Nightblade's Honor (ARC)

by Ryan Kirk

  Asa was a nightblade, and she knew she would be endlessly hunted by everyone who discovered her identity.

  Chapter 3

  Mari meditated before the makeshift shrine, her breath entering and leaving her body in deep, regular intervals. The sounds from below her room in the inn kept pulling her away from the practice, but after every distraction she returned her focus to her breath. As a child she had abhorred the practice of meditation, hating having to sit still and focus on such a natural process.

  Instead of meditating, she had always loved to read, her vivid imagination making the pages of stories come alive. When her face wasn’t pressed up against books, she tried to sneak into the martial training sessions her brothers daily engaged in. Time and time again she had been told that fighting wasn’t for women, and especially not for noblewomen. No one had ever given her a satisfactory reason why, though, so she kept observing her brothers and mimicking their moves in the shadows.

  As she had gotten older and more responsibilities were given to her, she began to understand more clearly the purpose of meditation. By the time she had seen fifteen cycles, meditation was the island in the middle of the storm-tossed sea that was her life. Now she sought out the practice daily.

  Mari didn’t meditate for any specific length of time. Some days her mind wandered too much to control, and a short session was all she could manage. Other days focus came easily, and she would sit for half the morning. Either way, there was always a point when she knew she had gone as far as was beneficial, her mind and focus turning slightly away from the practice.

  The shrine helped her. The world around her seemed to be falling more into chaos every day, but here, kneeling in front of the shrine, she felt at peace.

  The shrine was to her late brother Juro, killed less than a moon ago, supposedly by a nightblade. The offering was simple, as her brother had been. The centerpiece was his sword, a piece of steel that their father had gifted to Juro the day he had abdicated his seat as the lord of House Kita. Their father’s health had been failing even then, and Mari remembered with clarity the look of solemn responsibility on Juro’s face when he had taken the oath making him lord. The memory brought a hint of a smile to her face.

  Underneath the sword were two pieces of paper, tokens that would have turned Juro red with embarrassment had he known his younger sister still kept them. Both had been gifts. The first paper had only Mari’s name on it but had been given to her by Juro when she had just started to learn how to write. Because of that paper, Mari had learned how to write her name and developed an insatiable appetite for reading and writing. Their father had been old-fashioned and didn’t see why Mari wanted to be literate, but in his way he had always been kind and indulged Mari’s passion with a personal tutor.

  The second piece of paper was the one that really would have tormented Juro—a poem he wrote to her before he went off on his first patrol. Like all the children, Juro had grown up with the tales of the heroes of old, and at some point he had learned that several of his favorite warriors were poets as well. The young future lord had practiced, gifting his sister his first attempts. Mari chuckled at the bittersweet memory of her brother leaving for the first time.

  As far as shrines went, this one was small and almost so barren as to be offensive. But Juro had been a simple man with few possessions. He hadn’t left much behind.

  Mari had thought on this after the initial wave of grief had passed over her upon learning of her older brother’s death. When their father had died, the impact had been tremendous. He had known his journey to the Great Cycle was coming, of course, and had taken steps to reduce the impact on his house. He had elevated Juro and guided him as well as he was able. But he lived a life of excess in most things, and their castle at Stonekeep was still filled to the brim with items they would never use again. Their father had made a dent in this world that would take some time to erase.

  Juro was almost the opposite. He shunned material wealth, obsessed as he was with the way of the warrior. His only prized possession had been his sword. In the fabric of the world, Juro hadn’t made an impression. He had come and gone with barely a trace.

  When Mari had first realized that truth, it had filled her eyes with tears. She wanted her brother to leave a legacy, even if it was only in the form of excess possessions. Now, though, she saw her brother’s focus as a positive trait. Inspired, she had been quietly shedding herself of material objects in the hope she would gain some of her brother’s clarity of purpose.

  The technique had worked. Mari had regularly nurtured ambitions and plans, and unlike most women she knew, she wasn’t afraid to figure out how to make those ambitions come to fruition. In the moon since her brother’s death, she had found a new level of clarity and understanding.

  Mari bowed deeply to the shrine, thanking her brother once again for everything he had given to her, both in life and in death. She vowed to always honor his memory, and she was a woman who kept her vows.

  Standing up, Mari walked over to her simple desk, where papers were neatly organized. The vast majority of them were in her own hand, written in an invented language only she knew. There was no key, although she expected the Kingdom’s best codebreakers might be able to decipher the language based on patterns.

  Mari’s eyes flicked over the different piles as she considered her next actions. The papers were sorted by a system also known only to Mari, each one labeled with one or more words in the top corners, allowing her to sort and organize information on a whim.

  She was convinced that information was the key to success and power. The reason the nightblades wielded such strength was because their sense gave them more information than anyone else. That bit of extra knowledge made them legendary warriors, but it didn’t make them better people.

  Mari couldn’t deal in force. Her father might have been generous, but outside of simple self-defense lessons, he was far too old-fashioned to train his daughter in the ways of war. Mari walked with a thin blade strapped on her inner thigh, and she knew how to use it, but that wasn’t any thanks to her sire.

  So Mari focused on the strings that connected them all. Interdependence was a teaching she believed deeply in, and by exerting what influence she could in the places she could, she slowly worked her will in the world. Perhaps her ways weren’t as simple as cutting through opponents with a sword, but they were still effective.

  Several documents in particular attracted much of her attention these days. These papers were some of the few not written in her own hand, and her very possession of them was dangerous. But the ideas contained within were necessary to consider, the risk unavoidable.

  They were the collected teachings of a man who had lived in the west of the Kingdom, a man named Takashi, and Mari was certain they would change the fate of the world.

  Her musings were interrupted by a soft knock on the door to her chambers. Without hurry, she hid the offending papers within the stack she had found them in. She stood and walked gracefully to the door, even though no one was there to watch.

  One of her shadows was at the door. Money was one tool Mari had no shortage of, and a fair amount of her wealth went to developing a shadow network that rivaled any in the Kingdom. The shadow didn’t waste time with unnecessary greetings. He passed a sealed note to Mari and left down the hallway.

  She opened the note and read it quickly, a frown growing on her face. She reread the short missive, just to ensure her understanding was complete, then threw it in the small fire keeping her room at the inn warm. Once she was certain the paper was nothing but ashes, she turned from the fire and considered her options.

  She had been preparing for this moment for almost a half moon now. She had hoped, of course, that it would never come to this, but circumstances couldn’t be controlled.

  Her impulse was to rush out and sprint toward her younger brother’s room, but she restrained herself. Her mind raced as she forced her body into complete stillness. A stranger walking into the room at just that
moment might have thought her a statue if not for the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

  In the heart of chaos lay the greatest opportunities. Her study of history told her that much. There was an opportunity here; she just needed to find and exploit it.

  The answer came to her. She tested the solution, turning it back and forth in her mind, seeing if it held up to reasonable objections. She nodded to herself. Her plan could work. Making it work would be her responsibility.

  She stepped forward, moving from stillness to motion with the balance of a dancer, which she had trained as for many cycles. Her father, frustrated with his inability to keep his daughter from more physical pursuits, had compromised by allowing her the practice.

  Their forces had rented an entire inn outside of Haven for their quarters. Both she and her brother had accompanied the army. Perhaps “rented” wasn’t accurate. After all, they had an army at their command. The innkeeper was receiving only a small recompense for hosting them. Her brother, stingy as always, hated to part with coin when he didn’t need to.

  Mari stepped out of her room and went toward her brother’s. The guards at the door bowed to her and permitted her knock.

  The door was opened by a guard on the other side, who let her in the room without a word. Her brother was there, surrounded by his advisers, his war council.

  If one was detached enough, the scene in front of her could be read as humorous. Even though they had taken over the entire inn, the commanders had decided that the common room on the first floor was too accessible for their secret war councils. Instead, they used her brother’s room, setting up a large table with maps in a space far too small. The generals and the lord were squeezed around it, one general in particular struggling to find room to stand, constantly grabbing the edge of the table to prevent himself from falling into the bed that had been pushed into the corner of the space. Mari contained a smile, wholly inappropriate for the situation.

  Hiromi was no Juro. The brothers were separated by more than just the cycles between them. Juro had never wanted to be head of the family and wanted only to soldier. He hadn’t been the best lord, but he had been honest and straightforward. Not a politician, not even a leader suited for the responsibilities he faced, but a good man. He had guided them well enough.

  Hiromi didn’t have Juro’s build. Like Juro, Hiromi had trained in the arts of war but never took to them the way his older brother had. Hiromi, the youngest of the three siblings, only had eyes to become lord of House Kita. Mari believed his ambition was rooted in the natural instinct to want that which you couldn’t possess.

  If not for the seriousness of the situation, the irony would have almost made Mari laugh. Hiromi hadn’t been present in the days leading up to Juro’s coronation. Juro had approached their father on bended knee, begging to have the crown taken from him. He wanted nothing more than to go back and command his men in the army.

  Their father had been torn by the request but finally said, “The true mark of a ruler is the desire not to rule. My decision stands.”

  Juro hadn’t fought his sire, too driven by honor to protest. But Mari had watched him clench and unclench his fists as he left the room all those cycles ago.

  In contrast, Hiromi had fought and schemed for cycles, trying to win a race where he was the only competitor.

  Now circumstances had given him that which he had coveted, and Mari admitted that in time, Hiromi could become a much better lord than Juro had been. Hiromi didn’t understand war and was blinded by his greed for greater power, but he understood people. Channeled properly, Hiromi could reshape the Kingdom. Such was Mari’s goal.

  Hiromi noted her entrance, but the commanders didn’t stop the meeting. Mari’s place in the house was somewhat unique. She had been one of Juro’s closest advisers, and for that alone she was allowed into the meeting chambers. Unfortunately, she could do no more. Juro had understood that good advice came from all quarters, but that understanding wasn’t shared by the men in the room. If she dared to speak her mind, she’d be ejected completely from the meetings.

  Hiromi’s generals were briefing him on the movements of the troops of the other houses. Mari noted their attitude made the others sound like enemies. They weren’t at war yet, but the commanders seemed to believe conflict was a foregone conclusion.

  Mari’s note had informed her of Shin’s death that morning. In response, Lord Isamu’s troops had moved closer to the refugee encampment. Because of that, Shin’s armies, now led by his younger brother Katashi, had closed ranks in defensive formation. All this Mari already knew. After a few moments in the meeting, she was almost certain the armies were going to collide.

  The generals were highlighting hills to where they thought Hiromi should move their army. They had estimated the location of the upcoming conflict and believed higher terrain placed them in the most advantageous position.

  When there was a break in the conversation, Mari shuffled her feet, drawing the room’s attention to her. She bowed deeply, a mock apology for her minor disruption.

  “I am terribly sorry, generals, but I have just heard news of King Shin’s death. I know time is essential, but may I have a few moments in private with my brother to grieve over another royal death so soon after Masaki rejoined the Great Cycle?”

  The excuse was flimsy, and Mari didn’t doubt that everyone in the room saw through her ploy, but Mari didn’t think she had time for more subtlety. The decision to go to war would be made at this meeting. Regardless, decorum was clear, and they had little choice but to acquiesce. They agreed, begrudgingly giving Mari and her brother a few moments together.

  Hiromi wasn’t pleased by the interruption. Mari wasn’t surprised. He hated the idea that his generals believed he took advice from his older sister. Like Juro, he recognized her wisdom, and looked up to her as an older sibling, but he would never acknowledge so in public.

  “Sister,” he said, the edge in his voice apparent.

  “I’m sorry for my actions, but you need to pause and reconsider.”

  Hiromi sighed, expressing resignation. “Let’s not dance, Sister. State your case and leave.”

  Her eyes pointed at his feet, Mari listed what she had come up with in her room. “First, you do not know the reasons for the advances.”

  Hiromi interrupted her, his impatience showing. “Shin died! We fight for the throne.”

  Mari glanced up, the steel in her gaze causing Hiromi to falter. “Or Isamu’s troops thought Katashi’s could use help calming the populace. This is his house’s land, after all. It is not wise to jump before you know how deep the stream is.”

  Hiromi looked as though he was about to argue, but he wasn’t foolish. He knew his sister spoke truly.

  “Second, although military strategy isn’t my strength, isn’t it better to wait out the first battle? If the other houses do become our enemies, they weaken themselves by attacking each other. Then, if we must fight, our opponents are already bloody.”

  She risked a glance up at Hiromi to see he was considering her point. She continued. “Third, we still don’t know what’s happening with the blades.”

  “They are being hunted whenever they are found.”

  Mari contained her grimace. Hiromi still tended to accept stories at face value. “Perhaps. Or perhaps the story is a ploy by House Amari.”

  Hiromi looked as though he had never considered the option.

  “The point is that the blades are an unknown. If even a dozen nightblades have aligned with one of the other houses, the entire course of the battle would be changed. By sitting out, you learn whether or not the other houses have blades or if the pronouncements are true.”

  “Is that all?”

  Mari nodded. She hated that she was forced to rationalize with Hiromi, but there wasn’t any other way forward. She saw, though, that he understood her logic. His mind was working quickly, but Mari had grown up with the young lord, and she knew she had convinced him. She breathed a sigh of relief. At best, her maneuver
had bought her time, but with any luck, that time would be enough to unveil her plans.

  She turned and stepped out of the room, bowing deeply to the generals outside. “I apologize once again, generals. Thank you for your generosity in allowing us a moment of private grief for one we were close to.”

  As the door closed behind her, she heard her younger brother speak, a tone of command in his voice. “Generals, in my time of grief with my sister, I’ve developed a new strategy for victory.”

  Mari hid her relief from the guards as the door swung shut. She had never cared about credit. Only results. The time had come to set her plans into motion, whether she was ready or not.

  Mari approached the battlefield with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. She had never seen a battle before, and her natural curiosity was excited by the prospect of a new experience. Guilt flooded over her, but that didn’t make her interest less real.

  When she tried to rationalize her interest, she told herself that her actions, even behind the scenes, could very well lead to the death of others. She wasn’t sure that in the chaos of their age, the consequence could be avoided, and she didn’t want to ignore the unpleasant truths of power. If she couldn’t face the results of her decisions, she had no right making those decisions in the first place.

  Yet, she would be lying if she claimed she wasn’t afraid. She didn’t consider herself delicate, but she feared watching the battle would test her mettle. What if she found herself wanting?

  Mari vehemently pushed the thoughts from her mind. There couldn’t be any room for doubt. Only strength and action. She certainly couldn’t show any weakness in front of the assembled generals.

  Mari, Hiromi, and their generals and attendants settled on a rise overlooking the site of the battle between Lord Isamu’s House Fujita and Lord Katashi’s House Amari. In the past few days, the armies had crept closer, today’s battle inevitable.