by Travis Bughi
“Of course.” Takeo nodded.
“Hey, I have a question for you. I saw you and Gavin back there with that one amazon falling all over Gavin.”
“Leda,” Takeo said.
“Yeah, her. I was just sort of curious.” Nicholas’ voice took a sudden jump in pitch, and then he scratched the back of his neck. “Some of the women were eyeing you, too, but you didn’t seem to notice. I mean, it’s obvious why I’m avoiding the attention, but why are you?”
“I’m certain you already know that answer.”
“But it’s been a year, Takeo. I mean, I loved Fritjof—still do, actually—but I’m not so immature as to say I’ll never love again. Death is a part of life in this world, especially for vikings. We live to fight, and thus death comes to us easily. I knew it was only a matter of time before either Fritjof or I died in combat. I assume it must be the same for you as a samurai, yet you’re still as distant and cold as you were a year ago. Didn’t you know that this could happen? That one or both of you could die?”
Takeo stopped, and Nicholas stumbled a pace before coming to a halt and turning to face him. The two seemed like old enemies come to duel one last time on the darkened streets of Lucifan.
With a sigh, Takeo drew two fingers and pulled at the bottom of his eyelids. He was tired, eager to move on and be done with this, but he had at least two tasks to accomplish this night—the first of which he intended to conquer this very moment.
“Death is as much a part of a samurai’s life as it is a viking’s,” Takeo said. “We both seek a glorious death at the hands of a masterful opponent or in honor of some famed ideal. The samurai class, I would argue, go a step further by being willing to take their own lives if the situation arises. So, yes, I knew very well that at any time either Emily, myself, or both of us could die.
“Still, that does not change who she was. You cannot deny that your sister will live on in memory for centuries. Her legacy will rival the angels’. I wouldn’t be surprised if her legend, that of the Angels’ Vassal, spawns a cult. Her sisters, the amazons, understand this as well. Emily was greater than them, greater than all of them, and despite her short time with them, she outshone them all.
“So, to answer your question as to why I don’t look at other women, it is because once you’ve had the sun, no moon nor star will do.”
Nicholas folded his arms across his chest and glanced at his feet, shuffling them for a moment. Takeo couldn’t help but sigh, and when the awkwardness didn’t dissipate, he decided to smirk, which then grew to a grin, and finally a chuckle. The chuckle transformed into laughter, and when Nicholas looked up with a face twisted in shock, Takeo laughed even louder.
“What?” Nicholas asked. “What’s so funny?”
Takeo tried to stop, but a madness had come over him. He laughed at his own laughter, which, echoing off the stone buildings, sounded somewhere between childish and maniacal. His hand went over his face and mouth in a vain attempt to block the outpour, but only after several deep breaths did his composure return. All the while, Nicholas continued to stare wide-eyed, mouth agape, looking every bit the seventeen-year-old-boy he was.
“Damn it, what?” Nicholas asked.
“You,” Takeo managed to get out before laughing again. “What was it you said? You want the stories about you to surpass those of Kollskegg Ludinson the Sturdy? Yet here you are, brought low and speechless because I mentioned that your sister and I kept each other warm in The North.”
“It wasn’t that,” Nicholas said, the confusion in his face shifting to anger. “I was just moved by your affections is all. I didn’t think you could be so sentimental. I mean, just look at you. You seem so cold all the time.”
“I’m sorry, Nicholas, but you don’t know cold. My brother would have made a vampire shiver. I find your excuse poor. Despite what you’ve been through, slavery and all, you’re still as soft as an angel’s feathers. How could you possibly reach beyond Kollskegg? He was a man who watched his wife and children die, who was hung from the rafters and left to freeze, yet he survived and returned to slay dragons. You are hopeless. You couldn’t even take me unarmed.”
Nicholas’ hands balled into fists, and he took a step toward Takeo. He flexed his muscles, flared his shoulders, and widened his arms, looming over the samurai.
Takeo, he stared right back, calm as ever.
“You want to fight, is that it?” Nicholas asked. “Is that where this is going? I’ve already knocked you senseless once. Perhaps you need another lesson.”
“You got lucky, and you know it. Admit it, Nicholas. You could learn from me. If you can’t even defeat me in a straight fight, how can you become a legend?”
“You talk like you’ve already won, when in truth I’m going to break you.”
“If I win, you follow me,” Takeo said.
“I don’t take orders from—”
“I said, if I win, you follow me. You’ll do everything I tell you, and in return, I’ll do what I can to see your destiny fulfilled. Either that, or you can run. It makes no difference to me.”
“I’m going to beat your face in, just like before.”
Nicholas pulled back an arm and swung with the might of a minotaur. His shoulder followed the punch, backed by rippling muscles exploding with wrathful force. Such a blow would have staggered an ogre, had it struck.
But this time, Takeo knew it was coming. He tilted his head and ducked, letting the swing pass by. His feet pushed off the ground at the same time, propelling him away from the second swing that quickly followed, and Nicholas roared his anger. The samurai circled left, dodging another swing, and then countered with a lightning quick jab to Nicholas’ side, where no amount of flesh and muscle could shield the viking from the pain. Takeo smirked as his opponent flinched.
“If I hit you once, you’re down,” Nicholas swore.
“If,” Takeo replied, circling right.
The samurai bent his knees and launched himself with every ounce of speed he possessed, striking with his shoulder into Nicholas’ chest before the latter had a chance to realize what was coming. The force of the blow knocked Nicholas off his feet and into the ground, the air escaping from his lungs. Takeo rolled away before Nicholas could grapple with him.
Nicholas gasped until his lungs were able to expand again, and he took several deep breaths before struggling to his feet. All the while, Takeo stood off to the side, casual and nonchalant as if no fight were taking place.
“What in Valhalla was that?” Nicholas asked.
“Do you submit?” Takeo replied.
“To what? One punch and a lucky push? I ain’t even bleeding.”
“If that is your wish.”
Takeo sprinted to Nicholas again, his burst of speed mimicking a bugbear. Nicholas, in turn, threw up his arms and leaned forward to catch his attacker, but he realized, too late, he’d fallen for a trap. Takeo brought his charge to an impressive stop just out of Nicholas’ reach, grabbed the bigger man’s wrist, and then yanked him forward. As Nicholas stumbled, Takeo braced himself, turned his back to Nicholas’, and then flipped the viking over to crash to the ground once more. Takeo twisted Nicholas’ wrist with one hand and grabbed the boy’s hair with the other.
“Until you bleed,” Takeo repeated.
He twisted Nicholas’ wrist further to weaken his resolve, then slammed the viking’s face into the cobbled ground. Nicholas grunted and gasped, but had no time to shout as Takeo slammed him forward again—once, twice, three times. He paused, letting Nicholas sputter in shock, then rammed his head into the street once more. Only when he lifted Nicholas’ head up and saw blood trickling out from the big man’s nose, did Takeo release him and stand up, letting Nicholas collapse to the ground.
“Satisfied?” Takeo asked. “Now brush yourself off and let’s go. We have work to do before we leave for Juatwa.” Takeo walked on, passing Nicholas by without a glance. He couldn’t afford to show sympathy now.
Nicholas grumbled, rolled over, and
spat a line of blood across the ground. Then he lay there for a moment—whether in shock or anger, or a combination thereof, Takeo couldn’t be sure—before pushing himself to his feet. Takeo kept his eyes to the front but his ears to the rear.
To his relief, he heard Nicholas start jogging to catch up with him.
For you, Mariam, Takeo sighed.
Chapter 7
Takeo thought Sir Mark O’Conner to be an odd person. Not only was the old man a knight, he was the head knight of all of Lucifan, making him the city’s de facto leader, though one without proper title. Takeo wasn’t sure if Sir Mark was a king, an emperor, a warden, or simply a tyrant. At times, Sir Mark didn’t seem to know either, and apparently with so many other problems for Lucifan to face, this bothered the citizens too little for them to change it.
In addition to this, Sir Mark was a vampire, the only vampire left in the world, a dark mirror image of Ephron who was the only angel. Immortality had been forced upon Sir Mark like a curse, and to Takeo’s knowledge, the knight had taken it as such, wishing for death before finally deciding to give himself over to Lucifan’s rule and embracing the responsibility of the city’s fate. The people were his life now, and he’d do all he could to protect them.
But only one thing mattered to Takeo in this moment. He was Cyrus’ father.
When Takeo and Nicholas came calling at the Knights’ barracks, two knights escorted them to Sir Mark, who, being a vampire, preferred to be awake at night. He was in the courtyard inspecting some freshly trained pegasi. The winged mounts stood tall and proud in their youth, though a few shied from the vampire’s cold aura. But this activity wasn’t enough to mask Takeo and Nicholas’ approach, and Sir Mark turned to address them from halfway across the courtyard.
“Takeo Karaoshi and Nicholas Stout,” he said. “Good to see you two.”
Sir Mark hadn’t changed much since last Takeo saw him. His head was still shaved bald, his cheeks thick, and his skin black as night. Other than the sharp blue of his eyes, thanks to the vampirism, he appeared the same aged man he was before—the same as he always would be until sunlight or basilisk poison killed him.
Takeo’s skin prickled from the icy air.
“Sir Mark O’Conner,” Takeo replied and bowed low.
Nicholas’ only response was to nod.
“I must be honest. I’m surprised to see you two together, and without Gavin,” Sir Mark said before dismissing their escorts with a wave.
“Sir Gavin is fine,” Takeo replied. “He’s securing us a room at a tavern. Nicholas, here, is in town with his brother. We just happen to be traveling together.”
“I see,” Sir Mark said, an itch of irritation in his voice. “And you’ve brought him here? I suppose he knows? That’s disappointing. I would have thought someone like you—a samurai—would have a bit more respect for the private lives of others.”
Takeo held Sir Mark’s gaze but realized the criticism rung true. He had treated the knight’s business with his son as gossip rather than a private matter. A twinge of shame and guilt trickled through him, though not much because Takeo didn’t particularly care for the vampire.
“Should I leave?” Nicholas asked.
“No need now,” Sir Mark huffed. “You probably know more than I do. And as for you, Takeo, I also anticipated seeing you a bit sooner—an entire year sooner, to be exact. I thought something might have happened, or perhaps that you and Gavin had gotten off on the wrong foot. I had word from Doles that you two came looking for a sword for Gavin before you left the city, but you’re here now, and you say Gavin is alive. Does that mean everything went as planned?”
“We delivered the letters,” Takeo said with a nod. “Would you like to hear what happened next?”
“That depends. Who else have you told?”
“My apologies, Sir Mark,” Takeo said and grimaced, “but I did not think to keep any of it a secret. I should have assumed you’d want that, but I didn’t, and I’m sorry. Emily’s family knows, the werewolves know, and Gavin knows. It’s likely only a matter of time before the amazons know, as well, and who knows how long before drink softens their tongues and rumors fly.”
Sir Mark sighed and stepped away from the pegasus he was inspecting. Under his cold aura, the beast was starting to shiver, and its breath steamed in the night air. The sight reminded Takeo of his own discomfort, and a chill ran up his spine, but he noticed Nicholas seemed unperturbed. This wasn’t surprising, though, considering Nicholas had spent considerable time in The North, some of which held captive in a freezing basement.
“So then,” Sir Mark said, “it is only a matter of time until I find out. Either through rumors or from your lips, I will know what happened.”
He paused a few moments, long enough to make Takeo think perhaps he wanted a response. The samurai scrambled his mind trying to come up with one, but then Sir Mark spoke again, unfazed by Takeo’s silence.
“A part of me had hoped to never know,” he explained. “Belen may or may not be alive. She might have birthed our child or lost it, herself, or both. The child may have been born human or a werewolf, or some unfortunate thing in between. The child may one day know of me, or not. Either way, being what I am, I will outlive my son or daughter. I will one day bury my child, as no parent should have to do.
“Like I said, a part of me had hoped never to know, and yet now it’s inevitable. Well, let’s have it, then. What has my history of neglect wrought?”
“You have a son,” Takeo said without hesitation. “He was born a werewolf, yet in Belen’s loving arms, he is otherwise happy and healthy, as far as I could tell. She named him Cyrus and, in the amazon tradition, gave him no family name. I couldn’t readily say which of you he looks more like, most certainly a raw combination of both. Of interest, he was born with severe heterochromia of the eyes, one blue and one brown. We did not discuss whether Belen intends to tell Cyrus about you, but I can say that your name was not mentioned. As far as what happened while Gavin and I were there, we gave the letters to Belen, and she sent us with Cyrus to see the angel.”
“Yet he’s not here with you now,” Sir Mark noted, his stance hardening as if in preparation for a blow. “Go on.”
“Gavin was able to find Ephron, but Ephron said he could not cure Cyrus’ werewolf curse. The most he was able to do was to give Cyrus control over his werewolf form. If he were to leave the Forest of Angor, he could do so safely without the fear that he might rampage through a village, killing or turning others into werewolves, or be hunted down like an animal.”
With a deep sigh, Sir Mark relaxed, letting his shoulders drop. He ended the exaggerated movements by eyeing first Takeo and then Nicholas before giving them a faint smile, his fangs just tipping over his lips.
“I suppose that is as good of news as any,” he said. “So I have a son, and he is in his mother’s care. Best yet, he has the choice of living there or exploring the world. He may yet seek me out, for better or for worse.”
“That was Ephron’s intention,” Takeo said with a nod, “to give Cyrus the choice over his future, and there’s something else you should know. Belen asked Gavin and me to return in fifteen years to take Cyrus from the forest and into our care if he desires it.”
“What did you say?”
“We said we would,” Takeo said, the words coming out like an apology. “We swore no oath, though, and fifteen years from now is a long time. We could be dead, otherwise occupied, or perhaps of a different mindset. Also, Belen completely ignored the possibility that Cyrus might want to stay, or that he might not wish to leave with two strangers. She believes the werewolf camps are a prison, but I’m not so certain Cyrus will agree with her.”
Sir Mark gave Takeo’s words several slow nods. He looked to Nicholas, but the young man avoided the gaze, making Sir Mark shift his attention back to Takeo. The vampire’s sharp blue eyes seemed like beacons in the otherwise pitch black background. Takeo’s own eyes were as dark as night, but Emily had told him they were a w
indow to his soul, perhaps the only window if Takeo had anything to say about it.
“You make good points,” Sir Mark said, then closed the distance until they were a hand’s width away. “Please, follow me.”
He started walking, parting Takeo’s misty breath with his passage, and led them across the courtyard, past a few knights and servants, and into the barracks itself. The hallways were lit by candles that flickered and struggled as Sir Mark passed, his aura nearly extinguishing more than a few.
“Where are all the ogres?” Nicholas spoke up from the back. “All I’ve seen are humans.”
“I do not assign ogres to the night watch,” Mark replied, his voice low.
“Why not?”
Sir Mark said nothing, and Nicholas held his tongue. Outside a large wooden door somewhere in the back of the barracks, Sir Mark halted and turned to address Nicholas. He motioned for the viking to come forward.
“You should know that things are not well in Lucifan,” he whispered, “a consequence of unfortunate events. I’ll explain inside.”
He took out a keyring, selected one key, and used it to open the door. Grabbing one of the candles from the wall, he lit a torch hanging near the doorway inside the room.
The yellow light revealed an overflowing armory.
Greatswords, longswords, and shortswords; axes, hammers, and spears; shields, helmets, and armor. Equipment for thousands, an entire army, heaped in piles in a room so vast it must surely have been underground. There were other items, too, such as bridles, saddles, and shoes for pegasi, lances and single-shot pistols, not to mention a section dedicated entirely to bows, crossbows, arrows, and bolts.
Takeo reeled at all of it, yet released little more than a huff. Nicholas gaped openly.
