In the Khan’s Name

By Shawn Carman

Shiro Moto, the Unicorn Provinces…

THE WESTERN PLAINS OF ROKUGAN were home to perhaps the fiercest winds in the Empire. During the winter months the frigid air descended from the mountains to the north and from the rocky peaks to the west, meeting amid the Unicorn lands and creating a dangerous condition that the samurai who dwelled there had come to call the winter blade,” wherein the wind could actually cut flesh if it grew brittle enough from the bracing cold.

Moto Chagatai, the Khan of the Unicorn Clan, ignored the burning wind as he Mood on the balcony of his chambers in Shiro Moto. He stared to the east, his gaze. unv,v,vaing, his expression inscrutable. If the cold troubled him, he gave no sign other than to occasionally rub his leg through the thick woolen pants he wore: It was an automatic gesture, and not one that he gave any thought to. This much Chen could tell from where he stood inside the doorway of the great stable that adjoined Shiro Moto. The general frowned as he removed his riding gear. Chagatai had summoned him to the palace for a private meeting, which was odd enough on its own. To do it in the middle of the winter, however, seemed strangely out of character for the Khan, even given the circumstances the clan found itself in. Now that he had seen his cousin’s grim visage, even from this distance, Chen felt serious concern blossoming in his gullet.

The general shook the chill from his bones, patted his horse affectionately on the flank, then set off into the castle. He paused briefly in one of the antechambers to wash his hands and face, and to make sure that he did not track any road or stable dust into the castle proper. He muttered greetings to a few of the sentries he recognized from the years he had spent stationed at the castle, then hurried to the Khan’s chambers. The guard at the door admitted him without announcement, which was not particularly uncommon given that if he was ever in the castle, it typically meant that Chagatai had sent for him.

Chen frowned slightly to see that Chagatai was still on the balcony. The wind must be terribly painful after so long. “By the Fortunes,” Chen swore loudly as he entered the room. He removed his outer coat roughly, glancing sidelong toward the balcony where Chagatai stood unmoving. “It is colder than a Dragon’s bedchamber out there.”

That, at least, seemed to get some sort of reaction from the older man, who glanced over his shoulder with a faint smile before returning to his reverie. “It is good to see you, cousin,” he said quietly.

“And you as well,” Chen readily agreed. “If you think I’ve ridden ten days in the freezing cold to come stand out there on the balcony and hold parlay, however, then you are sadly mistaken. Just shout and I’ll answer as best I can, if you can hear me over the wind.”

Chagatai turned and walked back into the room, closing the screen behind him. He picked up a cup from a low table and downed it in a quick gulp, then poured another and repeated the process. “Rest a day or so,” he said to Chen..” When you feel prepared, I want you to return to the Shinomen. Take one hundred additional troops with you.”

Chen stared, mouth agape. “What are you saying? Why would I do that?”

“Because your Khan commands it, of course,” Chagatai said sardonically.

“One hundred men? That is enough to make a difference if the Lion reach the castle!”

Chen exclaimed. “You will need every available hand! I had hoped you summoned me here to order a full withdrawal of my forces from the Shinomen to join you in defending the castle.”

“No,” Chagatai said. “Take one hundred additional men when you return to the forest.”

“There is nothing for an additional hundred men to do there!” Chen nearly shouted.

“They will be wasted!”

“They will not.” The Khan fixed Chen with an even stare. “You will also take my wife and my sons with you. You will be charged with keeping them safe.”

Chen stared in mute horror for several minutes. “You expect to be defeated,” he said quietly.

“I expect nothing,” the Khan said sternly. “I simply know that there are two possible outcomes, and neither bodes well for the Unicorn.”

“Why are you doing this?”

Chagatai slammed the cup down on the table with such force that it shattered, shards of porcelain cutting his hand. “What do you think will happen when the Lion arrive, Chen? Make no mistake, they will arrive. I lost too many men on my march to the Imperial City. We cannot defend against their attack. Every day we lost a little more ground, then a little more. Shono has held them longer than I thought possible, but he cannot hold them forever.”

“Recall my men,” Chen hissed. “Recall Zhijuan’s legion from the distant western border! Let us join you!”

“No,” Chagatai said. His tone brooked no discussion. “The Lion will come. I must face Yoshino. I must answer for killing his father. It is my right as a warrior.”

“He’s just a boy! Hardly older than your sons!”

“There are two outcomes,” Chagatai explained. “It is possible, although unlikely, that he will kill me. If that happens, I want my family safe. The Lion will likely withdraw, and the Unicorn lands will be left in even more disarray than that in which we presently rind ourselves.” He leaned close. “If that happens, you must ride from the forest with my family protected. You will be regent, until such time as my eldest son is of age.”

Chen shook his head. “I am no Khan.”

“You will be, if necessary,” Chagatai insisted. “That is my command.” He straightened for a moment and looked back toward the east. “The alternative, of course, is that I will kill Yoshino, in which case the Lion army will burn everything within miles of the castle to the ground, and kill any living thing they find. Again, my family must be safe.” He shrugged. “Either way, my survival is highly questionable.”

“No,” Chen said. “No! I will not stand by and watch your rule end!”

For the first time in all the years that they had known each other, Chen saw true regret on Chagatai’s face. “My rule is virtually at an end regardless,” he said. “What has it garnered us? We were respected, for a time, as one of the greatest military powers in the Empire. Now we are reviled as traitors and blasphemers. There are many within our own ranks who question my right to rule in light of my failure at Toshi Ranbo. I have lived my life by the code of conquest. Now that I am little more than a failed conqueror, who am I to say that they are wrong?”

Anger washed over Chen like an incoming tide. “You are the Khan! You have a duty to your clan as surely as we have a duty to you!”

“I have not forgotten my duty,” Chagatai said. “When the Lion come, I will make them regret every life they have taken, every acre they have put to the torch. I will kill them until my life’s blood spills on the grass, and perhaps even after that.” He looked at Chen, and at last he had the old fire in his eyes. “I will not be soon forgotten, that much I promise you. My sons will be proud of me.”

“I have never heard you speak as if defeated,” Chen said. “I… I cannot bear it.”

“Defeated?” Chagatai laughed. “I am not defeated yet, cousin. I have old tricks that young Yoshino has not yet seen, and he may find them surprising, perhaps fatally so. I am merely planning for the worst. Can any general do less?”

“No,” Chen admitted. “No, I suppose not.” He paused, looking around the room as if in shock. “I have never seen the castle as empty as it is today,” he finally said, his tone strangely distant.

“Virtually my entire court has been scattered to the winds,” the Khan said. “They are championing our cause in every court in the land. The Ide assure me that the damage our name has received is not insurmountable. If anyone can salvage our honor in the face of the Empire, it is the Ide.”

“As you say, my Khan.” He paused for a moment. “You know that support for you to take the throne remains high among your subjects.”

“I know,” Chagatai said. “Nothing would please me more than to make their wishes reality and to perform the duties I sought to assume last year. The Empire clearly rebuked my attempt then, but soon they may well wish they had not.”

“News does not reach the forest as well as you might imagine,” Chen said bitterly, “but even so we hear enough that I know much of what you feared is coming to pass already. The Empire must have a strong ruler.” He glanced at his cousin. “The Empire needs a Khan.”

“In that we agree,” Chagatai said. “The Lion assault complicates matters, obviously, but once Yoshino is dealt with, then we shall see what manner of legacy I can craft for my sons.”

Chen frowned. “You said that you feared the Lion would go on a rampage if their lord was killed.”

“They will,” the Khan said. “I have plans, however, as to how such a thing might be mitigated.”

“Dare I ask?”

Chagatai chuckled. “It might be best if you did not, else you think that I had finally lost my mind.”

“I would never doubt you, cousin,” Chen said. “Except of course when you first told me of your plans to seize the capital. I was fairly certain you lost your mind then. And before that, when we saved your grandfather’s soul from the, spirit realms some years ago. And before that, when…”

“Thank you,” Chagatai said with a smirk. “That is quite enough.”

Chen smiled, but it was brief. “Though they condemned you, how many now seek the same thing with greater gusto and less reason? They cloak their ambition behind a smile and a warm greeting. The politics of this land sicken me. If only the others had the honesty of a Moto.”

“Perhaps if I am Emperor, I can make that my first edict,” Chagatai said. He glanced at the painting of his wife and sons on the wall, and his expression grew somber once more. “Do this for me, Chen,” he said, his voice strangely quiet. “There is no one else in the world I would trust to care for my family. Please, keep them safe.”

Chen turned away, unable to look upon the sincerity in his lord’s eyes. “Your will is my command,” he said. “It will be done.”

HORIUCHI RIKAKO SAT IN MEDITATION across from her sensei, Moto Tsusung, who was likewise lost in contemplation. The two had been sitting similarly for over an hour, with no conversation between them, and no disruptions from the outside permitted. The two were on the verge of attempting something that had only been done once before, and that was exceptionally dangerous. Both understood the risks, and respected the danger they were about to face, but it could be avoided no longer.

Finally, Tsusung opened his eyes. “It is time.”

Rikako opened hers as well. Are you certain, sensei?”

“I am prepared for whatever awaits us,” he assured her. “And you? Have you found your center?”

The young woman frowned. “I am somewhat troubled by this course of action, if I am to be honest,” she admitted. “I feel as though I might be better served standing with our kinsmen on the front lines.”

“That decision has been made,” Tsusung reminded her.

“I know,” she said. “It is just… I have sworn to serve the Unicorn for the remainder of my life. To watch my brothers and sisters die while I stand by and grasp at straws… it is difficult for me.”

“We all must play our role,” the elder shugenja said. “Do you understand that?”

Rikako smiled grimly. “I understand that I have a duty to perform-for my clan, my Khan, and my sensei. If I am worthy, then the Lords of Death will guide and protect me.”

Tsusung smiled. “Excellent. Then let us begin.”

The two rose and left the meditation chamber, passing through a series of guarded corridors to a small room near the center of the temple. A lone guard stood there, his face scarred from innumerable conflicts. His hand drifted to his sword as he saw the two approach, until Tsusung uttered a word in some ancient, forgotten gaijin language. Upon hearing it, the guard seemed to relax, even if only slightly, and his hand moved away.

“No one enters,” Tsusung instructed him. “No one. Not for any reason.”

The guard nodded once, and the two entered the chamber. Tsusung barred the door behind them, while Rikako looked around the room. “I did not know this chamber existed,” she said.

“Few do.” Tsusung began lighting candles, dispelling the deep shadows that cast the room into near total darkness. “I made the decision to move the item here after your initial discoveries proved correct.”

“I see.”

Tsusung gave her a reproving look. “This decision was not made to keep it from you, and even if that was the case, it would be your place to accept that decision. But no, it was placed here in order to safeguard it. The Mantis at least understand what it is capable of. If others learned of it, there are many who would stop at nothing to possess it.”

“I understand, sensei.”

“Good.” Tsusung lit the final candle, which created a perfect ring around the perimeter of the room that cast enough light to see the pedestal at its center. The pedestal was the only feature the room possessed other than the low shelves that held the candles themselves. Atop the pedestal sat a tiny kobune, perfect and exquisite in every detail, and crafted from what appeared to be jade.

“I had almost forgotteri,” Rikako said, her voice just above a whisper. “I had almost forgotten how beautiful it is.”

“It is not its beauty that concerns us today,” Tsusung said. “We have need of its power.”

Rikako nodded. Months ago she had discovered that the artifact, removed from the now-destroyed Tomb of the Seven Thunders, was a fragment of a mythical vessel called the Heavenly Kobune of Suitengu. The kobune was allegedly the ship used by Suitengu, the Fortune of the Sea, to pass between the Endless Seas of the Heavens and the seas of the mortal realm. Rikako, assisted by the Mantis shugenja Moshi Amika, had used the vessel’s power to sail to the Celestial Heavens and seek the aid of Otaku Kamoko, a legendary hero of the Unicorn Clan. With their assistance, Kamoko had entered the Court of Tengoku to represent the Unicorn interests there, a position that had been absent since the death of Lady Shinjo at the hands of her brother, the dark god Fu Leng. For his aid in locating her, Kamoko had taken with her the spirit of Yoritomo, former Champion of the Mantis Clan, who Amika and Rikako had sought out to aid them in locating her. Rikako nearly chuckled at the thought of it. In all honesty, the entire affair seemed so ridiculous that she was amazed anyone who was not directly involved believed it had happened at all. Tsusung, at least, understood power when he saw it, and the Khan believed his word without question. And so the kobune had been protected.

“The Khan’s command is to try and seek aid from the Heavens,” Tsusung said. “Have you considered how this might be accomplished?”

“It is not a simple matter to commune with the Heavens,” Rikako said. “I believe that Kamoko may aid us if we can reach her. It may also be possible to entreat the Celestial Court to censure the Lion in some manner if we are not able to attain the blessings of the Heavens to aid us.”

“Entreat the court?” Tsusung frowned. “This is not as simple as petitioning a court in Toshi Ranbo.”

“I understand, sensei, but I can think of no other means to use the kobune to ease the burden of this war. If you have any though of how it might be done, my lord, I would gladly enact whatever i might be, no matter how dangerous.”

Tsusung actually smiled. “No, we will follow your course. You are the expert in this matter, as much as anyone can be. Now… how is this done?”

“We have prepared ourselves by meditation,” Rikako said. “The rest is disarmingly simple. Stand opposite me, sensei.”

Tsusung took his place on the opposite side of the pedestal. At Rikako’s nod, he reached out and touched the jade surface of the ship in exact unison with the young woman.

The chamber suddenly disappeared.

Tsusung stared in amazement at the vast gulf surrounding them. He was dimly aware that there, was the sound of water lapping against the vessel, and that he could occasionally see crests amid the black waves, but for the most part all was darkness save for the stars and the slightly luminous surface of the kobune itself. He looked around and found Rikako, standing at the helm. She smiled at him. “Wondrous, is it not?”

“I… I have never been at sea,” Tsusung said flatly. “Is it always… like this?”

“No,” Rikako said, her smile broadening. “Nothing is like this.”

The two did not speak for some time as the vessel made its way across the surface of a seemingly endless ocean. Rikako guided it unerringly, although Tsusung could make out no discernable course or reason for her periodic corrections. He resisted the urge to ask where they were going, certain that either she would be unable to answer the question, or he unable to understand the response. He lost himself in the experience, his mind drifting as surely as if he were adrift in the ocean of the mortal world. He did not know how long he remained in that state of awareness, but was brought sharply back to his senses some time later when the ship lurched ever so slightly.

Tsusung looked up, blinking several times to clear, his mind. “What is it?”

“I do not know.” She pointed toward the front, off in the distance. There he could make out some sort of roiling movement amid the blackness. For several minutes Tsusung could not determine what it was, and then a sick feeling blossomed in his chest. Rikako confirmed what he feared. “I think it is a storm.”

“Is this normal?”

“I have no idea; I have only done this once!” Her tone was one of grave concern.

“No,” a booming voice said. “This is far from normal.”

Tsusung turned toward the voice, already beginning a prayer to the kami. He stopped, not only because he could not know for certain if his prayers would be answered in this realm, or by whom, but also because the appearance of a third figure on the deck of the kobune shocked him so badly.

It was a man, wearing robes that were brilliant to look upon but tattered around the edges as if they had been subjected to incredible winds. His hair was likewise tossed and flew about as if buffeted by a great wind that the shugenja could not feel. The man’s eyes were like pools of darkness in which a storm raged, and his voice was like the thunder itself.

“You have brought this storm, by virtue of your presence. You are not welcome here.”

“Suitengu,” Rikako breathed, kneeling immediately. “We mean no disrespect, great Fortune, we only seek…”

“What you seek is immaterial,” Suitengu answered. “The Heavens have grown weary of intervention by mortals. For all your supposed reverence, you hold yourselves above all else in the Celestial Order. You are wrong. And you will be punished.”

The words made Tsusung feel as though there was a blade held at his throat. “The Unicorn have ever been a devout clan,” he began.

The Fortune of the Sea turned his relentless gaze upon Tsusung. “It is not the Unicorn who shall be punished,” he said. “All of Rokugan is guilty, and all of Rokugan will be punished.” He turned his gaze back to the prone form of Rikako. “Your soul is pure, and your devotion genuine. You may retain this, this lost fragment of my great ship. Do not use it again.”

And the Fortune of the Sea was gone.