving too quickly for the foul, sucking earth to cling to her. The dark priest back-peddled away from the blade, and for a moment she thought he would be killed. Then a small cloud of what appeared to be shadow sprang from behind him and knocked the blade away, the shadow darted away, hiding itself once again. Something about it made Yasuyo’s stomach churn, but she could not worry about that, for Takasho was readying a counterattack.
“Traitorous wench!” he howled. He unleashed another gout of the foul yellow lightning, but Yasuyo was faster and blocked it with her blade. She could feel the rage of her blade’s spirit at being touched with such impurity, but its rage was not directed at her. Takasho stared at her in amazement. “What manner of blade is that?” he asked.
“It is a kenku blade, and it is your end,” she said, lunging for him.
The cloud of shadow was on her in an instant. It enveloped her face, causing her to draw back instinctively. It was like a swarm of insects, with no more substance than dust driven by the wind, but there was a coarse texture to it as well, like fur. She held up her blade in defense as the cloud gained substance, and its buzzing turned into a terrible shriek. The cloud twisted and changed into a monstrous ape of some sort with a long face, which shrieked at her again and then leapt to Takasho’s shoulder. “There, there, little one,” he said to it soothingly. He glared at Yasuyo. “Your Empire can burn,” he said. “I curse you and all your ilk. Small minded fools, the lot of you! I leave you to your fate!”
Yasuyo surged forward to end his blasphemy, but in a burst of filth and darkness, he was gone. She resisted the urge to curse, for such a thing was beneath a lady of the Crane, but she could not linger. Even now she heard the Destroyers behind her erupting from their prisons, free at last and desperately hungry for blood.
Doji Yasuyo slipped away while the Destroyers escaped.
* * * * *
The things that looked like tigers but which were unnatural abominations pressed again, and the Daidoji line threatened to break. “Pikemen!” Daidoji Kikaze commanded. “Reinforce that line! Do not let them break through!”
Three more squadrons of heavy infantry rushed forward to reinforce the line, and slowly, the nightmarish things were forced back so that the Crane troops occupied the same territory they had controlled when the battle began. “Spearmen!” Kikaze shouted, and the ranks behind the front line began to fill with row after row of men with nage-yari. “Fire at will!” The sky darkened for the briefest of moments as hundreds of the small spears arced over the Daidoji line and riddled their enemies. Many of the tiger-men roared in pain but did not fall, but others did receive wounds that could not be endured, and fell. Slowly, the line pushed forward, but the reserves that were constantly expended to reinforce the line grew increasingly thin as the demons exacted their horrible toll upon the samurai.
Kikaze scowled and wondered how the day could be won against such ferocity. They would find a way. They must. Too many men had already died for this plain to allow it to fall now. To do so would be a disservice to their memory. He placed his hand on his weapon and considered giving the order to charge. He could lead his men to victory, he was sure of it. Perhaps it was time to remind the Empire what it meant to oppose the Daidoji.
A hand on his elbow stopped him. He turned in annoyance to see which of his officers had touched him, and was surprised to find himself staring into the eyes of a masked man bearing the Scorpion mon. “I need you,” the Scorpion said. “Come with me right now.”
“What?” Kikaze demanded. “Who are you? I am commanding a defensive action! Leave me be!”
“Your men will all be killed if you do not come with me right now,” the Scorpion said. “The enemy has not fully revealed themselves as yet, and if we do not stop them before they do, all is lost. Come with me. Now.”
Kikaze glared at the man, but the penetrating truth of his stare did not brook dissent. Whatever his need, it was both urgent and genuine. “Shireikan!” he ordered. “Take command!”
“Hai, Kikaze-sama!”
“What is your name?” he demanded of the Scorpion.
“Shosuro Aroru,” the man replied. “Now come with me.”
The two men crept across the landscape like shadows in the midday sun. Ruefully, Kikaze reflected that it was only because of his training as a harrier, the training he had struggled to forget forever, that he was able to keep pace with the Scorpion. The man moved like a spirit. His skills were not human, and Kikaze wondered idly about the rumors he had always heard linking the Shosuro family to the Lying Darkness. But this was no time for such ruminations. Aroru’s every movement screamed urgency, and Kikaze did not doubt that his need, whatever it might be, was great. The many questions that swam to the forefront of his mind were pushed to the back to be addressed later. The two made their way across an unoccupied region of the plain without drawing attention to themselves, then circled around to a region where the plain emptied into the south but that was obscured by a large cliff where the route wound downward into the southern flatlands. There, they crept up the cliff side like serpents, winding carefully through the stones and avoiding detection until they reached the top.
It required all of Kikaze’s will to avoid a gasp of astonishment, or perhaps a cry of complete despair. On the other side of the cliff were more than a dozen abominations the likes of which Kikaze had not yet faced. They were elephantine in appearance, but half again as large as any that he had seen or read of. They were massive creatures, each a living engine of war. With their sheer power, they could charge and shatter the Crane lines without pausing and push all the way past the reserves. It was not something that his forces could endure. The plains were lost if these things attacked.
“There,” Aroru whispered, his voice as soft as grass brushing in the wind. Kikaze followed his gaze and noticed the man standing among the beasts. He was fit but lean, and dressed in a strange array of golden robes and armor. His skin was more tanned than any that Kikaze had ever witnessed. “Senpet,” Aroru whispered again. “He must die.”
“What good will it accomplish?” Kikaze whispered. “The beasts are the threat!”
“The beasts do as commanded,” Aruro countered. “If he dies, they founder.”
“What am I doing here?” Kikaze demanded. “You need an archer.”
“The shot is too far, the result uncertain,” Aroru said. “The attack requires at least two to ensure success. If we are noticed, one may still reach him. You alone have the skills necessary to assist me. The question is, are you devoted enough to victory to sacrifice your life?”
“I am Daidoji,” Kikaze said, steeling his will and drawing his blade. “I am ready.”
The two men prepared their blades and got into the best position for attack that they could reach without giving themselves away. They waited to ensure that the Senpet was not coming closer. When he stopped and stepped half a dozen paces away, they shared a nod, and they leapt.
The two men raced down the mountainside, gravity hastening their descent so much that it required all their concentration to avoid falling. They leapt from stone to stone, trying to control their descent without succumbing to certain death. They were nearly at the bottom when one of the monstrosities trumpeted in surprise at their arrival.
Kheth-tet of the Senpet whirled and saw the two warriors come rushing from the base of the cliff toward him. He drew his scimitar. “Pacharmus!” he commanded. “Defend your master!”
The elephantine beasts lunged for them. Kikaze dropped his head down and ran faster, pushing himself as hard as he could. He felt Aroru coming up on his left, moving even faster. Then one of the beasts smashed the ground just to his side and Aroru disappeared. The force of the strike was so great that Kikaze staggered forward, pushed ahead by the shockwave. This caused another strike to miss him, shattering the ground right behind him and lifting him from the ground with the sheer power of it. So it was that Kikaze was borne to face the Senpet in mid-air.
Kheth-tet howled in fury and brought up his scimitar to block Kikaze’s strike, but it drove him backwards with the force of the Crane’s descent. Kikaze staggered but stayed on his feet and pressed the attack with a series of rapid attacks, which Khet-tet managed to rebuff before countering with a style so bizarre that Kikaze was unsure how to defend against it. The exchange was brief but fierce, and Kikaze fought valiantly, but his head swam from the force of the blows he had narrowly avoided. Kheth-tet recognized his weakness and laughed cruelly. He feinted and stepped inside Kikaze’s guard. His steel struck Kikaze’s arm and tore it open from elbow to shoulder, causing the Crane lord to scream in pain and rage from the overwhelming damage of the strike. Numbly, he felt his left hand fall away from the hilt of his blade and knew that he would not use it in that manner again.
The Senpet laughed again, but it turned to a gurgle. Aroru was there, and a knife strike that the enemy attempted to avoid led to his neck being cut almost a third of the way through. He spat blood and gargled something hopelessly inaudible, waving desperately for the elephantine monsters to assist him. The beasts obliged, closing quickly. Aroru withdrew from the fight and started to run, pausing only slightly to bend down and heft Kikaze onto his shoulder before resuming his rapid exit from the conflict.
“What you doing?” Kikaze said, consciousness struggling to flee in the face of his pain. “Kill him.”
“The battle is won,” Aroru said. “A living hero is more valuable than a dead enemy who can be replaced.”
Kikaze began to argue, but darkness claimed him.
