by Jay Noel
Itan looked puzzled. “Twenty miles east is a settlement of the Oraibi Tribe. Are you lying to me?” He brought the club back to the prisoner's groin. “How can this be? Tell me the truth.”
“I am telling you the truth. We battled the Oraibi and overtook the town.” The raider coughed and spat blood. “This is the truth. I swear it.”
“I believe you,” Itan said in a voice that mocked mercy. He swung his bloodied weapon in the air, taking practice swings. “How many do you number?”
The prisoner hesitated, and it was all Itan needed. He swung the club downwards. It crushed the man's upside down torso. The pirate wailed, as if his tortured body tried to release the pain through his open mouth. Itan let the club linger against the man's skin. Enapay let a miniscule gasp escape his mouth.
“How many?” Itan asked again.
“We number five or six hundred.” The captive tried to catch his breath. “Maybe more. Our leader has several lieutenants out recruiting members.”
Itan pulled his arm back to strike the raider again but let his club fall to the ground. The war general signaled for his men to take the prisoner down. They cut the ropes, and the raider tumbled headfirst to the ground. Coarse dirt stuck to the raider's wounds. Chief Ohitekah broke through the crowd from the rear and approached his prisoner.
The chief gave his verdict in his Origin speak, which Enapay translated for Zen. He had ordered the medicine men to tend to the raider's injures, and then allow him and the other prisoner to leave the village.
Ohitekah bent down and raised the prisoner by his chin. “You give your chief this message: the Nabeho will not be defeated as easily as the Oraibi. Five hundred, or five thousand of you will never conquer us.”
The crowd dispersed, and the warriors returned to their training with spears. Ohitekah and Itan turned to make their way to a small building, but before entering, the chief signaled for Zen and Enapay to join them inside the war room.
Two braves carried the prisoner. They dragged his rag-doll body past them. Zen put a hand up and approached. He crouched down and leaned in close to the pirate's ear.
“You said you renamed the settlement Cheng City. Is your leader from Xia?” Zen whispered.
The captive was about to pass out. “Yes. Exiled.”
He was going to say more, but he lost consciousness.
Zen stepped aside, allowing them to carry the raider away.
“Chief Ohitekah is waiting in the war-room,” Enapay said. He took one final glimpse at the unconscious prisoner being swept around the corner. “What did he say?”
“Now I know why Fate has brought me here,” Zen answered.
THE FOUR OF THEM SAT in the war room, a small chamber inside the citadel. An oblong wooden table that sat eight was placed in the center, and various antique weapons hung on the walls. Zen understood this was where the chief often consulted with his military leadership. When he settled in his wooden seat, he noticed Enapay's hands fidgeting on the table.
“Our captive said the raiders have named their new camp Cheng City,” said Ohitekah. “I assume their leader is an out lander.”
Zen nodded. “You are correct, Chief. The prisoner confirmed that his commander is from Xia, my neighbors across the sea. If Cheng is in exile, it defies their traditions, as they execute war criminals.”
“Cheng commands five to six hundred men. Should we believe that?” Itan asked the chief.
“If it's true, the raiders' numbers are too great for us to overcome if we take the offensive,” Ohitekah said with a frown. “Why have they not brought such a force against us yet? Why attack us with these small war parties?”
“It is a Xian tactic,” Zen answered. “He is testing your defenses, gathering information and seeking patterns within your strategies. Learning your strengths and identifying your vulnerabilities. The Xians tend to be methodical.”
Itan hammered his fist on the table and cursed in his native speech. “We must strike before they launch a full-scale assault on us.” Fury flared from his dark eyes. “If they are indeed six hundred strong, they might be able to breach our defenses. We should dispatch a war party at once.”
“We can't,” Ohitekah rumbled. “To defeat that many raiders would take every brave we had. Our warriors are not versed in offensive tactics, nor do we have the means of transport. Our strength is defending our walls. That is our way.”
Zen had studied Xian military strategy during his frequent visits to his western neighbor. Regardless, there wasn't enough time to train the Nabeho. He'd need at least an entire season, and the chief conceded that they lacked the means to transport their warriors twenty miles away. The only vehicles Zen saw in the fortress were dozens of roadsters and a few small steam wagons.
“My initial reaction would be to strike them first,” said Zen. “But these walls have protected the Nabeho for this long. Why should that change now?”
Itan and Ohitekah gave each other a quick look of agreement.
“Zenjiro, the Nabeho people thank you again. Your expertise is appreciated.” He glanced at Enapay and winked. “I have decided to pay Enapay's debt to you as a gift.”
Enapay's eyes grew large. “Chief...”
“I insist.” Ohitekah's deep voice brimmed with authority. “It is the least we can do. Besides, Enapay's uncle does not have the means to pay. Looks like the gambling disease runs in the family.”
Enapay rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, but my gambling brought the boy here.”
Without thinking, Zen stood and bowed. “Thank you.”
Ohitekah looked like he was going to return the gesture, but he remained seated.
“I do not intend to leave yet.” Zen sat back down. “You are in need of gathering more information on your enemy. I am well versed in Xian tactics, and I would like to assist Itan and your warriors prepare.”
Ohitekah got up from his chair. “You honor us. I am at a loss for words. I welcome any assistance you can provide us.”
The chief put a hand on Enapay's shoulder. “I trust you will remain with us during this campaign as well. No matter how long and far you've traveled, this will always be your home.” Ohitekah smiled. “The cloud-hugger you've built is most impressive.”
“Of course I will stay.” Enapay turned to Zen. “What did I tell you? I always pay my debts.”
Zen caught Itan sigh and fold his arms.
Enapay's forehead wrinkled. “I can modify the Dragonfly to be fitted with additional armaments. Commanding the sky will prove to be a useful means of driving these barbarians back.”
“We have much work to do,” said Itan. “I will send scouts to summon all of our Nabeho warriors outside these walls and seek surviving Oraibi warriors. We will prepare for another invasion.”
“We will refortify our defenses,” added Ohitekah. “When Cheng and his raiders come to take what is ours, we will decimate their army.”
CHENG SAT OUTSIDE, SHIRTLESS. EVEN after three years of living in Agrios, his morning ritual always began with meditation and exercises. As a military commander of the Jin Faction in Xia, he had followed a strict regimen every day. He was now a free man, and yet he stuck to his rituals. Discipline and his beard were all he had from his old life.
Still immersed in serenity with eyes closed, he knew his lieutenant approached the tent. Even old Igor, who usually feared nothing, was blindly obedient to Cheng.
With his concentration now broken, Cheng sighed. Igor waited silently a few feet in front of him. He let his Russiyan lieutenant wallow in apprehension for a moment. The man was a giant, standing nearly seven feet tall, and the men feared him. He cast a large shadow that blocked out the morning sun.
“What is it?” Cheng finally said.
Igor stepped forward. “I executed the two disgraced men as ordered. Walker died in agony, and I made sure a nice-sized crowd witnessed it. With Khan, the natives already tortured the hell out of him, so I killed him quickly.”
Cheng opened his eyes and caught Igor stari
ng at the tribal markings on his body. “Thank you.” With one swift motion, he jumped to his feet. “Did they have anything interesting to share before they died?”
“Yes, Commander.” Igor averted his eyes from Cheng's military tattoos. “Our men nearly gained entrance to their fortress. The Nabeho concentrated their defenses on the smaller western gate when we attacked.”
“Nearly?” Cheng grabbed a white shirt and pulled it over his head.
“An airship came out of nowhere and took out our men.” Igor winced, his gray beard twitching. “Our men at the main entrance never got a chance to use the dynamite.”
“Airship? The Nabeho have no knowledge of aeronautics.” Cheng hated surprises. He had done his due diligence, and he was sure no native tribes in Agrios possessed that kind of technology. The Nabeho instead had their cursed wall. It protected their treasury, rumored to house a chamber full of gold.
Igor fiddled with the leather whip hanging from his belt. Never a good sign. “There's more, Commander.”
Cheng gave another exaggerated sigh. He crossed his arms and prepared for more bad news to dribble from the Russiyan's mouth.
“It was a foreigner who rode in on the airship and killed our men. They said he was a warrior with no equal.” Igor shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe it's all crazy talk. Their account sounds unlikely.”
“Did either of them give you a description of this man?” Cheng asked. He was intrigued and infuriated. An airship. A foreign soldier. These were new factors and called for a re-examination of his original strategies.
Igor blinked for a moment. “Yes sir. They both said he was young. Black hair worn up like a girl. Tan skin, eyes like slanted slits. They were sure he was from the Orient. He wore red armor with a dragonfly on it.”
The foreigner had to be from Nihon. Cheng had trained with several Nihonese soldiers twenty years ago in Koreya. The nobles wore their long hair up in a top knot, which made their men look like ladies. What was a samurai warrior doing in Agrios? Cheng's original plan was to launch a full-scale attack on the Nabeho in seven days. His newly smuggled Iberian weapons had just arrived two days ago. The new cannons were the key to destroying the Nabeho wall, and the auto guns were critical since he estimated that his men were outnumbered two-to-one by the natives. But his men needed more training.
Cheng had purchased the cargo at a bloated price from a snake of a man named Geller. Despite paying far too much for secondhand weapons, everything had been progressing smoothly until now.
In the distance, another one of his men escorted a struggling prisoner with long auburn hair. As they approached, it became clear that the captive was a woman. In Xia, women adhered to a strict social code. They strove to perform their duties as both wife and mother, and nothing more. Agrios was not Xia. Here, women didn't know their place.
Despite having a pistol aimed at the back of her head, the woman's pale face radiated defiance. She wore a dusty white shirt and brown pants, and her black leather boots looked expensive. Cheng was intrigued by this beautiful woman, and already his mind was turning over all the ways he could use such a creature for his enjoyment.
Jaarg, just one of many criminals Cheng had liberated from prison, took advantage of his long arms. With his free hand, he grabbed the woman's hair and yanked hard.
“Commander, she attacked our men in the tavern.” Jaarg threw the female forward and shoved her down to her knees.
The woman was rough looking, but still naturally attractive. She refused to remain on the ground and sprang to her feet, drawing a small laugh from Cheng. Jaarg thrust a hand towards her shoulder, but she deflected it with a swing of her elbow. Igor drew his revolver when she dusted her pants off.
“Who are you?” Cheng asked.
“I was looking for a meal and something to drink, so I stopped in your town,” she answered him directly. “I went inside your tavern and your men started making trouble.”
The woman's eyes held steady, and Cheng knew she spoke the truth.
Jaarg tossed Cheng a leather two-gun holster rig. The guns' handles were made of pearl and specially manufactured for small hands.
“She killed three of our men, Commander,” said Jaarg.
Cheng kept his composure. His hands gripped the belt so tightly that the leather creaked. “You did not answer my question. Who are you?”
The woman's face softened. “Neva. I've traveled from Europa on an important mission. I didn't come here looking to start a quarrel. I wanted to buy food.”
Cheng gazed at her exquisite revolvers. She had taken down three of his men, which wasn't an easy feat. Many possibilities ran through his mind. Gruesome possibilities. This could be an opportunity to raise his men's spirits.
“What is your important mission?” Cheng inquired, removing one of her guns from her holster and twirling it.
Neva's eyes fixed on her twirling sidearm. “I'm searching for my son, Marcel. My husband sold him to a merchant.”
Cheng's eyes widened. “The boy's father sold him?” This little diversion was turning out to be entertaining.
“He wasn't my boy's father. My son's father died three years ago. My second husband sold him to a merchant named Geller. I've been tracking Geller's caravan westward, across all of Agrios.”
“Geller?” Cheng kept his face like stone.
Neva's thin brows furrowed. “Why? You know him?”
Cheng maintained an even face. “No.”
“If you're harboring him here, you will be sorry,” Neva said, her words dripping of venom.
The woman seemed brave. A warrior, despite her gender.
“What of your husband?” Cheng asked, changing the subject. “The man who sold your son. What became of him?”
The defiance flashed again from her emerald eyes. “I killed the bastard.”
Cheng laughed, and Jaarg and Igor followed their commander's lead. This woman bore the same hot temper all of Cheng's men harbored in their stone hearts. She was perfect for what he had in mind.
“Let me kill her now,” Jaarg pleaded.
Cheng handed Igor her holstered guns and paced in front of Neva. His men needed a diversion. Morale was something to be forged and nurtured, but always balanced with the swift hand of fear. The recent defeat by the Nabeho might allow doubt to creep into his men's minds, as they could never comprehend the delicate strategies involved in learning about your enemy. Nevertheless, it was time for a little fun.
“Ms. Neva, your quest is an honorable one,” Cheng began. “The bond between mother and child is one of the strongest forces of nature. In Xia, mothers are revered. Honored. Even worshiped.”
Neva managed to smile as if she concluded Cheng was the only sane human in this town. Compared to the men he surrounded himself with, he was.
“However, you did kill three of my men. My soldiers are of high quality. Each serves an important purpose. My purpose. This is my town, and it is not welcome to the public. You are trespassing, and you took three of my lives.”
Cheng watched the hope drop from her face. It gave him pleasure. “Jaarg wants to kill you. I am inclined to let him do it.”
“No! My son, Marcel, is only nine years old. Just let me go.” Neva's eyes fell on her guns, now holstered and resting on Igor's right shoulder. “I'm unarmed. Only cowards kill those who cannot defend themselves.”
Jaarg threw his head back in exaggerated laughter, but Neva elbowed him in the chin. As he reeled backwards, she took hold of his pistol. The gun went off, and Cheng hit the ground as the bullet whizzed over his head and ruined the table inside his tent.
Neva managed to wrestle the revolver away from Jaarg, who sprawled on the ground with blood pooling in the left corner of his mouth. When she raised the weapon, Igor snapped his whip against her right hand. She screamed and dropped the gun. Jaarg's long arm reached up and yanked on her hair, pulling her backwards and forcing her to the ground. He punched her in the face before he picked up his pistol and returned to his feet.
Che
ng dusted himself off as he got up from the ground, a little irritated, but all the same, amused. Before Jaarg could do any more damage with his cocked right boot, Cheng lunged forward and grabbed him by the arm. Jaarg's face showed annoyance, but he backed off when Cheng shook his head.
Neva swept her extended left leg and brought Jaarg back to the ground with a harsh thud. She pounced and let fly a sharp elbow. The fierce woman struck him in the diaphragm. A low groan oozed from Jaarg's chapped lips.
Igor snapped his whip dangerously close to Neva's face. She stepped away from Jaarg who remained gasping for breath.
“You and Jaarg will duel. Tomorrow. I would do it today, but I have important business to attend to,” Cheng said. “Tomorrow when the sun rises, you and Jaarg will put your lives in Fate's hands. If it is your destiny, Ms. Neva, you will strike down my man. If you do so, I will allow you to leave unharmed. If Jaarg wins, your son will grow up with only the memory of his mother's face.”
Jaarg got up, his tall frame looming behind the woman. Before Cheng could command him to stand down, he punched her in the back. Neva's head snapped back, and she fell to her knees. She was about to retaliate, but Cheng moved in quickly. His boot pressed her face into the dirt, and he pushed it harder until she finally raised both of her hands.
“I like the fight in you,” Cheng said. He released his foot from her face.
Neva's left cheek was already turning violet when she stood up. “As much as I'd love to kill your friend, I'll be dead by nightfall in a town surrounded by bastards like you.”
Cheng shut his eyes and exhaled, allowing the insult to dissipate in the hot wind swirling around him. Her mouth was filled with such filth. Tomorrow, Jaarg would shoot it off.
“Until then, I will guarantee your safety,” Cheng added. “Igor will ensure that no harm will come to you.”
Igor nodded, a hint of confusion in his eyes as he gathered the length of his whip back into a loop.
“I will return your guns when the time is right.” Cheng reached over and took her belt and pistols from Igor's shoulder. “I do have one final question for you, Ms. Neva.”
Her face hardened like steel, her demeanor ice cold. “What?”
“Are you fast?” Cheng gripped the pearl handle of one of her revolvers.
