Archeologist Warlord: Book 2

by E. M. Hardy

  “I imagine not,” Ishida replied, just as stunned as the regent beside him.

  There, in the lip of the valley before them, stood a towering set of red-brown walls nearly a dozen feet high. The walls stretched across the lip of the valley, blocking the half-mile gap in its entirety. Deep ditches zigzagged along the front of the walls in all directions, while imposing towers stood atop the clay walls at regular intervals. Behind the walls towered a familiar obelisk, glaring down at the armies arrayed before it. Ishida recognized the structure, for he had helped demolish a few that the Maharaja’s scouts had found on their journey toward the heart of the Ren Empire.

  The fortifications alone were intimidating, but it’s the people—no, the things defending the fortress that struck fear in the exiled Daimyo’s heart. There, in front of the walls and standing within the ditches, stood thousands upon thousands of the rumored walkers. Faceless clay men, standing perfectly motionless as they bore spears and javelins with unnerving uniformity.

  “The clay soldiers look impressive enough, but are they any good in a fight?” snorted the Maharaja, recovering his earlier shock and reverting to the bravado that so irritated Ishida during their long march. “What do you think, my good general? Any thoughts on your new allies made of mud and dirt?”

  General Qiu Ja glared wordlessly at the sight before her, quickly smothering the hope on her face as she realized both the Maharaja and the Daimyo turned their gazes upon her. She wore none of the armor or vestments that marked her as the General of the Vermillion Bird, just a simple set of brown robes and a pair of plain straw sandals. At least, they were regularly washed, a luxury that many of the general’s troops were not granted by their Sahaasi captors. “I don’t know,” she replied, pretending to be deep in thought. “Let me go over there, talk to the clay men, then I’ll come back with some information for you to use.”

  “Hah!” barked the Maharaja, clutching the girth of his muscular belly as he laughed. “A good suggestion. I’d like to know if those clay things are as talkative as the Taiyo’s spies claim they are. And besides,” Maharaja Venkati’s eyes hardened even though he kept right on smiling, “It’s not like I have a blade hovering over the necks of your men and women, ready to drop the moment you even think of doing anything like running away on your own.”

  Ishida glanced at the woman, her flippant defiance suddenly turning into subdued despair as she lowered her gaze to the ground. “Yes. Yes, I hear you loud and clear, Venkati.”

  “Right,” the Maharaja exclaimed, the iron in his eyes vanishing as he turned to stare at the clay men. “Ask the clay men what they’re doing in a pass in the middle of nowhere, what they want to get out of the way, and what they’re going to do if they won’t let us pass.”

  General Qiu Ja blinked in confusion for a half-second before she fully comprehended what the Maharaja was telling her to do. “I… what?”

  The Maharaja rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “Don’t play dumb. You heard me just fine, Qiu Ja.” Venkati turned his head away from the woman before she could even respond, facing Ishida instead.

  “You’re not serious,” Ishida said, his mouth hanging in surprise and outrage. “Don’t you think it’s a little bit dangerous to send one of your most valuable captives out to negotiate with the enemy? She’s still the General of the Vermillion Bird—one of the four pillars of the Imperial Army. She’s enough of a symbol to rally the Imperials together, even if she alone makes it back to the capital. Sending her out like that makes no sense whatsoever!”

  “She’s not going alone,” the Maharaja said matter-of-factly, as he pointed his grin at Ishida. “We’re going with her.”

  ***

  “So… how’s this going down?”

  Ishida compressed his lips into a thin, disapproving line at the way the clay man addressed the delegation before it. The Rat reports described this Martin Fuller’s behavior in detail, so Ishida was not caught completely off-guard by his flippancy. Still, it was one thing to read about such blatant disrespect and quite another to experience it first-hand.

  “Well, we either come to an agreement or we proceed to bash one another’s heads in.”

  Ishida ground his teeth in silent frustration as he watched the Maharaja Venkati respond in kind—with dismissive flippancy matching the clay man’s own.

  The clay man—the walker—sighed as it shook its head. It wasn’t a true sigh though, as the clay man’s lungs didn’t actually move. It was a sigh born more from habit than necessity, a human action that Ishida found unsettling considering its inhuman source. “The Empress explicitly ordered me not to negotiate with you. And I quote, ‘you will not nor ever negotiate with rebel scum,’ end quote. The only reason we’re talking is because you’re the ones who came to me, not the other way around… and I’m not exactly inclined to tell Her Highness of these non-negotiations we’re having right now.”

  “Figures,” the Maharaja said, as he sighed just as deeply, shaking his head in the process before shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve met the girl on a few occasions, back when the Three Sages were still in power. Her aura was full of suppressed emotion, tightly-concealed but nonetheless visible to those who can see past the superficial. No surprise she’s lashing out now that she has the power and influence she’s been craving for all these years.”

  The Maharaja rubbed his nose, hiding a rueful smile underneath his hands. “To be fair, I’d give you the exact same orders if I was in the same position. I mean, what self-respecting regent would just roll over and let rebels cut his empire to pieces? And I say this fully aware of my own actions.”

  Martin sighed once again, deeper and sadder this time. “You know, you’re not as bad a guy as the Empress makes you out to be. Really wish I had more room to work with… especially if we could somehow come to an agreement where we can avoid bloodshed.”

  “If only,” replied the Maharaja with a sad smile and a soft sway of the head.

  Ishida kept his gaze neutral, shifting his eyes to better study the fortifications in front of the pass while recalling what the Rats had to say about Martin. They were right in saying that Martin preferred a diplomatic approach and tended to talk about compromise before resorting to violence. Those reports mentioned how this idealism could be exploited, could be taken advantage of. Ishida left the negotiations up to the Maharaja since his own orders were to follow him and provide any support that he required.

  Ishida glanced at the Maharaja, wondering where he was going with this train of discussion. The ruler of the Sahaasi people brought his gaze back to the clay man, studying it from head to toe. Ishida saw the hard glint return in those eyes, a frown replacing the earlier smile on his lips. “What would you do,” he said, his eyes boring into the clay walker’s empty face, “if I said that I would behead the General of the Vermillion Bird and slit the throats of her five thousand surviving soldiers if you don’t let us through?” The Maharaja suddenly asked the question, lacing his words with as much threatening menace as he could while pouring enough energy into his glowing tattoos. Ishida startled at the bloody twist in the discussion but controlled himself before he could mouth out his protest. He instead glanced at their hostage, who paled but refused to rise to the bait, choosing instead to stare ahead with steely determination.

  The clay man before them tightened its fists into balls, but stood upright in defiance. “Then I will be inclined to repay your brutality in kind when our forces inevitably clash against one another.”

  “I see,” the Maharaja responded, nodding solemnly as the tattoos released their stored energy in a split second. He proceeded to carefully study the construct standing before him, starting from head all the way down to the feet. “So your soul isn’t as corrupt as I first thought it was. A bit darker than I’m comfortable with, but not totally hopeless. Throw a little emotion in the mix, and a strong sense of purple justice and golden compassion peers out of the black.”

  “I… you can see my soul?” the
construct asked, with as much surprise as Ishida felt at that moment. His estimation of the muscle-headed Maharaja climbed up a few notches, now that he learned the man had some skill in the sight.

  “Sort of,” the Maharaja said, simply, as he swayed his head in the Sahaasi equivalent of a nod. “The spirit linking this walker of yours to the obelisk over yonder is clothed in the misery of others. You are like a leech that feeds off the pain and suffering of those you consume. This gives you and your walkers power, and it will continue to grow as you feed this evil beast with more souls of the suffering dead.” Ishida winced at the Venkati’s bluntness, though even the walker in front of them seemed to shrink into itself at the Maharaja’s accusation. “But that is just the outer layer of your soul. That slight burst of anger rippled the vital winds cloaking this walker, allowing me to peer deeper into your inner workings. I saw a good soul—one that I could possibly work with.”

  “And besides,” the Maharaja continued. “You are very similar to our mutual friend here, Ishida Nagatoshi Daimyo.” The Maharaja thumbed a surprised Ishida as he found himself dragged into the discussion. “His soul is wrapped in dark miasma, but he’s got honor and loyalty underneath all that angst and anger. Too much of his life force flows through the bad spaces of his body, his dukkha. Much of his rage is directed against this Shogun holding his family hostage, but he’s—”

  “WAIT!” Ishida shouted, no longer able to contain himself. “I told you no such thing! How could you—”

  “Ye Heng is not the only one who has eyes and ears hidden in dark places, Ishida Daimyo,” Maharaja Venkati interrupted, referring to the old name of Shogun Inagaki Nobumoto, the one he used while serving as a Sage in the Ren Empire. Ishida regained enough self-control to contain the words he wanted to blurt out, glancing nervously at the walker listening raptly to the brief exchange. He did not want his purported allies knowing about his weaknesses, much less the enemy he would end up fighting against.

  Ishida quietly cursed to himself as he glared at the Maharaja, frustrated at his inability to keep up with his chaotic twists and turns.

  “The Empire is crumbling, Martin Fuller. I saw this collapse coming for a long time, even before I assumed the mantle of Maharaja all those years ago. Ye Heng came to me with his promises of freedom and independence for my people. Empty words and empty promises to hide his ambitions for when he claims his birthright. He needs my warriors to keep the Empire busy while he attacks from the east, a distraction while he puts his other plans into motion.” Ishida could only glare at the man, meeting his gaze as he turned toward him. “He sent me Ishida and his men not because they can help me, but because they are a thorn in his side. Ye Heng only wants the war-hungry fanatics hungry for the old glories of their savage past, not warriors bound by honor and justice. This is why he throws them here, where they can die without getting in his way.”

  “Enough,” Ishida growled, cutting off Venkati before he could do even more damage with his loose tongue. “You are speaking to an enemy of our weaknesses, rifts, and wedges that could be exploited. I am here because I am here, and I will fulfill what is required of me. Everything else is just noise.” Ishida tore himself away from Venkati, ignoring the infuriatingly amused expression on the man’s face as he turned toward the walker. “You will step aside, or we will destroy you. These makeshift walls, these hurried ditches will not keep you safe. Our warriors will crush you and—”

  “Then you will have to do so without my warriors, Ishida Nagatoshi,” exclaimed Maharaja Venkati.

  A chill crept up Ishida’s spine as he swiveled his head slowly toward the Maharaja, closing a shaking fist around the handle of his blood-blade. For his part, the Maharaja dismissed Ishida’s roiling bloodlust with a huff.

  “You might still have my aid, Ishida, but only after I am done talking to Martin. Now shut up and let me finish talking.” The familiar steel behind the Maharaja’s eyes returned, along with a pulse of energy from the tattoos on his exposed skin.

  “Now where were we?” And just like that, the Maharaja shifted back to his affable, unworried persona. Ishida could only bite his lips in frustration, realizing Venkati’s determination to pursue whatever meandering agenda he had in mind.

  “Uh… you were talking trash about the Shogun?” Martin replied, his walker turning its head between Venkati and Ishida in confusion.

  “Ah, yes. I’ll cut things short then, since Ishida over here seems to be in a hurry to shed some blood. Simply put, give me your word that you will leave my Dominion alone, and I will in turn guarantee the safety and security of General Qiu Ja and her troops. Give me all the lands south of this pass, lands my forces already occupy, and I will halt my advance into Imperial territory. Allow my merchants to move freely when the fighting is done and over with, and I will in turn allow merchants from the Empire and beyond to trade freely within the borders of my Dominion. Leave my people alone, and I will in turn leave you and the Empire alone.”

  Ishida couldn’t help but boggle at the brazenness of the man beside him. Even the former general Qiu Ja stared at him with eyes wide as saucers. “What is this!? This is not part of your agreement with the Shogun, Venkati!”

  The Maharaja raised an eyebrow as he sniffed at Ishida out of the corner of his eye. “The Shogun is not my friend, Ishida, nor am I his friend in return. I rose up against the Empire as we agreed upon, overwhelmed the southern garrison and forced the Imperials out of my borders. We did not, however, discuss what I would do if I encountered something or someone like Martin—especially if Martin can give me what I want.”

  The walker in front of them shifted, shaking its head in response to the Maharaja’s pronouncement. “That’s not even… you know the Empress won’t agree to those terms. An outright land grab like this, without any consequences? She won’t agree to anything close to that. Give me something to work with, here!”

  The Maharaja smirked as if waiting for those exact words to come out of the walker’s nonexistent mouth. “I’m not talking to the arrogant Empress of a crumbling empire, nor am I talking to an upstart Shogun tearing the whole world down for his dreams of glory and conquest. I’m talking to you—the soul behind all the clay warriors you have arrayed against me. You, who already have enough power to eclipse the very Empire you swore yourself to. You, who are already more of a threat to my people than some brat out to avenge her dead family instead of salvaging the dying empire she wrestled from the hands of those who used her lineage for their purposes.”

  That statement startled everyone into attention, including a very surprised Ishida who was just moments away from unsheathing his blood-blade and cutting down the Maharaja where he stood. For his part, the Maharaja widened his grin as he swayed his head.

  “I have seen who you are, Martin Fuller, and I have taken your measure. The mere fact that you are willing to defy the Empress, accepting this meeting instead of turning us away, is a sign that you are someone I can work with. More importantly, you are someone who can actually follow through with whatever you promise—whether it is the peace of the pen or the peace of the grave.”

  The Maharaja sighed then shrugged. “But other things need to happen first, which is why you do not need to rush your decision. Events will unfold as Ye Heng planned, and the Ren Empire will no longer have any sway over my fate and the fate of my people. You, however… you will change everything.”

  “In the meantime,” the Maharaja said, as he turned toward Ishida, who wanted nothing more than to end this backstabbing traitor without honor of any sort. “I and my fellow warlord here will make ourselves comfortable outside this impressive fortress of yours. You are welcome to try and attack us if you are so inclined to obey your Empress’ orders, but I highly doubt your clay men will be able to do much out here in the open.”

  “Um. Okay?” answered the flabbergasted walker. Ishida silently echoed his question, since he was just as confused if not more so than his clay counterpart.

  ***


  “What was that!?” hissed Ishida as soon as he released the flaps of the Maharaja’s tents. He wanted to punch the smug smile off Venkati’s face, cave in his teeth and slam his nose down into the dirt. That smirk reminded him too much of Inagaki Shogun on the day he forced him to watch his father’s beheading. Instead, Ishida reined in the anger that he already allowed to escape too many times that day.

  The Maharaja observed Ishida for a few more moments, twirling his moustache while doing so. Ishida bit his tongue to the point that he started tasting blood, but he poured every ounce of his will to prevent himself from lashing out.

  “Ye Heng really doesn’t like you, does he?”

  “Don’t change the subject!” Ishida bit back, allowing more heat into the words than he intended to. “These mind games you play is one thing, but you know that we cannot afford to waste our time stuck here, in the middle of nowhere. The Empire is rallying the Khans of the Grass People to its banner, rounding up every rider it can to its service. If we do not press our advantage, if we do not drive the Imperials back and link up with the Shogun’s forces, we risk a horde of Khanate horsemen overwhelming us. Not even my bushi and your vaunted gurkha warriors will be able to stand for long against a hundred thousand riders!”

  “Yes, Ye Heng really doesn’t like you,” the Maharaja chuckled, causing Ishida to turn red with rage.

  “Before you think I’m just making fun of you for no reason at all,” interrupted Venkati, as he swallowed his remaining chuckles, “let me ask you something. If by some miracle that poser Ye Heng—or Inagaki Nobumoto as he calls himself nowadays—if he no longer held your family hostage… would you still want to go to war with the Empire?”

  Ishida shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked together. He studied the Maharaja closely, who bore none of the mockery he earlier wore. No, Maharaja Venkati was expectant now, waiting for an honest answer.

  “Yes,” responded Ishida, giving him the honest answer that he expected. “Even if I do not want to.”