by Ryan Kirk
Minori met Shin’s gaze calmly. “I believe we can, although much depends on the nature of your offer.”
Shin stood up. “I am grateful for your honest response, and it confirms what I’ve already suspected. You know as well as I do that, despite the calm of its citizens, the Kingdom is in crisis. The king will rejoin the Great Cycle soon, and despite the pressure of all the lords, he will not name an heir. This can no longer stand, and I hope to resolve the situation.”
The lord didn’t need to say anything else to Minori. He had already moved his troops into the city, and according to the reports Kiyoshi was feeding to the Council of the Blades, the other lords were not half as bold as Shin. He had put himself in the ideal position to become king should the old man die without naming a successor. Minori also knew there was only one faction that stood in his way: the blades.
Shin saw that Minori understood and was pleased. “My request is simple. I request the support of the blades in the event I take action.”
Minori blinked in surprise. Talking so openly was close to treason. Shin was taking a calculated risk. The blade responded, “And in return?”
“Name your price. I know many of the recent reforms pushed by the lords have met with significant resistance within the ranks of the blades. It would be my pleasure to look at those reforms again to see if they serve the needs of the Kingdom.”
Minori didn’t buy Shin’s offer outright. “That is a dramatic reversal from a man who has proposed many of the very reforms we’re discussing.”
Shin nodded, and Minori got the impression the lord had hoped he would ask just that question. “That is true, but the recent events surrounding the young nightblade, I believe he was named Koji, have led me to contemplation. He was broken out of the middle of the king’s guards’ fort with apparently no difficulty at all. That feat has reminded me of the power of the blades.”
Minori studied Shin silently, wondering where this was going.
“Let me ask you a question. If you were to encounter a dragon of myth and legend, what would you do?”
Minori had no adequate response, so he fell to humor. “Regret whatever decisions had led to me being in front of one.”
Shin smiled politely at the joke. “For the past cycles, we have tried to put a wall around the dragon. But a dragon will never be caged. It is too strong, and a smart builder knows this. Far better to harness that power and make one’s self stronger as a result.”
Minori stood in silence, considering the ramifications of what Shin was offering. If real, such an agreement could return a great deal of authority to the blades, and could be enough to allow Minori to consider his mission to Haven as a success. He still didn’t trust Shin, but the lord’s reasoning seemed rational enough.
Shin filled in the silence with another line of reasoning. “You and I both want what is best for the Kingdom. I fear that if steps are not taken, the Kingdom will descend into chaos. This is a way for us to move forward in peace.”
Minori mentally chastised himself. He hadn’t even thought of the health of the Kingdom, but what Shin said was true.
In an instant, Minori decided. It was the best play he had. “I will see what I may do. In return, I ask you make me one of your advisers and invite me to all future meetings of the King’s Council.”
Shin nodded, and the deal was done. Minori left soon after, wondering how to play this new situation to its greatest advantage.
Chapter 9
The candles flickered in Kiyoshi’s room, but he paid them no mind. His eyesight was slowly failing anyway, another symptom of old age he didn’t want to admit to. The decline wasn’t great, but Kiyoshi knew his vision was only going to get worse. It would be a sad day when he could no longer read, a habit he had developed later in life. As part of his training as a blade, he had learned to read and write, but that had always seemed superfluous and secondary to his real training. Later on, he realized the magic of words.
It was good that he enjoyed reading, he thought as he looked over the stack of papers scattered across his desk. As chief adviser to the king, there was more than enough correspondence to go around. Everyone wanted something from Masaki, and one of Kiyoshi’s main tasks every day was to act as a barrier between the monarch and the multitude of people who would seek his time.
Unfortunately, Kiyoshi was having trouble focusing. One letter among many had news he would rather not hear. Asa, the young nightblade who had taken the assignment to kill Takashi, was pursuing leads related to the massacre at Two Falls. Kiyoshi rubbed his temples to try to ease his frustration. The massacre had been more than twenty cycles ago, but they were still dealing with its aftermath. Masaki had lost his son, Yoshi, the prince, on that day. His wife had already passed away, and the king had never recovered. When he lost his son and heir, he was unable to return to his duties with the same vigor.
Kiyoshi remembered what Masaki had been like as a younger king—dynamic, but more than anything, he had smiled. When Kiyoshi first met Masaki, he thought for the first time he was experiencing a man who truly enjoyed his life. Masaki was always at hand with a joke, and even when times were difficult, he negotiated challenges with a calm acceptance.
But the deaths of his wife and son couldn’t be overcome. Some days Kiyoshi saw hints of the old Masaki, a genuine gladness at a wedding or a birth, but those moments were now few and far between. Instead, he saw a man weighed down by the burdens of his responsibilities, one of which he seemed determined not to fulfill. After the prince died at the massacre, the entire Kingdom was abuzz about Masaki’s marriage choices. Would he select someone from one of the great houses, to strengthen the alliance, or would he find a commoner to build a closer bond with the people? Every woman who had come within fifteen paces of the king had been endlessly speculated about.
But Masaki had never remarried. At first, he made the excuse he was still dealing with grief, but as time went on, those who knew him best saw it wasn’t a temporary decision. Masaki couldn’t bring himself to remarry. They never spoke directly of such intimacies, but Kiyoshi suspected Masaki didn’t want to open himself up to the possibility of loss again. Even the bonds of duty couldn’t compel him.
Masaki and his grief had created a dire predicament for the Kingdom. The great houses were at odds about who would be king next, and if Masaki didn’t name an heir soon, Kiyoshi couldn’t imagine a situation in which the houses wouldn’t enter into war. Kiyoshi’s shadows reported that all the great lords were planning intense military drills this summer, a field of dry grass just waiting for fire.
And into it all walked Asa, stirring up the past. Kiyoshi knew, better than anyone, what had happened at the massacre of Two Falls, and if the knowledge ever became public, there would be an immediate outcry. The public would revolt, possibly led by one of the great houses.
Unable to focus, Kiyoshi stood and started his forms. The movements had been drilled into him long ago, and although he was old, he still practiced them every day, the strength of his youth replaced by the precision and grace of his age. He moved slowly, aware of each muscle in his body, cognizant of every action.
His breath slowed and deepened. There was something about movement that his mind craved. No matter how busy his daily life was, when he was going through his routines and forms, time stopped. Only the body and breath mattered.
Kiyoshi was interrupted by a loud knock. He opened his eyes, and the temporary peace he had felt was gone faster than a hawk released from its cage. The knock was repeated, and his name was called loudly through the door. It was late at night. Kiyoshi’s heart sank. Had it finally happened?
He answered, almost getting struck as the red-faced messenger was about to rap the door again.
“Sorry, sir, but you need to come with me. The king is dying.”
Kiyoshi ran through the halls of the castle, each passageway a familiar nightmare. He always thought he had more time, but if this was it, he wasn’t ready. The Kingdom wasn’t ready. Masaki had to live.
>
The messenger didn’t take Kiyoshi to the king’s quarters, which surprised him. At this time of the night, what had Masaki been up to? The question ran through Kiyoshi’s mind again and again. They eventually skidded to a stop outside of the king’s practice chambers. Despite the terror running through his heart, Kiyoshi managed the slightest smile. This was just like the Masaki he once knew, practicing his martial skills this late into the evening.
Kiyoshi’s heart sank even farther when he saw the king lying on the ground, his body tense. Masaki’s doctor was present, but the look he gave Kiyoshi wasn’t reassuring.
Kiyoshi sprinted in and knelt down next to his friend. “What happened?”
The doctor spoke. “He was in here practicing with the sword. According to his guards, everything seemed fine until he suddenly collapsed. My guess is he overexerted himself and his body couldn’t take the strain.”
Kiyoshi studied the king’s body as he listened to the doctor’s report. “What have you tried?”
The doctor shook his head. “Nothing, yet. Were it up to me, I would give him a sedative and try to help him rest, but I’m not sure there’s anything my medicines can do. You and I both know how far the illness has come.”
Kiyoshi hated that the doctor was right.
“Prepare a sedative. If I heal him, he’s going to need to rest to recover. Otherwise, keep this room silent. I must focus.”
Kiyoshi put his hands on the king, one on Masaki’s forehead and one on his chest. He closed his eyes and opened up his sense.
The transition, made hundreds of times by Kiyoshi, was effortless. He was no longer just one person, but two people at once. He used his sense to explore the king’s body. The first abnormality he noticed was in the king’s head. The flow of energy was disrupted, blocked. This was what had caused Masaki to collapse and still threatened his life. Kiyoshi didn’t bother scanning the rest of the body. He knew the king better than the king knew himself, and he realized immediately he had found the cause. He focused his energy on Masaki’s head, giving some of his own energy to tear the blockage apart.
Kiyoshi knew he was witnessing a blood clot in the brain, and as his healing broke the clot apart, he kept his focus on the smaller pieces, ensuring they disappeared completely. If a remaining bit lodged in the king’s brain, he was certain it would be the end. Once the detritus was dissolved, he honed in on where the clot had formed, focusing his energy on healing the area. The work was delicate and painstaking, but Kiyoshi was in his element, and he refused to give up.
When he was satisfied he had tended to the king’s brain as much as he could, Kiyoshi scanned the rest of Masaki’s body. Everything else felt normal, or at least as normal as it typically was. Kiyoshi spent some of his time fighting the growth in the king’s stomach, but he could tell he was losing his focus. He elected instead to give as much of his energy to Masaki as he could.
More than anything, this lack of energy kept the king spiraling downward. His will to live had diminished day by day, and with very little now left, only his responsibility to the Kingdom kept him tethered to life, and that was a thin strand. Kiyoshi gave Masaki what energy he could, which felt meager. Kiyoshi wasn’t young anymore, and only had but so much of his own strength to give.
When he was done, he opened his eyes. Masaki looked healthier and more relaxed, but Kiyoshi knew they were fighting a losing battle.
“Give him the sedative and get him to his bed. He shouldn’t be disturbed for at least a day, but he should live.”
The doctor’s relief was palpable, but Kiyoshi didn’t stay to hear his gratitude. Every part of his body ached, and he knew he didn’t have many healings of that magnitude left in his body. He stumbled back to his room, his body held up by the messenger who had come to get him in the first place. He soon let go of the aide and collapsed onto his bed, and the world immediately went black.
Chapter 10
Asa rubbed her forehead, trying to ease the strain she felt there. She had learned to read as part of her nightblade training, but she hadn’t ever had to put the skill to such intense use. Papers surrounded her as she sat in the same archives she had broken into. She shifted her weight, and her body reminded her she had been sitting in one place for too long. She stood up to take a short walk around the archives.
When she left the room, she was surprised to find night had fallen. An old dayblade, one of the keepers of the archives, gave her a friendly smile. “Are you done for today?”
“I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.”
The dayblade laughed. “It’s not time to be buried in books. A sensible young person should either be drunk or asleep.”
Although the comment was meant in jest, Asa felt a truth to what the keeper said. A break sounded like a good idea. “From now on, you should come get me when it gets dark out.”
The old man laughed again. “I did come to get you. I even came in the room and called your name. But you were so engrossed in your work, you didn’t even notice me. I figured I’d let you keep working.”
Asa was touched by the old man’s kindness, but also concerned by what his words really meant. She was a nightblade who hadn’t sensed someone in the same room. She had gotten so wrapped up in her study, she had opened herself up to danger. Mentally chastising herself, she replied, “Thank you. I will pack things up for today and return tomorrow.”
Soon Asa was outside the archives, breathing in the fresh air of early summer. Even though the moon was already high in the sky, the evening was still warm.
She walked to her quarters slowly, her mind wandering over all the information she’d learned. Osamu had to be one of the most interesting people who had ever lived, but information on him was in short supply. He had been obsessed with anonymity when he had been active, and it seemed as though he had been through the archives himself, destroying major records of his life before he disappeared. All Asa could do was piece together parts of his history from secondhand accounts and educated guesswork.
Osamu had been a nightblade of extraordinary skill. Everyone who encountered him agreed on that point. Not only was he an expert in swordsmanship; he seemed to have an innate grasp of battlefield command. His units were never ambushed and always had the upper hand. Even reading some of the secondhand accounts, Asa was impressed by what Osamu was capable of. He was physically skilled, but from what she understood, his ability with the sense also exceeded anyone else’s she had ever known.
In one account, a fellow nightblade spoke with unabashed admiration as she described Osamu commanding a small group of soldiers in a larger battle. In the midst of combat, he had sensed a flanking maneuver, thus enabling his warriors to turn the tide of the battle.
Asa couldn’t even imagine this level of control over the sense. In her combat experience her sense was limited to ten to fifteen paces. Osamu had demonstrated an ability to take in far more information than Asa had ever dreamed of trying to consume at once. She realized that even if she met the blade, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to defeat him.
After the massacre there had been a few sightings of Osamu, including his appearances in Starfall. Asa assumed he was trying to erase any record of his presence. And then, after just a few moons, he was gone. No one saw him again, even though the blades had launched the biggest manhunt in their history.
The common assumption was that Osamu had committed suicide, a tempting theory that Asa couldn’t accept. This was a man who had been on top of the world. From what she understood, he had been supremely patriotic, willing to make any sacrifice for the Kingdom. That, along with his skill, was the primary reason he had been selected to attack Two Falls and end the blade rebellion. He wouldn’t kill himself.
Asa assumed Osamu was still alive. If that were true, she had to put herself in his place and try to figure out what he would do. But she didn’t understand him well enough. Although Osamu had been famous once, he had also been a private person, and when she had asked Hajimi if she could speak to blades who k
new him, he said there wasn’t anyone he could recommend. Plenty had come across Osamu, but no one had called him friend.
There was only one lead left, found in a genealogical chart buried deep in the archives, but Asa wasn’t hopeful. Osamu had a brother, a man who lived in Haven, where they had grown up together before Osamu was identified as gifted and placed in a nightblade training camp. Although the blades didn’t keep detailed records of civilians, he might still be alive. Additionally, Osamu had spent a fair amount of time in Haven. The city was big enough to hide in. Perhaps that was where he had returned. Her lead was thin, but it was the best she could do, and the archives no longer held any secrets.
By the time she returned to her bunk, Asa had made up her mind. In the morning she would go to Hajimi and report her findings. After that, her next step was on to the road once again. She would go to Haven and try to find Osamu’s brother, or anyone else who knew the legendary blade. If she could understand him, perhaps she could hunt him.
Once Asa decided to travel to Haven, she had little to do but prepare and leave. Asa couldn’t remember the last time she had slept in a place she considered home. Her journey had taken her across the Kingdom several times, and she never stayed long in one place. She required little time to gather her few belongings and find transportation to Haven.
Before she left, she spoke with Hajimi to keep him updated on her progress and plan. It was a formality she preferred not to bother with, but he had helped her with her mission, and she felt like she owed him the courtesy.
Asa bartered for transportation with a moderately sized caravan heading for Haven. The services of a nightblade were always in demand, and while Hajimi had provided her with enough money to purchase transportation, she was naturally frugal and preferred to save what currency she had for more urgent situations. She was an old hand at exchanging her services for transport and bartered for a seat in a wagon as well as meals provided in promise of her protection on the journey.
