by RW Krpoun
“Why?” Shad objected. “Your operational security isn’t all that great, as evidenced by the Undead hit team we just took care of for you. Just tell us what needs to be done and we’ll take care of it.”
“No. We will accomplish this as it was intended.” Midori’s jaw was like an anvil.
“Then do it yourself,” the Texan shrugged as he picked flakes of blood from his nostrils. “We’ll kill a few Death Lords and go home.”
“Have you any idea of what the Death Lords intend for our world?”
“Something along the line of what Skynet created in the flashbacks, I expect,” Shad made a dismissive gesture. “You want to know what the last country we invaded looked like when we got through with it? Your plan calls for volunteers, which makes me dubious about the quality of your planning.”
Midori pointed at the four children. “So you would flee and leave them to their fate?”
“We saved them from being Orc chow,” Jeff countered, but his tone was uneasy.
“We don’t flee,” Derek pointed out. “Taking out Death Lords is not a retreat.”
Midori simply folded her arms and stared at them.
Shad took in the table at a glance. “OK, one step at a time, but you should know that you are risking a lot by treating us this way.”
“I have risked a great deal every day of my life,” Midori did not flinch. “The Death Lords killed my parents and four of my siblings, all very badly. They hunt for me as we speak, for all of us who guard the hidden truths. We know that you are flawed men of low character, but we did not chose you. Our plan simply dictated that warriors would be brought forth who could accomplish what was required.”
“I would like to take a look at your planning methodology sometime,” Jeff rolled his eyes at the others. “So what is step one?”
“You must recover an artifact known as the Fang of Ages,” Midori laid a thick scroll case on the table. “It will not be easy. When you have the Fang break the clay disk set into the head of the scroll case and we will meet.”
“That’s it?” Shad demanded. “We went through all this dream nonsense for two minutes’ of instruction and a scroll? You could have stopped by our inn and passed that on without all this dream and city-crossing business.”
“We adhere to the plan.”
“I am beginning to see why the Death Lords have been winning,” Shad muttered to the others.
Midori pretended not to have heard him. “We have a way outside the walls, and must leave now.”
“OK,” Jeff shrugged, glancing at the contents of the scroll case before tossing it to Derek.
“You must come with us.”
“What? No way,” the warder shook his head. “We have to get back across town and get our gear. You summoned us to a meet, not a field expedition.”
“A failure in your planning,” Jeff noted.
“We can provide you with money and field equipment.”
“We can’t leave Ula and Durban to the mercy of the looters,” Derek jabbed a finger at Midori. “No way. We’re going back. Just give us the money and wait for our call.”
“So what now?” Jeff asked after Midori and the rest had left the inn.
“I had thought to use her to re-locate the orphans, but frankly, they’re probably safer with us,” Shad scratched his cheek.
“Probably.” Jeff held up his left hand. “I made level, by the way.”
“Me, too, but we have a long way to go before we sleep,” Shad tiredly pushed himself to his feet. “We need to get back to our inn and get our gear. From there we’ll plan our next move based on the state of the revolt.”
Chapter Nine
“You want the kids to take point?” Jeff asked as the Black Talons moved into the street.
Shad brushed more dried blood from his stained tunic front. Glancing at the cobblestones littered with bone fragments, dead hongmen, and discarded weapons, the warder slowly shook his head. “No. We go down the middle of the street and mess up anyone who looks at us funny.” He jerked his chin towards the billowing smoke rising on three sides. “I don’t want to get caught pressed between two buildings if the wind picks up.”
“We don’t have a deadline,” Fred agreed.
“Box formation, kids in the middle,” Shad started up the street.
“You shouldn’t be in the front,” Derek observed as they walked along.
“Trouble can come from any direction. Besides, I am tired.”
Derek nodded thoughtfully. When Shad said that it way it usually meant that he was gripped in a cold burning fury like a banked fire that could erupt with little or no provocation at any opportunity to commit violence. When the IED had wounded Derek and two others, once the scene was secure and a medevac was in route Shad, his face a mask of smeared blood from the wound on his forehead, had stalked off alone to evict every Iraqi out of the nearest cluster of buildings three hundred yards away.
He had torn apart their houses looking for signs of who set the IED, blew up their well, and shot a couple dozen goats. He had refused medical treatment beyond a field dressing until they had rolled back to the FOB. That night he, Jeff, and Fred had slipped out of the FOB and watched the road, dropping a trio of Iraqis setting another IED.
The entire episode could have landed him in hot water, and certainly would have if it had happened later under Obama’s kinder, gentler policies, but their battalion commander was a complete headcase who thought that Oliver North was a moderate and George Patton was too easy on the enemy, so it never got any traction.
Shad didn’t get that sort of angry often, but when he did it was best to stay out of the way.
It was quickly apparent that the city was not faring well; smoke rose from burning buildings, and the streets were deserted save for bands of looters and Red Dragon deserters padding purposefully about. Shops and carts had been looted or just torn apart, and bodies littered the streets and hung from handy projections, both hongmen and Samurai.
None of the ex-hongmen or looters wanted anything to do with the bloody Black Talons as the small group strode down the center of the street. They eased away from the four like hyenas slinking back as lions passed by on the veldt.
“Rape, murder, and plunder,” Derek said sadly as they passed a looted brothel. “The little people are caught between the two factions and doing most of the suffering.”
“Such is the way of the world,” Jeff noted. “Revolutions seldom help the common people.”
With a few false turns they reached the plaza where they had watched the fighting, only to find the Red Dragon gone and the City garrison still in control.
“Looks like the Dragon got tired of trying to cross open ground against archers,” Jeff observed as the Talons and their charges carefully skirted the edge of the plaza to reach the street they needed. “I would guess they lost at least two hundred men here, maybe two-fifty.”
“Plus another two-three hundred wounded who got away,” Fred agreed. “If this represents their average level of success, we’re seeing a one-day revolution.”
The garrison troops watched the Talons pass with hard, measuring eyes but made no effort to stop them. They were visibly tired but grimly certain of their own worth and capability.
“The Samurai better take note of their ashigaru after this,” Shad observed as the Talons left the plaza behind. “If those guys switch sides the country won’t last for a minute.”
“Always pay the Legions,” Derek quoted. “That is what it always comes down to: how the line troops hold to the faith when a crisis comes. Politicians and generals don’t mean squat if morale crumbles.”
“That’s what cost France in 1940,” Shad nodded. “The French Army lost hope and faith while the Germans never had a second thought.”
“They never had second thoughts until Adolph offed himself,” Jeff paused to grab a coin-filled pouch from the street debris. “You would have fit in perfectly, Shad. I can see you as a feldwebel in the Heer on the Ostfront.”
“I expect so,” the warder nodded. “That was a war without shades. Not much quarter, not much indecision.”
Derek suddenly bounded ahead to place himself between a cowering woman clutching two children in the lee of a ruined pastry stand and a group of men in dockworker dress. “Stand back.”
The lead dockworker, a musket held with the butt braced against his hip, looked at Derek in his bloody, torn kimono, and then over at the other Talons. Behind him the others shifted uneasily, a variety of weapons in hand.
Shad drew his sword and moved to Derek’s side. “Drop the boom sticks and move along, peasant scum.”
The leader took in the numbers again: four against ten, and two of the latter had muskets. “We kill your sort.”
“No, you don’t,” Jeff explained in a friendly tone, resting the backs of his swords against his shoulders. “You’ve never met our sort before; I know that because you are still alive. And you understand that because you are here raping and looting instead of fighting.” He jerked his head in the direction of gunfire in the distance. “So drop those muskets and bugger off, or none of you will see the sun set.”
The two groups faced each other for long seconds; Derek looked eager, his hand on the hilt of his sheathed katana, while Shad was half-grinning, balanced and ready. Fred looked vaguely murderous, while Jeff was smiling and relaxed.
Then the other musket man carefully uncocked his piece, the metallic click sounding very loud; equally carefully he laid the weapon on the cobblestones. The ice broke, and with a scowl the leader laid his weapon down before turning his back contemptuously and leading his men away.
“That was cool,” Derek smiled.
“Pleasant enough,” Shad nodded. “I like facing down scum like these. Although they didn’t have any wounds or blood splatter, so it was a safe bet they haven’t seen much real fighting.”
“A good release of tension,” Jeff spun his swords before sheathing them.
Fred healed a nasty cut on the woman and saw her on her way while the others poked through the debris of the fighting.
“I wish we had some idea of how the fighting was going,” Shad grunted as he used a discarded knife to bend the hammers on the two muskets.
“Not well for the Dragon, I would bet,” Derek swirled through the basic steps of the sword in the attack.
“I would agree,” Jeff examined a cloth wrapped around jewelry, discarding the cheap decorative pieces.
“She’s on her way,” Fred announced. “Let’s get moving: we’re burning sunlight.”
The Four Sheaf Inn was a blackened shell, with about half the staff hanged from the charred rafters, but the stables and bath house still stood.
Jeff steadied the nude corpse of one of the bath house girls in order to read the crude sign inked onto cloth that was tied around her lower legs. “ ‘Enemies of the people’.”
“We shouldn’t have let those bastards go,” Derek snarled.
“They didn’t do this,” Shad sighed as he tested the strength of a fire-damaged table, which buckled. “They must have had a ladder to get them up there; anyone see it?”
“We ought to do something,” Derek kicked a blackened kettle.
“We don’t have enough time to find every single bastard running loose in this city and kill him.” Shad found the ladder in the alley and dragged it towards the bodies.
“We don’t,” Jeff drawled. “But it looks like some have found us. That’ll save a lot of effort.”
Seven men were coming out of the ruins of the building across the street, lean Hiemin aged by hard work and poor diet dressed in worn clothing that was blood-spattered and smoke-stained. Five carried wakizashi whose hilts indicated ashigaru issue, and two had muskets with fixed bayonets. Dirty red cloth at their waists indicated their allegiance, and their faces were hard and set; these were not looters or opportunists, but true believers set upon a course that they would follow to the bitter end.
“Convenient,” Derek kicked the kettle again, sending it clattering across the narrow street towards the approaching hongmen.
“I prefer non-Humans,” Shad dropped the ladder. “But these guys are pretty much Communists, so they qualify.” He walked to the point where the inn’s courtyard met the street. “We’re not locals; we’re not part of this fight.”
“We act in the name of the People,” announced the leader, an older man whose features were so lean and weathered his face looked like fine leather. He had a twist of scar tissue where his left ear had been cut off close to his scalp and then cauterized. “The old order must be overthrown so that equality may come to all.”
“That a fact?” Shad bobbed his head thoughtfully. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “What about those people strung up over there? What qualified them as enemies of said People?”
One-ear glanced at the bodies. “You will accept the creed, or you die.”
“Straightforward,” the warder admitted. “You do know that there is an army of Undead forming up to invade, right?”
The hongman was unimpressed. “The stories are just an excuse to keep the downtrodden in their place. War is the business of the noble state, the mortar that holds it together.”
“Huh. So, now what?”
“Now the Ronin must pay for the crimes of the Samurai class. If you would join our order you will kill him, then surrender your weapons and services to the Red Dragon.”
“And if we refuse?”
“Then you die with the Ronin.”
“How did you lose your ear?”
The leader blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“How did you lose your ear? That is a terrible scar.”
The hongman stared at the warder for a long moment. “I spoke out against the injustice of the state. They cut off my ear and cauterized the wound as a warning.”
“That must have hurt. Now, let me explain our situation to you: we’ve walked all over town today, fought some looters, had a helluva time getting around. We tangled with some Undead who were a bit out of our weight class, and it has left me pretty beat up and really, really weary, mentally-speaking. I was hoping to come back here, get a bath and a meal, maybe a little action with a pretty girl, and then sleep on the freaking floor because you guys haven’t discovered beds yet. Instead I find this,” Shad waved a hand at the ruined inn. “We paid in advance, do you understand? That is money we won’t see again. So I am going to give you a chance, and only because earlier I had to re-live some killings which has left me with a tender conscience. Dump your weapons and walk away, one-ear, and you’ll live for a while longer. Otherwise you die on this patch of street. Your choice.”
Even as One-ear opened his mouth Shad hit him with arcane bolts from a left-handed coin flip, turning to hit the nearer musket-man with a flurry of bolts from his right. The musket man staggered back as the black and silver bolts slammed into his chest, his musket accidently discharging, the ball and shot ripping into the left leg of the hongman to his right.
Anticipating Shad, Derek was spinning into a shomen strike that sent the nearest Dragon’s head bouncing across the cobblestones. The second musket belched smoke and flame, and the Radio Shack manager swore as buckshot scored his ribs. Spinning to face the shooter, the Ronin stepped into a nuki, twisting out of the way of the fiercely-thrust bayonet and opening up a terrible cut across the hongman’s neck as the man’s lunge carried him past.
Jeff parried a powerful but inexpert slash with the flat of his left sword and severed the Dragon’s left knee with a full-armed chop with his right blade. Rushing the hongman wounded by the stray musket-shot, he cut him down before the man could recover from the shock of his wound.
One-ear was game despite being wounded; Shad had to hop back as he parried the man’s savage stroke with the steel bar of his jitte. The hongman didn’t realize what he faced until the warder twisted the jitte, trapping the Dragon’s weapon long enough to deliver a terrible chop that nearly severed One-Ear’s head.
A veteran’s
sixth sense and good habits caused Fred to glance over his shoulder in time to see two Dragons armed with muskets come around the side of the stables. He dove to the side as a musket barked and several of his armor charms were blasted into dust.
The second musket fired into the air as the hongman went down under a rush of armed children. Roaring, Fred rushed the still-standing Dragon as the man started to bayonet Three, who was wildly beating the downed hongman (and the adjacent cobblestones) with a sap. The rebel swung to confront the healer, who swept the bayonet out of the way with his club before hitting the Dragon with a mid-chest shoulder block, smashing the smaller man into the side of the stable with enough force to send dirt jetting from between the beams.
Crushing the gagging man’s skull with an economic stroke of his club, Fred waded into the howling melee, dragging children aside until he had a clear head shot on the desperate Dragon.
“Well, that was short and disgusting. Much like my marriage,” Jeff observed to Shad as Derek ensured that all seven hongmen were dead. “Your nose is bleeding again, by the way.”
“Yeah,” Shad mopped at his lip. “I really shouldn’t use any magic for a day or so. That fight with the kyonshi took a lot out of me.”
“Do the Death Lords know we killed it?”
“If they care enough to expend some power checking into it, then yes. But I doubt it.”
“Complacency works for us.”
“We can hope. Where did those two Dragons come from?”
“A mommy and daddy who loved each other very much.”
“Bite me.”
The stable boy was gone, but their equipment was still where they left it, and the animals were unhurt.
“We have about two hours of daylight,” Shad observed as he emerged from the stable in clean clothing, tossing his bloody garments onto the ruins of Derek’s kimono, which lay in a corner. “We’re a fair distance from the city walls. Do we lay low or make a run for it?”
“The Death Lords aren’t looking for us,” Fred stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “No one is, specifically.”