War Priest: The Complete Series, page 78
The intruder who had stabbed him quickly withdrew his blade as Arik naturally started to fall forward. He hit the ground. The man rolled Arik onto his back and brought his foot on Arik’s chest, the disciple no longer holding the Whispering Sword.
The intruder pressed his foot down, his blade now aimed at Arik’s throat, Arik’s own blood dripping onto him. Arik shifted away from the sword, wrapped both hands around the man’s foot, shoved his fingers under his pant legs, and released a bolt of stored pain, most of it recycled from the wound the man had just given Arik.
Arik had by no means been able to recover completely, not from a puncture wound like that, but he had enough stored injury to take the man off guard, and send him to the ground next to the disciple. Scrambling yet again, Arik continued to heal as he grabbed the man’s hand, transferring more of the wound. The false shinobi sat up and headbutted Arik, dislodging the Mask of the Fallen.
He rolled back on top of Arik, and was just going for a dagger when Tayaura cut into the side of the man’s head as if she were trying to fell a tree. It was a brutal strike, one that didn’t quite cleave the man’s head off, Tayaura’s sword actually getting caught in his jaw.
Arik’s eyes darted to the other side of the corridor, where he saw the shinobi that had struck Tayaura with a throwing knife. He was now struggling to breathe as he tried to pull a throwing knife out of his throat courtesy of Tayaura.
Rather than help Arik up, Tayaura dragged her foot toward the other shinobi.
Savage as ever, she brought her sword to his abdomen and twisted it, the illusionist withdrawing the weapon in a spray of blood. She finally looked back to Arik, who now struggled to keep himself standing while healing his internal wound. The man next to them murmured something, his face half shattered, eye drooping out of its socket as he gasped his last breath.
Commotion from the bailey soon drew both of their attention.
Finally able to get to his feet, Arik shuffled toward one of the windows that overlooked the inner ward, where they found two false shinobi now being held by crystal spikes that had torn through their armpits. Sukitoma stood before them, as did Meosa, the aqueous kami in his biggest form, muscled and angry.
“We need to find out what they know,” Tayaura said to Arik, the illusionist now at his side. “Kami!” she shouted, Meosa quickly turning to the sound of her voice. He appeared in the second-floor chamber in a matter of seconds.
“Is that all of them?” Tayaura asked the watery form. “We handled four.”
“Just two for us. It appears that someone sold us out, probably back in the village. It doesn’t seem that either of you fared very well.”
“My wound could have been fatal,” Arik said, the disciple now leaning with both hands against the windowsill, his head dipped slightly as he focused on healing. “I haven’t checked out her wound. But I will.”
“He got me in the thigh. I’m sure you can heal it.”
“Thanks for helping me back there,” Arik told Tayaura.
“This is ripe,” Meosa said as he turned his focus to the courtyard below. “I suppose we should get whatever information out of them that we can. Although, I suspect they won’t admit much. That would be against the code, would it not? Then again, these are false shinobi, they aren’t like you or your late father,” he told Tayaura. “Perhaps we will get lucky.”
“Let me get healed, and then I will join you down there,” Tayaura said. “Afterwards, I can check the pockets of those that are still left in the castle.”
“None of these were Saiyo Haro, were they?” Arik asked her. He recalled that Saiyo was quite large, and that the man fought with his fists. He couldn’t have been here, he surmised in the time it took Tayaura to answer.
“No, but he is certainly the one who sent them.”
Water buzzed around Meosa’s form. “Bah! What a terrible way to end an otherwise enjoyable night. I suspect this will be the theme of the days to come. We should all be prepared for anything.”
Part Two
.Chapter One.
“The best way to get the same result as others is to do it the same way that they did it.”
–One of the only known statements by Coro Pache, delivered at the start of the War for Minami, Year 1084.
Arik Dacre wore Hojo’s conical hat, the Mask of the Fallen in the pocket of his robes, one sword sheathed at his side and the other across his back as he approached the garrison set up along the Runesung Passage, which cut through the northern portion of the Jade Realm. It was hard not to feel nervous about what Tayaura had asked him to do, yet Arik had Meosa with him, and if what she had pointed out was right, their forthcoming actions were necessary.
While it appeared on the surface that the garrison was one set up by the Jadean government, the information they had received from the one false shinobi who had decided to talk back at the Crystal Castle said otherwise. After observing it for a few hours, Tayaura was certain it was a private installation set up by Kogu, the Jadean businessman who had been working alongside Nobunaga to smuggle weapons and people through the Jade Realm. But before they brought the place down, she had to be sure.
As they scoped out the encampment earlier that morning, Tayaura had told Arik a story, one often discussed in the School of Illusion regarding the numerous ways in which their students could work together without using Chimaura. Arik couldn’t recall the names of the illusionists in the story, yet he remembered the details, the pair tasked with infiltrating a home in Katano, one surrounded by a large orchard of fruit trees.
As the two illusionists breached the manor, they triggered a trap meant to alert the guards. They ran, one of the illusionists faster than the other. The faster of the two was able to get to safety beyond the orchard as the guards began searching through the clusters of flowering trees. Practicing a technique known as raccoon dog hiding, the second illusionist scaled the largest tree that he could find, where he hid until the guards had given up their search and returned to the manor.
Once the first illusionist was certain that the guards were no longer searching, he approached the large tree and called up to his companion, letting him know that it was safe to come down. A problem soon presented itself: his companion had climbed so high that he didn’t think that he would be able to get down. “You must,” the illusionist on the ground called up to him. “You will be seen in the morning.”
“Go without me,” came the reply of the second illusionist. “Return with rope.”
The first illusionist took a few steps in the direction of the manor. He brought his hands to his mouth and began shouting, “The thief is here, in the trees!”
Needless to say, his partner in the trees quickly found a way down, the two later returning to successfully carry out their mission.
As Arik saw the false guards standing ahead, he was still a bit unclear on the point that Tayaura was trying to make in her story. If it was one about camaraderie, her example didn’t quite add up. She said it had something to do with her dedication to making sure that whatever happened here tonight, they would look out for one another. But Arik couldn’t quite pick up the analogy. With some of the training that he had gone through back at the Academy of Healing Arts during his years in the Devout Branch of Regrowth, trauma from falls was certainly something that he hoped to avoid.
I’m just going to have to trust her, he thought as he neared a pair of guards. Projecting his voice, Meosa spoke with an accent that sounded like he had rocks in his mouth. “Food for a wayward traveler?” the kami told the guards. “Surely you have something to eat in the garrison. I was once a soldier, you know…”
Arik slowly tilted his chin back, revealing his face. He only gave them a glimpse, enough that they could see just how old he looked before he tilted his head back down, shadows once again obscuring his features.
“What are you doing out here?” one of the guards asked as he approached.
Meosa continued: “How many of you are there in this garrison? Middle of nowhere… waste of Jadean government funds… What are you protecting out here anyway? I demand to speak to your captain. I demand!”
The guard closest to Arik placed his hand on the hilt of his blade. “You are all alone out here, old man.”
Meosa laughed, loud enough that Arik had to stop himself from cringing. “All alone? There are yokai about, wild animals, and apparently a pair of young guards that should know better than to speak to a distinguished elder such as myself in that tone. Have you no bloody respect? No decency? You’re no better than a pair of Onyxian horse cock merchants!”
Ease up a bit, Arik thought, aware that the first guard was close enough that he wouldn’t be able to whisper anything to Meosa without sounding even crazier.
The man lowered his voice, an intensity now behind it. “I will ask you one more time, old man, what are you doing out here? And why do you have two swords?”
“I demand to speak to the captain of this shabby garrison, not you, footsoldier! In my day… in my day they would have had you digging ditches with a spoon, cutting hair with a fork, and using a dull knife to cut potatoes, you filth-brained imbecile!”
“What is he going on about?” the second guard asked as he joined his counterpart.
Meosa spoke again, his voice even louder. “How many of you are there? Find me a guard that can count!”
“What does it matter to you?”
“It matters quite a bit, gentlemen!” Meosa came alive, water swirling around him as he suspended the two guards in front of Arik. He spoke once again, his voice now his own: “I will ask one last time. How many are you?”
“We’re being attacked!” the first guard shouted as water filled his mouth.
“Is that the loudest you can yell?” Meosa asked with a slight cackle. The other guard started shouting as well. Soon, the commotion brought several more out of the gate, these ones carrying broadswords, their armor thick and bulky.
I hope this is the distraction that you wanted, Arik thought as he squinted toward the garrison, hoping to see Tayaura moving into action. But there was no indication that she was inside, not that he had expected to see any signs.
Arik drew the Whispering Sword, and in doing so he summoned the sudden and unique power of the blade. It split in half and trailed toward the ground. The disciple looked up at his opponents, two of them still suspended by Meosa. He noticed that several more were coming now, and that Tayaura had yet to act. Were these Jadean soldiers? Or were they Kogu’s mercenaries?
Arik’s question was answered once a great flame lifted from the garrison, Tayaura’s signal that they were indeed mercenaries. At least Arik had an answer, yet he couldn’t help but feel stranded at the moment even with Meosa’s help, especially as more guards came onto the scene.
The disciple was greatly outnumbered.
“Take me over them!” Arik told Meosa.
The kami surged into action and lifted Arik into the air. He deposited the disciple directly behind the group of armed mercenaries. The Whispering Sword wasn’t strong enough to cut through multiple limbs shielded by armor, yet it could do quite a bit of damage as the blades whipped forward, bringing sudden slashmarks on many of the guards before they could properly address him. After beating back a few attacks, he went for a variation of the Autumn Leaves Strike, which whipped the weapons from two of his assailants’ hands.
Meosa summoned a tidal wave that seemed completely out of place in the scattered boulders that surrounded the garrison. He flung several of the guards around like they were dolls, the kami laughing as he did so.
As the fires raged in the garrison beyond, Arik noticed a crackle of energy to the air. He barely stepped aside to avoid a strike from a guard who had clearly trained with Thunderaura. The man held two blades; Arik realized on seeing him that this man wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t Jadean. While he wore the same robes as his companions, Arik recognized the look of precision on the man’s face, one of a trained combatant who had spent time in the academies of the south.
A Crimsonian blade.
Arik grazed his free hand against the Mask of the Fallen. He wished now that he had been wearing it earlier, but he hadn’t wanted to spook the guards too soon. Now it was going to be difficult to use the mask’s power to his advantage and fend off the Crimsonian warrior at the same time.
Arik would have to rely on his own instincts.
It was only for a split second, but Arik found himself falling back into the ways that he used to understand fighting, naming every step, every movement, internally verbalizing cadence and theory. He had since moved past this; while he still knew the terms for what he was doing, Arik had realized the problem with overanalyzing his attacks. These weren’t wooden swords, standing before him wasn’t Combat Master Nankai.
This was a real opponent.
Arik cast his thoughts away and put all of his body weight into his next attack, the Whispering Sword twisting its blades together as it shot toward the Crimson warrior. With two blades, his opponent had an instant advantage against the whip sword, the Crimsonian able to swipe both Arik’s attacks out of the air. Arik’s assailant followed up with a move that sent a shock of power forward, strong enough that Arik could feel it from a few feet away. It struck him like the fist of a giant.
Arik stumbled backward, oblivious to what Meosa was doing behind him in the fires that raged in the foreground. As slowly as ever, Arik began to sidestep the Crimsonian blade so he could use the flames to his advantage.
With his opponent standing in front of the fire, Arik was unable to make out the small signs that would help him understand where his opponent would strike next. But now that he was in place, now that Arik had his back to the fire, his opponent’s features were illuminated, Arik noticed that the man was a good decade older than him. The fire seemed to carve out the Crimsonian’s features, his jawline firm, scars tracing up his chin. His eyes with the same focus that Arik had sensed just moments ago.
The man raged forward, his blades coming in fast as Arik did his best to block each attack.
For a brief moment, it felt like he was operating through a higher power, the disciple able to parry and block each of the Crimsonian’s attempts. But he lost his footing, and as Arik recovered, he caught a glimpse of the man’s blade coming directly down onto his shoulder. Instinctively, Arik put his arm up; the man’s sword was sharp enough to cut right through Arik’s left arm, a few inches below the elbow.
A new strategy came to Arik as a portion of his left arm hit the ground.
It had been a clean cut, and the pain was shocking to the point that Arik had since dropped the Whispering Sword, its twin blades quickly reforming. Now, he was thinking as an illusionist, and how an opponent would react to cutting off the arm of another.
Naturally, the Crimsonian blade waited for Arik to stop struggling. He brought his swords back, as if he were going to use them as scissors to finish the job. Feigning like he was about to plead for mercy, Arik exploded forward instead, tackling the man, his good hand over the Crimsonian’s face he transferred as much of the pain as he possibly could forward.
It would take several days for Arik to reheal his arm. Yet the pain of losing a limb, the sudden shock of agony, was enough to leave the Crimsonian blade screaming in terror. And as he did so, Arik got to his feet, grabbed the man’s own sword and used his body weight to push it through the Crimsonian’s stomach, pinning the warrior to the ground.
“Disciple?” Meosa asked in a low voice. The kami was now finished with the others and clearly disturbed to see what had happened since turning his back.
“I’ll… I’ll be fine,” Arik said as he got to his feet and returned to the Whispering Sword.
After wiping the blade on the nearest downed body he could find, he sent it back into its scabbard. Arik was still in serious pain, fighting delirium, moving instinctively at this point. There was also the blood loss that was making him feel weaker and weaker by the minute. At least Revivaura had already started to take care of that part. Arik now held his severed arm up, watching his blood as it coagulated. It wasn’t completely visible, yet he could make out the chi radiating around his arm as Tayaura approached, the illusionist with documents in her hands.
“Your arm,” she said as she came forward, nearly dropping the series of scrolls. “You can heal that?”
“I can,” Arik said with a grimace.
Tayaura began to pace. She spotted Arik’s severed arm and approached it, an uncomfortable look on her face as she brought it to the disciple. “Do you… need the arm?”
“It is best to start anew with a wound like this.” While grafting was something he was able to do, and had this wound been on someone else it might have been the best option, he knew from experience it was best to regrow something like this, even if it took time. “We can continue. I’ll be fine, I promise. But next time, don’t leave me up in the tree.”
“The tree?”
“Your story.”
“About Tenzin and Arjuna? That wasn’t about being left in a tree; it was about adapting to escape and not leaving anyone behind. Which we obviously didn’t do here. Are you keeping the arm or not?”
“No,” Arik said with finality.
Tayaura started to toss it over her shoulder but stopped. “What should I do with it?”
