EARLY JANUARY 845 AQE
Escaping Tiguri was the hardest thing Wujun had ever lived through. Sleep was hard the first couple of weeks they traveled. Not just because he was unused to laying on the hard ground, but because of the nightmares that plagued him. Kentai reassured him they would fade once his mind processed the horrors he’d witnessed, but that had been a slight comfort when he awoke drenched in sweat.
Now, as they approached the massive stone walls of Kurokume, queued with dozens upon dozens of other refugees, those rough nights didn’t seem so bad. Looking around at the rest of the survivors, the haggard adults and half-starved children, Wujun thought he had it pretty good.
Kentai’s hand brushed against his, drawing his gaze. The swordsman winked at him, then leaned over and whispered, “Why so glum? Tonight you get a hot meal, a refreshing bath, and sleep in a proper bed…”
“Yes.” He frowned, knowing he should take some comfort in that. “But how many others will go hungry and sleep in the streets, cold and filthy?” His heart ached and he let out a sigh, trying to find the right words. “So many are suffering and if the rumors are true, if Tzulan really means to conquer all of Ryuutachi, then a lot more will suffer before he’s done. I can’t ignore it and do nothing, Kentai. I can’t—”
He forgot what he was saying as Kentai turned his head and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. Wujun sighed, surprised but pleased at the sudden sweetness and then disappointed as the warmth of the swordsman’s mouth pulled away.
Behind them, he heard Soki sniff in disapproval. She didn’t like him fraternizing with a Zosara. Wujun found he didn’t care what she thought.
After leaving Tiguri behind, Kentai had found a moment when they were alone to share with Wujun all Goratsu had said about void Zosara. He wasn’t sure if the old tutor had been correct or not, but it was as good an explanation as any. He didn’t know what it all meant or what he would do with this strange power. There hadn’t been enough time for him to consider it. The revelation was as jumbled in his mind as the events from the night they fled. He feared it would take a lifetime to process it all.
As for Soki, Wujun was confident that she would never hurt him and so, despite Kentai’s protests, he insisted that the three of them remain together.
“Yes, people will suffer in this damned war.” Kentai returned them to their original topic, ignoring Soki’s dissatisfaction as though she weren’t there. “If you want to help, then you’ll find a way to help. That said,” the line moved forward and so he paused to reposition, “if you don’t take care of yourself, then you’re useless to others. There’s no shame in taking time to rest and regain your strength.”
Wujun nodded, knowing he was right, but still struggling to shake away the guilt completely.
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At least we’re safe here for now. Whoever thought to build this wall was clever, but I fear it will only hold off the horde of Tzulan for so long. Eventually, he’ll breach it and then the west will fall just as Sunaizo Province did.
Absentmindedly, Wujun placed his hand in Kentai’s and let out a sigh as his fears for the future were eased somewhat. As long as Kentai and Soki were with him, Wujun was ready to face anything.
The comfort was fleeting. Unrest coursed suddenly through the line of refugees ahead of them, followed by despair and then outrage. Several of the men were shouting angrily, accusing Baisho’s warlord of some rather colorful sexual escapades the thought of which made Wujun’s ears flush pink.
“What the fuck is going on…” Kentai growled, to nobody in particular. “Stay here,” he ordered a second later. He began shoving his way through the line that was quickly deteriorating into an angry mob.
Despite what he’d been told, Wujun followed him, slipping through the small wake that the large swordsman had created in the aftermath of his passing. He barely dodged a couple of elbows and wildly flailing arms as he weaved his way through the throng. Kentai was content to push and shove, forcing others to make space for him, but Wujun didn’t feel such a method suited him.
They finally reached the front of the mass, where a contingent of soldiers stood protectively in front of a well-dressed official. The well dressed man was holding a piece of parchment in one hand, but his wildly jerking arm made it impossible to read what it said. He appeared to be quite flustered, his hair mussed and his face beet red. “Don’t hang the messenger!” he kept screaming.
That’s when Wujun realized the gate had been closed. His heart sank.
“What the fuck is going on?” Kentai repeated his question, this time directing it at the flailing official. “Hey, assface, why is the gate closed?”
Fixing Kentai with an indignant glower, the official put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest. “You will address me as Lord Hufong—!” His declaration was cut short by a limp, slimy head of cabbage striking him in the face. “Who threw that? How dare you! You oafs are supposed to be protecting me!”
Even someone as inexperienced as Wujun could figure out that this was about to go badly. Hufong must have thought so, too. He threw the document at the nearest guard, stuck his nose into the air and turned toward the gate. “Let me back in! I don’t have to take this!”
At his command, the iron portcullis slid upward just enough that he could duck beneath it. More items were hurled toward him, including a few rocks, but once he was on the other side, very little made it through the rungs. Not willing to deal with it either, the guards all followed him, with only one pausing long enough to hand the document to Kentai before he too returned to safety.
Wujun peered over Kentai’s shoulder, his eyes skimming the page. The more he read, the heavier his heart became, fear creeping back in as he realized they were trapped here. He looked up at Kentai’s face, hoping the swordsman would have a clever answer, but he was met with a worried frown.
“The city is full, my ass,” Kentai muttered and tossed the parchment to the ground.
Around them, the refugees were pushing forward, fully infuriated, to rattle the portcullis. Kentai took Wujun’s hand and led him out of the way. They found a place to stand a short distance away and remained there, watching as panic washed through the dozens of refugees. Each one of them knew that Tzulan’s army would come through this valley and squash them all like insects. Instead of finding sanctuary in Kurokume, they had found a dead end. There was no way forward and no way back.
They were all doomed.