Akisane found that alcohol went down well in the morning when one’s stomach was empty. He tipped the flask and took a swill before tucking it in his green jacket. The comforting burn worked its way down into his stomach.
Between fighting, a lute player walked the perimeter of the square and plucked notes. Fingers danced along single and double-strung courses. The music wandered far with the arena's acoustics, and the counterpoint melody created a haunting aura.
Akisane sat back and felt his shoulders loosen. The stone bench was cold, but the sun was warm. It had the effect of lulling him to close his eyes. He was in need of a full night’s sleep.
“We have word the girl is separated from her friends.”
Akisane felt a tremor run down his body. He peeled an eye open to see Shank beside his ear. “What of it?”
Shank thumped the sheathed knife stump to his chin. “The Duke wants her dead and her body brought to the Necromancer’s cave. What better opportunity? We don’t have to deal with Masahide or Whitebeard.”
Could a man not get a moment's relaxation around here? Kidnap this person, kill that person, and it went on and on. Akisane sighed and gave a curt nod. “Call Bahram. I’m not taking any chances. You saw her fight Yoshiie.”
“You, afraid of knights? They're weak, bound by the oath. But if you want the sorcerer, I'll pull him away from his codices.” Shank slipped on a ring and concentrated until a flash flared from it and then slipped it away. “He’s coming.”
“The knights are weak, aren’t they.” Akisane pulled out his flask. “Even Shining Armor can’t stop an unseen dagger in the dark.”
Shank had a wolfish grin. “I like working for you. Let’s have a drink before we cut this one up. May I?” He took the flask and let an ahhh after a healthy swig. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you’ll learn to love it. Forget about morals and all that. It’s interesting, challenging work.”
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
Perhaps so, Akisane mused as he pushed his tongue against numb teeth. If one’s lot in life is already chosen, why fight it? Why do my hands shake?
A shadow appeared.
Amat must have had a giant in his ancestry, for he was a monolith of a man. He was swarthy and thin-nosed, from the eastern half of the continent over the mountains. And if his mind were a sword it would be so dull it couldn’t cut through jelly. “Crush girl.”
Akisane had Shank point out where Kichi was last seen. She was down in the maze that surrounded the arena. Hundreds of years ago, when there were many kings and not just one, a rich monarch controlled the route from East to West and built this never-ending castle. One could wander the whole day in the dilapidated gardens, baths, and temples. It was said to have been all whitewashed and gilded once, but now it was just a vine-covered gray stone.
The trio left the arena and descended into the maze. The sound of the crowd died away.
Shadows mottled the paths cut into the granite. Good, Akisane could shadow walk. Shank slipped the sheath from his stump to reveal the blade that replaced his hand, and it gleamed. Amat pulled at the vines on the walls for no good reason.
Bahram rode in on a carpet of camel hair with geometric designs and a patch. He looked like a miniature version of Amat. The man jangled with beads, necklaces, and bracelets, which made too much noise.
Akisane drew his demon sword, and it darkened the space around him in its black-purple dimness. “Are you sure she’s alone?”
Bahram nodded. “I saw her moments ago in that building, and she was alone.”
“Spread out and surround her.”
Amat balled a fist. “Can I have fun?”
Akisane looked into the man’s too-close beady eyes. “Go ahead.” With that, he fleeted into the shadows. Here, he could move almost at the speed of thought. He emerged in the dark corner of an old hall. The floor was under a coating of dust and rubble.
There sat Kichi by the window, hugging her legs. No one was there to protect her.
Henry (Akisane)
Level: 7
Focus: Telekinesis
Secondary focus: Shadow walker
Weapons: demon sword - 5% corrupt