by E. M. Hardy
Ishida wanted to end this would-be Shogun right there and then. Instead, he nodded and clasped the proffered hand as he pulled himself up.
“Very good,” the Shogun said. “Worry not, Ishida Daimyo. I will keep your family and the family of your liegemen safe.” Translation: they are my hostages, and you will obey everything I say if you want them to keep living.
“As you command, Shogun,” Ishida replied, lowering his head in a deep bow while forcing down the bile that wanted to spew out from his churning stomach.
***
“This is wrong, son.”
“Right or wrong, mother, I must do this in order to keep you and the family safe.”
“You do not understand!” cried Ishida’s mother, Ishida Tatsume. “Sending you and your liegemen to the south, alone and unsupported? To fight alongside this… this Maharaja? He could not kill you himself, so he sends you off to die in a foreign land? It is bad enough that he takes the love of my life, and now he plans to send my eldest son to die where I cannot even hold his corpse with my own two hands!?”
Ishida’s mother buried her face into the sleeves of her kimono, wailing and sobbing into its soft fabrics. Ishida’s face fell into a mask of grief and sadness as well. He would have wanted to be buried in his ancestral home, for his ashes to be laid in the shrine beside his father. By all odds, however, he would most likely end up as worm food in some forsaken jungle, fighting for a people he did not care one whit about.
“And yet the Shogun commands, mother. He points his sword’s edge at you and everyone around me. My liegemen, my faithful bushi, are burdened by the knowledge that their families are held hostage. The Shogun’s brutes threaten even the ashigaru under my liegemen, harassing the footmen’s families, knowing full well that they cannot retaliate without incurring the Shogun’s wrath.” Ishida grimaced at that last thought, venting his anger upon the straps of his travel packs by tightening them harder than he should.
“Brother, is it true?” Shioyo exclaimed, breathlessly, as she rushed into the room, her eyes widening as she took in Ishida’s travel-ready appearance. “Yes… yes, it is true! You’re leaving us, abandoning us while you go off to a distant land to fight for foreigners!”
Ishida sighed and shook his head even as he refused to meet the smoldering eyes of his little sister. “Inagaki Shogun orders it so. If it were up to me, I would much rather stay here, close to home, and help protect you from Inagaki’s depredations. I want to be here when things end, not fighting for people I barely know thousands of miles away. And yet, the best way I can protect you and mother is to go away, to fight with the Sahaasi against the Empire.”
Ishida grimaced, imagining himself fighting under the orders of some warlord in the southwest. Would he be like the Shogun, an old man playing warrior to recapture a lost glory? Would he send Ishida’s people out to die, a madman with dreams of grandeur paid for by the blood of people he had no idea how to command? Would he force Ishida to strain against the principles of bushido, to forsake compassion and righteousness while turning to brutality and savagery?
Ishida put these thoughts aside and concentrated on packing his gear. Travel rations, dining utensils, cleaning utensils, extra plates for his armor, a whetstone, extra socks. And of course, vials of his own blood for his katana, wakizashi, and yumiya.
His careful planning was thrown aside as young hands shoved him angrily to the side. “Brother Naga, you cannot go. You MUST not go. Send a body-double to take your place in the army. Have him fight and die in some foreign land. Stay here, be with us! We need you here after… after what that old devil did to father!”
Ishida shook his head and gently pushed his struggling sister back, tears welling in her eyes and snot fighting to drip down from her reddened nose. “Listen, little Shioyo. I am going to this foreign land precisely because of what the Shogun did. If I want to save you, save the people under my care, I must fight in a distant land where I will not be able to threaten his rule. It is either that or defy the Shogun outright. Our clan does not have the forces to turn him away, and he will inevitably win. He will then execute us all—ripping apart our lands and throwing the pieces into the hands of his cronies pretending to be Daimyo. He needs us, Shioyo, but not badly enough to destroy us all if we defy him so openly. Father could afford to die for honor because I can take his place. I… I do not have that luxury, knowing what will happen to you and everyone I care for, should I fall.”
Shioyo sniffled, rubbing her face violently into her sleeve. Ishida laid a hand on his sister’s shoulder, pressing gently into the soft muscles just above the shoulder blades. “You will have to remain here. Help mother watch over our lands, Shioyo. Observe her as she goes about her daily tasks, running the affairs of the island. She will need your strength, now more than ever. Father watches over us all now. Should I fall in battle, I will help him watch over you as well.” Ishida cut off his little sister before she could scream her denials. “This is your duty now, Ishida Shioyo. Shed your tears, pour your grief, but promise me that you will grow, little Shioyo. Grow and learn. Become a woman who can protect our lands and lead it into prosperity. Can you do this, little sister of mine?”
Shioyo glared at her brother with as much hate and resentment she could muster. Try as she might, however, she just couldn’t hold on to it for long. She broke down once more, clinging to her brother’s traveling shirt. “You talk as if you’re not coming back, older brother of mine.”
Ishida smiled sadly, caressing his little sister’s hair as he looked up to his mother for help. Tears slid down her cheeks, and he knew that she too was having a hard time coping with the loss of both her husband and son.
“Just thinking about the worst that can happen, sister.” Ishida forced himself to smile wider as he locked eyes with his sister. “Who knows? Maybe a bolt of lightning will strike down the Shogun, and I’ll come back safe and sound without a scratch. Ancestors guide us, a few lucky bolts might even take down his entire army for us!”
Chapter 03
“I thought we had an agreement,” said the clay man in front of her, arms crossed and waiting impatiently for a reply.
Isin Safak, senior executive of the League of Merchants, schooled the face hidden behind her thin black veil into neutrality. She forced herself to match the blank, empty face of the walker in front of her. She also fought the temptation to bury a dagger into that clay neck, or maybe in its nonexistent gut. It would be useless to do so, but it would be extremely cathartic at this moment in time. This self-control was something that she had to practice almost daily, having to deal with the irritatingly straightforward soul inhabiting those constructs. She was used to people cowering in fear when they learned what she represented, the force that she could bear upon those foolish enough to displease her. Instead, she had to contend with an idiot uncowed by threats of violence or blackmail… at least not yet.
What made things worse was that he indeed possessed the power to back up his tough stance, unlike many of the idiots that dared to question her to her face. Her spies and informants had erased all doubts of his capabilities, especially when they returned from their missions into the Emirate of Ma’an and the much-further Ren Empire. Their extensive reports could be summarized into three painful words: “DO NOT ANTAGONIZE,” and it appears he was not bluffing when he threatened to bury the League of Merchants under successive waves of clay. So here she was, playing the part of a subservient fool instead of the powerful senior executive that she incarnated.
“And I keep telling you that I don’t control everything in the League,” Isin shot back, coolly. “There are still factions who think warfare is the best way to unify the Bashri. They think you’re bluffing, that you’re a minor obstacle to clear out if we just commit our forces to an all-out attack. Either they’re not paying enough for good spies or they’re stubborn idiots with their heads up their asses. In any case, we’ve identified a few of these warmongers and excised them from the League, but many st
ill remain who wish to disrupt our plans.”
The construct sighed, shaking its head while doing so. “Look, Isin, I got lucky this time around. I had a dozen walkers protecting that trade caravan and the caravan was supported by armed guards with jinni of their own. If a larger force attacked, I don’t think—”
“Trust me, Martin,” Isin spat back, losing her patience. “If the League of Merchants pooled all its resources into sabotaging the highways you’re building and gutting the trade caravans you’re protecting, we would be sending far more than just a few dozen raiders to ruin your day.”
She turned her head around to the prince seated beside her, glaring at him. “Isn’t that right, Prince Suhaib?”
The princeling gazed right back at her, his eyes squinted in suspicion. He held that gaze for a short minute before grunting. “She’s correct. We’ve had our fair share of fending off akinji raiders backed by cartel emirs. They usually hit harder, in greater numbers than this, and did so with so much more consistency. This also applies to the ‘bandits’ they hire to plague our trade and shipping lanes. It was hard enough to fend them off here, in lands that we firmly control. Out there, in the lands controlled by cartel thugs? If they wanted to, the cartels could easily muster up hundreds of raiders to harass those caravans day and night.”
“The League.”
“What?” Both Martin and Prince Suhaib said at the same time; Martin with a genuine request for clarification, Suhaib with feigned ignorance.
“The League of Merchants. We’re not your enemy, Prince Suhaib, not anymore, so I would hope you would abstain from referring to my organization in such a derogatory manner.”
“Doesn’t change what you are,” the prince huffed under his breath. “Just a collection of trumped-up criminals, pretending to be royals while threatening everyone else with poison and blackmail.”
“The woman does have a point, Suhaib,” Martin replied. Isin swore she could hear the regret in his voice, the genuine tone directed to cool down Suhaib’s flaring temper. She just rolled her tongue inside her mouth to control herself. It would be so much easier for her to deal with Martin if he was just a bit more of a right bastard. Instead, he was being all reasonable—something that made it much harder for her to stay angry with him all the time. “Very well, Isin. I thank you for clarifying this unfortunate incident and will refer to your organization as the League from this point on. When do you think you’ll be able to get your organization in order, stop them from raiding these caravans?”
Isin chewed her lip once more, then forced herself to stop. She thought she could keep these tics under control, yet dealing with Martin and his constructs strained her patience to its limits. She needed to get a grip, especially now that she was a senior executive in the League. She had far more responsibilities now, many more opportunities to screw up, so she had to stay on top of her game.
“Best case scenario and the saboteurs get reckless, we’ll be able to root them out in a year. Worst case scenario and they hide deep underground, we’ll need decades. Remember that the League of Merchants is just that: a league. We’re not like the emirs that rule from the top-down. We form a consensus, not a rigid hierarchy, and we don’t keep too close an eye on one another.”
“This talk of consensus, despite your extensive encouragement of slavery in the lands you control?” Suhaib spat back in contempt.
“Yes, Prince Suhaib. It is called hypocrisy—double-standards that apply to the incapable masses useful only for labor, but not to the classes that rule above them. You should know all about this kind of hypocrisy, considering you were born and raised in it.”
Isin lost her temper then and there, glaring fiercely at the prince. For his part, Suhaib grimaced and scowled right back at her. She inhaled deeply, schooling herself back to neutrality, and exhaled slowly while planning to diffuse the tension. “Spoiled royals,” she instead huffed, unable to resist a parting shot at the fop who most likely never knew what it was like to claw his way up the ranks to success.
Martin’s walker interrupted, changing the topic before the prince could shoot back a retort of his own. “How, exactly, will you deal with these Merchants who don’t agree with what we’re doing here?”
Isin forced herself to look back at the walker, into its featureless face, while ignoring the reddening face of the prince. “Greed,” Isin said, allowing herself a grim smile for the first time since this meeting started.
“Greed?” Prince Suhaib said, furrowing his brow while cocking his head back in surprise.
“Remember that caravan you protected, Martin? The one carrying spices and foodstuffs to the Empire up north?”
Martin’s walker nodded even as it crossed its arms on its chest. Isin noted the arms hung loose, less constricted. He was defensive, cautious, but open enough to allow himself to be intrigued. Isin’s smile widened as she saw all this in his body posture. Yes, it would appear that Martin was telling the truth: that he used to be a human before turning into whatever he was right now. Either that, or he was exceptionally skilled at mimicking human body language.
“Those supplies didn’t come from the emir of Far’eh. They came from a League Merchant opposed to the idea of working with Ma’an. One of its most vocal critics, in fact.”
Suhaib gaped and stood up in anger. “Dammit, woman! Those supplies are headed to people dying of hunger in Ren! What if he sent spoiled or poisoned foods!? Or, or what if he orchestrated the whole attack on his own convoy!?”
“I wouldn’t put that past him,” Isin admitted, allowing a bit of condescension to seep into her words. “But I am positive he would much rather see this convoy reach its destination. After all, a lot of gold will be waiting for him once those camels and wagons reach their destination.” She glanced at Martin’s walker, saw his arms tighten for just the slightest bit before loosening up again.
“Greed…” Martin repeated, his voice showing a hint of understanding.
“You should know what I’m pulling at here, Martin. After all, you’re the one who taught that lesson to me in the first place.”
If the walker before her had a face, she swore she would see a wide grin splitting its face all the way up to its non-existent ears.
“Let me guess,” Martin ventured. “The shipment of gold ore I sent as payment for the supplies… it’ll go straight to him, won’t it?”
Isin nodded. Suhaib looked between her and Martin. Once, twice. Then, understanding dawned on him on the third time he swiveled to Isin’s face.
“You bought him off.”
“Precisely.” Isin laughed. “It’s like when Martin foolishly faced off against the combined armies of the League. He promised me riches and rewards instead of blood and death. He made good on those promises, to my utter surprise. He didn’t wait for a chance to strike us down, didn’t even wait for our armies to de-escalate. Not a few days later, and those disturbingly round little dolls of his are already laying down highways while the walkers started securing the roads. Not only that, but you show up with wagons of gold and silver to buy up supplies in bulk. And then there’s that post office of yours. You do all this while singing the praises of the League of Merchants, bolstering our reputation as a profitable organization to befriend.”
Isin shook her head, not believing her fortune. Martin’s eagerness to please the League, to bind the Bashri Basin under a single authority, paid dividends in strengthening Isin’s standing with the organization. “This is why I am here, cooperating with you instead of undermining your efforts in the Bashri. I just made sure that Merchant Artuk saw the glittering, dazzling benefits of working with us instead of fighting against us.”
Martin chuckled, nodding his head in approval. “Told you so.”
Isin chuckled along, ignoring the prince who started rubbing his chin in thought. She allowed a moment of silence to pass before ruining the lightened atmosphere. “But it’s not enough. Far from it.”
Isin turned to face the man a
nd the walker before her, swiveling her head between the two of them. “We will need to do far more than just bribe the other merchants. We need a set of trade and diplomatic agreements binding the different emirates together. The League already has control over four of the largest emirates: De’em, Sulba, Ramal, and Far’eh. The other emirates that have resisted us so far are small by comparison, but they have banded together to actively resist our influence.”
“I cannot fathom why they would resist your benevolent rule,” interrupted Suhaib, sarcasm dripping out from every word. “I mean, what ruling family wouldn’t want to obey your orders at knifepoint, with the threat of regicide if they don’t comply? And then there’s the little matter of enslaving those you conquer. Who wouldn’t want to be forced to tend the orchards or row your galleys under the lash? It boggles the mind!”
“I agree completely.”
The prince’s eyes grew so large at Isin’s answer, his mouth opened so wide, that she wanted to double over in laughter and point at him for how stupid he looked. Instead, she flashed an evil grin as she bore her eyes into Suhaib’s. The prince broke off into a harsh, sarcastic laugh that eventually died off as Isin continued staring intensely at him.
“You’re not kidding, are you?”
“No, Prince Suhaib, I am not. The independent emirates want nothing to do with us, not after what we did. We didn’t care, for we planned to take them by force after finishing you and your family off. Times and circumstances change, however. We now see an alternative path before us, one paved by riches instead of blood, thanks to Martin’s efforts. Now we only need someone else, a neutral third party, to convince the independent emirates to start parleying with the League of Merchants. Form non-aggression pacts, establish trade treaties, convince them that the League is now interested in pursuing a new path to prosperity. Someone like… I don’t know, a spoiled little prince from one of the emirates most vocal about maintaining its independence.”