A Legend Falls

by Travis Bughi

  Thankfully, Lady Zhenzhen had agreed to stay behind. Takeo preferred not to think about her as much as possible, and when he did, he held his sword tight until the pain burned away. When that didn’t work, he applied more destructive measures. It was a good thing self-inflicted wounds were easy to hide.

  The invasion plan had been simple: strike directly into the Nguyen lands, surround the Nguyen fortress, and slaughter the remaining brothers—and Qadir and Aiguo—so that Oiu could ascend the throne. It had worked against the Katsus, after all, but Takeo should have known the rakshasa would have a trick up his sleeve. Upon surrounding and laying siege to the nigh-impenetrable Nguyen fortress, reports stated that only one brother and Qadir lay inside. The other brothers had fled.

  And that was a problem.

  See, the people of the Nguyen lands were fiercely loyal to their shogun, like a cult. If Takeo just conquered them, they'd rebel. His only chance at pacifying the region lay in keeping a Nguyen on the seat of power, just like he’d done with the Katsus. Lord Oiu, freed from the Hanu prisons and ready to serve, could only ascend the Nguyen throne as Takeo’s puppet once his older brothers were found and slaughtered. That meant three lives—three simple and meager lives—stood between Takeo and the Juatwa empire.

  One, Lord Xianliang, was the now-oldest living Nguyen brother, and he hid within the Nguyen fortress alongside his rakshasa advisor. The other two, Lords Seiji and In-Su, were unaccounted for.

  Hence their current destination.

  “Tell me again, Oiu,” Takeo said. “What’s so special about this daimyo we’re off to see? How will he know where to find your brothers?”

  “Well, if my lord will recall, you, uh,” Oiu stammered, “you didn’t give me a chance to explain. You were, understandably, angered by my brothers’ absence and demanded I aid in finding out where they went. I suggested this man, and that woman of yours had us mounted and riding out before I could say anything else.”

  “That woman has a name.”

  “Yes, the Lady Kuniko Zhao,” Oiu replied. “My apologies, my lord. I meant no disrespect.”

  “You were saying?”

  “Yes, yes, the daimyo. Please, let me give some backstory. It’s important. His name is Norio Yilmaz, and if I ever had a father figure, it would have been him. My real father died before I was old enough to remember him. Apparently, he’d had an addiction to bloodletting to relieve headaches—a habit encouraged by Mother, according to our older brothers—and one night the bleeding didn’t stop. After that, Mother decided she was done with marriage and childbirth, but she didn’t give up on her dream of having a daughter. She grew out my hair, put me in a dress, and had me wear makeup. I wasn’t allowed to train alongside my brothers, let alone touch a weapon. Mother instead arranged for me to take dance and art lessons. It’s almost as if she wanted to ensure my frailty. I was viewed as prey by my brothers, not that they were companions to each other, of course. Mother loved pitting us against one another, thinking that doing so would bring out the best, and also keep us from banding against her.

  “So, while my brothers went to arms training, I went to my dance lessons at the Yilmaz family estate. Norio’s wife was once one of the finest dancers this end of Juatwa, so no other teacher would do in Mother’s opinion. She sent me there often, and the grounds and buildings of the Yilmaz family became my refuge. Norio never taught me arms, as that was against my mother’s wishes, but he taught me respect and understanding and perhaps even a thing or two about love, from a distance. He never treated me like my family did, like trash at the bottom of the heap. I learned a bit about him and why he was so important to the Nguyen family, despite his humble status on the chain of command.

  “If you’re getting the impression that Norio is a bit of a poet, you’d be right. He didn’t care for war and didn’t join any campaigns, which you can rightly assume gave him little status in the Nguyen court. However, what he did have was a natural affinity for words and communication, and that’s where he made his mark. Norio Yilmaz, you see, has been the head Nguyen pixiu keeper and message courier for the past two decades.”

  Takeo took a deep breath and raised his chin as realization struck him. Oiu continued.

  “Norio is the de facto keeper of secrets for the Nguyen. Although he may not have carried or read the exact orders that sent my brothers away, he’ll know by other means. He’ll know where the newest imports of the finest food and drink are being routed to. He’ll know where garrison troops are being sent to, and when. Although he won’t know everything, he’ll know logistics.”

  “And few armies or royalty move without a baggage train,” Takeo finished.

  Gavin cleared his throat.

  “Sounds like someone important to you,” the knight said. “Someone you care about?”

  Oiu didn’t look back, but he didn’t ignore the comment either. He swallowed and his shoulders tensed.

  “I’m just surprised,” Gavin went on when he didn’t get a response. “You’re implying this man knows vital information. Are you going to be able to sit by idly if Takeo has to . . . extract said information?”

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Oiu said. “Like I said, Norio and I have an understanding. I’ll bet he welcomes my return.”

  Takeo remained silent. Although Gavin was right that Norio might need to be encouraged to speak, Takeo wasn’t a fan of torture. Psychological warfare was more his specialty, but that required people to think he would resort to torture—or worse.

  Hence the silence.

  Emy remained quiet, too, because, well, she was always quiet these days. Ever since Takeo had stabbed Krunk, she’d hardly said more than a couple unprompted words to the ronin. From Takeo’s perspective, she was obviously plotting something. As a rakshasa, Emy couldn’t help but plot and scheme and manipulate. It was in her nature, a habit that ran as deep as a rakshasa’s desire for vengeance.

  Takeo knew three things: One, Emy was plotting his death. Two, Takeo would kill her if she ever attempted it. Three, she would never attempt it because Takeo had his enchanted sword once again and he was nigh invincible.

  Yet Takeo was prudent, and so Emy was rarely allowed to leave his sight.

  They came upon the edge of the Yilmaz property not much longer after that. The transition was easy to see, as all daimyo had a fondness for marking their territory. Those with an artistic sense used grand, wooden archways, while more simple daimyo resorted to wooden fences and decorative gates. Norio, it seemed, had a flair for the archway trend, but there were more obvious things blocking their path in this moment: about two dozen samurai fully armed and armored with swords drawn.

  And in their midst stood a rotund man, older than Takeo by a good decade, clenching his jaw and sweating. He held up one hand, ready to give the order to charge.

  Chapter 2

  “Is that him?” Takeo whispered.

  Oiu nodded and replied, “It is, my lord.”

  “It seems he’s about to make a foolish decision. Talk some sense into him, please.”

  “Of course,” Oiu answered and followed with a curt bow. “Norio! Norio, it’s so nice to see you again!”

  The man in question was on the shorter side. He wore a modest general’s helm that bore a thick layer of dust on the top, minus a recent handprint, but his laminar armor was otherwise identical to those of his house guards. The man was heavyset, and the armor bulged around the midriff as it struggled to contain the excess flesh. His hand remained erect, shaking as if struggling to stay there, while the man’s eyes homed in on Oiu, unblinking.

  The samurai guards appeared poised to charge. They kept tossing questioning gazes at their lord, eager yet confused.

  “Oiu, my lord?” Norio sputtered. “What? What are you doing here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Our Lord Takeo freed me. He’s come to liberate our lands from the rakshasa puppet master. He’s come to deliver the throne that I rightly deserve, with your help of course.”

  Norio balked.
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  “Liberate? Rightly deserve?” the daimyo stammered. “My boy, what are these words? What has he been putting into your head? How can you liberate through conquest of your own kin? How can you rightly deserve something owned by your brothers?”

  “You mean those brothers who left me to rot in a dungeon? Who abandoned me without a thought? Who abused me all my life? That’s an easy decision to make.”

  “Well it shouldn’t be,” Norio bellowed, eyes gleaming with tears. “I know you had it rough, but I raised you like my own son, Oiu, and no son of mine would ever sacrifice his own family for power. Do you have any idea whom you ride with? Do you have any idea what he’s done? What he’s capable of?”

  “Do you?” Oiu replied.

  Norio stammered again, chubby cheeks shaking with rage.

  “When my scouts reported the Dark Lord approaching, I came here with a singular purpose. Right now, you’re the only one staying my hand. However, if comes to it, I will not hesitate to fulfill my duty. Think of your ancestors, my lord, your legacy. You have a chance to do the right thing.”

  Oiu faltered, swallowing down a dry throat. His face was mostly obscured beneath his white hood, but Takeo didn’t need to see the young man’s face to notice the hesitation. In a way, Oiu reminded Takeo of the late Lord Nobu Hanu, who’d perished under similar diseases of weakness and ineptitude.

  “Lord Norio,” Takeo spoke up before Oiu could make another feeble argument. “May I ask how many children you have?”

  The daimyo froze, and a fresh bead of sweat slipped down from his helmet’s brim. He met Takeo’s gaze but gave no reply.

  “I can only assume you have a family, and that you care for them,” Takeo said. “I mean, here you are, clearly intent on some pointless, suicidal charge for the sake of honor—”

  “Suicidal?” Norio scoffed. “We outnumber you at least six to one, and that’s if I include Lord Oiu whom I know was never given arms training. His mother was immovable on that point.”

  “How interesting that you bring up the late Lady Xuan. I was just about to do the same. Tell me, do you know how she died?”

  Norio flicked his gaze at Oiu, but to his credit, the young lord did not look away this time. He kept his gaze steady, and a little of the light in Norio’s eyes died away.

  “Yes,” the daimyo said. “You killed her.”

  “Not just her, but also the twenty odd personal guards in the room with us,” Takeo replied. “She brought me into her throne room naked, and only I walked out, bathed in so much blood I looked like an oni. So yes, your charge would be both pointless and suicidal, which can only mean your true purpose is to distract me. But from what? Your short exchange with your rightful lord provides the answer. You’re a family man, and family men love nothing more than to lay down their lives for their loved ones.”

  Gavin’s eyes bore into the back of Takeo’s skull. The ronin pretended not to notice and dismounted, setting a hand on the pommel of his sword as he turned toward Norio’s crowd. He had some difficulty suppressing a smile when the entire squad of samurai flinched as his feet hit the ground. Takeo paced to the midpoint between them.

  Norio didn’t balk, but his skin did turn pale.

  “You may not think I'm capable of mercy,” Takeo said, “but I am well versed in reciprocity. When I conquered Lord Botan, traditional politics demanded I slay his family. Fortunately for them, Lady Anagarika is quite fond of her nieces and nephews. We made a deal. She gave me nothing I wouldn’t have taken by force, and in exchange, I gave all she asked for. I extend the same offer to you.

  “I’m not here to ask anything I won’t find out eventually. Your death, and the deaths of these young boys here, will serve no purpose beyond delaying me. However, if you attack me, I will have your entire family hunted down and slain. Your lands will be given to the next daimyo who helps me, and your name will be lost to time. Before this war is even over, which won’t be long, you’ll already have been forgotten, and everyone you once loved will be dead.

  “So put your sword down, old man. You’d be wise to at least learn what I’m here for.”

  Norio drew in a breath, all the while holding Takeo’s gaze. The ronin was impressed the daimyo hadn’t looked away yet. That wasn’t a common trait Takeo ran across. Though at this moment, he found it more annoying than commendable.

  “If you came all this way to bully cowards, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed,” Norio said, pausing to spit on the ground. “It’s well known that the finest Juatwa samurai are bred here, and I’ll proudly demonstrate that.”

  Norio’s hand stiffened with his newfound resolve, and Takeo’s expression darkened.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Takeo said.

  “Please!” Oiu shouted from behind. “Lord Norio, we just want to know where my brothers went, that’s all. In-Su and Seiji aren’t at the fortress. There’s no need for you to die over this.”

  “I know this is hard for a man like you to understand,” Norio replied, speaking to Takeo, “but the greatest achievement I can obtain is to lay my life down in service to my lord. And that lord, Oiu, is your eldest brother, the shogun Xianliang Nguyen. So, go on, then. Kill me if you can.”

  “And your family?” Takeo asked.

  Norio spit again and smiled.

  “They’re already safe,” he said. “You’ll never find them. This little delay was all I needed, so thanks for that. Perhaps you should reconsider whom the fool is here.”

  Takeo paused, waiting for any hint of hesitation from the daimyo, then drew his sword when he found none. A rush of heat vibrated from the blade as it cleared its sheath, distorting the air and sending Takeo’s loose hair fluttering in the infernal breeze. Oiu uttered once last pleading line for Norio to see reason, but it was lost as Takeo bent forward for a charge.

  A young scream echoed out from the forest.

  The sudden sound, coupled with its unexpected location, broke the tension that had built up, all a split second before a young boy rushed out from the treeline. Perhaps a decade old, he was pudgy and had a mess of black hair. Takeo faintly caught the sight of tears gleaming in the young boy’s eyes just before he sprinted to the ronin and made a thrust with a katana that was too large for him.

  Takeo reversed his blade in the blink of an eye and pushed the sword thrust out of the way while stepping to the side. The boy’s high-pitched war cry cut short as he tripped and flew forward, sprawling out on the ground. Dirt mixed with his tears, but the boy didn’t stay down. He scrambled to his feet and held out the oversized katana with both hands.

  “Pranav!” Norio yelled, his once solidified stance melting away to horror. “What are you doing? You were supposed to run!”

  “You leave my father alone!” the boy screamed and charged Takeo again.

  Batting aside the feeble attacks that followed was, for a lack of better words, child’s play. Takeo held his katana reversed and in one hand, deflecting and side stepping the boy’s greatest swings with about as much effort as he’d apply in dodging a falling leaf. On the fourth swing, the boy overreached, and Takeo raised his foot and kicked the boy to the ground.

  Norio broke away from his protective barrier of guards but didn’t get far. Takeo grabbed the boy by the throat and yanked him to a stand while stepping on the boy’s blade, ripping the weapon free. Next, Takeo put his sword to the boy’s neck, and Norio froze.

  “No, please, no,” Norio begged, his face paler than Oiu’s. “Not my son.”

  Takeo understood grip strength as it related to throats and applied just enough pressure to cut the boy’s speech without outright strangling him.

  A dull thud sounded against Takeo’s leg, twice, and he glanced down. The boy, despite gasping for air and struggling against a well-sharpened blade, was throwing feeble punches.

  Takeo smiled.

  “Pranav, was it?” he said. “Well, Lord Norio, I must give you credit. It seems bravery runs deep in your bloodline. Perhaps too much, as it outweighs common sense. You sai
d you were willing to lay down your life and the lives of your men just to slow me down, but how about your son’s? Will you condemn him to the same fate?”

  Lord Norio trembled, fixating his gaze on his son as the boy gasped for air. Pranav’s punches grew weaker. He stopped and reached toward the ground, to the sword that was pinned beneath Takeo’s foot. Takeo lowered the boy just a hair to encourage him, if only to watch the boy struggle and the effect it had on his father.

  The shallow age lines that ran across Norio’s face deepened as the daimyo sighed. He dropped his sword.

  Takeo loosened his grip, and Pranav sucked in air before coughing in pain.

  “You were supposed to run,” Norio whispered, then looked to the ronin. “What do you want?”

  “I’ve gone over that. Provide me the answer and then pray I never think of you again.”

  Norio swallowed.

  “Let him go first.”

  Takeo tightened his grip again, and Pranav gasped and slapped his hands against Takeo’s, trying in vain to pry the fingers away.

  “Okay, okay!” Norio yelled. “Lord In-Su is at the Ngo family city, on the plateau to the far west. Lord Seiji has fled southeast of here, to the Phan fortress. That’s all I know.”

  Takeo loosened his grip again and took his sword away from Pranav’s neck, and the boy once more breathed with effort. He didn’t stop trying to pry Takeo’s fingers, but his attempts were useless. The power of a jinni flowed through his veins. Takeo shook him to stop the annoyance.

  “You should thank your son, Lord Norio. He just saved your life.”

  Takeo was about to throw the boy to the ground but thought better. He switched his grip from Pranav’s throat to his collar. The ronin turned away and paced back to his komainu, dragging the boy with him.