Dream III: Wind of Souls (Dream Trilogy Book 3)

by RW Krpoun

  “Taken is his best work to date,” Fred grunted.

  Shad thought that over. “Yeah, that’s true. The first one.”

  A horn sounded from inside Boam. “Sounding the alarm,” Derek strung his bow. “Were the sentries asleep?”

  “That wasn’t for them, the horn was for us.” Jeff pointed as archers climbed atop the dirt wall.

  “Imperial uniforms,” Shad rubbed his scar. “Derek, go talk to them.”

  “They defended against the Dragon, you think?” Jeff wondered.

  “No,” Fred muttered. “The Imperials still hold the town, so they would have rebel heads on pikes if they had fought the Dragon.”

  Derek approached the gate with dignity. After a few minutes of discussion he trotted back, grinning, as the locals started clearing the gateway. “We’re OK,” he panted.

  “I’m happy,” Shad shrugged. “What is going on?”

  “Please say it isn’t Elves,” Jeff sighed, his breath frosting in the cold winter air.

  “It isn’t Elves, although they have seen a few skulking around this month,” Derek stowed his bow case on Durbin. “It’s Undead. They have been attacking every night or so. I told them we would help.”

  “Why did you do that?” Shad demanded.

  “Because we need supplies, and because this is just like the Magnificent Seven, which was actually a Westernized spin on a Japanese story about Ronin.”

  “If I wanted to re-enact a Western, it would be Big Jake,” Shad shook his head. “Still, Jeff needs to rest up, and some extra experience wouldn’t hurt. It would be nice to make level ten before we have to bet our lives against the World Stone.”

  “Plus killing Undead is a no-guilt operation,” Derek grinned.

  “I didn’t see you crying over the Elves.”

  Derek shuddered. “They give me the chills.”

  “I like having killed Elves, I just don’t like having to undertake the actual killing of them. They die damned hard,” Jeff agreed.

  “I don’t regret the Red Dragons,” Shad mused as the Black Talons walked towards the gate. “They called the dance, so they had to pay the fiddler.”

  “I’m not upset by them, either,” Derek agreed. “That first fight before the outbreak weighed on me until I saw what they caused for the common people.”

  “How did you cut that Elf’s throat, Shad?” Fred asked abruptly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was a neat slice and you didn’t get any blood on you. I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  “Oh. I got it in a sleeper hold, you know, the one that we can’t use anymore. It passed out and I cut its throat before it woke back up.”

  “Sensible,” the healer nodded.

  A Samurai in full armor done in Imperial colors was waiting for the Talons at the gate opening; he appeared to be of fully Japanese heritage, a short, broad man with a bristling mustache who stood with the bearing of a professional soldier. “This is Akita Karuya, commander of the garrison,” Derek explained. “Captain, my men.”

  The bushi gave Four’s helmet a second glance but limited himself to a minimalist nod. The group backing him were a mix of ashigaru and armed Hiemin, all uniformly care-worn and hollow-eyed, with the look of survivors about them.

  Another figure in armor joined them, and it took a moment for Shad to realize that this figure in weapon-marked armor was in fact a woman.

  “Genda Ilu,” Derek bowed to the woman, getting a simple nod in response. “The region magistrate. Magistrate Genda, my men.”

  She was young, not much more than twenty, Shad guessed, a pretty Asian girl despite the grim expression and severe bun. “Which of you is the Panatiko?”

  Shad wasn’t used to the formal class title, and hesitated a moment before stepping forward. “I am, your Honor.”

  She stared at the warder. “Have you faced Undead?’

  “Many times. I have personally slain both a raigan and a kyonshi. We have all faced ordinary Undead and Boneguard on several occasions.”

  The magistrate sniffed and turned back to Derek.

  “What’s with all the females in charge?” Shad muttered as he moved back to Fred and Jeff. “I didn’t think old Nippon was that open-minded.”

  “Maybe they’re short on the right level of nobles,” Fred shrugged. “Although I think women could be bushi on Earth. Anyway, this culture has changed since it got banished.”

  “Maybe this is a dud posting,” Jeff suggested. “The area certainly doesn’t cry out ‘fast-track assignment’.”

  “True. Here comes Derek. What crawled up the magistrate’s ass?”

  “Your response,” the Ronin grinned. “You didn’t call her ‘your Honor’ the second time, your tone was not sufficiently respectful, and you told her about the raigan and a kyonshi. Face is important here, as are manners and courtesy; you never tell a superior about accomplishments that overawe the superior’s accomplishments.”

  “Yet they want our help,” Shad sneered. “This is BS.”

  “Let me do the talking,” Derek sighed. “Look, they’re not saying it openly, but they are in trouble. They can’t hold the perimeter and have fallen back to the Magistrate’s hall and the barracks. This is looking more like the Thirteenth Warrior than the Magnificent Seven.”

  “What sort of Undead are they facing, or is it impolite to ask that?” Jeff drawled.

  “Ordinary skeletons with Boneguard leaders, plus a Death Lord in command.”

  “A Death Lord?” Fred demanded. “We ice him and we’re down to two. We might not even have to kill him personally to get credit. If we have to march all over Hell on this ‘save-the-world’ quest only to get sent home short of the goal, I am going to be pissed. We could just head north and be home in a week if that was our goal.”

  “Way to go, Derek,” Jeff shook his head.

  The Ronin shot them the bird.

  The Magistrate’s hall and the garrison barracks was a semi-fortified three-story central building with two single-story wings on the north side of the village’s market square. It was surrounded by a chest-high barrier made of the beams from adjoining buildings that had been pulled down, carts, barrels filled with dirt, and similar materials, now much scarred by fighting.

  Inside the building were the women, children and aged of the village, while every able-bodied male had been mustered into the militia. The Black Talons secured a section of covered porch on the east wing and settled the children and their gear there while Derek consulted with Captain Akita.

  “Turns out that the Magistrate is just acting-rank,” Jeff announced after returning from overseeing the stabling of the animals. “Her father was the actual Magistrate, but he bought it during the first night attack, and her brother in the second. Until the Daimyo appoints a replacement she is in charge. She’s not even Bushi, she just wears her brother’s armor to keep up morale.”

  “What happens if she cashes in?” Shad asked from where he was lying, his head propped up on his bedroll.

  “It goes to the next highest noble Samurai, but the truth is there aren’t that many in this village. Any more changes of command and we trade Thirteenth Warrior for The Alamo.”

  “Are any of them going to listen to us?’ Shad tipped his soft cap over his eyes.

  “Through Derek.”

  “Great. The blade grunt is going to represent the guy whose class is all about killing Undead.”

  “We’re not Samurai.”

  “I am suddenly getting a real feel for this place, and it sucks.”

  “The Prison and the Realm weren’t so rigid,” Jeff agreed. “Although we didn’t deal with the upper crust much.”

  “The commander of the Expedition didn’t like dealing with us,” Fred pointed out.

  “Yeah, but that was disdain, not a refusal to listen.”

  “And he got himself killed,” Shad pointed out.

  Derek returned an hour later to find the kids and the rest of the Talons asleep. “Shad!” he whispered.
>
  The warder blearily lifted his hat from his eyes. Seeing the Ronin’s gesture he climbed to his feet and caught up his sword belt.

  When the two were out of earshot of the others Derek stopped. “OK, I’ve got the basic idea of their defense.”

  “Great. So how does this work? My class is intended to be an integral part of the fight against Undead, but the commander won’t talk directly to me?”

  “Look, it is a culture which places…”

  “More importance on style than substance,” Shad finished for him. “They still have too long of a perimeter, half their troops are peasants ready to run, and the boss is offended because the guy who actually knows what he is doing has seen more action than they have. Is there any chance Captain Aytoo will listen?’

  “No, and his name is Akita.”

  “His name is going to be ‘the late Captain Akinta’ at the rate he is going. All right, genius, what is the plan?”

  “Three-sixty defense. Hold at the perimeter.”

  Shad shook his head. “That puts one man per eight feet or so, and if one part fails to hold the whole thing goes. We ought to pull back to the building, fortify it, and channel the attackers. I can do some real nasty stuff to Undead if I know where they will be coming from.”

  Derek shrugged. “They lost half their garrison trying to hold the village wall. Samurai don’t give up ground easily.”

  “Samurai only win wars against each other and the Imperial Russians.” Shad studied a group of militia drilling under the watchful eye of an ashigaru instructor. “Screw this. We’re not staying in this rat trap.”

  “They need our help!” Derek objected.

  “They need training in basic defensive tactics. Inside this cluster we’re just four swords and some inappropriately-deployed spells. What we will do is hide in a house on the edge of town and once the Undead commit to the attack we’ll go for the Death Lord. Find out the exact path and method of every attack the Undead have made since this started and then we’ll find us a house and diagram avenues of approach.”

  Derek grinned. “That will work.”

  “Of course it will: we are American soldiers. You want something done right, you send for the best.”

  “Trouble is, the Magistrate won’t like us leaving.”

  “It sucks to be her. She pay you?”

  “No.”

  “Then we’re still free agents. All this ‘save face’ crap will work to our favor in that regard. What do we do with the kids and the animals?”

  Derek thought. “Stash them away from the likely avenues of attack. If we fail we don’t want them inside this place.”

  “Will they stay put? This is going to be risky without having to worry about them.”

  The Ronin scowled. “We’ll get Fred and Jeff to work on them. Emphasize the need to guard the animals. We’ll need to make sure they can get to safety if we bolo the try on the Death Lord.”

  “I don’t like leaving ten-year-olds alone in what we hope is not the path of an Undead attack. Any chance we could hire a Ronin to guide them?” Shad asked without much hope.

  “No chance, the magistrate has every one of them under pay.”

  “We need some sort of adult to keep them put and get them to safety if it goes horribly wrong. Someone who they will listen to.”

  “How about a Hanni woman? They could relate to her.”

  “Good idea. Why is a Death Lord leading an attack out here?”

  Derek blinked at the abrupt change in topic. “Let’s see…they knew the Red Dragon was making their move, so they’re…shit. They’re clearing an approach. They want this road.”

  Shad had already dug out the map. “Bingo.” He tapped the parchment. “This is the best road north of Litam. Plus it is a source of iron. Undead under supervision can build a road twenty-four hours a day, so if this map is accurate it is fairly level and dry to the Nightlands. Want to bet they’re cutting a road here as we speak?”

  “Crap. We will need to buy enough rations to get us to the temple and all the way back to Litam,” the Ronin stared into the distance. “We’ll have to cache most of it.”

  “Good thinking. Plus this means Litam is the focal point of the attack, which makes sense; I bet the Litam chapter of the Red Dragon got the best assistance. The million-ku question is whether they will start the World Stone before or after the thaw.”

  “If they moved fast they might get it to Litam before the mud really hits,” Derek studied the sky. “Wait for the ground dry there…why? Why rush it?”

  “To force the Empire to come to them,” Shad shook his head. “Losing Litam will put a lot of honor on the line. The Empire will bring up their army, and as soon as the ground is dry enough they’ll have it out.”

  “The Death Lords are securing operational initiative,” Derek spat disgustedly. “They will dictate the pace and nature of the coming campaign.”

  “We need to do what we are going to do and get the hell out of here,” Shad rubbed his scar. “It isn’t feeling like we are on the winning side.”

  “This isn’t going to be like luring out the Death Lord so Fred can get a clean shot,” Derek warned Shad. “He will have security; what we are doing is just what some Samurai would do: a killing thrust.”

  “We get close enough to him, he’s just as dead as if Fred still had his Sharps. I had Death Lords in mind when I built my spell arsenal. You guys just need to keep the help off me.”

  “Can it kill you? With spells, I mean.”

  “Never say never, but necromancers are focused on creating, maintaining, buffing, and controlling Undead; they can’t afford to waste capability on offensive spells. The only reason I have offensive spells is because I skipped a lot of the protective and divination aspects of my class’ spell suite. You guys are my first line.”

  Captain Akita was standing by to give the Black Talons a cold Samurai stare as they slipped out of the perimeter not long before dusk. “He is not happy,” Derek observed unnecessarily.

  “He shouldn’t be; if that perimeter holds it will be a miracle,” Fred shrugged.

  “Speaking of holding, are we sure this will work?” Jeff asked. “We could easily get swarmed if you two picked wrong.”

  “Necromancers don’t worry about losses,” Shad noted as they hustled down a side street. “They keep their tactics simple. Every attack on this village has followed the same pattern: a secondary attack to pin the defenders, and then the main attack elsewhere. Coming through the buildings means that there are only a couple possible approach routes, and the Death Lord will want to stay at a point when he is not far from both his attacking forces. Think of the Death Lord’s command group as having only short-range radios. Really short. Once things get moving I can track his spell-work.”

  “Can you put one of those anti-Undead wards on the kids’ hideout?”

  “Only if I want the Death Lord to know I’m here. The whole ‘sense enemy magic’ thing works both ways.”

  “Shad, you suck as a magic-user.”

  “Bite me.”

  Jeff had hired a timid little Asian woman named Denki to watch over the children, a Hanni street cleaner and wood-gatherer. Shad studied the mouse-like woman as she bundled the children into the straw of the stables the Talons had chosen.

  “You really think she can do the job?” he asked Jeff. “She looks like she is on the verge of fainting.”

  “She is from Litam, came here looking for better work. She was outside gathering deadfall when the Undead attacked, and made it back inside alive,” Jeff grinned. “She knows the route to Litam and scared or not, she has survived. You can be sure that no one has been looking out for the Hanni since this business started.”

  “OK.” The warder motioned the young woman over. “Do you understand the plan, Denki?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said to his feet.

  Shan put two fingers under her chin and raised her head until she was looking at him face to face. “Do as we have asked of you and you will have
a nice sum of money. Fail to stand by these children and I will hunt you down. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” It was nearly a whisper.

  “Was that necessary?” Derek snapped as the four Talons slipped through the dark streets.

  “I hope not. Having kids sucks, I would like to add. Things were so much easier in the other spheres.”

  “What happened to keeping the number of battles down?” Jeff whispered as the four took up position in the ruined shop they had chosen. “So far we’ve gotten caught up in someone else’s revolution and now we’re saving a village after we bought supplies.”

  “Don’t forget killing a bunch of Orcs,” Fred pointed out. “Which was your fault.”

  “Because with all the supplies we’ve got to lug we might not get clear of the area without the Undead spotting us. Killing the Death Lord, besides being a useful source of XP and a step towards home, should let us get away clean.”

  “I just remembered,” Jeff snapped his fingers. “We killed Elves, too.”

  “We always kill Elves,” Fred sighed. “I am sick of Elves.”

  “If you guys are done, I might point out that we are saving a lot of lives,” Derek jabbed a finger at them for emphasis.

  “I doubt that,” Shad looked up from sorting through his haversack. “They aren’t going to call off the invasion because we clipped one Death Lord. They’ll level this burg no matter what we do. All we can a=effect is when. And in the meantime the Samurai aren’t going to let the peasants duck out.”

  “Seems pretty pointless,” Jeff commented. “Good thing we have a strong self-interest factor.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Derek was dozing, chin on his chest and a disjointed dream about the National Training Center rattling around in his head when Fred tapped the sole of his boot, snapping him awake with a veteran’s milli-second transition. “Time,” the big man whispered.

  Stretching the kinks out, the Ronin joined Shad at the shattered front of the shop they had chosen as the waiting point. “What’s up?”