by Travis Bughi
They’d mumbled some promise about returning when the boy turned sixteen and then left with not a clue as to what to do or where to go. Takeo hadn’t figured that part out until they were back on the Great Plains again.
As to why they had done all of this? It was in the name of Emily Stout, a young woman who’d died defending Lucifan from invasion. She was also a woman whom both Takeo and Gavin had loved. Emily had carried those letters meant for Belen all across the world, and Takeo and Gavin thought it only fitting they finish the delivery when she could not.
During those first three trips, Takeo and Gavin had been rather silent to each other. Old wounds, falling for the same girl, and a general self-loathing kept their tongues firmly lashed to the roofs of their mouths. They’d only spoken enough to ward off insanity, sharing stories of their similarly troubled pasts. Now though, on this trip, they found speaking much easier—or at least Gavin did.
“So where in Juatwa are we headed?” the knight said, not even halfway through their first hour of traveling. “You know, I’ve never been there, but I hear it’s beautiful, full of wars, but beautiful.”
“That is the most accurate description I’ve ever heard.”
“You know, Lucifan has its fair share of violence. Everyone talks and acts like it’s this city of peace, love, and giving, but there are a lot of scoundrels in the streets. I should know because I was one of them for a time. Essentially, the knights do all the fighting while the people do nothing more than lock their doors at night. I’ll have you know that some of the citizens happen to think the knights are an unnecessary expense. They think we’re too well-funded and overpaid, as if any of them are out there risking their lives to fight the scum off the streets. My superiors had a saying that we’d done our job best when people couldn’t be sure we had done anything at all. Well, that’s not the way I would have had it. I would have had public dungeons were it my call. Everyone ought to know what’s happening right under their noses.
“Not that the city feels that way anymore, I’ll bet. Not after Jabbar and his army came sailing in from across the sea. I’ll bet the knights live like royalty now, swathed in gold and glory after having helped Emily protect the grand city of Lucifan from the mercenaries of Savara. Ridiculous, really. Perhaps I should have stayed. I’d probably head several squads by now. I . . . I should have helped Emily. I shouldn’t have left her like I did. I know I said a lot about blaming you for her death, Takeo, but I want you to know—”
Takeo stopped and whirled about, cutting Gavin’s words short as the man barely stopped short of running into him.
“Hey! Why’d you stop?”
“Is every knight as talkative as you?” Takeo asked. “Is that how you defeat your enemies? Put them to sleep with a barrage of words?”
Gavin blinked, his expression flickering somewhere between offended and stunned. Then he caught himself, and some hardness returned to his charming features.
“I beat your face bloody once,” he warned. “Don’t make me do it again.”
“And I cut your stomach open once,” Takeo replied. “Don’t make me do that again.”
“I was unarmed that time, and also unaware you could draw your blade and swing in the same strike. I won’t make that mistake twice. I know you’re skilled. I saw you kill one minotaur and fight another singlehandedly, but if we had a go again, I think you’d find yourself hard pressed.”
“I’d like to find out. Let’s find the nearest tree.”
They found one of the Great Plain’s signature trees: a sickly skeleton, hardly taller than either of them, with thin, brown leaves. With longsword and katana, the two cut off branches and carved practice swords as they walked, which proved difficult. They probably would have been better off doing one at a time, but they were too stubborn to admit it.
When at last they’d finished, they stopped for the evening atop a rolling hill and squared off. All about them, the tall grass danced in the wind.
“Care to boast anymore before we begin?” Takeo asked.
“Hmmm.” Gavin placed a thoughtful finger to his chin. “How about this one? You’re a hairless man-child who could easily be mistaken for a tall, shaven gnome, and it would be a grievous dishonor upon my reputation to fight you in the first place, if one could call it a fight at all.”
Takeo nodded his approval. “Well done, anything else?”
“Nope. Those are all the words I wish to eat. Now come at me and don’t hold back. You’ll do me no favors otherwise.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Sir Gavin.”
Takeo rushed forward and, true to his word, held nothing back. He brought forth his weapon with all the skill and passion within him, sweeping the considerably lighter wooden katana with blinding speed, accuracy, and strength. Gavin was already on the defensive, and after only a few steps, Takeo had both disarmed him and placed his wooden weapon to the man’s chest. Altogether, the duel had lasted no more than a half a minute.
To Takeo, this spoke volumes.
“Prodigy indeed,” Gavin said, shaking his head. “I’ve never faced an opponent like you before, I’ll give you that. Where did you learn to fight like this?”
“You know,” Takeo replied and took his stick back.
“A relentless and brutal older brother doesn’t explain everything,” Gavin replied. “I know lots of people with rough upbringings and others who’ve had to kill from a young age, and I’ve bested them. I’m stronger than you. When we trade blows, I know I can bash your blade aside, yet your speed never gives me the opportunity. Honestly, I find it difficult to follow your strikes with my eyes, let alone anticipate and counter them with my hand.”
Gavin reached down and retrieved his wooden longsword from the tall grass. One end had stuck in the dirt, which now clung to the ridges, so the knight brushed that away with a calloused palm.
“Part of that,” Takeo said, “your difficulty, lies in the fact that you haven’t faced many samurai.”
“None actually, besides you, I think.”
“So that will come with time. The other thing is that I can sense you have trouble fighting unarmored.”
Gavin cringed and then shrugged.
“That criticism rings true,” he sighed. “Full plate armor is something you get used to wearing as a knight. I liked being able to rely on it to blunt less forceful blows. Also, my left hand usually wields a shield. That’s really what’s holding me back.”
“Well, the shield we can get, but I don’t see you wearing full plate armor ever again. That heavy suit, I imagine, takes quite a bit of time to put on, not to mention having to carry it around.”
“I’m way ahead of you,” Gavin said, waving a hand. “I know where this is going, and I’ve already thought it all through. Yes, the armor is impractical anywhere beyond Lucifan. Heavy and cumbersome, it’s too much to carry when traveling. It takes forever to put on, makes too much noise, slows you down, and I would bake to death in Savara and freeze solid in The North. No full plate—I get it—but the shield, that I can’t do without.”
“It’s settled, then. We’ll get you one the moment we reach Lucifan. For now, though, I think you look hungry. Let’s make you eat your words once more.”
Gavin sighed in relief and anticipation before readying his longsword. “At least let me have a different meal this time. One moment,” he said, squinting one eye in thought. “Alright, how’s this? Your brother only taught you the sword because he realized you were so dimwitted that you’d never master more than a single skill in your entire life. A foolish thing, as what he should have done was let nature take its course. Oh, and your mother’s a whore.”
This time, it was Takeo who took a pause. He stood up straight and blinked, letting his katana waver in the wind. “You know, Gavin,” he said. “I take it back. I think you’re very apt at defeating your opponents through words alone.”
“Thank you,” Gavin said, smiling and bowing.
“As for my mother, well, you could be right.”<
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Takeo motioned for the knight to charge him, and Gavin obliged, pushing off against the grass like a minotaur at full speed.
The knight was bigger than the samurai, stronger, too, as anyone with two eyes would be quick to note. Takeo had faced many such opponents, yet despite this, Gavin’s swift charge still made the air in Takeo’s lungs catch as he brought his katana up in time to parry the blow. Gavin roared, bringing the longsword down in a brutal overhead strike meant to bash in an ogre’s head. Takeo held strong and stepped to the side, letting the longsword sweep off his stick and straight to the ground. He went to counter, but Gavin was already swinging, his arms seemingly unaffected by all the effort he’d put into the first swing.
Takeo actually had to backpedal lest the knight’s strength and close proximity bring him down. Another few parries later and the samurai found his opening, sweeping the longsword aside and then placing point to belly before Gavin could come around again.
“Damn it, you are fast,” Gavin laughed.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” Takeo replied with a smirk. “Actually, you’re even better than Emily was when I first started training her.”
“I’ll take that, and I’m glad to hear it. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be a legend, too, some day. First, though, I want to eat something other than words. Second, I really, really want a shield.”
They split hard bread, salted jerky, and dried nuts, washed it down with stale water, and lay out for yet another night under the stars. This was the scene they’d played out for the past year, the same scene they’d play out for the next several months, but they did not practice every night.
Most of their energy was diverted to walking, trying to eat up as much distance as they could before darkness and sleep overtook them. Also, Takeo found it erroneous to train Gavin without this shield he so desperately wanted. If the knight wanted to use it against real opponents, he ought to devote his training to wielding it. That was the same tactic he’d applied to Emily, whose choice of weapon had been a dagger.
Takeo was set with his katana, though. To the samurai, shields were for cowards, and daggers for rogues and scoundrels. Takeo was raised to believe that nothing was as honorable as a man or woman charging their opponent with only katana in hand, staring death in the face. Takeo had never picked up a shield, and if he ever did, he was certain it would be about as useful to him as hacking off his left arm. Takeo parried with his sword, dodged, or struck first, as had every samurai before him that he could remember.
Shields were actually surprisingly uncommon, Takeo realized. Some vikings and dwarves carried shields, but to his knowledge, standard shield-carry was unique to the knights. Kshatriyas fought with a similar style, only they carried scimitars, and plenty of others, such as amazons and pirates, fought with weapons only. He wondered briefly why that was. A shield, something to protect yourself, seemed such a practical thing to use. Was every warrior in the world just as suicidal as the samurai?
They must be, he thought. He even asked the knight about it.
Gavin saw no issues with the shield and vehemently recounted the number of times his had saved his life. He spoke of their usefulness, not only in defense, but also in offense, shielding against blows and then bashing opponents so one’s sword could find a point to strike home. The shield was often, mistakenly, seen as a piece of armor when really it was also a weapon and a tool. He promised with a sly smile to prove such to Takeo when at last he carried one, and then went on to explain, in even greater detail, all he’d previously said before.
That was one of the reasons they practiced. Takeo thought Gavin talked way too much.
Those days over the past year when they’d exchanged few words had been, to Takeo, equal parts comforting and maddening. He’d become used to it, though, and there was a sense of normalcy and nostalgia in the silence, reminding him of the many years he’d spent with his brother, Okamoto Karaoshi—a man who had spoken so rarely that whole days would pass without a word from him.
Dark those times had been, but Takeo liked the solemn return of their theme, for his thoughts were equally dark with grief and sorrow.
To Gavin, though, the year’s silence had been a torturous prison. He said as much, often. Now that Cyrus was no longer with them and they had a new destination set, the knight apparently thought himself released of such shackles and couldn’t wait to exercise his freedom. He found much to talk about, asking questions about Juatwa and how they might reach the place, about Takeo’s long hair and the katana itself. Then he would expound for hours about how knights lived, ate, spoke, and served. The knight even had the audacity to speak of weather, which was both an impressive feat and a mark of perseverance because the weather on the Great Plains never changed. Whenever Takeo had listened to enough and found himself unable to stand any more, he would drop his pack and demand another bout. A few solid beatings were usually enough to wear the man’s mouth out, and Takeo could finally drift into silence once more.
At least, that’s how the first month had gone. By the end of their journey, Takeo’s own lips parted in greater frequency, speaking words that would have otherwise slipped through his mind alone. Either he was going mad, begging to get a word in, or this knight’s charm extended beyond his chiseled chin.
Either way, all such thoughts left Takeo when their eyes caught sight of their destination.
As the two crested a hill, the Stout family farm sprung into view in the distance. It was nothing grand, per se, just an old house nearing the end of its life and a somewhat newly constructed barn beside it. About the place, the ground was just dirt, absent weeds, but plowed into row after row of straight mounds ready for planting. Takeo had seen the place only two times before, but those had been just enough to ingrain the picture within his mind. Gavin, on the other hand, had only seen the place but once, and that only briefly.
“Is this it?” the knight asked, squinting.
“To the best of my knowledge,” Takeo replied, nodding. “We’ll know for certain soon enough.”
After a bit more walking, other features of the property could be distinguished. One, in particular, was a tall and lanky man, sitting on the back porch in an old wooden chair. Takeo sighed in relief.
The man was clearly a gunslinger, judging by how he dressed. A large, wide-brimmed hat that blocked his face sat firmly on his head, while a brown overcoat swept about his body. He wore leather pants and a linen shirt, and his feet were encased in shin-high leather boots with spurs on the end that would clink when he walked, announcing his presence to all, lest any make the mistake of thinking him some common foe. Because he was seated in a chair, the overcoat was swept back, revealing the unmistakable shine of the two six-shooters hanging from his waist. Symbol, status, weapon, and wealth, all a gunslinger was and would ever be was tied to his guns. To Takeo, that was a terrible thing, but to most gunslingers, it was a way of life.
This particular one lifted up his hat with one finger, revealing a familiar face with a small beard that grew out solely from beneath his chin. The gunslinger squinted back at the two with skepticism.
“Is that who I think it is?” Abraham Stout called out.
“More than likely,” Gavin shouted back as he and Takeo began crossing the dirt fields.
Abraham waited until the two were closer before speaking again. He rose up from his chair and stepped forward off the porch, his spurs clinking and his overcoat sweeping over his guns to hide them from view.
“I’ll be damned,” he said. “Takeo Karaoshi and Sir Gavin Shaw, as I live and breathe. What’s it been? A full year? I thought for sure one of you would have killed the other by now.”
“Hey now, our journey isn’t done yet,” Takeo replied.
Gavin chuckled, and Abraham smiled with one corner of his mouth. The samurai and knight closed the distance, and to Takeo’s surprise, Abraham stuck out his hand with palm open. Gavin took it with only a moment’s hesitation. This gave Takeo time to recover from shock before taking his turn.
“I have to be honest,” Abraham said. “I didn’t expect to see either of you again. Yet, now that I have, I’m not too upset about it. We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms last time.”
“I don’t blame you for wanting us gone,” Takeo replied, words tumbling out the moment he thought them. “Unpleasant memories and all that.”
“Too true,” Abraham said, glancing down, “and yet they didn’t stop when you two left. I should have been more hospitable. Emily would have wanted that.”
“Hey, you gave us food, water, and even some shelter,” Gavin spoke up. “That was everything we needed.”
“False!” came a loud, boastful voice from inside the house. “True hospitality would have included mead.”
Footsteps heavy enough to rival a minotaur’s pounded on the wooden floorboards of the Stout home. A huge, shadowed figure swung the backdoor open, making the old thing screech and bang against its hinges. Through the threshold stepped a man of such height, size, and build that he could have served as the inspiration for a colossus. He was easily a couple hands taller than Gavin, which made him at least three or more hands taller than Takeo. His shoulders and arms were so wide that he had to tilt his body to walk through the doorway. He was shirtless, wearing only the boiled leather pants and thick, skull-crushing boots favored by vikings. His body rippled with engorged muscles and veins, his shoulders resembled mountain peaks, and a beard thick with brown hair covered his face.
Takeo smiled.
“Good to see you, old friend.”
Nicholas Stout rushed down the porch, pushed aside his older brother, raised a fist, and slammed it full force into Takeo’s jaw.
Chapter 3
Takeo was often complimented on his combative skills. Some called him a prodigy, his skill breaking the limits of humanity, but he refused to believe so. His older brother, Okamoto, had raised Takeo to understand that arrogance and confidence were two separate things never to be mixed. One must never underestimate an opponent nor overestimate one’s self, lest the opponent be given an undue advantage. Takeo knew he was neither immortal nor flawless and, as such, could be surprised or outmatched like any other.