Nightblade's End

by Ryan Kirk

  Koji’s heart raced and his hand sweated against the hilt of his sword. He knew from long experience that once the battle began his nerves would disappear, but the waiting that came before battle was always the worst. He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of showing the fear he felt. The blades watched him with an unwavering focus, taking heart from the confidence he displayed.

  He didn’t fear for his own life. It wasn’t arrogance or even confidence. If he died today, he died for a worthy cause. The numbers in front of him didn’t matter. Once he drew his sword, if there was a single enemy or a thousand, he would fight without holding back.

  He sweated because of the burden of leadership. His own life was his to spend how he wished, but these blades had chosen to follow him. They looked to him because they trusted him, and he feared that every death would be a betrayal of that trust. He knew there was only so much one could do, and he resolved that he would sacrifice his own life if it would save one of the blades behind him.

  In the stories, this was the moment when the leader gave a speech that stirred the hearts of soldiers. But Koji had never been strong with words. His tools were steel. He turned around, gave a bow, then turned back to the front and waited.

  The blades were a few ranks away from the very front of the lines, protected by the lives of some of General Fumio’s standard infantry. Koji hated the general’s logic, but couldn’t deny the wisdom of the positioning. As many blades as possible needed to survive the charge so they could turn the tide of the battle. Had they stood at the very front, they would have fallen early. Fumio had pinned most of his strategy on them. Outnumbered and almost outmaneuvered, Koji’s small group held Fumio’s best chance at victory.

  There was no opportunity to speak as the drums sounded the advance. The shouts of commanders went up across the line, and as one large mass, Fumio’s army started forward.

  Koji’s blades marched side by side with the common infantry, hiding in plain sight. With every step they took, Koji’s hands dried and his heart settled into a steady rhythm. The waiting was done, now only the work was left.

  What did other soldiers think on the eve of battle? Did they think of homes left behind, better times that existed only in the comfort of memory? Despite his politics and his actual reasons for being there, when the battle started, all Koji thought about was the brothers and sisters at his side.

  From the opposing lines, arrows numbering in the thousands shot into the air, darkening the sky with the deadly beauty of their flight. Koji allowed himself to watch for a full heartbeat, observing a few arrows colliding in midair and knocking several others off course. Then he drew his shield and held it overhead.

  Like all nightblades, Koji despised the use of the shield. It was a cowardly device, but after the siege of Starfall, and knowing that not all large-scale battles were as honorable as a one-on-one duel, Koji had insisted that all his warriors use shields. A nightblade with an arrow through the chest was no more useful than any other wounded soldier.

  Koji felt several impacts to his shield, jarring his arm, but his group kept their shields tight together, forming an almost impenetrable roof above their heads. They kept the shields up as they continued marching forward, and again and again Koji felt the blows against his arm that would’ve brought death or injury under other circumstance.

  The beat of the drums changed behind them, and the infantry that made up the front lines switched from an orderly march to an all-out sprint. The lines had closed. Three lines in front of him, the warriors ran, yelling as loud as they could. Then the next line sprinted, then the one in front of him. Finally, Koji took a deep breath and ran forward himself.

  He screamed, unleashing all the fear that combat evoked. He embraced his sense, feeling the power of the army around him, the spirit of men and women willing to give their lives so that others may live in peace. He screamed for Asa and for Mari, and for those who stood solidly behind him.

  The sprint, such as it was, lasted only for a few dozen paces. Just as soon as the charge had begun, it halted viciously as the song of steel on steel rang in the air. The front lines had clashed. Koji threw his shield off to the side, sensing the warriors behind him doing the same. They pushed their way to the front of the lines, waiting for the blue uniforms of House Kita to give way to the red uniforms of their enemies.

  Koji thought the battle began slowly. First, one red uniformed officer seemed to stumble through a sea of blue, causing Koji’s sword to flash once. A few moments later another came through, and Koji’s sword sang again, ending the man’s life with a single cut. Then two more came through, then more than Koji could handle on his own. They began to surround him and move beyond him. Koji and his fellow blades, in their nondescript uniforms, didn’t attract any special attention from the enemy infantry.

  Any order that had existed prior to the lines meeting was gone. Soldiers hacked at one another with abandon, many of them forgetting even their basic training. The infantry that had protected the blades on the advance were either dead or had fallen away, overwhelmed by the number of enemies they faced. Koji and his warriors were surrounded by a sea of red uniforms, but Koji didn’t mind. He pushed even harder, wanting to surround himself entirely with the enemy. Only then did he feel as though he was fighting as hard as he could. He lost himself in his sense and relied on his training, gliding between cuts as easily as avoiding trees in the forest. No enemy came close as his sword sliced down over and over.

  He felt strangely energized, his cuts strong and precise even as the battle went on. Enemies filled his vision and his sense, but he felt more alive than ever.

  Koji lost all sense of time. With the press of people, he couldn’t extend his sense for more than a few paces in any direction, but within that small kingdom, he was king. His world filled with bloody steel, sweaty and grunting soldiers, and the dust of thousands of feet with nowhere to go.

  One danger was in straying from the other blades. He fought at the point of the mass of blades, and sometimes, as the chaos flowed around him, he found himself alone, cut off from the others. Twice he stood his ground and waited for the blades to reach him, but once he needed to retreat and take shelter.

  He felt odd, being a part of the fight but still separated from the larger scene. He didn’t know how the battle went or even if they were winning or losing. When he spared a glance at the sky, he was surprised to find the sun straight overhead. He’d had no idea so much time had passed. Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion rolled over him, and he allowed himself to be swallowed by the other blades, falling back into a small space of relative safety.

  The short break from the fighting allowed him to obtain a better idea of his surroundings and the battle at large. Their forces had advanced farther than he’d thought. With luck, they’d pull through this. Far more inspiring, though, was the work of his warriors.

  The blades fought in pairs, never allowing one to get too far in front of another. Each pair took turns fighting near the edge of the group and then fading back into the center, giving themselves time to rest and to breathe. They couldn’t relax completely, of course, but few red uniforms made it through the wall of fighting blades. Also within the center were a handful of dayblades, ready to heal at a moment’s notice.

  Koji searched the entire battlefield again. Despite the progress they’d made, there were still far more red uniforms on the field than blue. They needed to attack Katashi. After a few moments of searching, he found the flag, off in the distance on top of a small rise. The lord was viewing the fight from the rear.

  The lord’s actions only confirmed Koji’s belief that the man was a coward. He needed to direct the blades toward Katashi. Taking a deep breath, he left the relative safety of the center of the group and took point once again, heading straight for Katashi’s flag. The other blades followed suit, making slow progress against the sea of bodies pressed against them.

  The resistance against them increased. For every soldier Koji felled, two seemed to spring up to ta
ke his place. Koji didn’t know if his group was attracting more attention, or if they’d just made enough progress to leave the rest of Fumio’s line. The why didn’t matter, though. All that mattered was killing Katashi and ending this battle.

  Driven by his need for justice, Koji slipped again into a near-trancelike state. Swords cut all around him, and the fighting was thick and fast enough that more than once he needed to choose between taking a cut or certain death. His life trickled from half a dozen little gashes, but Koji only noticed the pain in the rare moments he wasn’t being attacked. His world became nothing more than a long series of dodges, parries, blocks, and strikes.

  Somehow, a single voice penetrated his consciousness. It was one of his fellow blades, yelling his name. He turned around and glanced at her, seeing her covered in blood that wasn’t her own. “Koji! Get back here!”

  At first, the order didn’t even register. Why did he need to return? Then he shook his head and decided to listen to those who fought by his side. Making sure that his guard never fell, he retreated until he was within the circle once again. As soon as he dropped out of his trancelike state, a wave of exhaustion, unlike anything he’d ever felt before, crashed against him. He didn’t know a body could be so tired. His knees buckled, and two of the nightblades standing near him stood him up. He tried again to stand, but his body seemed unable and unwilling to respond.

  One of their dayblades came to him, summoned by the small group that surrounded him. The dayblade took one glance at him, laid his hand on Koji, and closed his eyes. A moment later, Koji felt a cool wave of energy trickle through his body. It felt like taking a sip of water after walking for leagues with an empty water skin.

  As suddenly as the sensation began, it ended. Koji felt like a dying man as he lay on the ground. The dayblade stared daggers into him. “I have done what I can, but you need rest. There is no other healing for the damage you are doing to your body.” With that the dayblade left, leaving Koji with more questions than comfort.

  Due to Koji’s inability to move, the circle of blades had stopped advancing. Without their forward movement, many of Katashi’s men seemed willing to let them simply stand there. No doubt Katashi’s soldiers thought them some sort of elite unit. No regular infantry squad approached them unless necessary. The pressure against them lessened, while the battle raged around them.

  Slowly and carefully, Koji got to his feet. The nightblades on either side of him looked uncertain, their hands hovering near his arms in case his legs collapsed once again. Fortunately, his strength held. His legs wobbled and shook, but they held his weight. Koji looked around the battlefield to plan their next steps.

  As he had wondered, his warriors had advanced far beyond the reach of the rest of Fumio’s forces. They were surrounded by a mass of red, and although they were largely being left alone, it was only a matter of time before attention returned to them and disaster struck. He spun around, looking for Katashi’s flag. When he saw it, he could barely contain his surprise. The flag was there, but it was retreating, growing smaller in the distance.

  Koji cursed to himself. The young lord had realized the danger of his situation and moved to another location. Then he heard the beat of the drums in front of him, and the entire battle shifted in a moment.

  It was one of the nightblades standing next to him who first realized what was happening. “They’re sounding the retreat,” she said.

  Koji’s eyes narrowed as he watched the battlefield. She was right. All around them the red uniforms retreated, and he thought that the sounds of battle behind them were fading in intensity.

  The warriors looked around, eventually focusing their attention on Koji. What should they do next? Did they fight, or did they make their way back to their own lines?

  Koji was torn by indecision. If the other force was retreating, that meant that Katashi would live to fight another day, and the war would go on. But a victory was a victory, and Koji wasn’t sure they had the strength to launch into pursuit. His desire, strong as it was, wouldn’t be enough. The decision was painful, but necessary.

  “Hold your position. Only engage if attacked. We are done here today.”

  As their enemy retreated, the blades were left almost entirely alone, as few had the desire to become a casualty after the battle was done. Soldiers in red passed by on either side of their small circle, eyes blank and wide with shock. Koji’s warriors no doubt shared the same look.

  A strange silence descended over the battlefield, quiet only in comparison to the battle that had so recently raged all around them. Koji could still hear the groans of the wounded, the cries for help as each side reformed their lines, but the sounds were strangely muted, as though his ears were still ringing from the clash of swords.

  Koji fought the urge to sink to his knees and close his eyes. He couldn’t, not in front of his warriors. But for the day, it was over. They had won the battle.

  9

  Mari released the string on her bow, watching the arrow fly straight into the target, its flight ending with a satisfying thunk against the wooden man. Though she kept her face neutral, she felt the warm glow of pride within her. She hadn’t shot in far too long, but her skills hadn’t faded much. Beside her, Takahiro released his arrow, the shaft barely sticking in the edge of the target.

  They stood in a long hallway in her family’s home, a hallway that occasionally became an impromptu archery range. Mari had occasionally shot her bow in this hallway as a child. Back then, Juro had shot with her. Today, Takahiro unwillingly joined. She’d practically had to order him.

  She didn’t like shooting indoors, but the hallway was easy to guard, and concerns over her safety had only grown over the past days. Though they had no specific evidence, both Takahiro and Asa were certain that rebellious factions were targeting her. At least shooting indoors was better than not shooting at all.

  Though Takahiro didn’t speak, Mari could hear his objections all the same. He thought they should be working on the problems facing their house lands. Though he’d never voice the opinion, he worried that she wasn’t taking the challenges as seriously as needed.

  Nothing could be further from the truth, however. Mari had thought of almost nothing else for days. But her tired mind needed a break, and she hoped the archery would shake loose the blocks forming in her thoughts.

  They’d received word from the western battlefield that morning, and were expecting word from the south at any time. Fumio’s news had given Mari a mixed reaction. The victory made her grateful, but the reports of the losses had been almost too much for her to take. They’d won the battle, but at the cost of thousands of lives. Fumio had lost almost a quarter of his army, and Katashi had made an orderly retreat before his lines truly shattered. The cost of victory had been too high. Katashi still had an overwhelming advantage of numbers.

  Mari didn’t let those thoughts into her mind yet again. She focused on the motion of the bow, pulling the cord back to her cheek as she focused her spirit on the target. Taking a slow, deep breath, she released again, and again the arrow ended up quivering near the center of the target. Takahiro questioned her desire for archery, but he didn’t understand it was one of the only times she felt like she could focus.

  Her world was crumbling around her. Though she was the head of her house, the nobles who should be supporting her conspired against her. The blades, who she’d risked her own soldiers to save, considered leaving the Kingdom. The other two lords worked together to destroy her land. She felt besieged on all sides, with no place to run to.

  Mari heard the shuffling of feet behind her and she put down her bow. A messenger entered, delivered a message to Takahiro, then retreated. Takahiro read the letter quickly, then handed it to Mari. “General Masaaki ordered a retreat before his forces could get routed. He plans to move north for a few days, then settle into another defensive position.”

  Mari cursed silently as she read over the letter. Masaaki wrote with flowery script, using more words than necess
ary. Mari didn’t much like the man, but he was a competent general and loyal to the house.

  Masaaki hadn’t expected to win, but the news was nevertheless disappointing. His forces were vastly outnumbered by Isamu’s, and Mari had given him clear instructions that retreat was far preferable to a heroic last stand. No doubt the traditional general had balked at those orders.

  Even though she’d expected the loss, the words still hit her with the force of a backhanded slap. How could she possibly make this work? They were outnumbered, and her enemies surrounded her on every side. The list of allies she was certain she could depend on seemed to dwindle by the day.

  She tried drawing her bow again, but couldn’t find the focus necessary. She put the bow down without releasing. For the first time, she considered just giving in.

  Mari had little doubt what kind of ruler Katashi would be. The man was manipulative, with a strong focus on himself. Perhaps he’d pledge to treat Mari’s people as his own, but she couldn’t imagine a world in which that was the truth. The people her family had protected for generations would be under the thumb of one who would abuse them to no end.

  Isamu might be marginally better, but Mari also couldn’t see a world in which Isamu was made king. Katashi was too devious, and seemed to have the upper hand.

  But the whole Kingdom desperately needed peace. The early and harsh winter had frozen crops, meaning all the houses had to dig into their reserves. Mari knew hers were desperately low, and if they didn’t have a successful harvest this cycle, famine would take more lives than war. Whenever Mari looked at a map, she thought about how each movement of the army essentially destroyed a field that wouldn’t produce that cycle.