by Ryan Kirk
Toro’s voice had risen, and there were murmurs of anger matching his own. Toro let them stew for a moment before continuing, his tone now subdued.
“The fact is, gentlemen, as much as I wish it weren’t so, Fort Azuma is lost. I don’t question the bravery or the skill of our men, but these hunters are tearing us apart, and we are outnumbered ten to one, even without them. Even the most brilliant defense of this fort is doomed to fail. I won’t mislead you.”
“The good news is that the mountains themselves are on our side. As some of you may know, the pass is closing as we speak. Already the return will be treacherous. We only need to hold the enemy here for a day, maybe two, and we will succeed in giving the Three Kingdoms and Lord Akira enough time to mount a true defense of the land.”
“Gentlemen, serving as your general has been an honor. I couldn’t ask for a stronger, more honorable group of men. My orders are to march the First back to the Southern Kingdom, and I will see those orders fulfilled. Tomorrow morning I will officially order everyone north.”
The murmurs became louder, and Toro knew he had them in the palm of his hand.
“That being said, I will not be going with you. I intend to stay here on the walls and give my life to protect your retreat. I will be disobeying orders from my rightful lord, and the punishment for that is death. I expect there will be those who will dishonor my name, and that I accept. If anyone would like to desert with me and man these walls, I would be grateful. There may be a few too many Azarians for me to take on by myself.”
The joke was perfectly timed, causing a ripple of laughter to spread throughout the group. Toro would miss these men.
“Men, make it clear to everyone. If you stay with me, you will be considered deserters. That way, no one who returns will see trouble on our account. I don’t need many men. A few hundred should suffice. There is no dishonor in following orders and returning north. I expect each and every man of the First to show these Azarians what it means to be of the Southern Kingdom next spring. Make it clear that if they stay, there won’t be any return. We will pay the price for desertion here in this fort. Are there any questions?”
The men looked at one another, silent. It began with one of the men near the front, who bowed all the way to the ground, his forehead against the cold ground of the fort. One by one the other men followed, until every man in the room had his face pressed against the earth. Toro looked out over them all and a tear came to his eye. At the end of his life he was proud. The Three Kingdoms were strong, filled with good, strong people like those before him. The Azarians would never win. Toro returned the gesture, holding his bow until every man had silently left the room.
Toro watched as the last of his men marched up the pass. It had been an orderly march, if one of the most heartbreaking he had ever observed. With him stood over three hundred men, those of the First who had elected to stay behind. There had been many partings, each of them made bittersweet by the knowledge they would never see each other again. Toro himself had wandered the camp almost all of yesterday, saying goodbye to each of the men. He was proud of them all, but none more than those who stayed behind.
He turned and looked over the men, grouped in formation. He had already assigned a command structure to them. Each of them knew what to do and who to report to. They would fight to the last man. Some had stayed to protect families. Some had stayed for honor, some for revenge, and a few because they felt they had nothing left to lose. Toro thought he should say something powerful, but found he couldn’t speak without breaking down. So he nodded once instead. His men understood, and they went to the walls.
Toro had wondered how Nameless would react to so many of the First leaving the fort, and he didn’t have long to wait to find out. That afternoon Azarian clans lined up to march towards the fort. Toro stood with his men. His armor shone in the cold sunlight. Today he was no more than another soldier. Today they were all bowmen, all swordsmen. When the charge commenced, Toro looked from side to side and said, “To protect our brothers.”
The saying was passed up and down the line. The men drew their bowstrings back, and at Toro’s command, the defense of Fort Azuma began.
The Azarians had little battle discipline. That had always been true, as long as Toro had fought them. But what they lacked in discipline they made up in bravery. Once they began their charge, they broke formation, each running fearlessly into danger. Toro launched his first arrow, and it was joined by hundreds of others, dark streaks of death against the blue sky. Azarians fell, but it made no difference as they ran for the walls. Toro and his men launched another flight just as an answering flight came up from the Azarian archers. While Toro’s arrows came down on the Azarians in waves, their response was individual, each archer trying their luck against the soldiers of the First.
Men started to fall to each side of Toro, but most were protected by the stone of the fort. When the first Azarians started climbing the walls, a handful of men laid down their bows and picked up rocks to drop on them. Stone was plentiful in the pass, and a well-dropped heavy stone could take out two or three climbers.
It was only a matter of time before the sheer number of attackers overwhelmed Toro’s troops. When climbers reached the top they would throw down ropes to assist others. Toro dropped his bow and drew his sword, rushing from place to place on the wall, hacking at ropes and slicing at opponents. Dozens of his men stood behind him in the courtyard of the fort, sending arrows into the Azarians who made it over the top of the walls.
Time blurred until it became meaningless. There was only the space in front of him. Twice, three times, the Azarians managed to get a foothold on the walls, and each time Toro’s men surged forward in response. But each time there were fewer and fewer men to answer the calls for aid. Toro could hardly see the steel of his blade, it was covered in so much blood.
Evening fell early in the valley, and at first Toro was confused when there was no one left to fight. When his wits returned, he heard the call of the horn and saw the Azarians retreating for the evening. He was grateful. He had worried that Nameless knew the pass was closing. If he did, he would have never stopped, even if they had lost the light. Time was on Toro’s side. If they could hold out for one more day, they would stop the Azarian invasion in its tracks.
The price had been high. Of the three hundred or so who had begun the fight, not even a hundred remained. Toro looked with pleasure at the Azarian bodies on the plains, but even though Toro’s men had acquitted themselves well, they had barely reduced the sheer number of warriors Nameless had at his disposal.
That night the men were quiet around the fires. None of them would sleep that night. Between the combat and the fear of hunters, each would stay awake, maybe drifting off just for a moment or two before their partner next to them gently nudged them.
Toro worried the hunters would come to finish the siege, but it seemed that Nameless was holding them back. Toro wasn’t sure why, but he was grateful. That night they rested undisturbed around the fires. Their food was simple, most of the supplies having gone back with the First, but it was still the best Toro remembered tasting.
He took in every breath, focusing only on the present moment. It was a beautiful moment, resting around a fire with the men he would die with tomorrow. They all knew, and all shared a look of calm acceptance. Above them, the stars were clear, and Toro could easily pick out the soldier and the princess, his favorite sets of stars. It was as much as he could have asked for on his final evening alive.
The sun rose over the peaks the next morning, but the only way Toro could tell was that he could see the faint outline of his shadow on the ground. The snow had come down from the pass and was starting to collect here in the valley. There was only a little on the ground, but the sky was gray and lifeless above them. It was a dreary day to die.
The snow must have warned Nameless that he had little time to get through the pass, because the entire mass of Azarians was on the move. Toro watched with a detached interest
. It was an impressive feat to move so many so far.
There had been little to say this morning. Each man covered a section of the wall, and it was their responsibility alone. No help would come today. No archers stood behind them in the courtyard, and there were no reserves to call for aid. Toro’s only command had been to take as many Azarians to the Great Cycle with them as they could. They had to hold the fort as long as possible. If they could delay even until the sun was high in the sky, it should be enough time. Toro hoped his own men had made it through the pass. The snow that came down whipped across the fort. Shooting arrows would be a matter of luck today. But that was better for Toro than for his enemy. Toro had far more targets to hit.
The Azarians approached. Again, Toro’s men sent arrow after arrow into the crowd. They were to use as many as they could. Toro fired indiscriminately. The whole valley was a mass of humanity pushing against the fort. He fell into a rhythm. Nock, pull, release. Nock, pull, release. He didn’t even aim, just sent arrows flying haphazardly against his enemy. There was almost no chance he could miss. Then he grabbed for an arrow and none were left. He dropped his bow and drew his sword, just in time for the first Azarians to break over the wall.
The fighting was close and bloody, but Toro moved like he never had before. There was no chance of surviving this battle, and when hope died, so did fear. Toro moved with a grace he had never before possessed, and Azarian after Azarian fell before his blade.
Then he was shoved off the wall, falling into a pile of hay below. As he came to his senses, he realized the last of his men were being slaughtered, and that he was alone in a circle of Azarians. They made no move to strike at him, though. Something held them back, and Toro began to dread meeting the only person with that kind of power.
Toro had listened to Moriko’s tales of Nameless when she returned from Azaria, but he had never really believed her. She didn’t seem like the type of person prone to exaggeration, but the description she gave of the commander of the Azarians was hard to believe. But when Toro saw Nameless in person, he realized she hadn’t exaggerated, not at all. The man was huge, towering over Toro, a pillar of muscle and death. Even with his enormous size, he moved with grace and silence. Toro held his blade in front of him, but never had the action seemed so insignificant to him.
“You are the commander of this fort?”
Toro nodded. If he was going to die, it would be a legendary battle. He was pleased. He was a strong sword, and he was curious to see just how good these hunters were.
“Your men fought well. We will bring stories of their courage to your land.”
Toro was surprised. He hadn’t expected such magnanimity. “Thank you.”
“Come, let us end this. I will give you the warrior’s death you deserve.”
Toro settled into his stance. He would show this Azarian the meaning of strength. If he could kill Nameless here, he could stop this invasion for good. Moriko had gotten a cut on him, so it couldn’t be that hard.
Toro moved in, leading with a perfect cut, the cut he had been searching for his entire life. Then Nameless moved, too fast for Toro to follow. For just a moment, everything was in motion, and then the world stilled again. Toro stood there, confused. Had he cut Nameless? His opponent had been right there in front of him. How had Nameless gotten behind him? Had he won?
He tried to turn his head, but found he couldn’t. The world started spinning as his head fell from his shoulders, a sensation his dying mind finally recognized. He wasn’t afraid. He had lived his entire life in the shadow of death and had come to terms with it. He was only saddened he hadn’t put up more of a fight. Nameless truly was a warrior of amazing strength. Closing his eyes, he smiled with pleasure at a life well-lived, grateful to Nameless for giving him a warrior’s death. His world went black, and at the last moment he felt the presence of all life, and then he rejoined the Great Cycle.
Chapter 1
Ryuu woke up from a dream where Akira was cutting at him with a sword. In the dream, Ryuu felt like he was trying to move through water instead of air, every motion agonizingly slow. Darkness clouded the edge of his vision, creeping steadily inward. When his world went dark he woke up, covered in sweat. He closed his eyes again and sighed. The sounds of the village came to his ears, and he took a moment to enjoy the reassuring sounds of daily routine.
The village was small, a collection of a few huts in the woods. Ryuu had stumbled upon it as he wandered west. He didn’t even remember its name. He had offered to help an older couple with chores in exchange for a place to sleep for the night, and they’d been delighted to oblige. They put him up in a room that had belonged to their son, off now fighting in the wars that ravaged the kingdom.
The hut was filled with sadness. The couple smiled often enough, and were very kind, but Ryuu could tell there was an emptiness in the house. It was the same emptiness he sometimes felt in his own hut, many leagues away. It was the void left when a loved one leaves and does not return. The couple missed their son and had no idea if he was alive or dead. He was a member of the First, stationed down in the Three Sisters. Ryuu didn’t have the heart to tell them about the advancing Azarian invasion. He suspected everyone would learn of it soon enough, and he couldn’t bear to bring more sadness to his hosts.
Ryuu didn’t dare practice his forms in the village, and if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t have the heart for it. It would only be a matter of time before riders came through the village with wanted posters bearing his face. He didn’t need to help them by drawing attention to himself. Instead, he split wood for the couple, happy to help out in exchange for shelter. As he swung the ax he fell into a meditative rhythm, and he shut out the world.
It was past midday when he took his leave of the couple and followed the road again. Perhaps he should have been in more of a hurry, but he needed the time to think, and there was no better time than while on the road. Walking cleared his mind and allowed him to focus on the events of the past few moons.
As he walked he tried to use his sense, but it still refused to cooperate. It hadn’t worked since his final fight with Renzo. His ankle still twinged a little when he walked on it, but it was nothing compared to the nakedness he felt as he walked through the woods without his sense. Ryuu didn’t know what had happened. All he knew was that when he awoke from the battle he couldn’t use his gift. He had tried meditating every day for a while, but when it hadn’t created any results, he gradually stopped trying. Now he barely attempted it at all.
The woods were beautiful. Reds, oranges, and yellows were everywhere. It was almost winter, and most of the leaves had fallen, but there were still enough in the trees that one would have to be blind not to appreciate their beauty. Even so, the woods seemed stark and barren to Ryuu. He knew he was surrounded by life, but for the first time since he was a young child, he couldn’t feel any of it. To his remaining senses, he may as well have been alone in the woods.
He was returning to Moriko, but he wasn’t sure what would happen when he did. He was a different man than when he had last seen her. Not only had he been to the island, but he had found incredible strength and then lost it. Would she still care for him if he wasn’t strong enough? The last time he had sensed her, he could tell she, too, had changed. She was stronger, more dangerous than ever before. And he was broken.
Ryuu’s thoughts raced round and round as he walked. He thought of Shigeru and Takako, those he had loved and lost. He thought of Moriko, the love he was afraid he had lost. And he thought of Renzo, Shika, Rei, Tenchi and all the other nightblades he had met on the island. There was so much conflict, so many dreams colliding with one another in the Three Kingdoms. All he wanted was to live in peace.
He slept outdoors for the next two nights, not coming across any more villages. It was getting cold, but he had enough gear to sleep comfortably for a while yet. On the third day he crossed paths with a military unit, marching to the east. Their uniforms were those of the Western Kingdom, the new conquerors
of the Southern Kingdom. He stepped off the road, careful to hide his face from their eyes. They paid him no mind. His sword was hidden on his back and he was dressed in poor traveling clothes. He would look to be no more than a peasant to them. In fact, he smiled grimly, he really was no more than a peasant anymore. Without the sense he wasn’t a nightblade anymore. He found the idea didn’t bother him as much as it once had.
As they passed, Ryuu had a strange thought. They couldn’t call the land the Three Kingdoms anymore. There weren’t three kingdoms. Would they call it the Two Kingdoms? Ryuu shook his head. It sounded wrong. And what would they call the land he was walking in? Would it be the Southern Kingdom or the Western Kingdom? He hadn’t ever thought of it before, and wondered what was happening to the east, where the treaty was being signed.
The sounds of the forest returned as the troops marched away, and Ryuu pushed the thoughts out of his mind. It didn’t really matter what they called the land. The only thing on his mind was Moriko. He needed to find her and figure out where they stood. The thought frightened him, but he had to know. He tightened the straps on his pack and kept moving forward.
The forest gradually turned into plains as Ryuu continued walking west. He knew if he kept going, he would eventually find woods again. As he expected, wanted posters started appearing, but they were few and far between, almost as though the effort to find him was half-hearted. He figured it was Akira’s doing. He had to hunt Ryuu to satisfy the terms of the treaty, but his heart wasn’t in it. Ryuu had taken the measure of Akira and found him to be an honorable man.
Ryuu had been on the road for almost a moon, and he guessed he was less than a hundred leagues away from the hut. He hadn’t been moving fast, fear of his upcoming encounter with Moriko slowing his steps. But the day would come soon. He couldn’t put it off forever.
