There was nothing on this boy or the man who had raised him. Orochi had given him some clues, but knew more than he would say. It connected to his past. That much was certain. What Akira was puzzled by was why the pair would come out when they did. They must have been in hiding for at least ten to fifteen cycles. Why now?
He created a story he felt fit the pieces he had, but he had no evidence. The older man, Shigeru, had escaped from some place that trained nightblades. Akira had suspected of such a place since he had met Orochi. He had tried to find it, but if it was in the Southern Kingdom they were much more clever than him. He had sent out spies every cycle to no avail, and Orochi wouldn’t speak about it. Akira was disturbed that such a place existed without his knowledge, but Orochi was much too useful to torture for the information. If they could even manage it.
Shigeru and his son had lived in hiding. Akira suspected that although Shigeru trained his son, they did not seek out conflict. Everyone knew the nightblades were hunted. So they hid in peace. But something had caused that to change, and Akira guessed it was Nori’s son. Shigeru’s boy had been flirting with Takako. This much was known from what Nori’s soldiers gathered. When Nori’s idiot son grabbed the girl the boy went after. An old story, really. But the boy succeeded, and by purpose or accident killed Nori’s son, which led Nori to report to Akira, which brought Orochi into the picture.
Orochi. After all this time, Akira had begun to hope Orochi would never find Shigeru. Akira had debated telling Orochi, but he wouldn’t compromise his honor. Orochi had served him well. It was his duty as a ruler to return the favor.
Akira glanced at a map which hung on the wall. It didn’t detail all the information his network of spies brought him, but it was a constant reminder of the delicate balance the Three Kingdoms existed in. The treaty gave them peace, but it was tenuous. It was a miracle it had lasted as long as it had. Only because of the shared fear of the nightblades.
The Southern Kingdom shared borders with both the Western and Northern Kingdoms. Either would be delighted to have sole access to the bountiful resources of the Southern Kingdom. Lumber, ores, grain, all of it was produced in the Southern Kingdom. They traded with the other two Kingdoms in return for the finances which kept Akira’s military fed. Akira’s kingdom had the only passage through the mountains, so Akira needed to maintain the largest military of all the Kingdoms.
If either of the Kingdoms got wind of the trouble which was brewing in the south, they wouldn’t hesitate to make advances. As it was, Akira’s northern border was lightly defended. Fighting in the pass was taking the bulk of his men. The Azarians were up to something as well, and Nori’s performance in the pass had been dismal as he remained distracted.
In a perfect world he could leave his northern borders undefended. In theory those kingdoms were his allies and he should be able to leave them open. However, they were allies only as long as it was mutually beneficial. As soon as there was a chance for anything more, any one of them would seize the opportunity.
The Three Kingdoms needed to be reunited. Akira recognized the truth, but it would never happen without suffering and bloodshed. None of the Kingdoms would relinquish their illusion of control even if it meant sacrificing a chance for lasting peace. Only together would they be strong enough to create a peace which was permanent.
He had dispatched Orochi and the entire house had started to fall around him. If one nightblade could take out a monastery, what could two of them do? Akira couldn’t imagine the fear if the public found out. The monasteries were supposed to be the protection against nightblades. He began to understand why they had been so feared. As advisers and warriors they must have been invaluable allies, and the number of them would have guaranteed some degree of safety because one could always be dealt with by another. But with only a handful of them running around, nothing short of a dozen squads of soldiers could take out one of them. It was ridiculous how much they altered the balance of power.
Akira was balanced on the edge of a sword. On one hand, the boy was a threat. He had taken out the monastery and killed an official’s son. What bothered Akira was that he didn’t know why the boy had attacked the monastery. Had he tracked Orochi there? Did he come to rescue the girl? Her name had been, what, Moriko? He couldn’t think of a reason why he would rescue her. Maybe to take her as a hostage against Orochi?
He shook his head. It was dangerous to make assumptions without information. He knew the boy represented a threat to his Kingdom. But he wasn’t convinced the boy wouldn’t simply return to hiding if the threat to his life disappeared. He had lived his entire life in hiding and had only come to light when the girl was threatened. It seemed logical to assume the boy would return to the state he knew best.
But Nori needed a head. Otherwise he would become unhinged. From every report he was already close to losing everything that made him a valuable asset. But if Akira allowed Orochi to continue, he made an enemy out of a nightblade who had already proved he could disrupt major operations.
Akira’s head swirled with the complications of the situation. There wasn’t an option without risk, but to not make a decision was even more dangerous. He did the best he could to protect his people, but the constant stress of knowing one wrong decision could mean the death or enslavement of his people haunted him every moment.
After completing another circuit of the rooms, he stopped again at the map. He couldn’t help but think that if he had two nightblades in his employ his position against the other Kingdoms would be strengthened. It was against the terms of the treaty, but the risk seemed worth the reward. Commanders who would never fall for an ambush, assassins who knew exactly where they would never be seen. The uses for them were endless and the temptation was strong.
He tried to resist the temptation. His father had cautioned him about the dangers of power. Akira had always tried to live by his father’s advice, never wanting to do anything more than rule the Southern Kingdom well. To try for more was to risk it all.
Nori was the problem. His descent into alcoholism was concerning. Akira insisted on discipline among his troops, and an army was a small family. Word of his behavior would spread. If it affected the army the pass and the Kingdom were at risk. Nori’s position was of vital importance and something had to be done to ensure he stayed in one piece.
Akira considered the distances and the risks. Perhaps he could allow Nori a personal leave and have him meet up with Orochi. Even for his age, Nori was one of the top swordsmen in the country, and Akira knew he had kept his skills as well-honed as his blades. He might be an asset to Orochi, just as Orochi may temper Nori’s rage. It also gave Nori the purpose he was looking for. That purpose would draw him out of his alcoholism and set him on a straighter path.
With a set of horses, Nori could make it to where Orochi’s last reported location was. If the hunt was completed soon, Nori could be back with the army moons before it was ready to march south again for the spring. The plan wasn’t without its risks, of course, but it also seemed like the best option.
Akira left his main room and went to his private offices where he started drafting out two letters. The first was to Orochi, ordering him to stay in one place until General Nori arrived. Akira did not attempt to use any guile. Nori was an exceptional swordsman and had a strong personal hatred of the target. He was to assist Orochi in any way possible, and Orochi was to defer to him in matters of strategy.
The second letter was to General Nori. It explained to him that Akira’s top assassin had been assigned to the mission of avenging Nori’s son. He was waiting and Akira was sending Nori to assist him. Nori was to travel with no more than a small group of men.
After writing the letters, Akira sealed them and pushed away from his writing-desk. He hesitated just a moment before calling for a messenger. He had trained himself many cycles ago to learn that at a certain point a man simply had to act. He had to make the best decisions possible with the information available to him. Once committed, he just had to accept the consequences.
Akira called for his secretary, asking that the messages be sent that day. He hoped both made it in time. He felt as though his Kingdom was unraveling in front of him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
It took Orochi a moment after he woke up to remember where he was. It took only the barest shifting of his weight for his memory to come back to him. Shigeru had cut him deep. If his cut had been just a bit faster, Orochi would be as dead as Shigeru. It had been closer than he expected.
Just as he had every day since he had come upon the farmhouse, Orochi replayed the fight in his mind. It had happened fast. In some part of his mind he had built up his expectations for the confrontation into epic proportions. But it had just been a few moves. Shigeru must have figured out Orochi was faster, just a little stronger. A couple of more passes and Shigeru knew that he wasn’t going to be able to get past Orochi’s guard.
In hindsight, Shigeru’s decision was brilliant. Orochi had never seen a move quite like it before. Shigeru had left a small, minuscule opening in his guard, the sort of opening only an expert swordsman would be able to see and take advantage of. Orochi hadn’t even questioned it. He moved in, the killing strike happening within the space of heartbeat.
But it had all been a ruse. In the moment Orochi attacked Shigeru’s blade had turned in. It was a sacrifice, taking advantage of the moment without defense to strike. Orochi had seen the blade coming and had managed to shift his weight slightly, just enough that the cut wasn’t fatal. It had still almost killed him. He had attempted to field-dress the wound, but he hadn’t done very good work.
The fever had been devastating, and it was only due to the assistance of others that he was alive today, a fact that grated on him. Ever since he had left the island he had depended on no one but himself and had done well.
Worse, the fever had taken almost a moon to break. He had been unable to move, unable to use the sense, unable to do anything that made his life worth living. He had considered giving it all up, letting the fever take him or ending his own life. He had killed Shigeru. He had taken his revenge. It was all that he had wanted for as long as he could remember. Now that it was complete, he felt an emptiness he didn’t know how to fill.
The only thing that kept him going was the thought of the boy, whom he assumed was Shigeru’s son. The boy made Akira’s honor guard, perhaps the best swordsmen in the Kingdom, look like children with sticks.
Orochi’s curiosity kept him going. He wanted to know how the boy had managed to reach such a high level without training. His first thought had been that Shigeru had discovered training secrets without the masters on the island. But Shigeru hadn’t discovered the secrets. If he had, Orochi wouldn’t have had a chance in their duel. Even with Orochi’s skill at suppressing the way the sense encountered his life, he was still confident that with those skills Shigeru would have killed him.
Somehow the boy had learned, and Orochi wanted to know how.
The wind and snow howled outside and Orochi couldn’t help but think of the legends of the elemental dragons that commoners still told. It was easy to imagine the wind swirling around his ankles as the tail of the dragon attempting to trip him up, and the ice which struck all over his body, the frozen breath of the beast.
Orochi pushed his thoughts aside as he approached the command tent. He had heard stories of the general he was about to meet. A swordsman who could hold off a squad of men with no more difficulty than a woodsman raising his axe. A man who, it had been rumored at one point in time, was the reincarnation of Morehei, the legendary nightblade of old. Orochi snorted to himself. If nothing else, the man knew how to build a reputation.
But Orochi had also heard the rumors of the old man's weakness. When the boy had killed his pathetic excuse of a son the general had broken like a dry twig. Orochi had nothing but contempt. The man may have been great once, but a man who allowed adversity to triumph over him had no place in Orochi's world.
Orochi had considered destroying Akira's letter or killing the messenger and striking out on his own again. He had killed Shigeru and his life's purpose had been fulfilled. But his own code held his hand from his blade. Akira had always been honest with him and had wielded him well. If he left Akira's service he would do so to his face.
Orochi was also troubled by the sense he had of the boy, and not just the power he displayed. There was something, a current underneath the surface of reality surrounding him, but Orochi couldn’t put his finger on it. It was like trying to catch a feather falling from the sky. The more he tried to catch it, the further he pushed it away. He felt it was important, vital even that he understand it.
Orochi shook his head. Some mysteries wouldn’t be solved today. He pushed aside the tent flap and stepped in, the heat hitting him like a blow to the face. It was a simple tent unfit for a general of Nori's stature, which was why it had been chosen. But the heat within was unbearable, especially for Orochi.
Orochi knew Nori wasn't much older, but the two of them were separated by much more than just a few cycles. Nori was by the fireside, a cup of whiskey in his hand. Orochi didn't need his sense to tell the man was dying whether he realized it or not. His hand shook almost imperceptibly. His sword wasn't even within reach, marking him as careless as well.
He had been a true warrior once. Orochi’s eye took him in. The calluses on his hands, the defined muscles, slightly the worse for age. But it was the recent decay which was the most obvious. The disheveled hair, the bags under his eyes. Nori's weakness made him sick. Orochi knew firsthand the pain that came with losing a loved one. In his case it had been partly his own fault Yuki had died. Nori didn't even have that to deal with, yet was finding refuge in drink instead of in warfare. Orochi suppressed his rage. He had seen it before, the toll that living took upon those still alive.