Takeo's Chronicles, page 162
In fact, as he thought this, he realized what had disturbed him so much about Qadir’s current tactic. An enemy that did not show its face unnerved Takeo. It was good to be standing among the army again, preparing to charge this keep shrouded in shadows and mystery. Takeo’s fingers touched together, itching for his blade.
Yet he could not grip it yet. The plan required more tact than that. To keep their plans hidden, the Hanu army had begun to unpack and erect tents and stations, just as they would if they intended to bunker down. The men weren’t allowed to doff their armor, and a shrewd commander on the Phan walls might suspect something in that, but that was a risk Takeo was willing to take. Equipment was divided up and orders hastily drawn and issued. The army gathered at midnight, as quietly as they could, and crept toward the edge of the camp. There could be no rallying horn to set them all running at once, and any man stupid enough to yell, talk, or even cough loudly was to receive swift punishment. Their signal to charge was to be much simpler than that: extinguishing the last fire in the back of the camp, with flames so meager that it hardly lit the rock wall beside it. Then death would follow.
Gavin twisted his neck until the bones cracked, then drew his sword to examine the blade. It had been some time since Gavin had fought anyone. He and Takeo had sparred a couple times earlier in the day before Takeo had allowed the knight to join the charge. Gavin was missing a hand after all, and he couldn’t be expected to fight with the same vigor as before, but Gavin was welded to his longsword as much as Takeo was to his katana. The knight had fought well enough to earn a place in the ranks, Takeo thought.
Hardly a thing could be seen in the dark, but Gavin held his blade aloft nonetheless, eyes looking over the well-oiled, well-sharpened instrument. Takeo wondered what the knight was looking for but said nothing. Only one sentence was to be uttered this night, and the time would come shortly.
Meanwhile, the honor guard surrounding Takeo stood rigid as could be. As soldiers personally selected by Kuniko to protect the lord general, these men and women had gone through an extensive evaluation, both mentally and physically. Kuniko would be certain these people worshiped Takeo with a religious fanaticism regular daimyo only dreamed about. They weren’t just willing to sacrifice their lives, but eager for it, dreamed of it, and deemed it their purpose in life, so to speak. They would have proved it under dire duress, as well. Takeo had seen what Kuniko did to normal recruits; he could only imagine the scars these individuals bore. Their wounds may even rival Takeo’s, not that he’d ever asked. He made a concentrated effort not to learn their names. Ever since Ping had died, Takeo thought it best that he knew as little as possible about his personal guards.
At least if he didn’t know them, he could use that as an excuse for why he felt nothing when they died.
“It’s time,” Takeo whispered. “Kill the fire.”
A designated runner took off into the camp. Takeo clenched his right hand to keep it away from his sword and took a deep breath.
“You'll be waiting at the gate, I presume?” Takeo asked.
“Huh?” Gavin paused, sheathing his sword. “Well, obviously. Since you’re having Emy sit this fight out, I can’t exactly use her help to climb the rope with one hand. And I wouldn’t trust a normal human. Just don’t keep me standing for long.”
Takeo glanced over his shoulder at his guards.
“You two, make sure the knight gets inside,” he said. “As for the rest of you, once I’m over the wall, I’m headed straight for the spire. Do not attempt to keep pace with me, but instead stay together and carve a dedicated path forward. If this is a trap, I’ll require a path of retreat.”
“Sir,” came the unified response, and then the campfire went out.
Takeo paced forward. He did not dash, for it was dark and the space between the camp and the castle was littered with rocks and holes that could turn an ankle. Besides, with the element of surprise, they did not need speed so much as prudence, and Takeo’s orders for this evening addressed that. Unfortunately, there was only so much one could do when working with an entire army of human beings, and the rocky valley began to come alive with shuffling and muffled clangs.
Takeo clenched his jaw and increased his pace as much as he dared.
The man beside him carried the rope and grappling hook, and Takeo watched that man’s path as much as his own. He strained his ears at every turn, listening for shouts coming from the Phan fortress. The shuffling of armor around him made it difficult to hear, but he hoped any alarm raised on the walls would be issued loudly enough to reach his ears. Thankfully, he’d heard nothing thus far.
At their slow pace, it seemed eons passed before they reached the city, yet the walls loomed out of the blackness soon enough, and Takeo breathed a sigh of relief. At this point, they would surely be noticed, but at least they’d made it this far.
Like clockwork, shouts echoed out from the Nguyen soldiers above as they finally realized a battle was underway. Takeo let caution slide and sprinted the remaining distance to the wall, shortly followed by those around him. He grabbed the grappling hook from its carrier and swung it about to gain momentum, while the carrier uncoiled the rope. It’d been some time since Takeo had done this, but old habits died hard, and the movement came back to him with decent familiarity. Takeo flung the hook up, heard the clang against the stone, and felt a surge of triumph as the hook found purchase on the first try. A dozen other similar rings echoed out along the walls.
“Climb with all you’ve got,” he commanded, then took the lead.
A combination of light weight and wiry strength had always made physical feats a breeze for Takeo, and climbing rope up the side of a rock wall was no exception. Adding to this, he had strong motivation, for every second he delayed climbing the rope was one more second the defenders had to cut it. This entire assault hinged on at least one rope surviving to let the Hanu army inside the walls.
And by what seemed sheer luck, Takeo reached the top of the wall without a hitch. The Nguyen defenders were sounding their horn now, and Takeo could hear yelling and the clang of armored soldiers running, yet Takeo vaulted onto the walls to find no one. As dark as the night was, he could only see a good five paces in any direction, so Takeo froze for a solid second to see if anyone came bolting out of the shadows, yet there was nothing and no one. No torches on the walls, or even within the fortress itself. The entire place was as dark inside as outside, yet the shouting went on.
Takeo’s blood went cold. Something was very wrong.
Did they abandon the walls? That doesn’t make any sense. Someone should be here, at least a few. Even if they knew I led the assault personally, there would be some with the bravery needed to stand against me. What are they planning? What is Qadir planning? Yet then again, what does it matter at this point?
Takeo wasn’t about to call off the entire invasion on a hunch, as good as that hunch was. His army had just breached the outer walls. Nothing could be gained by yielding this ground. Besides, nothing else mattered so long as Seiji Nguyen died this night. So long as Takeo’s enchanted sword spilled royal blood, the means would be justified. Takeo ripped his sword free and let the fiery strength course through his veins.
The hunt was on.
He dashed across the stone walkway just as the first of his personal guards climbed the ledge. Takeo soon found a ladder in the dark, wooden and propped haphazardly against the stone, and propelled himself down several rungs at a time. Fed on inhuman power, Takeo didn’t even pause when he hit the ground, landing in a puddle that soaked his clothes. Takeo dashed into the Phan city faster than the wind.
The tower loomed in the distance, so grand that it blotted out the stars and thus was easy to find. The shouts ahead—the enemy for sure—continued, though they grew faint, and at every turn around one building or another, Takeo expected to find someone, anyone. Yet every street was empty, every door open, every cart bare, and every barrel overturned. The streets were a mess of puddles and debris, but that didn't slow him down. There was still the target—Seiji, and if only Takeo could find and kill the man, then whatever Qadir had planned would not matter. He couldn’t stop now. Everything leading up to this moment had clearly been designed to make Takeo pause. He would not, could not. Blood must flow.
Takeo reached the tower’s base almost breathless with his mad dash. With one hand firmly about his sword he looked for the entrance, or even a window. He found the stone path leading to the proper entrance, but it dead ended into a solid stone wall, and Takeo swore. He assumed it was a false one and ran on, circling the massive tower in vain. There wasn’t even a window. Takeo circled back around, terrified that he hadn’t encountered a single soul, and examined the path that led nowhere again.
Faintly, nearly imperceptible in the night, he traced first with his eyes and then with his hands along the stone wall. The stone was smooth—remarkably so. He felt along the sides and found a vertical set of stones along the edges, which one would normally associate with a border. Takeo stepped back and examined the entire thing, stopping for the first half second since bounding over the walls to think.
His jaw dropped with realization.
The entrance to the tower had been sealed up. Where once a wooden or perhaps metal set of doors stood, large enough for a grand procession, now lay a solid mass of stone as thick as the rest of the walls themselves.
“What?” Takeo whispered, blinking. “They . . . no.”
Torchlight flooded the area, bearing down on Takeo like a rising sun. He leapt back from the wall and readied his sword, but the only thing that fell down on him was laughter. He looked up but saw nothing at first, his vision so accustomed to absolute darkness that the dim, orange light was blinding. He held up a hand and blinked until he could see clearly.
“The infamous Takeo Karaoshi,” a voice called down to him, articulate and direct. “I’ll admit, when the rakshasa claimed you’d be so bold as to rush me on the first night, I was skeptical. Yet here you are! Please say my dear younger brother is with you somewhere.”
Takeo didn’t reply, other than to whirl around at the sound of heavily armored footsteps rushing toward him. He hefted his sword, expecting an ambush, but instead found his personal guard had caught up with him. They appeared as exasperated and perplexed as Takeo felt, and they looked to the bright light in the sky.
When Takeo looked up this time, his eyes had finally adjusted. He perceived through the flickering flames two men—one well dressed and with a thin mustache that curled at the ends, and the other a stoic soldier with a bow and arrow in hand, the string drawn back. The torch that Takeo thought he saw wasn’t the normal kind. The flames came from the arrow’s tip, which burned in long, thin flames, as it aimed at Takeo.
His guards shouted and surrounded him, putting their bodies between him and certain death. Takeo’s sword flew up with renewed strength. The handsome man only laughed again.
“Seiji?” Takeo called out.
“At your service,” the man replied, bowing.
Even from this distance, his stupid grin with white teeth were easy to see. Takeo snarled. One of Takeo’s guards whispered something, but he silenced the woman with a hand.
“Did you seal up that tower on Qadir’s orders?” the ronin called out. “No matter his plan, you can’t possibly hope to last in there. Surely you must see that he intends to sacrifice you for his own gain.”
“Let me stop you there,” Seiji replied. “Let me guess, you were about to offer terms of surrender. In exchange for my life, you’ll spare my family, am I right? Oh wait, even better. You’ll offer me to take my brother’s place at your side.”
“And if I’m not mistaken, you’re mocking what sounds to me like fair terms. If you do not surrender now, I will kill everyone in that tower. You know my reputation, Seiji. I make a habit of fulfilling my promises.”
Seiji laughed, and Takeo’s fingers strained about the handle of his sword.
“My lord,” the same guard whispered.
“What?” Takeo snarled.
“My lord, I hate to interrupt, but you should know we found no one in the city,” she said.
“Yes, I know that. Thank you for that insight.”
“My lord, the gate was sealed shut.”
“The what?” Takeo paused. “The gate?”
“The city gate, my lord. You instructed us to open it for Sir Gavin, but it was sealed shut. It’s been barricaded on the other side.”
Takeo finally graced the guard with a glance. The orange light from the strung arrow produced ghostly rays on her face, and there Takeo saw black smudges. For first time, there was just enough light for Takeo to see his own clothes, and what he had dashed through across the city. He saw his and those of his guards were stained black. The stuff, whatever it was, was on Takeo’s hands. He raised one hand to inspect the stuff. He rubbed it in his fingers, finding it sticky and thick, and realization dawned on him.
It was lamp oil.
Cold sweat flashed across Takeo’s body, and he raised his head slowly to the soldier beside Seiji, leaning on the window with one fiery arrow aimed at Takeo. Seiji was still laughing.
“Seiji,” he said. “Don’t do this.”
“How much of your army has filled this city by now?” the lord called down. “It’s been a while. Listen. You can hear their armored corpses filling the streets with echoes. I’ll bet at least half are within range, wouldn’t you say?”
“You are making a grave mistake,” Takeo shouted. “Even if you kill me, the survivors will be so enraged that they’ll rip your family to shreds.”
Seiji winked and tapped the hard stone supporting him.
“I think not,” the lord replied. “And besides, I wouldn’t dare dream of shooting at you. With that sword in hand, you might very well catch the arrow, or even outrun the flames. We Nguyen are smarter than that.”
Seiji turned to his archer and nodded. The soldier raised his bow and aimed for the sky. He released a heartbeat later, and the lone flame took off, shunting them all into darkness again, if only for a moment. The orange light arced up, out, and then down, disappearing among the blackened buildings of the Phan city.
And from that point, a firestorm erupted in all directions.
Chapter 8
The flames spread out like a tidal wave, engulfing streets, houses, and soldiers alike. A subtle woosh was immediately overtaken by screams as Takeo’s army lit up like candles in the night. The only thing to break the sound was the mad laughter of Seiji Nguyen watching from above.
Takeo broke from the cover of his guards and sprinted with all haste back towards the outer walls. The guards tried to follow but were too slow. None of them had the inhuman speed needed to escape, and Takeo forgot them just as quickly as he calculated the slim chances of his own survival, for as fast as he was, the fire was faster.
The flames swept through the streets in every direction, rapidly enveloping the city block by block, and Takeo dashed like a thing possessed, his lungs crying for relief and his legs alight with his efforts. The city was a beacon of unholy light now and growing brighter by the second, and Takeo could see every nook and cranny, as well as every soldier running about the massive furnace wreathed in flames. The screams were sickening, and their echoes across the stone buildings and rocky outer walls seem to come from all directions at once.
Takeo turned one corner just as the flames did and then veered hard to the left and bounded into the distance. His rapid steps sent splashes of lamp oil spilling to the sides, which caked walls and soldiers alike as he ran by until the flames caught up and burned all in one merciless sweep. New cries of horror broke out at every turn, chasing Takeo as fast as the fire, and he could feel the heat on his back, growing ever stronger. Before the flames took him, he saw his way out.
Throwing caution to the wind, Takeo leapt onto the first cart he came upon, hoping that it would survive the impact of his speed. A single step and the cart did not break, and nothing else mattered because Takeo launched himself into the air. With a cry of pain, Takeo slammed against the edge of a tile roof but wasted no time in scrambling over and rolling away. No sooner had he done this than the wave of fire rushed by him, swallowing more oil, carts, and soldiers. The flames crawled up the edges of the home, lapping about the tile, stretching out for his oil-soaked body.
Takeo rolled away, towards the center of the house. He stood up and surveyed the burning city like a shipwrecked sailor in a storm. The fire and screams were so intense that the city was deafening. Hundreds were dead, and hundreds more were burning alive. Yet Takeo could spare them no thoughts, for if he did not hurry, he would join them.
Already the tile roof was growing warm to the touch. Every building—except the one Seiji occupied—was about to become an oven. Takeo pitied any soldier who’d escaped the flames only to barricade themselves indoors. Unless they covered themselves with dirt, or found a well, or a bath, they would die a slower death than those outside. Even if they did find such shelter, they could still die if the building burned and collapsed on them, or from the smoke. Takeo couldn’t join them. He had a promise to fulfill.
Gripping his sword, Takeo knelt and put his back heel against the home’s chimney stack. With a shout, he put all his effort into a dead sprint and then leapt with all his might for the next closest house to the outer walls. He sailed over the burning street and crashed onto the next tiled roof, cracking the roof coverings and sending shards of tile into the fires inside the home. Smoke billowed up, filling Takeo’s lungs and choking the air, along with the putrid smell of burnt flesh.
Coughing, struggling for air, Takeo rose and repeated his efforts, leaping to the next house and crashing onto the roof. The hungry flames followed, flowing around the edges of the buildings and begging for just one lick at Takeo’s heel, so that they might consume his entire body. Another house and another, and soon Takeo was in sight of the outer walls again, obscured as they were by smoke and embers.
