by Brandon Chen
He turned and began walking toward the guards.
“Hey, escort,” one of the guards said. Keimaro recognized his tabard and insignia almost instantly. It was the same one that he had seen many years ago on the day of Bakaara’s destruction. The man was in his mid-forties and had a rather short, brown beard. He sighed, tapping his helmet as he stopped a few feet from the young boy. “You’re the ones delivering the special cargo, right?”
Keimaro blinked for a moment, glancing over his shoulder at the wagon and the cargo inside, covered by a white blanket. Special cargo? Suddenly he felt as if whatever they were carrying around in that wagon was of actual value. He turned back to the guard and nodded his head, going along with the conversation. “Yeah, that’s us.”
“Really? I thought there would be more of you, considering the importance of the package.”
“Well, most of us were assaulted in the Forbidden Forest,” Keimaro said with a sigh of exhaustion, shaking his head as if saddened. “Many monsters of the night came at us, and we barely made it out alive. But, we managed to hold on to the cargo, and we made it in one piece.”
“That’s disappointing that you lost so many lives,” the guard said with a shrug, clearly not actually caring. “Well, what are you doing all the way over here anyway?” He put a hand on his hip. “You were supposed to deliver the cargo straight to the king, were you not?”
“Yeah, but we just figured we would stop quickly—”
“Do you even understand how important this cargo is?”
“Not particularly, we weren’t told what was inside.”
The guard sighed and shook his head in disbelief. “Privates. Oh well, the king has sent us to escort you to him to personally deliver the cargo. I expect that he has something he wants to talk to you men about. Perhaps a report on the mission, nothing big. So, whoever is in charge of you guys should come with us.”
Keimaro blinked a few times and finally cracked a smile as he nodded, walking forward with the two guards. “Take care of Gavin,” he called to Yata over his shoulder as the two men from the Royal Guard led him away.
A shadow fell over his face as darkness welled up in his heart. This was his chance, practically handed to him on a platter! They were allowing him to waltz up to the king himself. He would be able to kill the man who was responsible for the destruction of his family—well, one of them, at least. The others were the Bounts. He would have to plan this assassination carefully; otherwise, he could jeopardize his own life. But in the end, he wasn’t thinking about careful procedure. Rather, his mind was consumed by the very thought of the king’s absolute annihilation, nothing more.
***
Yata watched as the Royal Guards escorted his friend away, not really sure what to do now. This wasn’t part of the plan. They were supposed to find somewhere to stay, not go off to see the goddamn king. He sighed when he saw two more random guards come by about a minute later, moving to the cargo and lifting up several massive boxes. It took two men to carry each box, indicating that whatever was inside was extremely heavy. The guards stumbled off with the boxes in the same direction that Keimaro had traveled only moments earlier.
Not according to the plan—that was how Keimaro always tended to do things. If he tried to assassinate the king at this point, he would only get himself killed. Yata hoped that Keimaro wasn’t actually stupid enough to follow through with such a foolish plan.
Yata went to the back of the wagon and picked up his bat along with Keimaro’s cloak. He slung the cloak over his shoulder and shrugged at Gavin. “We’re going to need a room, so I suppose that we’ll start with that. Buy us a room, and we’ll get started with our plan. It seems that you’ll be going along with it, seeing as you have no choice anymore.”
“What?” Gavin exclaimed in disbelief. “I thought that you guys were going to let me go once I got you inside! Are you honestly going to make me do whatever you terrorists—?”
“We aren’t goddamn terrorists,” Yata snarled, lashing forward and grabbing Gavin by the shirt. He yanked the soldier close to him, their faces inches apart. He glared into the warrior’s eyes, which were filled with fear. His hands squeezed the shirt, and Gavin gulped, beads of sweat beginning to stream down his forehead. “Remember this: what we are doing is not for ourselves. It’s so that no one else will have to suffer like Kei and I have. You freaking understand that? Don’t forget: one false move, and I’ll bash your skull in. I don’t mind killing you in front of people, either. I’m not like Kei. I’m much more heartless,” he muttered, shoving Gavin toward the door of the inn.
The soldier stumbled a few feet and sighed, understanding that there was no way out of this situation. But, how could he live with helping terrorists? These guys were obviously up to no good, and the fact that one of them just went to see the king was even more of a problem. Hardly anyone ever met the king in person; why was this boy who had just entered the city getting a chance to do so?
Gavin opened the door and walked inside with Yata behind him. He scanned the inn and whistled when he saw that it was filled with lively people. Fast fiddle tunes were playing as people danced on tables and on the floor. Mugs filled with beer were being passed around as if people were celebrating. Every corner of the packed room was filled with cheers and laughter, and Gavin couldn’t help but smile. These were soldiers of Faar, definitely. Why were they not at the barracks or the mess hall doing their celebrating?
He walked forward and pushed his way through the crowds of people to the bar. There, he smiled at the owner of the inn, who wore a brown vest and had a beard of aged gray hair. “May I have a room for…?” He glanced over his shoulder at Yata, who was looking at the men around him as if they were all monsters, astonishment printed upon his face. “Well, I’ll take a room for three days and pay when we leave. A room for three. Sound good?”
“Yeah,” the innkeeper said with a nod of his head. He reached to his belt and unhooked a key, handing it to Gavin. He nodded once more in the direction of the staircase. “Second door on the left once you reach the hallway.”
“Thanks,” Gavin said and took the key. He looked at Yata and led him up the wooden stairway to a long hallway. Small candles were placed everywhere to illuminate the dark area. Night had fallen during the short exchange with the innkeeper, leaving the rooms darkened. He inserted the key in the door and felt dismay swarm over him. He was helping this scum in the pursuit of his goal.
He opened the door to their room and walked in with a sigh as he saw three beds perfectly aligned on one side with a table and chairs on the other. A window was open against the darkening sky as the sun set and vanished over the side of Bassada’s outer wall. The soldier walked over to the window and gripped the windowsill, watching the sun’s rays streak red across the sky and disappear. The sound of music and voices had died down once the door was closed and were muffled behind the thick wooden walls.
“What is your purpose here in Bassada?” Gavin muttered, glancing over his shoulder at Yata.
“To obtain a chest that was stolen from Keimaro,” Yata said, closing the door behind him. He tossed his bat onto the ground and threw Keimaro’s cloak onto one of the beds. The boy leapt upward and landed heavily on one of the beds, bouncing from its spring. He leaned backward on the mattress, feeling as if he were on a cloud; it had been so long since he had slept on a bed this comfortable.
“Is that so … and what else?”
“To assassinate the king.”
Gavin’s eyes widened and his body went stiff upon hearing such a sentence. That was the highest form of treason. Simply saying such a thing could result in an execution. His hands balled into fists; he knew that he couldn’t let these men get away with this. Keimaro had been the dangerous one in the forest, and the reason he had been successful in his assault was only because he had the Shokugan and could see through the darkness. Gavin had the upper hand in this situation, the element of surprise, and Keimaro wasn’t even here—not to mention the fact that Yata wa
s actually unarmed and defenseless. This was his chance to stop these assassins!
He grabbed the curtain and threw it at Yata, the white blanket falling down upon the boy. The soldier bolted across the room, snatching the bat off of the ground. He lifted it upward into the air, holding the handle with both hands. “Long live the king!” he yelled, slamming the bat down onto the surprised Yata, who was covered in the sheets.
Gavin’s eyes widened as the bat jarred his arms and he heard the clang of metal against metal. Whatever he had hit felt solid, as if he had just whacked an iron wall. He blinked a few times; had Yata been wearing armor? Why was there metal there? Even the guard armor wouldn’t make such a solid sound if hit at full power by a bat.
“Man, you sure are a handful, aren’t you?” Yata muttered, slowly rising as the blanket slipped off of him.
Gavin stared in disbelief at the abomination before him. There was no flesh to hit. Yata was completely metal, his skin gleaming as if he were some type of statue. How was it even possible for Yata to be moving while in this form? So, he was like Keimaro and had some type of special power as well.
Gavin grunted as he was kicked backward, smashing into the tables and chairs. He gasped as the table splintered and he landed on the ground, his head spinning from the tremendous force of the kick.
The soldier looked at Yata, the outlines of his vision blurred and turning white as he gasped for air. He was lifted high above the floor and thrown across the room once more like a ragdoll. He yelped as he smashed into the wall and fell, his head hitting the mattress as his body fell into the gap between the beds. He lay in an uncomfortable position and groaned, trying to recollect what was happening. Then he saw Yata standing there, tapping his bat against his shoulder.
“So,” Yata said simply, kneeling down so that his face was close to Gavin’s, who was slumped in between the two beds, “I can either kill you right now and tell Keimaro about what happened … or we can cooperate and perhaps you’ll understand why we have to do what we have to do, got it? I still need you alive, so stop being an idiot and trying to overpower me,” he muttered, flicking Gavin in the forehead with a sigh. “Stop trying to fight someone who is above your level.”
He rose and tossed the bat aside once more. “I don’t like the fact that I have to trust you, but Keimaro decided to let you tag along with us instead of killing you on the spot. I’m sure he has a particular reasoning for his choices. Make sure not to make him regret his choice; otherwise, you’ll end up like every other soldier in that forest, understand?”
Gavin nodded with a groan as he rolled over. He climbed up into his bed and placed the pillow over his head. He had been so easily defeated by Yata; it was almost as if he hadn’t stood a chance against him. He knew that he still had a lot to see and understand in the open world, but this was insane! A human that could change his body into metal? If every soldier in Faar could obtain this power, they would be invincible as an empire! They would be able to dominate to the edges of the continent with ease. But he had never heard of anyone obtaining such an exotic ability before.
He glanced at Yata from the corner of his eye, hidden beneath the pillow. It looked like Yata would want to do the complete opposite of helping the Faar Empire. What was their goal, revenge? The soldier let out a sigh of exasperation and closed his eyes in exhaustion. Either way, if he just stuck with them, he would find out eventually. Depending on their real goals, he would act accordingly. He only had to wait for the opportune moment.
***
The city of Bassada was at least a hundred times bigger than the village Keimaro had grown up in. The people were much livelier as well. Through many parts of the town that Keimaro saw, happiness was printed on most of the faces of people who strolled through the streets. But, he also saw many parts that hinted at a lasting poverty existing in Bassada. They walked past a particular section of the city scattered with destitute people. They were wanderers in civilization and seemed to own little or nothing at all.
Keimaro walked through the streets silently as if going through a ghost town. This was supposedly a shortcut in order to get to the citadel where the king was currently held, a cut straight through the slums. The buildings were rundown, and the wood was rotted with mold growing in the cracks. Some of the buildings looked similar to the small cottages that Keimaro had seen back in Bakaara, like the one that Yata had lived in. But even those structures were considered a luxury in this part of the city.
The people themselves were wearing ragged clothes that left them looking as if they had just gotten into a fight with a bear. A single man caught Keimaro’s attention, for his skin was extremely tan from what looked like long, grueling hours in the sun. Keimaro figured he probably worked somewhere outside of the city, but what snatched Keimaro’s eye was the overall emaciated look of this man’s figure. He looked like an undead zombie that had risen from the dead and was moping around slowly, dragging one leg behind him. His sunken cheekbones showed how deprived he was of nutrients. His shirt was ripped as if slashed by a sword, exposing his chest. His ribs were prominent, evidence of his starvation, and his stomach actually seemed distended as he breathed heavily, his throat letting out a raspy choke. He was alive, but in Keimaro’s eyes he was basically dead. In fact, he probably had only a couple of hours to live without any sort of food.
The Shokugan in his eyes allowed him to see that there was actually an infection in the man’s throat as well as his bladder. It seemed that his ankle was twisted, which was why he was dragging it behind. His stomach was swollen because he was filled with gas, and his body looked fatigued from prolonged malnutrition because he hadn’t eaten for an estimated four to five days. The fact that the man kept smacking his lips together showed a lack of water and possible dehydration as well.
Keimaro stopped suddenly, causing the two Royal Guards that accompanied him to stop as well. They glanced at him with confusion printed on their faces, about to ask why he had stopped. The young boy reached into his pocket, remembering the money that he had looted from the dead corpses in the forest. He had never really cared much for money. It was just useless junk, though people placed value on it for some reason. He walked over to the old starving man, who slowed down, looking at the young boy with widened eyes. Keimaro pressed a few coins into the man’s rough, bony hand and nodded lightly in his direction. The boy saw tears beginning to glisten in the man’s eyes. Keimaro gave the poor man a reassuring smile before turning back to his escorts without exchanging a single word. They had spoken with their eyes, and that was enough.
One of the Royal Guards raised an eyebrow in amusement and chuckled with satisfaction. “You don’t see such chivalry in the guard anymore, especially from a private. Anyway, what’s your name? The king will probably want it presented.”
Keimaro blinked a few times as he walked with the soldiers, listening to the clanking of the cargo behind him as the men carried the boxes around. His name? There was no way that he could use his real name—that was, unless he wanted to be captured and executed. “Riku Hikari,” he said simply, making up a name out of the blue.
“Riku Hikari, huh? Sounds like a foreign name,” one of the Royal Guards said with a shrug as they took a final turn to an enormous citadel that towered high into the air. If anything, it looked more like a church than a fortified building. The only strong part about the building was probably the door, which was as tall as one of those cottages in the slums. At least eighty normal guards were positioned outside of the building, surrounding the entire perimeter of the citadel.
Not bad on security, Keimaro thought as he was led straight through the front door, walking inside. He truly wasn’t surprised that this “citadel” was actually just a church. The king could meet wherever he wanted. With this amount of security and protection he wouldn’t have to worry about any assassins. Any ordinary assassins, at least. But he was concerned with why the king would decide to meet with a random nobody private who had escorted the cargo. It all seemed far too fishy.
Was this a trap? No, it was impossible that anyone could know his true identity. He was dead to the world. He no longer existed.
The inside of the church was huge, the ceiling rising at least fifty feet. Many wooden benches lined both sides of an aisle, and the church was lit by thousands of candles that were positioned on the walls. The colorful stained glass windows on both sides of the church allowed for only a slight amount of light to pass through, and Keimaro realized the sun was setting. It was night already? Time was fleeting faster than he thought.
On the far side of the church, Keimaro saw that the king was sitting upon a massive chair atop a royal red cushion. His face matched that of the statue in the marketing square. Behind his throne was a large mosaic of some type of giant beast that looked like a drake. A dragon.
The king had a grizzly brown beard that went down to his chest, a symbol of courageousness, apparently, in the Faar tradition of kings. He held a small golden scepter in his hand with a gleaming ruby at its tip. Royal blue robes were pulled over his body along with the finest white linens underneath. The robes drooped down all the way to his boots, which were made of the best leather and were probably as comfortable as walking on clouds. His sapphire blue eyes locked onto Keimaro as the large doors of the church creaked closed behind him, locking them in an eerie silence.
Keimaro was escorted to the front of the church to an altar, where it seemed recent offerings had been made. He looked down at the table that was before him. There was a half-eaten chicken leg, some corn, and some green slime that was splattered onto a plate. These were offerings to their gods? They were more like insults than offerings. He looked past the king’s throne at the gigantic golden statue of a dragon, which apparently represented the “gods” that they were worshipping. He blinked, realizing that he had zoned out for a brief second. Regaining focus, he noticed that he was in front of the king, the most important person in all of Bassada—and the man that he despised deeply. He looked on both sides of him and saw that his escorts had knelt down with their heads bowed and were whispering for Keimaro to do the same.