by Ryan Kirk
Kiyoshi struggled to control his expression, only succeeding because of his cycles of practice. He had listened closely, not just to Isamu’s words, but to his tone. Near the end, it had shifted from practiced indignation to something more terrible—truth. Lord Isamu wanted to remove the nightblades entirely from the Kingdom. Kiyoshi focused on the other two lords. Juro seemed oblivious to the impact of the statement, but Shin was watching Kiyoshi with the same intensity that Kiyoshi used studying them. Shin also recognized the statement of truth, and waited for the dayblade’s reaction. Kiyoshi had to step carefully, more so than ever before.
“Lord Juro, I am deeply sorry for the actions of my brethren. Give me the nightblade’s name, and I will ensure the affair is taken care of.”
Lord Shin interrupted. “You must forgive me, Kiyoshi. I know you are a man of honor, but we need to know more. Incidents like this one are happening more and more frequently. People have always had a combination of fear and respect of the blades, but the scale is shifting too far toward fear. Lord Isamu spoke well. For hundreds of cycles we have entrusted the peace of the Kingdom to your people, but how can we continue to trust the blades when these acts of violence toward the citizens of the Kingdom continue?”
Kiyoshi paused. His answers were important here. “You ask hard questions, but I would also ask that we look to the wisdom of the king. As he has stated, it is difficult to assume responsibility for every single blade. Despite appearances, we are human as well, and flawed. There will always be those who don’t represent the greater part of us.”
Shin pressed the issue. “So, answer my question. How will you censure the nightblade who has visited such terror on an innocent village?”
Kiyoshi didn’t allow himself to hesitate. He needed to project confidence more than ever before. “If possible, we will take the nightblade into custody. He will stand trial, and if found guilty by the council, he will suffer whatever consequences are deemed appropriate.”
Shin’s voice rose. “I’m sorry, Kiyoshi, but that is not enough. The nightblade has killed an innocent farmer. The only punishment suitable to one in his position is death.”
Kiyoshi took a deep breath to calm himself. The lords were pressing more than they ever had before. He didn’t dare glance to Masaki for help. If the king stepped in, he would declare himself for a side, and that was the worst action he could take. The king knew this as well. Masaki remained silent, waiting patiently for Kiyoshi’s response.
“My lord, I can pass your words on to the council, but I do not have the authority to proclaim the death of a nightblade.”
Shin eyed Kiyoshi, judging his next step. “See that you do. Make it clear to the council that if the nightblade is not put to death, our faith in your order will be lost.”
The rest of the meeting passed quickly. Kiyoshi was given the information on the nightblade allegedly responsible for the atrocities described. He didn’t recognize the name, but that didn’t surprise him. The lords disbanded, certainly off to plan their next steps. A glance from the king told Kiyoshi that Masaki wanted to talk with him alone.
As Kiyoshi watched the three lords exit the chamber, he wondered how the blades would react to being told to kill their own.
King Masaki and Kiyoshi sat across from each other, each sipping some of the finest tea in the Kingdom. Kiyoshi was a man of few desires, but one advantage of his position that he very much enjoyed was access to the best tea. He would miss the experience when he passed into the Great Cycle.
The two sat in silence, each finding peace in the company of the other. Kiyoshi took a moment to use his sense on the king. He could feel the energy moving through the older man’s body, but more and more, all he could sense was the disruption in his stomach.
Kiyoshi didn’t know how to describe the ailment, but something amiss was growing in the king’s stomach. Daily, Kiyoshi used his powers to heal the king, nonetheless fighting a losing battle. He kept the king alive, but soon his administrations would fail. Masaki knew this, but he didn’t let the knowledge keep him from his duties. He would discharge the office of the king until his last breath passed.
Masaki met Kiyoshi’s eye. “Tell me, old friend, what is happening.”
“The lords grow bolder every day. Particularly Lord Shin. Cycles ago, I thought he could be calmed, but I was wrong. He never wanted to reach an agreement. He wanted to keep pushing until he reached his goal.”
“And what is his goal?”
“I believe Shin and Isamu, at least, seek to remove the blades from the Kingdom.”
Masaki scoffed, but then saw Kiyoshi was being serious.
“You think so? I’ve always thought they sought to bring more power to their houses.”
Kiyoshi nodded. “They do. There’s no doubt of that. But the best way to do that is to eliminate the threat of the blades. As it stands, the blades won’t take a side, preventing any house from gaining dominance over the others. If we’re gone, they’ll have unprecedented opportunities.”
Masaki considered his friend’s words. “What would the blades do if I die without an heir?”
Kiyoshi almost argued, but a look from the king silenced him. They both knew Masaki was sterile, something to do with the growth in his stomach. It was a secret only the two of them shared. Masaki had lost his only son, Yoshi, over twenty cycles ago and had never raised another heir.
Kiyoshi shook his head. “I don’t know. I would hope we would remain neutral, but this council is one of the most political I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure how they will react to your passing.”
A fire lit in Masaki’s eyes. “We need to ensure the continuation of the Kingdom. Peace needs to be maintained.”
“You need an heir.”
The fire in Masaki’s eyes flared. “We’ve had this discussion a hundred times. There is no one worthy that the lords would accept.”
Kiyoshi sighed over the debate they had far too often. After Yoshi had died, Masaki had named various successors, but each had been blocked by the King’s Council. They would only accept another lord, one of their own, but Masaki didn’t think any were suitable. The stalemate had lasted for cycles. Foolish as the conflict was, neither side would budge.
“Is there any way we could prepare Lord Juro for the throne?” Kiyoshi asked.
Masaki shook his head. “I wish there were. You and I both know he’d be eaten alive by Shin. If it was somehow possible to combine Juro’s training and honor with Shin’s intelligence and skill with people, we would have a king for the ages.”
They needed to make a decision quickly. If Masaki died without an heir, power passed to the King’s Council, an unstable situation. Splitting power three ways would never work over the long term. The only way to ensure the continued peace of the Kingdom was to name an heir the council would accept before the king died.
Kiyoshi gestured to the floor with his hand. “Lie down. I will attempt to ease your pain.”
“Is it obvious?”
“Not to one without the gift. Your control of your expressions is better than almost anyone I’ve ever met. But my sense tells me your energy is blocked, and you must be in a great deal of pain. Let me help.”
The king didn’t argue, turning over and lying down on the floor. Kiyoshi reached out a hand and laid it on his king’s stomach. He extended his sense into Masaki’s body, resting his mind and allowing it to trace the movement of energy within. The mass in his stomach continued to grow. Kiyoshi glanced briefly at the king, who was resting with his eyes closed. The pain had to be incredible.
The dayblade went to work. Using his sense, he pressed his fingers on particular parts of the king’s body, redirecting the energy as best he could. When he had done all he could using physical methods, he took a breath and focused his own power.
The blades were unique because they controlled a power called the sense, allowing them to observe the flow of surrounding energy. Nightblades specialized in being able to sense events at a distance, making them warriors wit
hout equal. They could predict the movements of an opponent and thus never be ambushed by conventional means. In combat, blades could feel an opponent’s moves moments before the cuts were made, making them nearly impossible for a normal soldier to defeat.
Dayblades focused on understanding the proper flow of energy internally. Much of the dayblades’ work involved redirecting the energy within the body, sensing particular pathways and altering them as necessary. Bones could heal in moments instead of moons. Sicknesses could be removed and injuries soothed away. It was the most potent medicine that had ever been known.
Yet there were far fewer dayblades than nightblades. Everyone had their own theory as to why that might be, but Kiyoshi wasn’t interested in the why. It simply was, a fact to be dealt with. If he had been forced to answer, he would have responded that the skills required to be a dayblade were harder to acquire than those of a nightblade. One’s ability with the sense had to be much more refined as a dayblade. The flows of energy around a sword strike or punch were far more obvious than the subtle change in a person whose heart wasn’t beating correctly.
Kiyoshi focused on the king’s energy. He tried to cut off the flow to the mass in Masaki’s stomach. A stronger dayblade might have been completely successful, but Kiyoshi could only cut off most of the energy. He was trying to starve the mass, giving the king’s body the chance to fight the tumor on more equal terms. He held the altered flow as long as possible, but eventually had to break away.
Kiyoshi took his hand off his friend’s stomach. As he wiped sweat from his brow, he used his sense again. The mass was smaller, but by a meaningful amount? Kiyoshi wasn’t sure. “How do you feel?” he asked.
“Better.”
It wasn’t much, but it was something. “We need to know who will replace you.”
The king laughed, a grim sound. “How long do I have?”
Kiyoshi shook his head. “There’s no telling. I can continue to do all I can, but I’m fighting a losing battle. If you allowed me to call a stronger dayblade, perhaps we could eliminate the growth completely.”
Masaki stood up. He was moving better than he had been after the King’s Council. That was something, at least. “No. You do more than enough for me, and I can tell my time here is almost at an end. All we need to do is finish my work.”
“A successor?”
This time it was Masaki’s turn to shake his head. “No. The great houses will only accept one of their own, but choosing among those three is no choice at all. They are all strong leaders, but they are all self-serving. None of them would put the Kingdom first.”
The two had traveled this road before, but Kiyoshi was drawn into the same arguments. “The Kingdom has had bad kings before.”
Usually Masaki argued about his general unease about the state of affairs, but today he took a different approach. “And we’ve always had the blades to help us hold the course. But you and I have had to make concession after concession to the houses, and even if the blades aren’t driven from the Kingdom, your authority has been substantially curtailed. I’m not sure the blades can help balance the Kingdom much longer.”
Kiyoshi wasn’t sure how to respond. He wanted to tell the king he was wrong. That there was still a way forward. But Masaki spoke the truth. In their efforts to maintain the peace, they had backed themselves into a corner, and Kiyoshi wasn’t sure the blades could effect change moving forward.
Kiyoshi followed Masaki to his private quarters, a comfortable silence between them. When they arrived, the king waved Kiyoshi away.
“I’m sick, not useless.”
Kiyoshi stepped back. He admired his old friend’s resilience.
“Kiyoshi, thank you, both for trying to heal me and for all you do for the Kingdom. I am aware it hasn’t been easy, and I know you’ve made a lot of sacrifices. I wanted to say it doesn’t go unappreciated.”
Kiyoshi bowed deeply to his king. “You are welcome, Masaki. Please rest.”
He ensured the king was sleeping comfortably, then turned around and walked back to his quarters, his mind racing, trying to find some answer to the problems that plagued them.
When Kiyoshi returned to his quarters, he saw that another message had been delivered to his door. He let out a long sigh, knowing no one was nearby to hear him. He had hoped for peace and quiet of his own before having to deal with more politics.
The decision to become the king’s adviser had been an easy one. Kiyoshi had seen how the Kingdom was drifting apart. The houses continued to get stronger and stronger, and after the king’s only heir had died, an opportunity for power reared its head, causing political dissensions stronger than anything Kiyoshi had ever seen or heard.
Kiyoshi believed that although the blades weren’t perfect, they were the only ones capable of keeping the Kingdom moving forward on a peaceful path. But for that to be true, the blades had to be politically neutral. They had to have the interests of the Kingdom at heart, not their own self-interest. Kiyoshi had struggled for cycles to bring that truth to reality.
He knew the Council of the Blades felt that they should have more power. He didn’t know the depth of their desires, but he feared their conviction. Kiyoshi had seen what happened to blades when they were presented with the opportunity for control. He would spend the rest of his life fighting against seeing that happen again.
The path hadn’t been easy. Kiyoshi remembered his first few days with Masaki. The blade hadn’t been sent by the council as advisers typically were. His situation had been unique, and one day he had ended up at the king’s feet, being ordered to serve by Masaki himself. Since that day he and Masaki had grown steadfastly closer. Kiyoshi had come to know him not just as the ruler of the Kingdom, but as a person.
Kiyoshi saw from the seal that the letter was from Hajimi. Given how rarely the head of the blades wrote to him of late, the news could only be bad. He considered, just for a moment, throwing the letter into a fire and ignoring it, but he sighed again and broke the seal.
His eyes wandered over the short missive quickly. Kiyoshi and Hajimi hadn’t seen eye to eye in many cycles, and Hajimi had long ago abandoned the pretense of courtesy. The letter was short and to the point, and it caused Kiyoshi to raise his eyebrows in surprise.
Minori would soon be arriving. The letter, undoubtedly on purpose, had been timed to give Kiyoshi minimal warning. Minori might already be in Haven. Kiyoshi fed his early desire by taking the letter and throwing it in the fire. It was the closest he would come to violence.
Everyone was self-focused. Cycle after cycle, the Council of the Blades had let him know how displeased they were with his work. Until now, Kiyoshi had long been the only royal adviser from the blades. The others had been dismissed from service.
Hajimi’s letter had been clear that the council would not take it lightly if Minori was not allowed to serve the king. The letter didn’t go so far as to say that Kiyoshi was dismissed, but the act was implied.
Kiyoshi forced himself to take a deep breath and focus on the consequences of the council’s newest action. Everything could be reduced to actions and consequences. A wise man never lost sight of that.
First, his position of trust with the king was safe. Barring some dramatic event he couldn’t imagine, Masaki would never exclude Kiyoshi from his confidence. The other lords might have different reactions. If they felt there was a schism within the blades, they would exploit the division. And Kiyoshi couldn’t ensure they wouldn’t succeed.
But the actions of the lords were generally shortsighted. Kiyoshi was less worried about them than he was about Minori himself. He had met the nightblade a handful of times. There was much to recommend. He was brilliant, probably one of the best strategists the blades had seen for two or three generations. He was slow to speak, meaning none of the lords would be able to trap him in their petty verbal squabbles.
But at the same time, Minori was cold, aloof. Kiyoshi knew Minori believed that the blades should have a more prominent role in current affairs,
but he didn’t know the man’s motivation, and that concerned him. He seemed as inflexible as a piece of steel and just as sharp. If Minori was on your side, he could be a formidable ally. But if he was your opponent, one had best beware.
Kiyoshi closed his eyes, thinking that no matter what he did, disaster was coming.
Chapter 4
Asa sipped quietly at her bowl of noodles, her second of the meal. The restaurant she sat in was small, suitable for the tiny village she was passing through. But the venue’s size was no indication of the quality of its food.
She was considering ordering a third bowl. She had been on the road, traveling leagues on foot every day. Asa had enough coin to afford a horse, but the walk gave her time to reflect on what she had learned and to decide what to do next. But walking led to ravenous hunger. And hunger, as she had often been told by the masters who’d trained her, was the best seasoning. Asa thought she was eating the best noodles she had ever tasted.
Word of Takashi’s death spread faster than she walked. He had been well known and well loved in the area, and Asa was on edge. She worried there would be a call for her execution, but the lack of pursuit was almost more worrisome than a posse on her tail. She didn’t wear her black robes, the ones given to her on the day she passed the trials that confirmed her as a nightblade, in public. Not now. She preferred to remain anonymous.
Leaving Takashi’s village had been a nerve-racking affair. The whole town had surrounded the hall, and Asa had worried the locals would retaliate. Fortunately, they feared her too much to attack, and she had left as quickly as she could. She went into the wild, always using her sense to see if anyone followed. But no one did.
Since then, Asa had stayed off the roads as much as possible. These parts weren’t very populated, and all strangers passing through tended to draw attention. The fewer people Asa came across, the happier she would be. But the aromas drifting from the restaurant as she passed outside the village had been too tempting to ignore.
