by RW Krpoun
Killing Cecil wasn’t really an option anymore; he was expected and protected. Part of it was laying in the dark, but Derek felt very small and insignificant, just a leaf carried along in a river of events, affected but not affecting. In the Prison and the Realm they had a mission; that it was false most of the time hadn’t prevented them from having a sense of purpose and importance, but here in the Isle it felt as if they had no importance at all.
The sound of the knife sliding through the ‘wall’ divider was a mere whisper; Jeff almost missed it despite the inn being very quiet and there being few noises out on the street. He listened for a long second to be sure he wasn’t just imagining it before digging in his heels and sliding his entire body upwards until the top of his head made contact with Shad’s.
The warder cocked his head for a moment, and then nodded slightly. Jeff grinned into the dark: Shad hadn’t heard it first.
When the sound of the knife stopped Shad flicked the coin into the air and a orb of light swept up to adhere to the ceiling even as black-clad bodies erupted through two X-shaped incisions made in the wall divider.
Shad rolled onto the floor to his left as a kama attached to a chain planted its hooked blade through his futon and into the floor. He sent a volley of arcane bolts into the man at the end of the chain as his ivory pendant suddenly heated up and a ninjato blade sliced into his side.
Rolling to his knees he caught the next thrust with his hastily drawn jitte, and found himself face-to-face with an attacker dressed all in black, complete with the face-scarf of a ninja. “Shit,” he gasped as he lashed out with his cane knife.
Fred had been dozing just deep enough that his own snoring didn’t wake him, but he snapped awake when the orb flooded the room with light and a figure erupted through the wall divider. He threw a solid jab without thinking and a body crashed into him dressed in all black and smelling faintly of talc. A straight-bladed sword embedded itself into the floor next to his ear with a musical tone of vibration that indicated it was no longer in its owner’s grip. As he grabbed the smaller attacker atop him he felt steel claws rake across his sides and his pendant suddenly grow hot against his chest.
Springing to his feet, a sword in either hand, Jeff was hit in the upper chest by a razor-edged throwing star that hurt like hell, and then a ninja in full rig was on him, the shock of the star’s strike giving his attacker an opening. If Jeff hadn’t had two swords he would have been gutted; as it was he took a nasty gash across his belly and was forced to back-peddle several steps.
Given the confines of the room Derek came off his futon with his wakizashi ready, only to have a weighted chain wrap around the blade and jerk it out of his hand. Desperately retreating, he drew his tanto as the black-clad attacker discarded his chain and drew a ninjato.
Ignoring the ripping claws and the blood flowing freely Fred got a good grip on his much smaller opponent and bodily heaved the ninja over onto her back, ending up astraddle of what he realized what was a woman. Gripping a fistful of hair and hood with his left hand he slammed his right into her face.
Derek caught up a blanket as he retreated and spun his arm, ending up with an untidy mass of cloth encasing his left fist and forearm and trailing downward. The advancing ninja shifted his stance to that of a thrust, which the Ronin managed to partially parry with his left, collecting a nasty cut to his side as his tanto drew blood from the ninja’s left arm.
The ninja had caught Shad’s knife-wrist with his off-hand and the two combatants ended up crouched, each pinioning the other’s weapon. Both strained and twisted, seeking leverage while maintaining control of the captured weapon, both failing to secure more than a fleeting advantage.
The ninja facing Jeff was a master swordsman; it took everything the Shop teacher had, using two swords, to keep from being disemboweled, and as it was he had collected several more cuts in the steel-filled seconds since the attack had begun. He was beginning to believe he was about to die when his foe gave a guttural shout. Immediately Derek’s opponent disengaged and turned to kick Shad in the kidney as he raced past to deliver a roundhouse kick to the side of Fred’s head, dumping the healer off the ninja whose face he was battering.
Shad’s foe flicked away the jitte the warder had released as he slumped retching to the floor, and stepped over to grab Fred’s unconscious foe by the legs as the kicker grabbed her shoulders. The pair lifted her and trotted out the incision in the wall divider as Jeff’s opponent backed away, ready to engage either the Shop teacher or Derek as need be, exiting after the trio was clear.
“What the hell just happened?” Jeff demanded. “Not that’s I’m ungrateful to be alive.”
Derek tossed aside the ripped blanket and knelt painfully to dig bandages out of his pack. “We got lucky, that’s what happened.”
The Shop teacher felt his belly and examined his bloody hand. “I’m not feeling terribly lucky. We better get Fred awake.”
“The ninja are clan-based,” Derek explained as Fred finished healing his wounds. “They are a people apart, with their own mores. One of their rules is that they only send one man to make one kill, and they never kill bystanders or strike an unaware foe.”
“They just tried to murder us in our sleep,” Shad pointed out.
“Catching us asleep is our fault to their way of thinking. They let us know they were coming, just not when or where.”
“So why did they break off the attack?” Fred asked. “And I might add that both me and Shad got attacked by two ninja.”
“They didn’t kill you or Shad, they simply disabled you,” Derek countered. “You were about to beat that girl’s face in, so they disengaged and left.”
“So if they look like they are losing they quit?” Fred gingerly felt the side of his head.
“That was unusual,” Derek admitted. “Although they are not suicidal; they will fail a mission rather than lose lives.”
“Don’t they have to commit ritual suicide if they fail?” Shad asked as he hunted for the sheath to his cane knife.
“Nope. They’re not Samurai. In this case I think the girl had emotional ties to the man in charge, probably a daughter or niece. He was willing to fail the mission rather than let Fred beat her to death.”
“Will they give us another warning?” Shad found the sheath.
“The rule is that if they fail to take out the target they refund the price of the contract. Thereafter they will not take a contract on the target for a year and a day out of respect, longer in certain unusual cases.”
“So we are ninja-free for a local year?”
“Yep.”
“All ninja?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Shad drew his sword as the door opened, but it was just Jeff.
“Well, the damages are settled and the management’s good will has been restored with cash,” the Shop teacher announced. “Did Derek tell you we’ve got a year free and clear?”
“He did, which is reassuring,” Shad nodded. “In case no one noticed we were getting our asses handed to us.”
“I was winning,” Fred noted smugly.
“You were distinctly alone in that regard,” Jeff pointed out. “Shad was in a tie, I was out-classed, and Derek brought a knife to a sword fight. I think we drew blood on all four, but we aren’t going to be bragging about this one.”
After breakfast Jeff mustered the children while the other Talons pondered their circumstances. “The Dragon dumped major money on the hit last night,” Derek pointed out. “Of course, they’ll get a refund.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Shad snapped. “The question is why.”
“No, the question is when will they try again,” Fred shook his head.
“OK,” Shad conceded. “With some luck they won’t have the opportunity. We’ll stash all our gear in the stable’s hay loft, bribe the stable boy to keep an eye on it, and be ready to haul ass the instant we get concrete data from this Midori. If she doesn’t pan out we head north, hunting for Death Lor
ds.”
“At least if they try again it will won’t be ninja,” Derek sighed.
The sky was leaden with low-hanging clouds and flakes of snow were drifting down as the Talons and the children set off.
“The streets are kind of deserted,” Shad looked around as they walked. “That never bodes well.”
“The Hiemin are having a march to the Iron Fan’s palace today to present a petition requesting lower taxes and more legal protection for the common folk,” Jeff explained. “The kids heard that from the serving staff.”
“How many peasants are marching?”
“A lot. They do it quick so they don’t waste too much of the working day. Naturally the Iron Fan won’t even look at them, but she lets them present their appeals to a minion. I figure she thinks it establishes her as an enlightened ruler.”
“Probably works as a safety valve for unrest,” Shad nodded.
They had covered about two hundred yards when there was a distant THUMP.
“That was an explosion,” Fred announced, hefting his club.
“Are you sure?” Derek frowned. “It sounded funny.”
“Black powder; I hear them blasting gravel with it at the quarry when I’m at work,” the Healer nodded absently. “Low velocity explosives. You’re used to military-grade stuff.”
“That is from the direction of the Iron Fan’s palace,” Jeff loosened his swords in their scabbards. “I think today’s march just got ugly.”
“Screw the march, listen to that,” Shad pointed. Over the hubbub of voices around them the Talons could hear a smattering of noise. “That is gunfire. Black powder, and quite a few weapons.”
“And it is from a different direction than the explosion,” Derek noted uneasily. “Guys, I think the Red Dragon is making a move. Maybe the move.”
“What is our move?” Jeff asked as Fred started distributing armor charms.
Shad frowned as more firing broke out behind them and several streets closer. “OK, I dropped the ball with waiting a day. I think we had better press through and meet the contact before things get any more out of control. Put the kids in the center of the formation and let’s get moving.”
As the Talons and their charges hustled down the street the sounds of gunfire and smaller explosions increased, followed by the sounds of rioting and street fighting close by.
“This has to be their big push,” Derek observed as they trotted along.
“I think you are right.”
Turning a corner they entered into utter chaos: looters ran to and fro pillaging shops, stalls and carts while a police patrol stood back-to-back in the center of the street battling a mob wearing Dragon red at their waists and left arms.
Shad instinctively stepped towards the embattled Doshion and Yoriki but Jeff grabbed his arm. “Not our fight, remember?’
The warder’s face was hard as he stepped back into ranks. “OK. Keep moving.”
The Talons trotted along, elbowing past looters who hooted and jeered at their social betters but did not seem inclined to interrupt their pillaging.
Up ahead the door of a tea shop burst open and a pretty young girl with red hair and a torn kimono burst out into the street, hotly pursued by three Red Dragons.
“That does it!” Derek yelled, and sprinted after the men pursuing the girl.
“Fine with me.” Shad turned and hurled a coin into the ranks of Red Dragons attacking the patrol; a ball of black and silver energy flashed from his fingertips to soundlessly erupt amongst the rebels, tendrils of power striking five of them, burning terrible wounds into their flesh. Drawing his sword and jitte the warder plunged into the melee.
“Well, I guess we’re killing Red Dragons,” Jeff shook his head. “Keep the kids safe.” He drew his swords and set after Derek.
A Red Dragon thrust at Shad with a long fish-knife, but the Warder parried with the jitte’s steel shaft and chopped the rebel across the neck, the sword’s edge cracking bone. Stepping away from the convulsing man Shad was confronted by a Dragon armed with a flintlock musket with a fixed bayonet. Thrusting the weapon at the Talon so that the tip of the bayonet was barely a foot from Shad’s chest, the rebel closed his eyes, held the butt loosely against his chest, and jerked the trigger.
Shad slapped the bayonet with his jitte as he stepped to the side and the shot went wide. He severed the shooter’s left arm at the elbow even as the young man was opening his eyes, and paused to give the musket a quick look before heading deeper into the fray.
The rearmost Dragon turned to face Derek, a club wrapped in light chain at the ready. Derek didn’t even break stride as he drew his katana and spun into a two-handed high stroke, lifting the rebel’s head from his shoulders.
“Just stay behind me,” Fred advised One through Four. “Keep moving,” he advised a Hiemin with a sack of rice on his shoulder who had slowed to stare at the five. The peasant wisely picked up his pace and found other things to look at. “This is not a good idea,” Fred muttered, and expended a ranged healing charm on Shad, who was in the thick of the street melee. Derek had put down the three Red Dragons who had been chasing the girl and now he and Jeff were cutting their way to Shad.
“I need healing, wise one,” a young man wearing Dragon red staggered up, clutching a terrible cut in his side.
Fred slammed the brass-studded teak of his great club into the rebel’s head. “There. Now you don’t need healing.”
The shock of the lightning spell and the Talons’ assault on their rear ranks broke the rebel’s will, which had been flagging in the face of the street patrol’s ability to kill three or four Dragons for every one they lost. Those who survived took to their heels.
“You realize you are a spellcaster, right?” Jeff asked Shad. “You aren’t supposed to be in the thick of things.”
“I didn’t want to expend spells; my supply is finite.”
“You just like busting heads.”
“There is that, too. Derek, you OK?”
“Some bastard cut my obi,” Derek fumed, trying to knot the cloth belt so it would stay in place.
“Looks like he cut you, too.”
“Fred got it, those ranged heals rock. I wish I had time to go back and change. I bought a leather girdle for my swords, and boots, too. Some bastard stepped on my toes.”
Only the Yoriki and two Doshion were still on their feet; the former, a slender young man with blond hair and blue eyes, removed his battered helmet and bowed to Derek. “I am Eita of the City Watch. Thank you for your timely assistance.”
“Where the hell were we?” Shad muttered to Jeff as the bushi leader of the patrol and Derek exchanged pleasantries.
“It’s a Samurai thing,” the Shop teacher shrugged. “What should we do about the Dragon wounded?”
The warder thought about it. “Leave ‘em. This still isn’t our real fight.”
“Couldn’t tell that for the way you were hacking at them.”
“No second places in a firefight.” Shad picked up a discarded musket and examined it carefully before removing the flint and using his jitte to bend the pan out of alignment.
“You guys get it out of your system?” Fred grunted as the three rejoined him.
“I am not apologizing,” Derek said stubbornly.
“Dude, you are the last noble soul,” Jeff chuckled. “While Shad is just a run-of-the-mill sociopath.”
“If it’s OK to kill them for rape, it’s OK to kill them for murder,” Shad countered.
“You’re a company man-you automatically support the organization,” Jeff shrugged.
“Unless he wants to do something the organization disapproves of,” Derek agreed as he used rice paper to wipe his katana’s blade.
“But at least I show the organization the respect of lip service,” Shad pointed out. “And what I do is what the organization should be doing.”
“I’m not sure shooting more camels would have made Iraq a better place.”
“It might if they were the right camel
s. Besides, there’s no making Iraq a better place. All we could do is emboss ‘don’t screw with the USA’ on their DNA.”
“By shooting camels.” Jeff rolled his eyes.
“That is part of the process,” Shad sheathed his now-clean sword. “You have to look at the big picture.”
“I am pretty confident that your vison of the big picture would haunt me.”
“Strength of purpose is the province of the strong of will.”
“Or the deranged of mind.”
The disturbances were spreading faster than the Talons could move. While the hard core of the Red Dragon was moving against the ruling class, many of their foot soldiers and scores of Hiemin and Hanni were taking the opportunity to loot, settle scores, or just run wild for the sake of running wild.
The blood-spattered, heavily-armed Talons were carefully ignored by the looters, who were seeking profit without risk. Commoners burdened with loot ran in all directions, while others rolled barrels of fine wines and strong drink into the street and shared them with any passerby. Still others methodically emptied shops of their goods, which they piled in the street and set ablaze.
The Talons prevented such rapes as they encountered, but they were four men moving with a purpose and it was a large city; their actions were largely meaningless in the face of anarchy on a grand scale.
“The firing is getting louder up ahead,” Fred pointed with his club. “A big plaza up ahead.”
“With a barracks on it, as I recall,” Jeff added. “What do they have for weapons, Shad?”
“So far, it looks like copies of the Sea Service Musket. Smoothbore flintlocks, seventy-five caliber, thirty-seven inch barrel. A shorter version of what was commonly called the Brown Bess or Tower Musket which served the Brits for over a century; we faced it during the American Revolution and the Texas Revolution. For street fighting the shorter barrel would be handy.”