by Amano, Mia
Under the faint, moonlight glow, he thought her eyes might have been the deepest green, like a verdant forest. But he wasn’t so sure.
If death was like her, then he might almost follow her willingly into the abyss, or even into the depths of the nine hells themselves.
CHAPTER TWO
Amina ran like the wind, keeping to the shadows as she travelled the narrow stone streets of Varanada Town. In the early morning darkness, the Market Quarter was deserted, the merchant stalls cleared of produce and locked shut. Windows were darkened, and even the taverns and pleasure houses were closed.
This was wartime, and Varanada had been occupied by the enemy’s forces.
The Erateans had all left the city, leaving only the native Varanese to occupy the town.
On the eastern side of Varanada, Tarak Chul’s Akuna army had amassed, setting up camp. The faint tang of woodsmoke hung in the crisp morning air, the only sign of life in the deathly stillness.
Amina ran until she reached the reached the dense forest that encircled the western side of Varanada. She followed an old, hidden path. Only an Inue would have been able to find the trail of worn earth that ran through the dense stand of trees. Here, the moonlight could no longer penetrate, and she relied more on her other senses, sending out her qwi like an extension of herself, allowing her to dodge oncoming trees and skip over branches with the grace of a gazelle.
It was only when she was deep within the forest that she allowed herself to think.
She’d had one target tonight.
And she’d failed.
The target, in some kind of arrogance, or madness, had allowed her to escape.
She remembered the sensation of his hard, warm body, pressing into hers, and wondered for a moment how his bare skin would feel against her own.
Stupid. She had allowed herself to be distracted by the man. This had never, ever happened before.
Fatigue threatened her, making her limbs heavy, but she never faltered. Amina drew her qwi around her like a tight cloak and forced herself to run faster, using her spirit energy to guide her. As she ran, the darkness of the forest started to lift, ever so slightly. Morning was coming, and with it, disaster, if she didn’t reach her destination on time.
The one who had hired her for this kill would destroy everything if news of her failure reached him first.
Amina ran until the sun began its arc across the sky, sending shafts of light through the thick canopy above. She ran for hours, until her black assassin’s garb was damp with sweat, until she reached the western edge of the Arama forest, breaking through the thick line of trees.
She had come to the edge of a cliff, where the Varanada Plains stretched out below. There was nothing on the cliff to mark it as special, but Amina knew it marked the true border of the Eratean Empire.
Tarak Chul’s army had driven the Erateans to abandon their occupation of Varanada, forcing them back across the border.
This was wild country, and in the end, it had proven too much for the Erateans to hold.
The sun was high in the sky now, the day’s heat making the horizon shimmer. The Plains stretched out as far as the eye could see, bordered by a line of mountains that appeared faint and indistinct, as if washed by the gentle hand of a watercolor artist.
In the centre of the Plains was an encampment of roughly three thousand men. A disorderly patchwork of tents was scattered across the dry earth, a thin haze of smoke hanging above them. This was the camp of the Eratean forces, who had retreated across the border after a long winter siege.
Amina made her way down the cliff face along a clever path of footholds and notches that had been used by the Inue for hundreds of years. It was impossible to find, unless one had been taught.
She hated traveling the Plains. She was a creature of shadow, and under the wide, open blue sky, with no trees or buildings in sight, she felt vulnerable. There was nowhere to hide.
But she had no choice.
Amina ran until she reached the edge of the Eratean camp. She pulled away the headscarf covering her face and used it to wipe the sweat from her pale skin. A group of soldiers sat in a clearing amongst their tents, sipping cups of potent black khafa and smoking pungent cigarettes. Their uniforms were faded and torn, hanging off gaunt frames. They stared at Amina with hollow, flat gazes. They had the look of men who had been at war for too long.
Terror had stolen a part of their souls, leaving them just a bit emptier.
One of the men stood. The worn, golden stripes marking his sleeve told her he was a sergeant. “What business do you have here, woman? It’s too early in the day for the camp whores to be getting to work.”
The soldiers around him managed to snicker. It was a bitter, empty sound.
Amina didn’t waste time. In three fluid steps, she was by the sergeant’s side. Before he could even blink, she drew the short battle sword sheathed at his waist and held it to his neck. “Not all women are whores, sergeant.”
The man froze, looking her up and down. His eyes grew wide. Amina knew he was taking in her dark garb and the markings on her face. Three small, tear-shaped scars adorned her face on each side, at the prominence of her cheekbones.
They were the markings of a fully-fledged Inue assassin. One only received all three after completing a hundred kills.
Amina had received all her markings by the time she turned eighteen.
“I need to see Lord Garul. I have business with him. You will take me to him. Do not waste my time, sergeant. I’ve had a long night, and I’m not in the mood.”
The sergeant’s men were staring at her openly, wearing mixed expressions of horror and surprise. She heard the words “Inue devil” muttered amongst them. The men whispering to one another didn’t realize how good her hearing was. Glancing nervously at his subordinates, the sergeant swallowed and nodded, dropping his cigarette and crushing it under his boot. “This way, ma’am.”
With the short sword at his back, Amina followed the man through the dusty camp. More and more Eratean soldiers turned to stare, but the sergeant silenced them with a single gesture of his hand. “She’s here to see the Lord,” he called out. “Carry on. Pay no heed.”
As they reached the centre of the camp, Amina saw a round tent that was larger and in better condition than all the others. Two guards were posted at the entrance.
“Oy Dargon,” one called. “What in the nine hells are you doing?” He narrowed his eyes, his expression turning ashen. “Bloody Ourephos,” he swore, invoking the name of the twin gods. “Is that-”
“I need to see Lord Garul,” snapped Amina, before the man could finish. “Go tell him. He will grant me an audience.”
“Are you crazy, woman?” The guard stepped forward, drawing his sword. “There’s no way I’m letting the likes of you inside that tent. How do I know you haven’t been sent to kill the Commander?”
“Ask him yourself.” Amina moved closer to Dargon. “Quickly now, before my blade kisses your man’s spine.”
Eratean soldiers started to appear behind them. Amina got a taste of their qwi. The men were weary, their auras deflated. But they sensed a threat. Her presence had roused them into alertness.
If the entire Eratean army decided to surround her and take her down, Amina would be as good as dead. But she would not go easily. Blood would be spilt. A lot of it.
Still, the guards hesitated. Losing patience, Amina stepped forward, the point of the short sword digging into Dargon’s back, causing him to gasp in pain.
“Jerik Garul,” she yelled. “We need to talk. Call your men off.”
The guards just stared at her.
After a tense silence, the tent flap opened. “Let her in,” called a hoarse voice.
“But my Lord-”
“She works for me.”
Amina pushed Dargon aside and strode into the dark tent as the guards stepped back, obeying their Commander. She was grateful for the shadows after crossing Varanada Plains in the daytime heat.
&nbs
p; In the corner of the tent was a wooden desk with folding legs. Parchment maps with rolled edges cluttered the desk. A man was bent over the maps, and as Amina entered, he lifted his head.
“Ah, Inue.” He didn’t refer to her by name, because she hadn’t given him her name. “You must be either very brave, or very stupid, to enter my camp alone. Entering the country illegally, on top of that.”
Jerik Garul, Lord of the former Eratean outpost of Varanada, gestured for her to be seated. Amina refused. Garul shrugged, his pale grey eyes sliding over her figure.
Amina resisted the urge to stab him in the throat.
“So. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Garul’s tone was mocking. He was a short man, with a broad, ruddy face that told of a love for the drink. He had the sort of features one might call ‘kind’, but Amina knew that looks could be most deceiving.
Garul was a petty tyrant who had presided over Varanada for the past five years, before Tarak Chul had driven the Erateans back over the border. He had ruled through fear, forcing the native Varanese into servitude.
Amina returned his look with a cold glare. “Your request is not as straightforward as I initially thought. I will need more time.”
“You failed?” Garul tapped a jeweled finger on the hard desk. He wore a ring bearing the twin dragon insignia of Eratea. “And here I was expecting good news. I take it then, that Tarak Chul is still alive?”
“He will die,” Amina assured him. “But he’s as formidable as the rumors say.”
This drew a low, guttural laugh from Garul. “A slave doesn’t become a warlord unless he’s exceptionally gifted. But the upstart needs to learn his place in the world. Don’t return here until you’re successful, Inue.”
Amina fought to keep her expression blank. She didn’t know Tarak had once been a slave.
“As I said, the task is more difficult than I thought. I will need until the new moon. You will hold off on your threat, for now.”
Garul bent to study something on his map. “That is disappointing,” he murmured, tracing imaginary battle lines with his finger. “I was told you were without peer in the art of assassination. But it is Tarak Chul, after all. Very well. You shall have until the new moon to ensure his death. I was hoping to deliver good news to the arriving reinforcements, but this will have to do.”
Amina glanced down at Garul’s maps, but he had covered them with one arm. “Remember, Inue. If Tarak Chul does not die by your hand, I will see to it that your sister is stripped of her status and sent to a whorehouse in Fortuna. She will be lucky to survive to her thirties.” He grinned, a lewd expression crossing his face. “I may even pay her a visit myself.”
Amina suppressed her rage, hating the man, but powerless in the face of his threats. When the Erateans had occupied Varanada, her sister had been training as an ikana, the most mythical and sought after of courtesans.
Ikana were not prostitutes. They were to be seen and revered, but never touched.
Mira had never possessed the spirit of a killer. Unlike Amina, she was graceful and refined, a gentle soul.
She had left their village at the age of sixteen and entered the secret world of the ikana. When the Erateans came, she had caught Garul’s attention. After several months entertaining the high ranking officers of the Eratean army, she had impressed one of the Emperor’s envoys.
Mira had gone willingly to the capital, Adalan, to entertain the Emperor himself.
After she left, packages started to appear, delivered to Kotosh, an old Inue swordsmith who lived in Varanada Town. There were bolts of silk and precious gems and Eratean gold coins. Kotosh would deliver them to the village and they would be sold, to purchase grain and meat.
Mira’s packages helped the Inue tribe survive the Eratean occupation. For assassination was becoming a dying art, and the jobs were fewer and fewer, the commissions less generous.
Times had been hard in the hidden Chukol village.
And because of that, Mira was trapped inside Eratea, working as a glorified slave.
Amina hadn’t seen her for years. She wondered what had really become of her little sister, and she shuddered to think what the Erateans may have forced her to do.
“When this is done, Garul, you will return my sister to me.” Amina unleashed a sliver of her killing intent, forcing Garul to meet her gaze. She saw the briefest flicker of fear in his eyes, before it was quickly buried under a deceptively benevolent smile.
“Of course, Inue. Kill Tarak Chul, and the ikana will return, without a scratch. The Empire would owe you at least that much, if you delivered his head.”
Fighting her revulsion, Amina nodded. “It will be done. But if any Eratean harms my sister before then, I swear to Imril that I’ll wear the death mask and come for you, Jerik Garul, and I will make sure your death is a slow and painful one.” To prove her point, she bent over the desk, a blur of motion, and held the tip of the short sword to Garul’s fleshy neck. He swallowed, and nodded.
“Just get it done, Inue, and no harm will come to her,” he rasped. “I have to tell you, however, that this is out of my hands now. The Empire has ordered it. And you cannot win against the Empire.”
CHAPTER THREE
The streets of Varanada Town were eerily silent in the heat of the day. A night had passed since Amina’s meeting with Jerik Garul, and she had returned to Varanada, seeking another way into Larion Fortress.
She had exchanged her assassin’s garb for a light, cotton sundress dyed the color of almost-ripe strawberries. A wide-brimmed straw hat concealed her characteristic Inue markings.
The Akuna hadn’t occupied the town. Instead, they remained camped on the eastern side, where the forest ringing the town gave way to mountainous terrain. They had the height advantage from up there, able to see beyond the Arama forest to the Varanada Plains. It was a strategic position.
The native Varanese stayed out of sight, suspicious and wary. War had visited them too often in recent times.
Amina ducked into a narrow alley in the pleasure district. An uneven, cobblestone street snaked up the hillside, past darkened shopfronts adorned with hanging lanterns. The buildings and streets were ancient, built long before the Eratean Empire had come into existence.
She stopped at an ordinary looking entrance, over which hung a faded sign. A simple lotus insignia was painted on the sign, in white.
Amina pushed open the door, entering an airy, white room. Lush, canary blue drapes graced the windows. On a round, polished table in the centre was an extravagant spray of white orchids.
“Hello, can I help you?” In a cloud of rose perfume, the Mistress of the house swept into the room. She truly Varanese, her silver-gold hair swept up in an elaborate bun, her pale blue eyes lined with shimmering pearl dust. She smiled at Amina, taking in her simple, faded red dress and plain leather sandals. “Are you lost, dear?”
“Mistress Rial, I presume?”
The woman called Rial stiffened, her expression wary. “And who is asking, dear?”
“I’m Amina, Mira’s sister.”
“You’re Mira Sato’s sister?” Rial crossed the floor, drawing close to Amina. “Have you had word of her?”
“She’s in danger, Mistress, and I need your help.” Amina removed her hat, revealing the scars that marked her as an Inue assassin and her dark, close-cropped hair. Rial’s eyes widened.
“I didn’t know Mira-chi’s sister was a-” She blinked, as if afraid that she might have offended Amina. “I mean, never mind. There’s definitely a resemblance, but at the same time, you’re like chalk and cheese.” She shook her head. “If Mira-chi is in danger, then I’ll do anything to help. She was a favorite pupil of mine. Such a talented girl. I do hope nothing happens to her. What is it you need, Amina?”
“You need to make me an ikana, Mistress Rial, just for one night. Then you need to find a reason to send a group of ikana to Larion Fortress. Think of it as a peace offering from the Varanese to the Warlord. I need to get close to him.”
> Rial narrowed her eyes, the pearl dust surrounding them shimmering in the bright morning light. “What does this have to do with Mira-chi? I cannot offer my precious girls to an Akuna devil, especially Tarak Chul!” She shuddered. “Ourephos knows what he would do to them.”
“The situation is complicated, Mistress.” Amina took a step forward, taking advantage of the reputation of the Inue assassins. Although she much shorter than the Mistress, Rial shuffled back, her pale hands trembling. Even to a non-warrior, Amina’s qwi could be frightening. “You had better believe me when I say that if you don’t help me with this, harm will come to Mira. And I tend to hold grudges against those who directly or indirectly cause my family harm.”
Rial swallowed, and clasped her hands together to stop them from trembling. “I understand.” She took a deep breath, casting a critical eye over Amina. “You’re a bit short for an ikana, but with enough makeup and a decent wig, those Akuna devils won’t be able to tell the difference. I will help you, Inue, on one condition. You must make sure no harm comes to my girls. They’re ikana, not common whores. Remember that.”
“Of course.” Amina raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you worry about that, Mistress Rial. Any Akuna who tries the slightest indecency will be granted eunuch status by my hand.”
~~~
Tarak sighed as another Varanese merchant knelt before him, too afraid to speak. He waved his hand in frustration. “Get up, Master Erion. I don’t care much for formalities here. And as much as I’m sure your silks are of fine quality, you would be better off sending them to the east. My countrymen are starved for such things. I’m sure you make a nice profit selling them in Lon San.”
The man called Erion lifted his head. “But Lord Chul, it is customary to offer tribute to the Lord of Larion Fortress. I would not wish to risk your displeasure by withdrawing my offer.”