Takeo's Chronicles, page 157
“My greatest regret is treating Takeo Karaoshi as if he were human.”
Qadir paused to adjust his seat. His leg itched—the one missing a foot—and he instinctively reached for it with the arm on that side of his body, which was also missing limbs. Just one thumb remained, hardly enough to scratch his fur, but he did not retract it. To do so now would draw attention, and Qadir could not afford to lose an ounce of respect at this point. He scratched with his single, near-useless digit, and settled back in, ignoring the itch.
Aiguo waited patiently.
“I should have treated him as the threat he is from the start,” the rakshasa went on. “In our last fight, I relied too heavily on him lacking his sword, and upon the feeble reports from human eyes. I had the ronin in my grasp, yet I let him escape in order to slay those three fat brothers who irked me so much. That was my mistake, to assume the ronin would perish so easily like any other human. I did not comprehend whom I was dealing with.
“If we are to succeed, I will need assistance. I will need allies beyond these feeble humans, powerful and immortal ones capable of tipping the balance in our favor.”
Aiguo leaned forward, on edge and enraptured. Qadir could smell it. It boded well he could still inspire some approval, despite the odds stacking against him.
“You, my servant and companion upon the Karaoshi gallows, will do what I cannot. The ninjas are not the only enemy Takeo has made. There are others, far more powerful, that would like to see the ronin brought low. You know of whom I speak: the oni. There was once a time that the Nguyen would never ally with such creatures, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and I’m certain they’ll sell anything, even their souls, to escape the ronin’s vindication. No man, not even one aided by a jinni’s power, can stand against a dozen oni. Find them and sell them the Nguyen throne for Takeo’s head. No mistakes this time. I want his skull for my chamber pot.”
“Thy will be done, my lord,” Aiguo said, bowing so low his forehead risked running into the stone floor. “And, if I may ask, what will you do in the time being?”
He questions me? How dare he. That slithering, spineless, faceless human. The boldness of that request after issuing him a direct order. Were I in any other situation, I’d rip his throat out and drink his blood.
Were I not so desperate.
Damn you, Takeo Karaoshi. I’ll see the entire human race in chains for what you’ve done to me, physically and mentally. At least I know that one way or another, I won’t be living in fear a year from now. This all ends soon.
“It is as I said,” Qadir answered. “Takeo has built for himself a reign of terror. He is adorned by a crown of threats and sits upon a throne of ruthlessness. Yet, this land is mistaken to assume he poses a greater threat than a rakshasa. They need to be reminded of that. When I am finished, Takeo will have no more than a handful of faithful followers. While he aims for my throat, I will aim for the column of shadows he stands upon, and I will strike the man down from the heavens and into the gallows where he belongs.
“This kingdom will rue the day it stood against the superiority of a rakshasa.”
Chapter 1
All things considered, Takeo thought himself above superficial judgments. He was not tempted by pretty faces or put off by sheer ugliness, at least not to the extent that most people were. He’d long thought that part of him had been killed off by his brother, and he was more likely to judge a person by their actions.
That being said, one glance at Oiu Nguyen was enough to make Takeo’s skin crawl.
The youngest Nguyen brother was the undisputed runt of the litter. His pale skin with yellow blotches clung to his bones like poorly wrapped meat. White hair grew from his head long and unkempt in spindly webs that ran down his back, translucent in the sunlight and giving him a ghostly shadow when the wind tugged at the fragile strands. His eyes were pink, which wouldn’t have bothered Takeo in the slightest if they didn’t shift about unnaturally. The young man’s gaze darted to shadows and unseen movements as if he were a criminal in fear of being caught. Adding to this, Oiu was fond of wearing old women’s clothing, which drew long and loose over his lanky body, shielding his pale skin from the sun and giving him a haggard look, especially with the way he hunched over his mount. He'd look better if he’d just eat more often, but Oiu carried a level of pickiness unheard of outside privileged royalty. He consumed nothing but white bread and water, and in quantities that would barely sustain a gnome.
Indeed, it was little wonder to Takeo why Oiu had been left to rot in the Hanu dungeons by his closest kin.
“Karaoshi,” Oiu said, licking dry lips and panting for some odd reason. He’d been mounted for some time now and hadn’t moved a muscle, so he shouldn’t have been short of breath. “Lord, shouldn’t we have a larger escort? I mean four of us, in potentially hostile territory? As I’ve said, I don’t think our approach will be anticipated, but there could be ninjas. There are always ninjas.”
Takeo sighed.
“I rescued you from the Hanu dungeons for one reason, Oiu. Questioning me is not that reason. However, if it will steady your nerves, then I’ll give you an answer. Sure, we may be deep into Nguyen lands, but we’re not far from my armies, and this area has been thoroughly scouted. We four are mounted on some of the finest komainu mounts in the Katsu cavalry, and as I’ve said, four people sends a bigger message than a larger group ever could for this purpose.”
“Yes, but, well, my lord,” Oiu pressed, “no guards?”
Takeo closed his eyes and took a breath. These days, few had the courage to ask the same question twice of a man like Takeo Karaoshi. Doing so was more likely a sign of stupidity, and that certainly applied to Oiu. One could only spend so many years in total isolation before their brain would begin to rot.
“Let’s examine the four people you speak of.
“Firstly, there’s you, the youngest son of the late Lady Xuan Nguyen and the rightful heir to the throne after we kill your three remaining brothers. Sure, they may have condemned you to death as a traitor for taking my side, but no common daimyo or villager would dare raise a hand against you in these lands. Not only are you of royal blood—a deity of sorts in this part of Juatwa—but no one would risk your wrath for fear that you might win this war and exact vengeance on those who opposed you. Riding alone, unopposed, save for a group of three close advisors sends the right message: that your rule is inevitable.
“Next, there is me, the infamous ronin, or as my enemies have come to say, ‘The Dark Lord.’ Idiots. Their shortsightedness and limited vocabulary only serve to increase my reputation. They would have done better to call me a usurper or a despot, but I suppose I have Gavin to thank for that. One poetic quip from him and I have a new nickname, this one as a ‘Lord.’ Fantastic, yet not inaccurate. I used to despise that title, but I wear it proudly now. I was foolish before, thinking to win a crown for some other individual. How could I ever entrust my dream to another? So here I am, the future emperor, marching among my lands without fear, as I should. There’s no need to even mention my sword.
“The third individual isn’t even human. She’s a rakshasa and keen of mind, the likes of which we can never know. Were there any out there waiting for us, she would smell and hear them before they saw us. Were anyone foolish enough to attack, she’d show them the potential of a true hunter.
“And last, but not least, is the good knight, Sir Gavin Shaw. Admittedly unassuming with his missing ear and left hand, I assure you he’s a deft fighter. More importantly, though, he’s a natural diplomat. Charismatic and congenial to all he meets, this man rounds out the roughness the three of us bring. I’ll have you know this man has saved lives and cheated death more than once with nothing but words and a smile. You’d do well to listen when he talks.”
Oiu glanced back at the knight in question, the movement exaggerated by his long hood, which sheltered his sensitive skin from the afternoon sun.
“Smile,” the daimyo said. “Right.”
The Gavin that Takeo knew wouldn’t have let heavy sarcasm like that go unchallenged. The Gavin that Takeo knew would have chuckled and offered a witty reply, truthful yet free of malice. The Gavin that Takeo knew was dead.
The man who rode behind Takeo and Oiu, and beside Emy, was a different sort of soldier, hardened by experiences relatively few lived to tell about. Without the angels’ light to shelter him, the horrors of war had finally feasted on his cheerful, good nature.
Instead of laughing at Oiu’s comment, Gavin stayed grim and disinterested, letting his gaze pass idly among the trees surrounding their winding path. However, Takeo didn’t lose hope. Pain could be a tool at best, an obstacle at worst. The Gavin that Takeo knew would return with the ronin’s help.
After the events at the Katsu fortress, Gavin had grown grim and withdrawn, living in relative isolation on Kuniko’s lands. Takeo had thought the knight would stay there, trading sword for plow and soldiers for family, but he’d been wrong. Just as Takeo had gathered up his combined Hanu and Katsu army—or what was left of it between those dead or defected—Gavin had arrived, alone and cowed, with a simple request to rejoin Takeo’s side.
“You’ve made some poor decisions,” the knight had said, “but so have I, and I’m not the sort of knave that avoids guilt. I never should have left you. It was my choice to give the life of my wife and child, and Krunk, to Botan. You were right. I did not know him, and all those I loved suffered because of my decision. I strayed from our path, and with your permission, I hope you’ll let me rejoin you.”
Admittedly, Takeo was against letting Gavin back into the fold. The way Takeo saw it, Gavin should be back at Kuniko’s property, happy and healthy, loving his wife and raising his child. Yet therein lay the problem.
Gavin was neither happy nor healthy. He was miserable, and it showed.
It wasn’t just the mutilation that scarred the side of Gavin’s head or the gnarled stump of a wrist that lay across his waist, which brought the man low. One could see it in the way he slouched, so unusual for the former knight. Gavin’s hair no longer waved in the wind so easily, either, and its golden hue had lost a fair bit of luster. He had always preferred to grow out a bit of stubble on his chin, correctly believing the gruff look added to his charm, yet now all care was lost. The stubble spread about his face and down his neck, like a beggar in between free trimmings. The knight didn’t seem to care, as if there were no one left to impress.
Takeo didn't have the heart to send the knight back home. It was clear that Gavin had seen enough disappointment as it was.
And so they’d assembled; Gavin, Nicholas, and Emy had gone with Takeo and his recently bolstered army, accompanied by the freed Lord Oiu Nguyen and the subservient Lady Anagarika Katsu, to bury the final blade into the war to end all wars. If Takeo was successful here, Juatwa might finally be united under one ruler, and a lasting peace obtained.
Thankfully, Lady Zhenzhen had agreed to stay behind. Takeo preferred not to think about her as much as possible, and when he did, he held his sword tight until the pain burned away. When that didn’t work, he applied more destructive measures. It was a good thing self-inflicted wounds were easy to hide.
The invasion plan had been simple: strike directly into the Nguyen lands, surround the Nguyen fortress, and slaughter the remaining brothers—and Qadir and Aiguo—so that Oiu could ascend the throne. It had worked against the Katsus, after all, but Takeo should have known the rakshasa would have a trick up his sleeve. Upon surrounding and laying siege to the nigh-impenetrable Nguyen fortress, reports stated that only one brother and Qadir lay inside. The other brothers had fled.
And that was a problem.
See, the people of the Nguyen lands were fiercely loyal to their shogun, like a cult. If Takeo just conquered them, they'd rebel. His only chance at pacifying the region lay in keeping a Nguyen on the seat of power, just like he’d done with the Katsus. Lord Oiu, freed from the Hanu prisons and ready to serve, could only ascend the Nguyen throne as Takeo’s puppet once his older brothers were found and slaughtered. That meant three lives—three simple and meager lives—stood between Takeo and the Juatwa empire.
One, Lord Xianliang, was the now-oldest living Nguyen brother, and he hid within the Nguyen fortress alongside his rakshasa advisor. The other two, Lords Seiji and In-Su, were unaccounted for.
Hence their current destination.
“Tell me again, Oiu,” Takeo said. “What’s so special about this daimyo we’re off to see? How will he know where to find your brothers?”
“Well, if my lord will recall, you, uh,” Oiu stammered, “you didn’t give me a chance to explain. You were, understandably, angered by my brothers’ absence and demanded I aid in finding out where they went. I suggested this man, and that woman of yours had us mounted and riding out before I could say anything else.”
“That woman has a name.”
“Yes, the Lady Kuniko Zhao,” Oiu replied. “My apologies, my lord. I meant no disrespect.”
“You were saying?”
“Yes, yes, the daimyo. Please, let me give some backstory. It’s important. His name is Norio Yilmaz, and if I ever had a father figure, it would have been him. My real father died before I was old enough to remember him. Apparently, he’d had an addiction to bloodletting to relieve headaches—a habit encouraged by Mother, according to our older brothers—and one night the bleeding didn’t stop. After that, Mother decided she was done with marriage and childbirth, but she didn’t give up on her dream of having a daughter. She grew out my hair, put me in a dress, and had me wear makeup. I wasn’t allowed to train alongside my brothers, let alone touch a weapon. Mother instead arranged for me to take dance and art lessons. It’s almost as if she wanted to ensure my frailty. I was viewed as prey by my brothers, not that they were companions to each other, of course. Mother loved pitting us against one another, thinking that doing so would bring out the best, and also keep us from banding against her.
“So, while my brothers went to arms training, I went to my dance lessons at the Yilmaz family estate. Norio’s wife was once one of the finest dancers this end of Juatwa, so no other teacher would do in Mother’s opinion. She sent me there often, and the grounds and buildings of the Yilmaz family became my refuge. Norio never taught me arms, as that was against my mother’s wishes, but he taught me respect and understanding and perhaps even a thing or two about love, from a distance. He never treated me like my family did, like trash at the bottom of the heap. I learned a bit about him and why he was so important to the Nguyen family, despite his humble status on the chain of command.
“If you’re getting the impression that Norio is a bit of a poet, you’d be right. He didn’t care for war and didn’t join any campaigns, which you can rightly assume gave him little status in the Nguyen court. However, what he did have was a natural affinity for words and communication, and that’s where he made his mark. Norio Yilmaz, you see, has been the head Nguyen pixiu keeper and message courier for the past two decades.”
Takeo took a deep breath and raised his chin as realization struck him. Oiu continued.
“Norio is the de facto keeper of secrets for the Nguyen. Although he may not have carried or read the exact orders that sent my brothers away, he’ll know by other means. He’ll know where the newest imports of the finest food and drink are being routed to. He’ll know where garrison troops are being sent to, and when. Although he won’t know everything, he’ll know logistics.”
“And few armies or royalty move without a baggage train,” Takeo finished.
Gavin cleared his throat.
“Sounds like someone important to you,” the knight said. “Someone you care about?”
Oiu didn’t look back, but he didn’t ignore the comment either. He swallowed and his shoulders tensed.
“I’m just surprised,” Gavin went on when he didn’t get a response. “You’re implying this man knows vital information. Are you going to be able to sit by idly if Takeo has to . . . extract said information?”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Oiu said. “Like I said, Norio and I have an understanding. I’ll bet he welcomes my return.”
Takeo remained silent. Although Gavin was right that Norio might need to be encouraged to speak, Takeo wasn’t a fan of torture. Psychological warfare was more his specialty, but that required people to think he would resort to torture—or worse.
Hence the silence.
Emy remained quiet, too, because, well, she was always quiet these days. Ever since Takeo had stabbed Krunk, she’d hardly said more than a couple unprompted words to the ronin. From Takeo’s perspective, she was obviously plotting something. As a rakshasa, Emy couldn’t help but plot and scheme and manipulate. It was in her nature, a habit that ran as deep as a rakshasa’s desire for vengeance.
Takeo knew three things: One, Emy was plotting his death. Two, Takeo would kill her if she ever attempted it. Three, she would never attempt it because Takeo had his enchanted sword once again and he was nigh invincible.
Yet Takeo was prudent, and so Emy was rarely allowed to leave his sight.
They came upon the edge of the Yilmaz property not much longer after that. The transition was easy to see, as all daimyo had a fondness for marking their territory. Those with an artistic sense used grand, wooden archways, while more simple daimyo resorted to wooden fences and decorative gates. Norio, it seemed, had a flair for the archway trend, but there were more obvious things blocking their path in this moment: about two dozen samurai fully armed and armored with swords drawn.
And in their midst stood a rotund man, older than Takeo by a good decade, clenching his jaw and sweating. He held up one hand, ready to give the order to charge.
