Archeologist Warlord: Book 2

by E. M. Hardy

  ***

  Maharaja Venkati folded his arms in satisfaction, confident now that his guess appeared correct.

  “These men and women could not sense prana, much less collect it. They could never feel an inkling of power, so no one bothered to teach them further when they showed no signs of recognizing prana. Now? Now they’re taking to prana almost as if they were born with the gift. It all goes so much faster when we draw the mandalas over their centers to help them learn. And if that’s not enough, they’re also progressing in blood binding as quickly as the first batch of gurkhas.”

  Ishida nodded, unable to suppress a grin of his own. Venkati’s joviality was rubbing off on him, but he didn’t really care. He was too eager to share his own good news to bother about formality and maintaining his stoic façade.

  “The same for my men in the light foot. The ashigaru under my service are brave and committed, but they never had the talent for blood-binding. If they did, they would have been picked up as children and inducted into the ranks of samurai. Now they are well on their way to binding blood almost as well as my samurai. It is only a matter of time until they can empower themselves and their equipment. They too are progressing fairly quickly in their studies of prana. I hear you’re running out of ink for tattoos?”

  “Ha!” barked Venkati in laughter, as he slapped Ishida’s back. Ishida winced at the force of the blow, but he couldn’t let something as petty as a little pain ruin such a wondrous development. “I have couriers running back to my cities, buying up as much exotic metals as they can and calling up all the tattooists they can find. Bandages are in short supply as well, after so many of my people blunder through their attempts at controlling blood. Progress is fast, no doubt about it, but people still learn at their own pace. My healers are exhausting themselves with those too eager to cut themselves up for blood!”

  Ishida shook his head at that last statement. “Novices in blood binding are normally allowed to practice only an hour a day, with needles instead of knives.”

  Venkati waved a hand in dismissal. “That would be good policy if the novice learns as slowly as you claim they should. But being able to bind blood a few weeks after first learning of it? Even I would not want to wait a minute longer, what with so much potential!”

  Ishida raised a brow and was about to rebut Venkati’s statement. He instead clicked his jaws shut as he thought about himself. “Too true. I must admit that even I am not getting as much sleep as I should. Utilizing prana is just so… so invigorating. I feel as if I don’t even need to rest, much less lie down and sleep.”

  “Just don’t overdo it, my friend. Initiates tend to lose themselves in the rush the first few times they tap into prana, eventually losing consciousness when they rely too much on its energies while ignoring their bodily demands. The last thing we want is to have a Daimyo fainting in front of his men!” Venkati tutted and teased Ishida by wagging his finger, to Ishida’s great annoyance.

  Ishida the young man sort of liked the affection from the older man, suddenly remembering the way his father used to reprimand him in much the same manner. Ishida the Daimyo could not accept such a demeaning display, and should have immediately rebuked the Maharaja for overstepping his boundaries. The Ishida before Venkati compromised, grinning ruefully before swatting away the Maharaja’s hand without any real heat in the gesture. There would be no need for him to reprimand the Maharaja even further since none of their subordinates were around to witness these goings-on.

  “Hah. If we’re talking about army morale here, maybe you shouldn’t flirt so openly with your hostages. I hear you’ve been having more and more tea sessions with your esteemed guest, the former General of the Vermillion Bird Qiu Ja.”

  Was the Maharaja blushing? Ishida couldn’t believe it. The gruff man with rippling, tattooed muscles and filled with boisterous, larger-than-life laughter—blushing!?

  “Ahem. What can I say? The good general can play a mean game of go. Do you know how hard it is to find a decent opponent in this camp?”

  The man was making excuses. Really. Ishida couldn’t believe it. He suspected something of the sort was developing between the two, but this childish reaction to the notion of romance? The idea so boggled his mind and the huge man was turning purple with shame that Ishida couldn’t help but take pity.

  “Ahem. Well, I guess we can leave it at that,” replied Ishida, as Venkati visibly sighed in relief. Ishida was just about to let things go, but he couldn’t help make one last parting shot. “But if you want to take things seriously, might I suggest adding more oysters, pumpkin seeds, and lizards to your diet? I hear they help quite a lot in that department.” Venkati groaned and screwed his face in frustration before covering it with one meaty hand. “Mercy, friend Ishida. I beg mercy.”

  Ishida nodded, allowing himself one last chuckle before bringing the discussion back on track.

  “Alright. Let’s turn our attention back to these latest developments. If your guess is correct and those obelisks are the cause of these developments,” Ishida admitted, as he regained his composure, “Then that could explain how those Imperials are summoning… what do you call them? The jinn?”

  “Yes,” responded the Maharaja with a nod, thankful for the reprieve. “At least, that’s what my spies say. Too bad about the Rats, though. They probably know a thing or two about these things and their summoners, their bonded partners.”

  Ishida shrugged. “I guess the Shogun didn’t appreciate you holding your forces in reserve instead of joining him in pressuring the Empire from the south.”

  Venkati’s smile disappeared, thinning out as he studied Ishida from head to foot. The Maharaja must have found something he liked, for he favored Ishida with a soft smile.

  “Would you believe me if I told you that I would have waited for one force to exhaust the other before attacking?”

  Ishida’s eyes widened at that. The idea had always played at the back of his mind, but this sudden confession caught him completely off-guard.

  “Truth be told,” Venkati said with a lowered voice. “I have several teams of ghurkas that have climbed the steep cliffs of the mountains around this valley. They have avoided the eyeballs, creeping slowly and relying on their prana to sustain them on their extended scouting mission. They found two other passageways around Martin’s fortifications. They are narrow and dangerous, but we can completely bypass the main fortifications in the valley while assaulting it from above and behind. All I need to do is wait for the Empire and the Shogunate to exhaust themselves, then I can sweep in with my army—fresh and ready to fight. My troops would have murdered you and your people in your sleep before moving on to sweep away the survivor.”

  Venkati extended a palm to placate Ishida before he could say anything else. “Recent developments, however, have changed my mind. You have proven yourself a decent man and a far better ally than that poser Ye Heng. I can find myself working with you in the long run, especially if we pull off the plan we agreed upon. And these enhancements we enjoy? This accelerated sharing of techniques? This is something that is far too valuable to throw away in a war with Martin’s walkers.”

  Ishida scowled with distaste, then swallowed the insult he wanted to throw at Venkati. “Very well. I had my suspicions, but your confession was made in good faith so I will bear no ill will. I too agree that working with Martin is far more favorable for the both of us in the long run. I sense he is already at odds with the Empress, and I doubt he will be so quick to obey her if she orders him to betray his vows to us.”

  Venkati sighed with relief as Ishida smirked. “Although I must admit that I should not grouse about the evils of intrigue, considering what I’m about to do. If what Martin says is true, if the Shogun is going about the countryside draining innocents for blood, then the Shogun is right to be worried about how my men would react. I think he believes it’s better to leave me and my people out here where believers in bushido cannot shake the resolve of his people. He onl
y gave me the chance to find new allies to work with.”

  “It will be his downfall,” replied the Maharaja with an evil grin. “Especially when we’re done with—”

  Venkati frowned, shook his head, and stared at the tent flap. Ishida startled as the Maharaja narrowed his eyes and strode out. “Trouble?” he asked, reaching for his katana and wakizashi.

  “Probably. Friend Ishida, come here and have a look at this.”

  Venkati’s grave, worried tone caused Ishida to fasten his swords to his belt before stepping outside the tent and standing beside the Maharaja. The man clenched his fists tight, his tattoos glowing dimly with power as he stared at the obelisk off in the distance.

  “Switch your sight. View the prana flowing around the air as I taught you.”

  “What is this about?”

  “Explanations will follow later. You need to see this, now.”

  Ishida didn’t need to be told twice. He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing for two breaths, and reopened his eyes to ‘see’ Venkati. The familiar aura of red enveloped him, mixed with swirling patches of brown and blue. If he remembered correctly, these indicated aggression, discomfort, and anxiety.

  “You are seeing now? Good. Now bring your gaze upon the obelisk and tell me what you see.”

  Ishida did as the Maharaja instructed, a gasp escaping his lips as he did so.

  Tendrils of pure black snaked across the surface of the obelisk. No, it wasn’t the color black—not a color attached to any emotion at all. It was a void of nothingness, sucking up whatever life and energy it could. Even the walkers patrolling the walls were surrounded by this aura of nothingness. They walked mechanically, going about their normal routes as if nothing was wrong. And yet the aura of nothingness just felt so, so wrong to Ishida.

  By the time Ishida shut off his sight, Venkati was already issuing orders to his people to arm themselves, to man their posts and to await his orders. Ishida followed suit, instructing his bushi to cease all cultivation of prana and training in blood-binding. He told his men to arm up, be prepared to act at a moment’s notice.

  Instructions given, Ishida stepped in beside Venkati and murmured low. “What do you think is going on with the constructs?”

  Venkati shrugged as he wrapped his fists in his blood-bound strips of cloth. “I do not know for certain, friend Ishida, but I have a hunch we will find out soon enough.”

  Chapter 14

  Day 23

  Oh, right. The refugees from Wu Er, the refugees from the other villages that decided to finally listen and evacuate to the Imperial heartland. Martin reminded himself once again that he needed to halt the advancing army, to slow down their progress so they didn’t catch the civilians. A few more days, and Shen Feng’s army would arrive to beat back these Shogunates.

  Protect the people. Keep the army away; don’t let them steal the precious souls he could one day harvest for his own. The delicious, empowering essence of the living that gave him so much power.

  Yes, those souls were his… but some part of Martin told him that the souls weren’t really his. He twisted his consciousness just a little bit, rearranging his thoughts to focus on the souls that he could claim. Souls that he could reap and harvest while still achieving that which he needed to achieve.

  What was it again? Oh, right. The refugees from Wu Er and from the surrounding villages. Right… what was he supposed to do about them again?

  A nagging little voice told him that he was about to do something very stupid, something counter to his original goal of slowing down the Shogunates. He quashed that voice, but it refused to go quietly. He quashed it harder, almost succeeding. And yet, it kept whispering, forcing him to split his consciousness as needed. Walkers in the various post offices around the continent transmitted their messages mechanically. Those guarding the highways in the Bashri stood at attention even as their focus wandered. Those escorting a convoy in the desert walked slowly, tuning out Isin and Suhaib as they bickered on the trip back to the Ma’an Emirate. Those walkers accompanying Yao Xiu and Shen Feng marched along quietly; giving short, disjointed updates about the situation to the General of the White Tiger. The lone walker in the Red Throne listened to another courtier flatter the Empress with honeyed words, not noticing the way the Balancer agents eyed him suspiciously for his sudden lack of interest in the goings-on of the court.

  That little sliver of reason was all that kept him from focusing his entire being, his entire existence, upon the feast of souls before him.

  A little more than three thousand walkers against forty-two thousand ashigaru and nearly a thousand samurai. He didn’t even try to set up an ambush or find a tactically-superior position to defend against a numerically-superior foe. No attempts to attack under the cover of darkness or take advantage of weather to mask his walkers. No using the bunkers and tunnels he had built for the express purpose of harassing a superior force. No, all he wanted was to get in there, puncture as many of the meat bags as he could, and breathe in their souls once their fleshy bits stopped working. So much time and effort wasted on needless plans when he could have simply rushed in and took what he wanted.

  And he did just that. Or rather, the bloodthirsty Thing now guiding the walkers to slaughter did just that.

  The three thousand walkers ran through the open ground, ignoring the pickets and the sentries. Those same sentries blew into their horns to alert the Shogunate forces. The ashigaru at the front quickly closed ranks, presenting a deadly wall of pikes to face the attack. Others formed lines to trap the attacking force in a pincer that would close the moment their faceless enemies committed themselves to the attack. The horns of the scouts and patrols positioned far in front of the army gave them the time to organize themselves, prepare for an impending charge. The samurai were already kneeling, eyeing their targets before loosing their deadly blood-arrows.

  The red shafts sped through the air, screaming bloody destruction, but few found their marks. The walkers leading the charge slashed their pilfered blood-blades skyward, cutting the arrows before they could hit them or the walkers behind them. Some walkers even leapt up in the air, catching multiple arrows with a series of tight and accurate cuts. The men of the Shogun shivered as they witnessed the sight before them, that of hundreds of walkers flashing their blades to intercept the wave of arrows coming at them. This was a feat that they thought only their elite samurai could accomplish. Fear and doubt seeped into their bones as they witnessed their faceless, inhuman enemies emulate such a fantastic display of skill.

  That, and the waves of arrows loosed from behind the forward lines of walkers.

  Hundreds of ashigaru screamed as shafts sprouted from their necks, chests, and exposed limbs—courtesy of blood-bows salvaged from the fallen samurai. The Thing guiding the walkers couldn’t unleash the same explosive force that the samurai could unleash, but it could still tap the blood to help guide the projectiles to their intended targets. It couldn’t even guide the arrows as accurately as their original owners, but it was able to bring them close enough to do their intended job.

  The walkers loosed arrow after arrow, exhausting their limited stock of blood-arrows in just four volleys. But those four glorious flights managed to put down more than two thousand ashigaru—decimating the center as they were caught completely off-guard by the arrows. Their faceless enemies never used bows and arrows before, just javelins, and they hadn’t expected to be hit by their enemies from so far away. The Thing breathed in, inhaling the souls of the fallen. It laughed as its brothers-in-spirit, the shayateen, screamed in unholy rage and fury as they took the fallen husks of flesh for their own.

  The walkers laughed with the Thing in a joyously malicious laugh as they dropped their now-useless bows and empty quivers. They drew their swords and kept right on laughing as they joined the shayateen in their frenzy. There would be no probing, no hesitation at all this time around; only a deadly wall of clay rushing headlong into the pikes arrayed before them. Som
e walkers took spears to the gut, holding them in place with their ceramic bodies as they reached out to grab other shafts. These sacrificial walkers served as footstools for those behind them to leap from. The Thing whooped with joy as hundreds of its fragmented mind jumped above the lines of pikes and slammed right into the men behind the initial row. The ashigaru in the center formation were already faltering as they fought to keep their dead from tearing up their formation.

  It was a glorious charge that broke the line of pikes, more than three thousand strong, but that line was just a small part of the Shogunate army. The Shogun still had tens of thousands of men left to fight for him, and their respective commanders blew the horns signaling for the rest to advance and reinforce the center. The pincer closed all around the walkers and the risen dead, ripping them to shreds with their pikes even as they lost hundreds of men in the process.

  The Thing didn’t care. Its heart leapt with joy as it slaughtered men left and right. The ashigaru were disciplined enough to maintain formation, which only made it easier for the Thing to keep breathing in souls with each sack of flesh that stopped working. The walkers were eventually cut to ribbons, but not after inflicting heavy casualties upon the Shogunate’s troops.

  And that’s not even counting the second wave of walkers that hit the Shogunate army from behind. And like the first wave, this second force did not catch the Shogun by surprise.

  As confident as Inagaki Nobumoto was with the army under his command, he and those under him weren’t foolish enough to leave their backs exposed. He knew that his opponent left a sizeable force behind when he chose to ignore the abandoned city of Wu Er. Numerous scouts and pickets kept constant vigil of any threats marching toward his army from all sides, and his commanders had more than enough time to meet the charge. The walkers didn’t even arrive at the same time as the first force. No, this second force closed in with the Shogunates a few hours after the first force of three thousand walkers was wiped out to the last.