by Travis Bughi
The room was a far cry from the cots used by the samurai, and a farther cry still from the stacked hammocks of the servants and the crewmen in the darkness of the hull. Takeo was not offended by this, though. Such was expected for a man who’d conquered half the provinces in Juatwa; an ounce of humility was the only thing in short supply.
The man himself was leaning over the top of his table. He was barefoot, wore a casual kimono, and stood with his back slightly turned toward the door. Even with robes on and turned at this angle, Katsu’s lanky figure was easily distinguishable.
Directly behind him, lying on the bed, was Heliena Katsu.
She was beautiful as always—stunningly so in a way that would draw the envy of even a yuki-onna. Her face was calm and watchful, oozing entitlement and privilege as if born to it. A white kimono draped over her body revealed that Katsu had finally convinced his new bride to retire the amazon body armor she’d worn during their stay in Lucifan. The silk fell over her figure like water, taunting all who could see with the delicate curves that lay beneath it. She wore it well, too, and her smile revealed that she knew that. However, beyond those confident features, the ever-burning fury within her raged through her eyes. Despite her petite and fragile appearance, Takeo knew better than to mistake her for anything other than a dangerous killer.
“Please, come forward,” Ichiro said over his shoulder, a turn of his head exposing a thin nose.
Renshu and Takeo removed their geta before placing their bare feet upon the rug. They took several steps forward, now side by side, and stood at attention. Heliena watched them without blinking.
“Please, sit,” Ichiro commanded.
Renshu and Takeo kneeled down, placing knees and shins upon the floor before leaning back to sit on their heels. They kept their backs and chests rigid and erect as they did so, ending the movement by placing closed fists upon their thighs. They waited patiently.
“Thank you both for coming,” Ichiro said, finally turning away from his table.
He walked over to them, sitting as they had. Takeo and Renshu both bowed their heads, making sure their lord was taller than them even while sitting. From out of the corner of his eye, Takeo saw Heliena stifle a laugh.
Takeo wrinkled his nose at the gesture but hid it by bowing further. Beyond the fact that it would be rude and, therefore, dishonorable to show his disdain, it was also unbecoming of a samurai to let such travesties affect his emotions.
But oh, how he hated her.
It wasn’t just the marriage that he hated, though that in and of itself could have been enough. Sure, Heliena may have been a princess among her own people and therefore had the status required to marry Ichiro, but beyond that she had few redeeming qualities. Her beauty was undeniably striking, but her character was a cesspool in Takeo’s opinion. The people of Juatwa, certainly the elite samurai and shogun, were known to hold a high degree of respect and politeness to others. This woman, though, was a cannon of insults. She would burst into a shrieking rage at the slightest provocation and hand out punishment with severe prejudice. Her version of justice entirely hinged upon her emotions and desires, which were rarely anything but cruel and violent.
It pained Takeo to admit it, but out of all of Ichiro’s wives, Heliena had the most in common with her husband.
“Karaoshi,” Ichiro said.
Takeo snapped out of his thoughts.
“Miyazi,” Ichiro continued.
“Lord,” they both gave one last nod before lifting their heads.
“How have you two been these last few months? I must apologize. This ship is no manor, and yet I’ve managed not to speak to either of you in over a month, and even longer than that for you, Takeo.”
“No apology is necessary, my lord,” Renshu replied. “My heart aches to be back in Juatwa.”
“I have been well, my lord,” Takeo said. “Thank you for asking.”
Ichiro nodded and let a moment pass. Formalities were over; time for business.
“It has taken me some time and thought,” he began, “but I still believe my plans to capture Lucifan can be achieved. During my stay there, I gathered valuable information on its defensive capabilities and found them extremely lacking. As I suspected, with the angels gone, the colossi have ceased to function. Without them, Lucifan is a ripe apple just waiting to be plucked. The knights are nothing but a regulated militia, and their numbers are too inferior to protect the city from a real attack. It was a long shot, but assisting Drowin in his assassination of the angels worked.
“On that note, however, Heliena is certain beyond doubt that she saw her sister and the girl, Emily, on the city’s shore as we set out. As unlikely as it seems that they defeated Drowin in the short time we were gone, we’ll operate and plan according to that assumption. We’ll assume that Drowin is dead, and for that, I could almost thank Heliena’s sister and her little, death-defying friend. We won’t have a vampire to deal with when we invade. In truth, though, it matters little. Our plans remain unchanged.
“When I left Juatwa, I controlled the majority of the daimyo and their armies. When I return, I’ll hunt down one of the other two remaining shogun and take their armies as well. Hopefully they haven’t united yet. After I’ve conquered one, the other should be easy to push into submission. I suspect Lord Jiro will be the easiest to subdue.
“Once Juatwa is under my control, I’ll send my army to Lucifan. We’ll sack that plump city of riches, and, with those extra resources, Savara will be next.”
“My lord,” Takeo spoke up.
Ichiro paused. Although Takeo had not technically interrupted him, Ichiro had clearly not finished speaking. He narrowed his eyes at his subordinate, and Takeo felt the ire of his lord.
“Yes?”
“What if we are defeated?”
A silence passed over the room. Only the creaking of the ship and the slap of the ocean could be heard through the walls. Takeo swallowed but said no more. He had asked a legitimate question, and he would not shy away from it simply because his lord hated to hear it.
That was not the bravery his brother had taught him.
“Defeated where?” Ichiro asked.
“In Juatwa, my lord,” Takeo clarified. “You said hopefully the other two shogun haven’t united, but what if they have? What is our plan then?”
“Then it would be even more imperative that we invade Lucifan,” Ichiro answered, his patience waning. “In the unlikely case I’m defeated by my rivals, I’ll take what samurai are still loyal to me and leave Juatwa. We’ll head to Savara to recruit what mercenaries we can and then invade Lucifan. Even in this situation, I believe the city to be ill equipped to handle this. I will be the man who sacks Lucifan. The city, its people, and its riches will be mine. Juatwa will be dominated afterwards. The Katsu Dynasty will come to fruition. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, my lord,” Takeo and Renshu nodded.
“Good,” Ichiro said, sounding satisfied and confident once again. “Now, Takeo. I require your sword.”
He extended an open hand, palm up, and Takeo’s heart skipped a beat. His breath caught in his throat, and another void of silence consumed the room.
A samurai’s sword was not only his weapon, but also his symbol, his livelihood, and his legacy. Many were engraved with ancient family sayings or the names of those who had carried them. This was Takeo’s father’s sword, and it had seen more combat than Takeo had seen months of life. It had made the journey to Lucifan with Okamoto, and after his brother’s death, had been graciously preserved by the knights. When Takeo had been handed the sword upon his arrival to the city, he’d known beyond certainty that his brother had died.
A request to hold his katana, or the katana of any samurai for that matter, was not to be made lightly. However, the request had been made by his shogun, so the samurai code limited his options to only one: obedience.
Takeo looked at Renshu before sliding the sheathed weapon from his waist; Renshu continued his stoic gaze over Ichiro�
��s shoulder. Takeo placed the weapon into Ichiro’s outstretched hand and waited.
“Thank you,” Ichiro said.
He stood up and took the sword in both hands. He turned it over, as if inspecting it, and walked slowly back towards his table. The sword wasn’t much to look at. The sheath wasn’t delicately carved, nor was the handle beautifully gemmed like Renshu’s, but it was sturdy and true. The only story the Karaoshi sword sung was one of efficiency.
“Did you know,” Ichiro said, “that there are commoners aboard this ship who believe this sword is enchanted?”
“I did not know that, my lord.”
“The servants who accompanied us to that tower started the rumor,” Ichiro continued as if Takeo had not spoken. “When that minotaur roared through the door, they practically pissed themselves in fear, and my other samurai looked grim. Even those barbaric ogres tensed up. But you? You did neither. Instead, you charged to the door, unsheathed this very sword, and stabbed the minotaur the moment the door was open, killing the creature instantly.
“The commoners have heard stories of your brother when he carried this blade under my banner. I think those stories combined with what they saw encouraged their imagination. There is talk that whoever wields this katana is granted immortal bravery and unprecedented skill. Considering the obscurity from which you and your brother arose, it does seem fitting that the sword should carry the honors.”
Takeo remained quiet. Katsu finished walking toward the table. He placed the sword upon it and withdrew his hand.
“I, however?” Ichiro said, voice low. “I believe this sword is cursed. Miyazi!”
Renshu leapt to his feet and gave a ferocious battle cry. He ripped his katana from its sheath as Takeo leapt up as well. In the same motion used to draw the weapon, Renshu swung at Takeo. It was quick, strong, and fluid as every samurai move should be. Against a lesser opponent, such a swing would have ended the fight instantly.
Instead, as the blade swept over Takeo’s head, Takeo noticed that Renshu had aimed to strike with the flat of the blade, not to kill, but that did not stop Takeo from defending himself. With blinding speed, Takeo gripped the exposed parts of Renshu’s sword hilt and shouldered the larger man. In the moment he was thrown back, Takeo ripped the katana clear of its owner’s hands and leveled it at Renshu.
The larger samurai stumbled from the blow, barely stopping from falling over. There were a good two steps between him and Takeo now, and Renshu found himself staring down the blade of his own sword, its tip dangerously near his belly. Takeo looked at him calmly.
“Takeo,” Ichiro said.
Takeo did not remove his eyes from Renshu but turned his head to show he was listening.
“Put it down,” his lord continued. “You’ve lost.”
Takeo took a moment to evaluate his surroundings. Still focusing on Renshu, he scanned the outer limits of his vision. Out of the corner of one eye, he noted Heliena was no longer lying on her back. She was on her knees now. He turned his head a little more to get a better look and then finally flicked his eyes at her.
She was holding her bow at the ready with a single arrow pointed toward his chest. The string was held taut, and her lips were parted in cruel satisfaction. He counted only one step between himself and her, which was both too close for her to miss and too far for him to strike her before she released. Takeo may have hated her, but he was not such a fool as to underestimate her.
Ichiro was right. He had lost, but he was also not dead.
Takeo let the sword clatter to the ground, and Renshu immediately retrieved it. Takeo turned to faced Heliena and tightened his muscles for the blow that was coming. He felt Renshu kick him in the back of his knee.
“Kneel!” Renshu commanded.
Takeo hit the ground, but before he’d completely fallen, Renshu grabbed ahold of his queue with a rough hand and jerked his head back. Takeo gritted his teeth to hide the pain and felt cold, sharp metal rest on his exposed neck.
“Move again, and I slit your throat,” Renshu said before spitting on Takeo’s cheek.
Ichiro again took up Takeo’s sword and walked back to stand over him. He unsheathed the katana and placed the tip upon Takeo’s chest, using it to wedge the kimono open and pressing just enough to break the skin. A thin trail of blood fell down to be soaked into Takeo’s white clothing.
“Tell me,” Ichiro commanded, “why didn’t you slay the farmer girl in Lucifan? Why did you betray your duty?”
“My lord?”
“Emily Stout!” Ichiro yelled. “You had her back to a wall, and yet you hesitated to cut her down. You were ordered to kill her; why didn’t you? She killed your brother.”
“No, she did not,” Takeo replied.
This response was followed by silence. Ichiro seemed caught by surprise.
“And what makes you think that?” he asked.
“I’ve killed many people, my lord,” Takeo said, then added in bitterness, “in my service to you. Many of them were guilty, but some of them not. I remember every face, and I can tell the difference between them. In the final moments of their lives, every one of them revealed their true selves. In Emily’s last moment, in her eyes, I saw neither regret nor acceptance for the death of my brother. When we first met, she pleaded her innocence to me, but it wasn’t until that moment that I knew she spoke the truth.”
Ichiro paused again. He gave Takeo a long, skeptical look before withdrawing the sword from his chest, though he did not sheath it.
“If that is true,” he said, “then who do you think killed Okamoto?”
Takeo took a deep breath and then swallowed. It took some effort to slide the saliva down his throat past the blade held tightly against his neck. However, once it was done, he found his voice again. He would be brave just as his brother had taught him.
“She said it was Heliena who killed Okamoto,” Takeo confessed.
Ichiro balked slightly and blinked. He whirled around to face his wife whom Takeo could not see with Renshu’s hand forcing his face skyward.
Takeo waited patiently and closed his eyes, hoping that maybe, just maybe, his lord would have the courage to strike her down where she stood.
“Why are you looking at me?” Heliena asked with contempt. “You knew it would only be a matter of time until he found out.”
Takeo’s eyes burst open. He saw Ichiro turn back around and face him. No, Takeo thought, it can’t be!
“You knew?” he yelled at Ichiro. “You bastard! You knew!”
“Miyazi,” Ichiro said quietly.
Renshu lowered his blade from Takeo’s throat by a finger’s width and struck him hard across the face. Takeo felt the punch, but it hardly fazed him in the anger that he felt within.
“Of course I knew,” Ichiro answered. “It is one of the reasons I believe this sword to be cursed.”
He finally sheathed Takeo’s blade and held it out as if tainted.
“The Karaoshi sword,” Ichiro said, mockingly. “When you and Okamoto came to pledge your lives to me, I had this blade in my possession. It was only Okamoto’s impeccable reputation as a swordsman that made me accept the offer of your service, and on Okamoto’s request, I gave this katana to him. He served me well until he came to Lucifan and disobeyed a direct order from Heliena to kill Emily.”
“What?” Takeo stuttered.
“Heliena told Okamoto to kill Emily when first they captured that little farmer. Count Drowin wanted her alive, and Okamoto defied her out of fear of death from Drowin.”
“My brother never feared death!” Takeo shouted. “He didn’t obey because he knew better than to waste his life following an order from that despicable woman!”
“Miyazi,” Ichiro said.
Renshu struck Takeo again, harder this time, and Takeo’s world spun. He tasted blood.
“Okamoto was a samurai,” Ichiro continued, “and he disobeyed a direct order from his lord’s wife. That was his crime, his dishonor, and Heliena rightfully killed him for it. As for
you, your crime is even greater. You disobeyed a direct order from me, your lord, which is why you’re still alive.”
Takeo remained silent as Ichiro walked back over to his table. He placed Takeo’s sword on it and turned around.
“Death, I feel, is too good for you. You and your brother were the greatest warriors I have ever seen, but I can no longer ignore the shame your name carries. Your entire family will feel the weight of your dishonor.”
“What family?” Takeo muttered.
Renshu didn’t wait for a command before striking Takeo this time.
“The Karaoshi name then, and your legacy,” Ichiro sneered. “Either way, you will suffer before you die. When we reach Savara, you will be stripped of your clothes, weapons, and title. Then, you will be sold into slavery.”
Takeo looked over at the man who was once his lord, and Ichiro looked right back at him.
“Renshu will negotiate the price personally,” he said. “He will sell you cheap . . . to a rakshasa.”
Chapter 1
Emily took a deep breath and let it out.
Sometimes, she got scared being tied up, handcuffed, and locked in the hold of this ship, The Greedy Barnacle. It was cramped, there were no windows, and she could never get comfortable. She lay on her side with her front facing toward the door beyond her iron-barred cage so that if someone opened the faceplate to check on her, they would not see her hands working tirelessly to free her. It was dark, quiet, and smelly. The air was musty and stale, and the only noises she could hear were the creak of wood and the muffled sound of waves crashing against the ship. It could be a bit lonely, and she already felt lonely enough as it was.
“Come on,” she whispered to herself, “hurry.”
Emily again worked her hands against the rope. She had held them just slightly apart and bent at an angle when she was tied up. Doing so had created a small gap her captors hadn’t taken notice of, and she’d put that to use by stretching and pulling. The rope was loosened enough, and Emily knew she could get out of it. The easy part was done. It seemed like no matter how hard the pirates tried, they just couldn’t tie the rope tight enough on her small body.