by RW Krpoun
“It didn’t look short.”
“Five to nine inches shorter than the Land Pattern.”
“One of these days we’ll encounter a firearm he can’t identify,” Derek grinned.
“I know guns the way you know goats,” Shad shrugged.
“So would you say they have a significant advantage?” Jeff stayed on topic.
“Maybe. The quality of the workmanship looks adequate. If their powder is up to spec they should be able to put a ball through any armor in this sphere. The problem is that the weapon has no sights; in the period they were used you marched battalions shoulder to shoulder and fired by volley at enemy battalions who were also in formation a hundred yards away. It required iron discipline and plentiful drilling to make it work. Deployment is everything.” Shad tripped a looter running past with an armload of clothing, sending the man sprawling across the cobblestones.
“The Death Lords aren’t interested in helping too much,” Fred mumbled. “Just enough to create chaos and bloodshed.”
“Their plan is working,” Derek shook his head.
The sounds of a battle grew louder as they approached the plaza from the west. Moving cautiously along the shop fronts the Talons slipped forward until they had a decent view.
The plaza was a battleground. Five acres of paving dominated by a large stone fountain in its center, the plaza was the hub to eight different streets and home to several official buildings, including a barracks complex for two butai, one of foot, the other of archers. The troops had seized the fountain and built up a barricade of carts and beams from dismantled buildings around it. The efficiency of this improvised fort was evidenced by the arrow-riddled bodies that littered the plaza.
The Dragon weren’t finished, though: they had holed up in the buildings on the south and east sides of the plaza and were firing steadily at the fort, while others were pushing a half-dozen wagons whose bodies were massive barrels covered in clay tiles across the open ground.
“Well, shit,” Jeff swore, watching arrows and javelins breaking on the wagons’ tile covering.
“That explains why we got jumped yesterday,” Derek nodded. “I best most if not all those workmen were Dragon followers helping build those wagons.”
“The sounds right. They’re arrow-proof, but their motive means are not,” Shad pointed out as arrows picked off wagon-pushers. “And the ashigaru will be waiting for them when they spill out of those hogsheads. One shot and it’s a half-trained peasant with a bayonet trying to get over a barricade while a professional soldier waits to split their skull with a glaive.”
As the Talons watched the Dragon launched a hundred men armed in a desperate charge in order to take pressure off the wagon crews. Roaring slogans the hongmen surged across the cobblestones in the face of a blizzard of arrows and javelins. None got halfway to the fort, and less than one in three made it back to cover.
“Unless the garrison runs out of arrows, the Dragon isn’t going to secure the plaza,” Fred mused. “And with archers covering this plaza moving troops around this quarter is going to be really difficult.”
“As a revolution, I give it a three,” Shad scratched his cheek. “Lots of energy, some innovation, but crappy execution. If this is an example of how well the Dragon is doing, they’re screwed.”
“More importantly, how are we going to get to our contact?” Derek asked. “We need to cross the plaza, and both sides have a pretty solid shoot-on-sight policy going, with the questions being relegated to post-war activity.”
There are just four…eight of us,” Shad glanced back the way they had come. “Either we hack our way through walls, or we try the roof tops. Neither really appeal to me, but the streets are a rat’s nest. We could end up threading the maze all day, and sooner or later they are going to starting ganging up on the upper class who are still out and about.”
Four crept up to Jeff and spoke into the crouching Shop teacher’s ear. “OK, the kids know a way.”
“What?” Shad was surprised. “They don’t know this part of town.”
“They don’t need to,” Jeff said after listening to the girl. “They understand the water channels. They’re the same all over the city.”
“Underground?” Shad shook his head. “No way. We could get mobbed too easy.”
“She’s talking about surface drainage,” Jeff explained. “What have we got to lose?”
“Our lives,” Derek responded immediately. “Won’t the locals be using them?”
“No, just Hanni kids, mostly. People ignore them.”
“The kids or the drainage-ways?”
“Both.”
“We might as well give it a try,” Shad pointed towards the plaza where the surviving pushers of a wagon broke and ran, leaving the armored barrel stranded. “The plaza isn’t going to be fully secured by either side for a long while.”
“I never noticed these,” Derek observed, peering over a small section of decorative fence that hid the cobblestone gutter that ran between two buildings. “I thought the buildings touched. It’s less than two feet wide and smells of cat piss.”
The kids swarmed over the fence and trotted purposefully down the gutter.
“Where the hell are they going?” Shad demanded.
“Scouting,” Jeff shrugged. “Fred, you better go last.”
“Shit,” Shad shook his head as he pried the fence loose. “This sucks.”
“Shad, you’re the spellcaster; you don’t go first,” Derek protested.
“You and Jeff fight with the edge; you won’t even be able to draw in there,” Shad held up an etching coin. “But I have magic missiles. Let’s roll.”
The missiles made sense, but the truth was that Shad was already sick of the spellcaster role. He was more comfortable leading from the front, of being in the thick of things. He especially did not like having to walk slack to a ten-year-old on point.
The narrowness of the gutter forced him to crab along sideways in deep shadow, the sour ammonia stench making his nose itch. The walls to either side were mossy, leaving blackish smears on his clothes every time he brushed against them.
Up ahead the gutter split into a Y intersection, and One was crouched and waiting. The little boy pointed solemnly before trotting onward.
“Smart kids,” Derek observed from behind Shad.
“The dumb ones ended up as Orc dinner,” Shad agreed. “You notice that rescuing people has never worked to our disadvantage?”
“Yeah? How about that fight with the bugbear?” Fred pointed out from the rear. “That foray was way closer to losing than I liked.”
“Or Fu Hao,” Derek agreed. “I lost a pair of underwear when that seal went.”
“Which led to the worst night engagement anyone could have asked for,” Jeff nodded.
“Don’t forget rescuing the boatmen,” Derek mused. “They’re the reason we had to come to the Isle. Cecil would be dead and we would be home by now if not for them.”
“Point taken,” Shad grinned.
The children had to double back more than a few times, but they did it at the trot, dropping off members at intersections who would catch up or be gathered up if they had to retrace their path. With their guidance the Black Talons moved fairly smoothly across the city, returning to the streets once past the plaza, then returning to the runoff gutters when fighting or fires blocked their path.
It took over two hours, but the Talons safely traversed the embattled city without any serious incidents; in fact, beyond Shad tripping or clothes-lining the occasional looter they made no use of physical violence. The looters were uninterested in crossing the bloodied, grim-faced four, and the Red Dragons still loyal to the cause had their hands full with the government forces.
They took to the runoff gutters to bypass a street engulfed in bloody combat between Red Dragon hongmen and professional criminals of an unknown Hui syndicate.
“Should be the next street to the east,” Derek mused. “Man, the Hui were going after the Dragons li
ke they were getting paid by the body.”
“Criminals tend to be conservative in outlook,” Jeff observed. “Especially organized criminals. Stability and rule of law work better for their endeavors.”
“Why isn’t Shad giving a lecture on something the locals aren’t doing right?” Fred wondered.
“Because I am trying to listen,” the warder hissed.
“To what? The whole city is tearing itself apart.”
“Voices in my head,” Shad muttered distractedly, stopping to stare at the south wall, just inches from his face.
“What?”
“Shhh.”
The other three waited uneasily as Shad stared blankly at the wall; they were used to each other’s peccadillos and quirks, but Shad becoming quiet and reflective was akin to another man suddenly painting himself blue.
Finally the warder turned back to their narrow, foul-smelling path. “We need to move, there are dark arts in play.”
“Which dark arts?” Derek asked diffidently.
“The Death Lords’ sort. They’re pulling power somewhere nearby, and the city’s wards are popping off like smoke detectors getting tossed into a fire.”
“I didn’t know you could detect that sort of thing.”
“That makes two of us.”
As they hurried forward and turned an intersection-less corner a sudden commotion broke out ahead. A skeleton was standing in the street at the end of their narrow passage trying to drag Two over a couple waist-high planks that were nailed across the opening to hide the gutter. It was hampered in this endeavor by One, who had a death-grip on Two’s waist, and Three and Four’s pelting of the Undead warrior with stones. The skeleton was a silent as a tomb, but all four children were howling for all they were worth.
“Shit,” Shad muttered as he rushed forward, fumbling at his pouches.
The Undead, its bones straight, clean, and white, raised its boney visage to the advancing Talon, exposing eyes like pools of illuminated blood in which black olives floated. Although the skull was perfectly blank and soundless, Shad felt that the creature was snarling at the sight of him.
Releasing Two, the skeleton ripped away the plank barrier with one hand while drawing a spiked club from a baldric across its boney chest.
“Not today, chump,” Shad flipped a coin and a soundless gust of energy dissolved the Undead creature into bone shards, baldric, and weapons.
“That was a Boneguard!” Derek exclaimed from behind the warder.
“No questions about sides now,” Shad nodded as he lifted One and Two to their feet. “When did the kids acquire knives?”
“Best not to ask. That was a pretty cool spell,” the Ronin noted.
“I told you, this class is built for killing Undead, and I am better than most at my level, a stripped down combat package of spells.” Shad did a tactical glance in each direction. “Which we are going to need in the worst possible way: the Death Lords are coming for Midori.”
Chapter Eight
“OK,” Shad took a deep breath. “There’s Boneguard all over the street. You three grab the kids and fight your way into the inn. I’m going to go create some problems for the enemy.”
“Alone?” Derek shook his head. “That’s stupid.”
“Yeah, it’s not a great plan. Don’t worry, I’ll be on your heels by the time you hit the door.” Shad darted out into the street, sword in hand.
“Why are we leaving a place of concealment for a place surrounded by the enemy?” Jeff wondered out loud as he worked his swords out of their scabbards in the close confines.
“Because we have a plan, or Shad does,” Derek shrugged. “Anyway, we’re here.”
“They should put that on our tombstones. ‘We came, we saw, we got involved anyway’.”
“Like we’ll get tombstones.”
As the three Talons and four children spilled into the street they found themselves confronted by a mad melee as forty or fifty Dragon hongmen fought thirty or more Boneguard.
“Shit,” Derek muttered, drawing his katana. “C’mon.” Spinning to his left in a classic nuki movement as a skeleton thrust at him with a spear, the Ronin came back around with fluid grace to put the point of his katana through his opponent’s left eye socket, collapsing the Undead.
“I shoulda stayed a thief class,” Jeff muttered, blocking a Boneguard’s club with one sword while hacking its left leg off at the knee with the other.
“Stay behind me and stick close,” Fred urged the children as he shepherded them across the body-strewn street. He grunted as he slammed his massive two-handed club into, and through, a Boneguard’s torso, terminating the creature.
Halfway across the street Jeff’s foot slipped in a puddle of blood and he went down on one knee, cursing as a spear point raked across his ribs; he parried a mace aimed at his head and tried for the spear-wielder’s wrist, but was too slow. Derek sliced the Boneguard with the mace in half at the enemy’s midsection as Fred grabbed the Shop teacher’s collar and hauled him to his feet one-handed.
The inn’s double doors were drawing closer with each step, the portal’s lower half blocked with tables stacked in their side, but the hongmen were breaking and fleeing, freeing Boneguard to turn on the hard-pressed Talons. Derek spun and sliced with precision, the torn, muddy, and blood-spattered skirts of his kimono swirling with each dance-like move, the enchantment from the katari bound to the blade enabling the katana’s edge to cut through the Boneguard like a chisel going through chalk, but he had already taken three minor wounds and two Heals from Fred.
Finishing his latest foe the Ronin spun to check the rear, his blade at hassan, held vertical and to his right side with the round guard level with the top of his shoulder. Before him the Boneguard stepped aside to allow a blood-spattered skeleton to pass. This Boneguard was no taller than the rest, but spikes of bone rose from its cranium and shoulders and it carried an odachi, the great sword version of the katana.
“OK,” Derek grinned. “Now we dance.”
The bloody figure silently raised its sword in the overhand strike position. The two stood frozen as fighting raged across the street and then both moved as if an unheard signal was given. The Undead swung down at an angle intended to cleave Derek’s torso, while the smaller Ronin side-stepped and made an otoshi parry/thrust intended to transfix the Boneguard’s skull. The skeleton’s stroke missed, and Derek’s thrust merely ground across the creature’s bare cheekbone, leaving the two foes facing each other, Derek’s sword held wakigamae: horizontally at waist height, the Boneguard’s back to hiki: two-handed overhead.
Once again the pair stared at each other for a breathless pause, and then both moved. The Undead stepping into a shomen, a decapitating strike, while Derek went for a yokomen, a neck cut coupled with deft footwork. The two flashed towards each other and then away, Derek bleeding from a nasty cut on his left shoulder, the Boneguard sporting a deep nick in its spine.
The pair locked eyes again, the Undead at hiki, the Ronin at hassan and time froze for a heartbeat.
Until Fred bowled the Boneguard over from behind. “Derek! Come on!”
Startled, Derek raced for the inn’s door, suddenly aware that he had been the last Talon in the street.
“What the hell was that?” Shad snapped, not looking up from the designs in glowing orange he was drawing on the wall next to the door. “Didn’t you hear Jeff yelling at you?”
“No,” the Ronin shrugged sheepishly, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. “It was a shobi, a duel to the death between two bushi.”
“Well, neither of you died,” Fred grunted. “Hold still so I can fix your shoulder.”
“There isn’t a back door,” Jeff announced. “We just fought our way into a trap.”
“Not so much,” Shad pulled a stick of white chalk from his haversack and began drawing neon white symbols next to the orange. “You guys distracted them long enough for me to mark the four corners of the building. What I am finishing up will basically make this p
lace Undead-proof for long enough for us to prepare.”
“Prepare for what?”
“Killing the Undead. They won’t back off, and I’m betting we’re next on the hit list.”
“How did you know all that?”
“The leader of the Boneguard is a kyonshi, a sort of vampire wraith. Amongst other bad aspects, the kyonshi can enter your dreams. I wondered why the Death Lords spent so much power creating a type of creature with that ability, but in hindsight I should have made the connection a couple days ago.”
“Way to go,” Jeff rolled his eyes. “So you think they could track us from Midori?”
“Probably, and us being outsiders would not even slow it down. Plus it pointed at me as I was crossing the street like it recognized me.”
“Wonderful.”
Shad stepped back and flipped a coin into the glowing symbols hovering off the wall. “Now we find Midori.”
“I am Midori,” a young woman detached herself from the group huddling in one corner of the common room and approached them. “We spoke before.”
“Not to me,” Fred muttered. “Someone woke me up.”
“I was expecting you yesterday,” Midori continued.
Shad shrugged. “Things don’t always go as planned.” He studied the young woman, who was slender, pretty, and plainly dressed. “We are getting tired of people telling us what to do. Right now we need to kill some Undead, and afterwards we can talk.”
“There is a way out, a way the Death Lords’ minions will not find for hours.”
“Screw that; I have a shobi to finish,” Derek objected.
Shad glanced at the others. “Yeah, we’ll do this the hard way.”
“That is not wise,” Midori planted her fists on her hips.
“We’re not wise. Anyone check the kids?”
“They’re unhurt and becoming increasingly heavily armed,” Jeff drawled.
“OK,” Shad rubbed his scar, then turned back to Midori. “Sort out a meal for the kids while we deal with the Undead.” The girl huffed with indignation, but the warder had already turned to his companions. “So, Derek is taking on the captain of the Boneguard, I am going after the kyonshi, and you two act as a reserve, pitching in where you are needed.”