by Jeff Gunzel
One of the soldiers re-drew his sword, raising the tip to the rider’s throat. “Since you’ve failed in your task, perhaps we should spill your blood as repayment.” The rider only smiled in response. Using one finger, he pushed the blade away as if it were a harmless stick.
A solid backhand found the soldier’s head, sending him sprawling to the ground. Hirao straddled the young man, glaring down at him with a combination of anger and disgust. “Fool!” he barked. “He is not one of the Tryads, only a messenger. But I assure you, if he works for them, he is more than capable of killing you three times before you hit the ground.” Feeling stupid, the young soldier looked away, resisting the urge to touch the swelling lump.
“That’s quite alright, General Kawamori,” the rider replied, casually reaching for the latch on his saddlebag. “After all, it seems to me you might have bigger problems than a foolhardy soldier.”
He flipped the latch and the side flap fell open. Gold coins spilled onto the ground, clanging against each other in a musical waterfall. The soldiers stared at the falling coins, having never seen so much gold at one time. Even Hirao had a hard time pulling his eyes away from it. “Your payment...returned in full,” the rider said smugly, clearly amused by their stunned expressions. “The Tryads are professional killers, not common thieves. Feel free to count it if you wish.”
“It was never a matter of coin,” Hirao growled. “The empress would have doubled the gold if that’s what it took. She doesn’t care about the price. Empress Moki wants that thing eliminated!”
“Then perhaps she should send you next time,” taunted the rider, that constant sneer never seeming to leave his face. Ignoring Hirao’s angered protests, he continued on. “In reality, you’re the ones who violated the contract, not the Tryads. The information you provided regarding the target proved to be quite inaccurate.”
“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Hirao hissed, barely able to contain his mounting anger. Not only had the Tryads failed, which was going to set up a less than pleasant meeting between himself and the empress, but this messenger had the audacity to stand here and taunt him as well. “We held nothing back! All our intelligence was shared on the matter. Hell, we even gave you his exact location.”
The rider examined his own fingernails with total disinterest. It was clear he was only waiting for the general to stop talking. Folding his wrists across the horn of his saddle, the rider leaned forward. For the first time, his aura of arrogance seemed to vanish, replaced by some level of uncertainty. Suddenly, he no longer seemed amused by all of this.
“Remember those small details you were so quick to disregard?” he mentioned innocently. Hirao frowned, not liking where this was going. “Well, I think it’s best you hear it all before you report anything to your empress. I assure you, it’s quite the tale.” Hirao’s frown deepened.
* * *
After spending more than an hour in one of the local taverns talking, Hirao pushed a gold piece into the rider’s hand and bid him farewell. “You’d best get going and make your report,” said the rider, draining his mug and rising from him seat. He knew how ludicrous all of it sounded, and was more than thankful he wouldn’t have to report to the empress personally. With a final bow, he headed off towards the stables to retrieve his fine stallion.
With a sigh, the general downed the last of his ale in a single gulp. It had been an effort to stay sober while listening to the incredible story. With each new shocking detail, he found himself craving another drink. Unfortunately, it was time to go speak with the empress. Needless to say, the general was in no hurry to make his report.
The streets were crowded as usual, people bumping into one another holding bundles of newly bought goods, or sacks of grain slung over their shoulders. After a half-hearted muttered apology, they hurried on their way. The city was always busy this time of day, but General Hirao found himself grateful for the crowded streets. The slow going gave him some time to think.
The rider’s words bounced around inside Hirao’s head. Were the Tryads trying to make a fool of the empress with this ridiculous story? But what was to be gained by such a tale? No, that wasn’t their way. They were warriors of the shadow, true enough. But their organization was straightforward, and had earned a reputation for avoiding politics at all costs.
So what then? They had been paid to do a job, but failed to see it through. They found the target, had engaged this...Shantie Rhoe, then decided they had seen enough to just walk away. This was unheard of!
The rider’s outlandish details of glowing yellow eyes and burnt markings swam through the general’s head. Of course the rider had not been there to see this black sorcery for himself, but several of their best assassins had. And at least one lived to tell of it. “How am I supposed to report this testimony of madness?” he muttered to himself. “She’s likely to take my head as a replacement.”
General Hirao Kawamori was a highly recognizable figure. Despite the streets being so crowded he marched through easily enough, as if surrounded by an invisible border everyone was afraid to enter. More than one citizen dropped their bundle attempting to get out of his way. Deep in thought, he hardly noticed.
A bit of commotion coming from the other side of the street snapped the general from his daydreaming. He could see an even taller figure than himself heading down the walkway. The people did whatever was necessary to get out of its way, a few literally diving to the side, spilling bags of grain or rice onto the street.
The headless, black suit of armor marched along in its usual, stiff fashion. A bright red cape rippled behind it, drawing even more attention to the being. Engraved on its chest piece was an intricate gold crown with colorless jewels placed along the five peaks. It was obvious people would rather spill the goods they carried than even come close to touching the thing.
“Another of those Soul Walkers,” Hirao grumbled to himself, spitting out the words as if they were poison on his tongue. He had never been fond of the things and certainly didn’t trust them. As far as he was concerned, they epitomized black magic in its purest form. Neither living nor dead, the created beings did exactly as they were told. They were nothing more than a soul magically bonded to an inanimate object, their only purpose being to follow specific orders.
The empress always used that black suit of armor for the bonding. They weren’t always headless like this one, but that didn’t particularly matter. Removing its head or any other limb didn’t hurt the creature anyway. How do you harm what isn’t really alive in the first place? The black armor and red cape made them easy to recognize at a distance. Hirao frowned at the creature until it turned the corner, common folk still moving out of its way.
Although he personally didn’t care for the animated beings, their effectiveness was undeniable. They had no free will of their own, so there was never any threat of betrayal. They didn’t feel pain or experience fatigue. After all, the vessels used to bond the spirits were nothing more than hollow cases of metal. No skin, muscle, or blood, nothing that would normally be associated with life as we know it.
Many a time Hirao had seen one sliced and slashed in the battlefield, only to keep moving forward where any “living” thing would have long since expired. A hollow arm or leg inching across the ground like a worm, still attempting to kill the enemy, was not unheard of. Hirao shivered at the memory, but managed to quickly refocus his thoughts. Right now, there were more pressing issues at hand.
There came a loud screech from overhead, followed by a winged shadow that glided across the street. Few people even bothered to look up. The screech of a crintona was a familiar sound and most had learned to ignore it. A few of the children attempted to run with the swift moving shadow, holding out their arms while pretending to ride along. Angry calls from nearby mothers brought them back, heads low as they sulked.
Only the most highly trained soldiers of The Crimson Empire ever rode the unpredictable beasts. And of that elite lot, only a few rode them well. Hirao looked up to
the sky, and watched the beast pass by overhead. Crintonas had smooth scaly heads, similar to a snake, but the feathered body of a bird. Their razor-sharp talons could shred a man with minimal effort, and their powerful beaks could snap a small tree. Large and powerful, it soared overhead with a smooth grace rarely seen from creatures its size.
Its rider was known as a Wind Dancer. Even from this distance Hirao could see his red chainmail body suit leaving only his eyes exposed. The suit had a scaly look, giving the rider the appearance of a red lizard.
Off in the distance he could see the top of the empress’s palace. Twisting red loops of thick metal spiraled upward from large blue domes. Each loop was capped by a fluttering red flag with a golden crown. The chaotic pattern of thick metal spirals looping around each other with no rhyme or reason were truly an eyesore in Hirao’s opinion. A strange design indeed.
After a time, he approached the first of three metal gates surrounding the partially submerged palace. Two guards dressed in their spiky red armor nodded to their captain. The first spun away and began fiddling with a black iron lock, heavy and larger than a man’s fist. It clicked open and he allowed it to hang free. Leaning in with his broad shoulder, one half of the gate creaked and groaned as he pushed it inward.
Hirao made his way through the next two gates and up a set of glossy marble steps, his rippled reflection spread out before him, marching in time with each step. Another two soldiers sidestepped, then opened the white double door at the top of the steps. Staring straight ahead, avoiding eye contact, they nodded as he passed by. One of the men risked a glance back over his shoulder. They knew where the general was heading, and neither one envied his position.
He marched through a green-walled room with bright red carpeting, red tapestries with yellow checkered designs hanging from each wall. Hirao crinkled his nose at the gaudy artwork. He had always hated the bright colors of this room. They made it appear more like a children’s nursery than a home of royalty, but who was he to question the empress’s tastes?
The upper portion of the palace only consisted of two hallways and a handful of unused rooms. After passing through the left wing hall, Hirao descended down a wide stairway with plush red carpet. The main portion of the palace was deep underground, and the descent took some time.
At the bottom was a cross hall with yellow and orange striped walls, and more red carpeting. White frosted lanterns flickered brightly from within their golden brass holders. Hirao turned left, passing by several closed doors. This was the empress’s private wing and was more or less vacated, save for the occasional servant who scurried past.
At the end of the hall was another set of white double doors. Hirao hesitated a moment, his hands and forehead resting against the door. He was not looking forward to this. With a sigh, he pushed one of the doors back just enough so he could slip through sideways. Although his report was urgent, the empress would see him whenever she felt like it, and making a loud entrance was not the smartest tactic.
The red-walled room housed numerous silver statues, some seated on white pillars, others life-sized and free standing. Nearly all were of nude males exhibited in varying poses. Some kneeling down with their hands covering their heads, as if fearful of something looming over them. Others stood tall, hands stretched towards the skies in poses of worship. All were superbly crafted, exquisite down to the smallest detail. Even the delicate facial expressions ranged from subtle curiosity to outright horror.
But Hirao had seen them all before. His attention was focused on the center of the room where Empress Ilenaya Moki lay sprawled across a thick, curvy, black cushion. She was wearing a green dress that was long enough to cover her slim, toned body, but the thin material was so transparent, she might as well have been wearing nothing at all.
Her long black hair was pulled back with a golden band, and large silver hoops hung from both her wrists. She constantly wore a white mask that covered half her face, porcelain or a similar material. No one knew for certain...because no one had ever seen her without it. Noticing him near the door, she sat up and silently motioned for him to approach.
Hirao took his time in doing so. Although he had never once heard her raise her voice to anyone, she seemed to always radiate a constant aura of intimidation. Her complete, unwavering calm seemed unnatural at times.
Lingering behind her cushion was a most unsettling creature, one that seemed to follow her at all times. The shifter appeared to be nothing more than a shapeless blob of rolling black smoke bubbling in the air.
As Hirao approached, the smoke solidified momentarily, assembling into a large human-like form. The faceless black outline seemed to glare at him angrily, before melting back into its prior form of rolling black smoke. No one knew where the empress had found such a creature, or why she trusted the thing in the first place. It served as her bodyguard, and answered to no one but her.
The empress gazed up at Hirao, one lovely green eye and half her bright red lips exposed from behind the white mask. There was some belief she might be deformed or burned underneath that mask. Even her multiple lovers couldn’t be sure, for they too had never seen her without it. But there was no doubt, the half of her face she left revealed was certainly beautiful.
“Empress Moki, I bring word of—” A whistling hiss from the smoky creature cut Hirao off in midsentence. Slog, as it was often called, was always quick to voice its displeasure when anyone interrupted the empress’s amusement. The empress smiled her agreement, then gestured over his shoulder.
The general turned slowly, and sighed at the entertainment that had just entered the room. So this was more important than his report? Hirao eyed the two men approaching with disinterest. Can’t this wait? Wearing black loincloths, they each had light brown skin and were heavily muscled. They knelt down on a blue throw rug while a topless servant girl circled them slowly, dripping warm oil on them from a white clay vase.
On cue, the two men melted into each other’s arms, hairless bodies pressed together in a lovers’ embrace. Their hands caressed down each other’s backs, the sliding oil collecting between their fingers.
Their lips touched...lightly at first. The larger of the two slipped his hand between the legs of the other, probing softly. Then his hand clenched firmly, massaging his prize in a smooth, pulsing rhythm. With his free hand, he gripped the other’s hair, pulling him in closer. In a display of dominance, he mashed their lips together, his tongue forcing its way in.
Hirao could hear the empress’s breathing intensify, watched as her hand slipped beneath her dress. Seconds later, another servant scurried up and placed a silver goblet into her other hand. She took a healthy gulp of red wine, then focused her attention. The lump under her dress rose and fell as her breathing turned harsh and raspy.
Hirao glared at the men once more, his impatience and anger mounting by the second. He had important news and it couldn’t wait another moment. To hell with this, he thought. He turned back towards the empress so suddenly that she jumped. Slog’s smoky form fluttered, rolling about in angry protest.
Ignoring the creature, Hirao leaned in and began to whisper into her ear. A flood of words at first, for fear of any further interruption. But when it became clear she was willing to listen, he slowed down, presenting the situation in full detail.
Aware of the limits of his seniority, Slog drifted back, allowing them to talk. Servants around the room watched in silence, and even the men tasked with the empress’s entertainment had calmed themselves considerably.
Her lips tightened as the general spoke, no longer directly in her ear but still close enough to discourage any eavesdropping. Her fingers tightened around the thin goblet, then began to shake and tremble. With a crunch the goblet caved under the pressure, red and green jewels bouncing across the carpet like tiny beads. No one waited around to be told; the room emptied in a heartbeat.
Chapter 2
“I’ve been betrayed,” Ilenaya hissed in her rough, gravelly voice. Still clutching the crushed gob
let, her hand trembled as she glared across the room. Her throaty voice was known for being hoarse, and it was well known that you had better listen carefully the first time. The empress was not one to repeat herself.
“They’ve returned the gold,” reasoned Hirao. “My men are bringing it back as we—”
“And that excuses their disloyalty?” she rasped, throwing the crumpled goblet across the room. “I wanted that thing eliminated. I need that creature destroyed! I sought the services of the Tryads because they never fail. I would have tripled the price had I known there was even the slightest possibility they might back out.”
Hirao listened carefully to the empress’s rant as her words grew ever more desperate. He wasn’t used to seeing her so obsessed over the elimination of a single man. Why was this so important? The boy had no land, title, or power to speak of. What was there to gain? As much as Hirao wanted to deny the undeniable pattern here, in his mind things were slowly falling into place. The rider’s ludicrous story was beginning to make sense. Is it possible he had not been exaggerating?
“Empress,” he pleaded, working up the courage to press the subject. “The messenger made it clear that no amount of gold would have made a difference. The Tryads are saying,” he swallowed and shook his head, “that the target really was the Shantie Rhoe. Of course I told him they were mad,” he added quickly. “He is just a man, nothing more. If the famed Tryads are afraid of myths and legends, then I say—”
“He spoke the truth,” Ilenaya interrupted, her gruff voice barely a whisper. She turned her gaze and met his eyes evenly. Chills shimmied down his spine from that frozen stare. What was she saying? Had the world gone mad? “Does that surprise you?” she asked, more an accusation than a question.
“I... I just...” the general stammered, clearly at a loss for words. His head spun as he tried to remember details of this most ancient of prophecies. But it was just a myth, and not a well-known one at that. Like most cultures, they all seemed to have some vague version of this tale. And more often than not, a version that fit in well with their own society. One where their own civilization played some large role in the prophecies. But none of it was real...