《Whispers Of Chaos》


 Chapter 1: Hanamei - The Warlords Concubine

    Spring ¨C 842 AQE


    Hanamei sat in the blackness, dressed in little more than a light, silken gown that left her delicate shoulders and long, elegant neck exposed. Hair fell down her back, straight and every bit as black as the room where she was seated. The young woman¡¯s face was painted white, with brilliant red lipstick and bold, golden markings swirled over her smoothly etched features. The slightest bit of red streaked her half-closed eyelids.


    A flash of lightning from the rain-streaked window masked a candle being lit across the room from her. It cast her surroundings in a dim, soft light and gleamed against her sleek train of unbound hair. She glanced up at the man who had lit the candle, and the faintest trace of fear shivered across her otherwise expressionless face.


    Warlord Tzulan was an older man, tall and powerful. His short-cut hair was more brown than hers and streaked with a fair amount of gray, but it was still dark and straight. Right now, he was only wearing a pair of silk pants, fastened at the top with a wide, gold sash. The smile on his broad, wide-jawed face brought another fleeting glimmer of fear to her eyes.


    ¡°Hanamei...¡± He breathed her name as he approached slowly, his fingers working free the sash as his expression turned hungry. ¡°The daughter of my archrival, waiting in my bed.¡± His grin grew more sinister as he stopped and stared down at her with baleful eyes.


    She tried to maintain her blank expression, but the fear made her bottom lip quiver. She knew if she wasn¡¯t careful, she would succumb to the mix of emotions whirling unpleasantly in her belly. Here stood the enemy of her people, the man who had waged war on her homeland for the last decade. Long had he wanted to possess her father¡¯s territory, and long had the primitive tribes defended it...


    Until now. When her father had looked upon his wounded people and war-torn land and lost heart. Some called it senility. Others cowardice. But the truth was their great leader, who had stood with them in every battle, finally saw the futility of their plight and realized his only course of action was surrender. He made a pact with the Warlord, swearing fealty, and in exchange was allowed to keep a figurehead position over the tribes who had rallied to him. But there was one more thing the proud man had to relinquish... his only surviving child.


    Hanamei felt the tears prick her eyes as Tzulan¡¯s fingers touched her chin, tilting her face upward. She willed herself not to cry, not to let him see any of her weakness, but what she saw in his eyes made her very heart quiver.


    Her people allowed her to suffer so their suffering could end. And she knew, with a single glance, that Tzulan intended to make her pay dearly tonight for all the trouble the Taiku tribes had caused him over the last ten years.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    His fingers traced along her jawline, moving slowly until they were tangled in her black hair. She could feel his hot breath against her cheek as he leaned in close, and all at once, the fear was replaced by anger.


    How dare they! She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to keep herself from trembling as his lips brushed her soft skin. They sent me here; they abandoned me... Father sent me to the monster¡¯s lair! My sacrifice was expected... I wasn¡¯t given a choice...


    Hanamei pulled away without thinking of the consequences, turning her face from him in defiance and disgust. She didn¡¯t have a chance to fully realize her mistake or consider begging forgiveness before he made her pay the price for such insolence.


    A rough yank on her hair caused her to let out a cry of despair. This outburst was met with a slap that nearly sent her off the bed and onto the floor. Had it not been for his grip, she undoubtedly would have collapsed.


    ¡°I will teach you obedience, savage...¡± His words scorched like fire, threatening, warning, promising.


    Hanamei was certain it would be easier to give in, to surrender just as her father had, but the anger coursing in her veins gave her courage. ¡°And I will teach you humiliation...¡± she whispered, her voice quiet and smoother than the fine silk she wore.


    Before he could react, she reached up and pressed her palm against his face, summoning a power she had spent her whole life burying deep down. She had been born with a curse nobody in her tribe had understood. Not the medicine woman or her father. Perhaps that was why he had sent her to suffer this fate, because she was considered tainted? Had they figured it was better to let her pay their price than allow such a bad omen to exist among them?


    Now was not the time to contemplate such thoughts. Hanamei felt the sweet, tantalizing energy flood her body, warming her skin and causing her eyes to turn a solid, fathomless black. That same power flowed out of her hand, caressing the Warlord¡¯s handsome cheek for the briefest of moments and then searing his flesh in the next instant.


    He cried out in agony as the spell spiraled across his skin, scorching a strange but elegant pattern across the side of his face and down his neck, shoulder, and even licking his chest. Despite the intense pain he must have felt, he managed to clobber her in the face with his fist, knocking her off the bed this time and onto the floor. He staggered back, still gasping and groaning.


    ¡°Heathen bitch!¡± he bellowed in anguish.


    Hanamei gathered herself up, coming shakily to her feet. Blood almost as red as her painted lips trickled down her chin. Fear reached out to grab her again, but now the power she¡¯d carefully concealed kept her anger and courage fueled as well.


    ¡°Burn, you bastard!¡± she shouted back and then raised her hands to hurl a blast of raw energy straight at him.


    Much to her dismay, he leapt out of the way, and the blow that would have surely obliterated him missed the mark. It did slammed into the wall and tore it to pieces. Splinters and smoke filled the air. There was no way Tzulan¡¯s guards hadn¡¯t heard that, which left Hanamei in a frustrating position. She wanted to stay and fight the Warlord to the death. She didn¡¯t understand this desire, but it was there, and it very nearly overrode her good sense to run while she had the chance!


    Letting the sweet power slip away, she dove into the billowing smoke toward freedom. Tzulan¡¯s enraged screams harried her escape like a pack of wolves.

 Chapter 2: Hanamei - Savior In The Mist

    The chilling spring storm poured fury down upon Hanamei as she desperately fled through the thick underbrush of a decaying forest. Her gown was in tatters, her makeup mostly washed away by the heavy sheet of rain that was barely halted by the scraggly canopy above her head. Her once smooth hair was soaked and fell down her back in tangled waves.


    She had barely managed to escape the Warlord¡¯s palace and was now fleeing for her life in what had once been a beautiful, emerald glade. Now it was but a husk of its former glory. Nothing grew here. There were only the remnants of thorny vines and twisted, rotting trees.


    Her lungs and body ached, protesting her headlong flight and demanding she stop to rest, but she knew that would only end in death. She had to keep moving, had to take advantage of every second she¡¯d bought by surprising them. There couldn¡¯t have been a better time to escape, when the soldiers were bloated with food and alcohol after feasting all night. Nobody had expected this, not from a meek little heathen woman.


    But that stupor would not have lasted long. When Tzulan called upon them, burned and furious, his soldiers would have rallied behind him, which meant they were undoubtedly right behind her.


    As if on cue, the baying of hunting dogs split through the night, causing a tremor of fear to escape her in the form of a frightened gasp. After a few minutes, she was able to hear the sound of horses, but she couldn¡¯t tell in the torrential downpour where they were coming from. The weather was getting worse, and she was growing more and more exhausted. Whatever power had been inside of her was silent now, and a feeling of dread tightened around her heart.


    She blindly stumbled out of the brush and onto the road, just as a clap of thunder struck so close it nearly shook her right off her bare feet. Exhaustion won where the weather had failed, causing her to collapse to her knees in the mud. Gasping for air and trembling from head to foot, Hanamei leaned over, her unkempt hair falling in a matted wave around her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering from the chill and wet.


    It took her several moments before she realized there were a pair of shoes in front of her. Not the heavy boots worn by the Warlord¡¯s men, but expensive footwear made for a nobleman. She should have been frightened, but she was too weary to do much more than raise her face up, her violet eyes slowly taking in the man who stood before her.


    He was taller even than the Warlord. His clothing, a mix of white, cerulean, and teal, was just like his shoes: stately, rich, immaculate. Even in the rain, he was the most beautiful creature she had ever laid eyes on. Long auburn hair was drawn up into a high ponytail, with only a mess of unruly bangs hanging around his perfectly chiseled face. Shimmering ocean blue eyes glowed down at her, filled with curiosity and power. The latter of which sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with how cold she felt.


    Behind her, the sound of cavalry drew her gaze away from the mysterious man. Her muscles protested as she half turned just in time to see a contingent of soldiers and hounds swarming toward them. Breath catching in her throat, Hanamei let out a strangled cry and attempted to rise, but her legs wouldn¡¯t cooperate. She floundered, falling back into the muck as she fought her exhaustion in a final effort to scramble away.


    Much to her dismay, she¡¯d made it only a foot before the dogs began to circle, and moments later, the horsemen spread out around her as well. She shrank away from them, aching for that power to return, but the strange, mystical taint remained dormant.


    A man rode forward, no doubt the lieutenant, and eyed the stranger warily. ¡°Stand aside. We only want the girl,¡± he commanded.


    Hanamei¡¯s eyes flashed to him. She had almost forgotten his presence, but now she was desperately drawn to him. The power inside him, could it save her? He was obviously somebody of importance, of wealth; perhaps he would take pity on her? Without hesitation, she fell against him, her muddy hands grasping at his silken clothes. She fully expected him to recoil from her filthy touch.


    ¡°Please, my lord,¡± she pleaded, unable to stop from shivering as the surprising warmth of his body seeped into hers. She clung to him all the tighter. ¡°Please, don¡¯t let them take me back!¡±


    ¡°Foolish, heathen wretch!¡± The lieutenant swore and spat on the ground before swinging his leg over his horse¡¯s withers to dismount. ¡°Nobody is going to save you, not after what you did!¡±


    The stranger tore his eyes away from her face and turned them on the advancing soldier. Something about him changed, something that made the dogs cower back and the horses begin to whinny and fidget nervously. Hanamei felt it too and knew she should be afraid, but oddly, she found the surge of power comforting.


    ¡°Do you know who I am?¡± His words were spoken softly, and yet they could still be heard over the storm. They also stopped the lieutenant in his tracks.


    Hanamei watched him from over her shoulder as he struggled between fear and duty for a brief moment before the latter finally won out.


    ¡°Who you are doesn¡¯t matter, stranger. She is the property of Warlord Tzulan.¡± He put a hand on his weapon. ¡°And you will not be permitted to interfere. Stand aside. I won¡¯t warn you a third time.¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Ignoring the threat, the man graced him with a slight smile, caught somewhere between polite and amused. ¡°I am Lord Akihato of the Zozatai.¡± He gave a slight bow of his head as though he were greeting them all in some lavish court instead of the middle of the road during a thunderstorm. ¡°It does not appear this young woman wishes to depart with you. Perhaps...¡±


    The lieutenant¡¯s eyes were wide with terror, but he swallowed it down. His sense of honor must have been strong indeed for him not to flee at the mere mention of the Zozatai. They were an order cloaked in mystery and rumor. Horrifying tales of the power wielded by those among them were also prevalent; what wasn¡¯t were the casters themselves. Living, breathing Zosara were rare, gracing the court of noble rulers and the halls of only the most wealthy warlords. Very little was known about these mystic beings, only that they possessed a great and terrible magic.


    ¡°Her wishes do not matter.¡± His voice was not nearly as confident as before. ¡°She has dared attempt to assassinate the Warlord, and for that, her life is forfeit.¡±


    ¡°This woman?¡± Akihato shifted his gaze back down to Hanamei and tilted his head to one side out of curiosity more than skepticism. ¡°How could one so delicate and frightened have made any serious threat against your warlord¡¯s life?¡± There was no disrespect in his tone; it appeared he genuinely wanted to know.


    Still clutching the hilt of his straight-edged sword, the lieutenant frowned. ¡°I¡¯m not sure... The captain said his wounds were strange... Burns and yet not burns.¡± His furrow grew deeper. ¡°It must have been her heathen witchcraft...¡± He spat the word, obviously repulsed at the thought, but also reminded of who else stood before him. ¡°I¡¯m sure you would know better than I, Zosara.¡±


    Akihato gave a slight shrug. ¡°The Taiku medicine women are renowned but not my area of expertise. I can assure you their practices do not include use of the elements, however.¡± He held out his hand, palm up, elegant fingers gracefully extended. ¡°That power,¡± when he spoke a small stream of blue water gathered from the falling rain and then crystallized into ice on his palm, dancing and playing in the shape of a curvaceous woman, ¡°lies solely within the Zosara.¡±


    Finally, the lieutenant recoiled, horror openly spread across his face. ¡°What evil is this?¡± He gasped, his whole body shaking. For a moment, it appeared his fear would finally win out over his honor and he would flee rather than face the Zosara¡¯s might.


    His resolve was commendable. Hands still tremoring, his expression turned hard and unbending as he deftly drew his sword. The action was enough to solidify his decision, and just like that, his fear was vanquished. He straightened to his full height, his soldier¡¯s instincts and valor taking over the fallible man who had wavered just moments ago. ¡°You have been warned.¡± His voice was strong, commanding. ¡°Men! Seize the girl. Kill the traveler if he continues to interfere!¡±


    Hanamei was not frightened by the display of what she could only describe as magic. On the contrary, she was enamored with it. The frolicking, glacial dancer on Akihato¡¯s palm stirred the strange power inside her, making it twist and writhe like a hungry serpent. Her eyes were fixed on the twirling, leaping figurine, wide with fascination and wonder.


    She wanted to surrender to this primal urge, to let it fill her and then feel the sweetness of release as that power rushed forth. Her mind went back to the Warlord¡¯s bedchamber, to how it had felt to take control, to no longer be just a woman, just a heathen, just a mortal...


    You can be anything with this strength. Nobody would ever beat you down again... Give in... Give in to chaos... the voice came from a dark, hateful place. A place that frightened her more than anything she had ever faced, and yet she could not fault the desires of her own heart. She had been shunned, cast aside, and forgotten until finally, her people had found a use for her. Did her father even miss her? Did he regret his decision? Or was he breathing easy now his war had ended and his ¡®unfortunate¡¯ child was gone?


    Anger and sorrow surged in her chest. The magic rose with it, ignited by her outrage, by her despair, but she fought to keep it down. Last time she had felt certain, in control, but now she felt as though she were spiraling downward, losing to the essence that not so long ago had seemed to save her life. What am I doing? She wanted to scream but found her voice refused to obey.


    Suddenly, Akihato tore his gaze away from the lieutenant, and instantly the woman of water vanished. Hanamei was jolted out of her dark thoughts and, in an instant, took in what was happening around her. The soldiers were approaching cautiously but came to a halt when they saw the water dissipate.


    Then she noticed Akihato was staring at her with concern. Did he somehow know what she was thinking and feeling? Could he not only create ice but read minds as well? She shivered at the notion but still did not have the urge to pull away from him. For some reason, despite his great power, she felt safe here at his side.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid,¡± Akihato¡¯s voice caused the soldiers to tense up, ¡°that we must take our leave. Forgive me, lieutenant, but I am revoking Tzulan¡¯s claim upon this woman. If he protests, tell him to take it up with the Conclave.¡±


    He didn¡¯t even get the chance to finish his message before the warrior was already commanding his men to attack. Akihato, however, did not seem the least bit concerned. With a huff of a sigh and a rueful shake of his head, he gracefully raised his arm, hand stretching toward the charging lieutenant. Hanamei was certain the soldier was about to be impaled by an ice shard, but with an elegant, circular sweep of his arm, the magic she was expecting came instead as a plume of dense, creeping mist. In seconds the area was fully covered, blocking the soldiers from view.


    Hanamei felt the urge to escape into the thick fog just as she had amidst the smoking remains of the wall she¡¯d destroyed in Tzulan¡¯s palace, but Akihato did not seem the least bit rushed.


    He held out his hand to her. ¡°Shall we depart?¡±


    Glancing from his hand to his face and back again, Hanamei wasn¡¯t sure why she hesitated. Part of her wanted to trust him, but the other part was still riled, still aching to be released, to cause chaos and destruction. And yet... Here he was, offering to save her. She would be a fool not to accept. This thought made her decide, and she gently laid her delicate hand in his.


    They paused for just a moment, staring at one another as something warm passed between them. Hanamei saw him reaching toward her, and her heart skipped a beat. She should fear this motion, and yet, for some reason, she welcomed it. But it was not the soft caress she was expecting.


    Akihato gently touched the top of her head and whispered, ¡°Chigu.¡±


    Before she had a chance to make sense of the action, a powerful urge to sleep swept over her, and all at once, she simply couldn¡¯t keep her eyelids open. The last thing she remembered was slumping against the stranger and then falling into a deep, magical slumber.

 Chapter 3: Akihato - Escape From The Rotted Wood

    As the woman succumbed to his incantation and her body went limp, Akihato carefully scooped her into his arms. She weighed very little, thin and slight as she was, but what he had sensed within her... That was a far different burden, a heavier one he feared would press upon many were it not carefully managed.


    But it was a concern for another time. Right now, he needed to focus on escape. To those within the mist, it would appear as though he simply vanished in the blink of an eye, though it was more likely they would assume he snuck off using the fog as cover. Either way, there would be enough confusion to prevent them from being pursued further.


    Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Akihato reached for the ebb of magic that always hummed gently in the back of his consciousness. It responded instantly, quivering in excitement as it flowed and swirled in his mind¡¯s eye. Bright blue with a myriad of silvery-white flecks, the essence was the embodiment of water and spring, the two foci Akihato was attuned with. He could shape and mold that power with merely a thought, guiding it to perform supernatural tasks most beings could only imagine and even more feared. For him, it was as simple and easy as breathing, though coming to this point had taken years of dedicated training. There was much he was still learning, even after a decade of practice, but what he needed to accomplish now would take little effort.


    His eyes opened slowly, the magic having sufficiently coalesced as a result of his concentration and guidance. Speaking softly, he wove a careful, practiced web within his mind. He imagined each aspect of the spell, imagined the ripple in reality as time slowed almost to a complete stop. If he had taken a moment to pause and observe his surroundings, he would be able to see the slightest movement in the mist, in the soldiers frantically trying to find their bearings. It would have been like watching clouds move in the sky, but Akihato did not waste a second of his borrowed time to watch the effect of his spell.


    Gently adjusting his grip on the unconscious woman cradled against his chest, the Zosara turned and began to casually stride right through the heavy fog as though his vision was not impaired at all. Anyone else would have fumbled blindly and been lost until the mist evaporated, but Akihato, and by association, his new ward, stepped through unimpeded.


    He had to stifle a grin when he glanced at the soldier who was standing just beside him. The goofy expression half-formed on his face was quite amusing. It was one of blind terror as he stumbled backward into an ally and was startled by the unexpected contact. Akihato imagined in the next moments, a girlish shriek would escape the man¡¯s throat, and he would quickly flail around only to see an equally scared face staring back at him. The mental image did him in, and a wide, almost boyish grin spread across his face.


    Knowing full well he couldn¡¯t linger to see the moment play out, Akihato kept moving, heading for the tree line. Once he got some distance from the soldiers, he could open a portal back to his tower, but that was not something he was prepared to do if there was any risk of being followed through it.


    When he disappeared into the scraggly, rotted forest Akihato let out a small sigh of relief. Glancing back over his shoulder, he could tell the spell had worn off. The soldiers were clamoring about, and sure enough, that womanly screech split the air, causing Akihato¡¯s grin to return wider than before.


    Called it!The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    He didn¡¯t stick around to listen further. Instead, he turned and quickly headed deeper into the woods. The dogs were starting to howl somewhere behind him. He hoped it was because they were equally disoriented, but in all likelihood, they had picked up the trail again.


    ¡°Blast...¡± he muttered. This spot would have to do, though he would have preferred to put more distance between them and their pursuers.


    He paused in a stand of decaying conifers and carefully laid the woman upon the barren earth at his feet. The preparation required he have his hands free. Calling on the magic once again, he began to draw a circle with the toe of his shoe around himself and the still unconscious Taiku maiden. The line he¡¯d drawn glowed a strange mix of red and blue laced with violet where the colors collided.


    Taking position in the center, standing above his charge, he resisted the urge to rush the process as he weaved a new, much more complex spell. This incantation was one of the first he¡¯d learned about but had taken the longest to master due to all of its intricacies. Portal magic was incredibly difficult and, if done incorrectly, highly unpredictable. The most reliable, and honestly the only way the vast majority of Zosara could harness such spells, was by using a bonded trinket as a focus.


    Like many others, Akihato had chosen a place of safety and familiarity, and collected a piece of that location to carry with him. Dirt, pebbles, blades of grass, and other similar elements were quite popular as foci. For Akihato, his haven was an old abandoned tower he had taken over after completing his apprenticeship. The amulet that rested underneath his shirt, pressed gently against his skin, held the fragments of stone taken from the rubble before the tower was reconstructed. This would guide him back home.


    His hands swayed, forming a visual component of the incantation as ancient words fell softly from his thin lips. The patterns his fingers wove in the air caused shimmering lines to materialize in their wake so that the pattern hung suspended for a few moments before dissipating and giving way to the next.


    While one hand traced, the other seemed to collect something, as if holding a dozen imaginary threads taut between his thumb and index finger. Trace, collect, trace, collect. Over and over until finally, all of the complex pieces were neatly gathered. The spell was primed, ready, and waiting for him to cast it forth. This was a critical moment, requiring a great deal of concentration and precision. The energy that coursed invisible at his fingertips could backfire if he were interrupted or made a mistake.


    Spells going awry had many disastrous consequences; in this case, he would be lucky if he simply opened a portal to the wrong location. At worst, however, he could end up flinging himself and the woman both into another dimension, or they could even just be ripped into pieces. Neither of which he fancied in the slightest. Graphic stories passed down from his masters were more than enough. His curiosity did not require firsthand experience.


    He focused intently, drowning out the sound of the woods and the slowed spattering of rain that signaled the storm had spent its rage. Closing his eyes again, he imagined his destination. The tower, small and quaint, but perfect for a solitary Zosara, nestled amongst a quiet stand of oaks, maples, and magnolia trees. When that image was perfectly fixed in his mind, Akihato cast the spell.


    It was a simple motion. He released the invisible threads and softly blew them away. In his mind¡¯s eye, he saw them spinning and twisting as they merged into a crystalline sheet of pure energy. Then, at the apex of their outward path, a shimmer of that magic became visible to the naked eye. Seconds later, so fast it would be missed in the mere span of a blink, the portal opened.


    Akihato smiled faintly, then knelt down to retrieve the woman before stepping out of the grounding circle and strolling casually forward. He passed from one location to the next as though he were stepping through a doorway. One moment he was in the Rotted Wood, and the next, he was striding with confidence toward the front door of his tower.


    Behind him, the portal vanished, the magic dissipating so the only sign of its presence was an icy ring in the mud.

 Chapter 4: Bankiro - The Soldiers Reward

    They were gone. Bankiro knew that long before the mist finally faded. There was no doubt in his mind the magic had only been for concealment. That somehow, the Zosara had duped them and managed to escape. All without killing or harming a single man. Well, except for accident-prone Kiyon, who had backed into a comrade and nearly scared himself to death. With the power to manipulate water and ice, why not simply wipe them all out? He clearly could have done so effortlessly. Why hadn¡¯t he?


    Feeling unsettled, frustrated, and mildly impressed, the lieutenant spun on his heel, turning his back on the spot where their prey had stood just moments ago.


    Such questions were not his concern. He had heard the hounds baying and knew they¡¯d picked up the trail. Unless the Zosara had other tricks up his sleeve, the pair of them would be caught again soon. Satisfied with that and determined to rejoin the pursuit, he paused his stride long enough to begin shouting orders. He barely had a chance to part his lips when one of his men cut him off.


    ¡°Sir, approaching cavalry! It appears to be¡ª¡±


    Bankiro waved him to silence, having seen them a split second later. ¡°That is the Warlord¡¯s flag. Assume formation, men!¡±


    In an instant, they obeyed, hurrying into two neat rows across from one another, leaving enough room for a horse to easily pass between them. Every one of them stood at attention but would be ready to drop to the ground in a subservient bow the second a superior approached. Only Bankiro would remain standing, and even then, he would bend at the waist to show respect.


    It was a time-honored tradition to display fealty to one¡¯s master by bowing in their presence, but in Tzulan¡¯s army, it was law. Those who failed to show the proper respect were penalized severely. Bankiro had once seen a fellow soldier killed because he glanced up as the Warlord passed by. It was a mistake Bankiro ensured none of his men would ever make. He had drilled this procedure just as much as every combat formation and battle technique. There was no point in losing good fighters over such an insignificant slight. Outward defiance should always be punishable, but curiosity was no sin. At least in the lowly gaze of the lieutenant.


    The approaching contingent, almost thirty men, came to a halt. As the two lead horsemen continued forward, leaving the soldiers at their backs, Bankiro¡¯s troops called out the sacred mantra of Tzulan and deftly fell to their knees, faces so low they almost touched the muddy earth. Waiting until the pair of horses were halfway up the line, Bankiro followed, bending at the waist and lowering his head in submission. He did not speak or move; he held the position until Tzulan¡¯s captain commanded him to rise.


    ¡°Lieutenant Bankiro, is it?¡± The captain was a brawny fellow, thick from neck to calves, like a meaty tree trunk with equally meaty branches as arms and legs. His face was scarred, his nose bearing the signs of having been broken on more than one occasion. When he spoke, his voice was raspy and gruff, the result of a Taiku spear tip that had nearly slit his throat. Any average man would have surely died, but Guo had defied death.


    ¡°Yes, Captain.¡± Bankiro made a point of not looking over at the Warlord but kept his gaze steadily fixed on Guo.


    The behemoth glanced about, a frown forming on his face as he surveyed the area. ¡°Where is she, lieutenant?¡±


    Bankiro¡¯s jaw tensed, but he kept his expression neutral. ¡°We tracked her here, sir. But there was an unexpected complication, and she escaped.¡± The words were like bile on his tongue, but he refused to lie. He would tell the truth about their failure and suffer the consequences.


    ¡°You let her escape?¡± Guo exclaimed, his voice sounding more like a croak than the booming thunderclap it should have been. ¡°What the hell kind of complication¡ª¡±


    ¡°It was a Zosara, sir.¡± He knew better than to interrupt but did so anyway. He wasn¡¯t about to just stand there and take a verbal beating, not when his neck and each of his soldier¡¯s necks were on the line. ¡°He protected the woman and¡ª¡±


    Guo let out a rough growl, and for once, his old injury aided in making him sound even more dangerous. ¡°A Zosara? They¡¯re just a fairytale! Something old women tell little children to frighten them. Be a man, lieutenant, own up to your failings and accept the punishment with honor!¡±


    ¡°Bankiro isn¡¯t lying!¡± This came from the men who should have still been prone on the ground. Kiyon had come to his feet, trying to speak out in his commander¡¯s defense, but Bankiro knew exactly where this path led.


    ¡°Be silent, you fool!¡± Bankiro tried to warn him, but the young, brash man had already sealed his fate.


    Guo twisted in the saddle, peering back at the soldier with a rage so intense it was as though he thought Kiyon had just called him a motherless son of a boar! He opened his mouth to rebuke him, but Tzulan cut him off before a single word was formed.


    ¡°What was this Zosara¡¯s name?¡± There was a lace of pain in those words, as though the Warlord was barely maintaining his composure. Still refusing to look directly at him, Bankiro noted from the corner of his eye that his head was covered by a thick, black cowl. Was this because of the wounds the woman had inflicted upon him?


    ¡°He called himself Lord Akihato, sir,¡± Bankiro answered, keeping a tight rein on the fear in his chest. He knew this night would only end in bloodshed.


    ¡°Akihato...¡± Tzulan breathed the name, pondering it, mulling it over in his mouth for a long, tense moment. If he recognized it, he gave no indication that he did. Instead, he slowly dismounted, moving stiffly as he dropped to the ground and then passed the reins to Guo. ¡°Akihato the Zosara!¡± He let out a mirthless bark of laughter. ¡°Akihato...¡±


    Bankiro felt a strong sense of foreboding, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to act on the trepidation squirming in his stomach. He felt helpless as he watched Warlord Tzulan approach his men, knowing someone was going to pay dearly, and he knew that someone was going to be Kiyon.


    ¡°So,¡± Tzulan paused in the dead center of the bowing soldiers, ¡°she ensnared herself a Zosara,¡± he mused to himself, that undercurrent of pain still audible with every word. For several long moments, he stood there, muttering and chuckling like a mad man before he finally turned to face Kiyon, who had suddenly realized his mistake.


    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.The young man glanced to Bankiro, terror making his dark eyes wide. He was silently pleading for help, for guidance from the leader he had come to love and respect. Emotion, duty, and honor warred inside the lieutenant as he tried to make sense of this moment and how it had gone so horribly wrong so quickly.


    ¡°Rise.¡± The command brought each of the soldiers to their feet almost as soon as it was spoken. They held their positions, standing at attention, though each one had to be trembling inside with fear.


    ¡°Disrespect. Failure. Insolence!¡± Tzulan rattled off the words, sounding more and more outraged with each slight he listed. ¡°I have given you everything. I pay for your service; I supply the food in your belly, the clothes on your back, and a warm, secure place for you to sleep! And how do you repay me? By letting my would-be assassin escape!¡±


    Bankiro steeled his resolve, just as he had when faced with the Zosara¡¯s power. He would not back down here; he would not stand idly by while his men suffered. ¡°My lord, please,¡± he interrupted, stepping from his position and approaching the Warlord. He stopped a few feet from him and dropped to one knee, leaning forward on his fist with his head bowed. ¡°These are good soldiers, Lord Tzulan. The blame for this failure is not theirs to bear. It is mine. I am their commander, and I accept the full cost of this failure.¡±


    The Warlord half turned, his face still obscured by the cowl covering his head. He seemed to be considering the lieutenant¡¯s words, and then he abruptly moved again, motioning to the captain.


    Immediately Guo responded, dismounting his own horse and signaling his soldiers to action as well. While one man came to take the horses, four others moved to join their commander as he swept down the row of Bankiro¡¯s troop. He knew exactly what they were doing, and his heart sank. Every third man was ordered out of line and sent to kneel before Tzulan. Kiyon had been the first and was soon joined by three of his comrades.


    ¡°On your feet, lieutenant!¡± Guo croaked.


    Two soldiers came to flank Bankiro as he rose and was then redirected so he was standing just a step behind Tzulan. This way, he had a clear view of the four frightened men kneeling in the mud.


    Each one looked to him, and all he could do was try to appear strong and resolute. He was certain he failed the second his gaze met Kiyon¡¯s. He was the youngest, and while his clumsy nature had been frustrating at times, Bankiro had admired his dedication and spirit. This was not the end he deserved... None of them deserved this!


    ¡°My lord, I beg you, have mercy!¡± Bankiro pleaded once again, but his words were met by a cruel laugh.


    Guo retrieved Kiyon¡¯s sword and then moved slowly to the other end of the line. The blade rose above the first man and a second later fell with far less force behind the blow than one would expect was necessary to sever a head from somebody¡¯s shoulders.


    Bankiro tried again, urging for mercy, but Tzulan did not budge, and so Guo moved down the line, felling one young soldier after another. Each one felt like a knife blade twisting in the lieutenant¡¯s chest, each moment of death and gore engraving itself in his mind. The rolling heads, the gaping faces, and limp bodies. He had seen death and slaughter, but this was something far worse. This was needless, senseless, and he was helpless to stop it.


    Finally, only Kiyon remained. Those intense eyes still staring, filled with tears and horror. They questioned him, begging him to do something! Bankiro wanted so badly to look away, to shut his eyes as the blade was raised one last time, but he remained steadfast. He gave the young man a slight nod of comfort, certain that in moments he would be joining him in the afterlife.


    ¡°Stop this, Tzulan!¡± he shouted, taking a step toward the Warlord with the intention of grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around. The two soldiers at his back quickly acted, restraining the lieutenant and dragging him back. ¡°Enough, this is madness!¡± Bankiro fought against them, but they held him fast. He cried in outrage, but nobody was listening.


    A second later, Kiyon¡¯s head toppled into the mud, and Bankiro released a bellowing shout of frustration and fury. Still raging and fighting, a spew of angry insults flew in Guo¡¯s direction. The behemoth dropped Kiyon¡¯s sword next to his decapitated corpse and turned a chilling grin to the struggling Bankiro.


    It was Tzulan who addressed him, however. He finally turned to fully face him, and for the first time, Bankiro got a look at what he was hiding beneath the cowl. There was an ugly, welted burn on his cheek, swirled into an elegant pattern that might have been pretty were it not seared into a man¡¯s flesh. The eye on that side of his face had changed colors. The sclera was bloodshot, and the iris glowed a sickly yellow-green.


    ¡°Strip his rank,¡± he commanded. ¡°This wretch is not fit for my army.¡± From his belt, he drew a dagger and motioned the men holding Bankiro¡¯s arms.


    They forced him down to his knees as Guo approached. He took up a position behind the lieutenant and clutched the bound topknot secured on his head. Accepting the knife from Tzulan, he pulled the hair taut and began sawing through it despite Bankiro¡¯s desperate scream of protest.


    The next few seconds were a hazy blur. Bankiro had imagined death was near, but this? Like all true warriors, he had pledged an oath to fight and serve his master, whoever that may be, with honor. As a sign of that commitment, it was forbidden for him to cut his hair, or he would forever be shamed. For seven years, Bankiro had upheld that vow, and now it had been forcibly severed.


    His soul was in torment, his mind reeling. Death would have been a mercy, even a death of humiliation. When he saw Tzulan standing over him with the dagger, he thought for sure an end was coming, but there was only to be more pain.


    Guo tangled Bankiro¡¯s now short, dark hair in his sausage-like fingers and yanked his head back roughly. The former soldier let out a growl, but the fight had gone out of him, and it sounded more like a defeated grunt.


    ¡°This I inflict upon you myself,¡± Tzulan pressed the tip of the dagger into Bankiro¡¯s cheek, the sharp blade slicing through the skin as the Warlord began to carve as though the man¡¯s face were a hunk of wood.


    Gritting his teeth, Bankiro refused to cry out. The pain ignited his fury again, and hot tears of anger stung his eyes. Four bloody lines - one for each of his men that had been slain - were cut into his cheek, just under his left eye.


    When it was over, Guo and the other men released him so he slumped forward, almost face planting into the muck. Above him, Tzulan told him coldly, ¡°Never forget your failure.¡±


    Bankiro remained motionless, struggling with the weight of everything he had just endured. Around him, the Warlord and his soldiers rode away, his former men refusing to even look at him for fear of sharing his fate. He couldn¡¯t blame them. Had things been different, he would have cautioned them to give the shamed wretch a wide berth. The thought caused a humorless laugh to escape him. For seven years, he had been a loyal soldier, and due to a single circumstance where it had been impossible for anyone to come out ahead, he had been cast out, marked as an outsider. A warrior without a master, without allegiance...


    Uncertain how long he had been kneeling in the mud alone, Bankiro finally forced himself back to his feet. Despair weighed heavily on his heart, threatening to crush him under its girth. He bent over beside the lifeless bodies of his innocent comrades, wrapping his cold, stiff fingers around the hilt of Kiyon¡¯s sword. There was one thing he clung to, one thing that kept him from taking his own life in an attempt to regain some measure of his stolen honor...


    Fingers trembling around the hilt, fiery pain searing his cheek, Bankiro howled in the direction the monsters had gone. He screamed until he nearly passed out. He collapsed to his knees again, still clutching the tainted weapon, and panted for breath.


    ¡°I swear...¡± he whispered, his voice now hoarse. ¡°I swear, that with this blade, I will have revenge!¡±