Henji Tetsuya sat quietly upon his ash grey horse, staring out at the stygian ocean before him. On the water, he could see the black ships of the barbarians floating inexorably toward them in a number uncountable. They were, at that time, mere blots on the thin horizon, but they were growing ever larger. They would soon reach the shore, in hopes that the cover of night would aid their invasion. It was the prudent thing to do. The sound of the crashing waves was the cadence in which their doom would steadily come. All else was silent.

Henji’s pale eyes appeared to glow if ever so faintly when compared to the darkness enveloping him. It had rained hard for an entire week leading up to this night, making the march through the mountains grueling and slow. The combined army had just reached the coast the morning before, and the troops were exhausted. This had not been the plan; they were meant to arrive with plenty of time to rest and set up proper defenses. The daimyō had wanted the men to be fresh for the battle that would settle the fate of the Islands. But it could not be helped. The rain finally ceased this evening, but the clouds still hung low in the sky, gliding through the air like wraiths. Only the dim light of the moon shone through the thick haze, and this only in small intervals.

Henji glanced side to side, to judge the demeanor of his fellow generals. On his left was the Ryū daimyō. He was wearing his formidable crimson battle armor, with its exquisite detail and craftsmanship. The armor was made of plated scales, like that of a dragon, making him a frightful sight to behold. To his right was the Old Tora, who also had donned his heavy battle armor, scarred with dents and cuts from blows he had taken in war.

Compared to these two battle-hardened generals, Henji might have seemed like a mere adjutant, for he did not like the confining weight of heavy armor and wore his light grey kimono instead.

The three daimyō took up their position on a flat hill overlooking the beach, from which they would have a clear view of the imminent battle. Surrounding them were servants and adjutants who would carry their orders to the columns below. They had chosen this location out of necessity, for it was the only high ground along this swath of coast. It was not ideal, for it was quite near to the battleground itself, but there was little else to choose from.

In one thing had they been successful. They had correctly predicted where the barbarians would mount their invasion. They expected that the barbarians would take the safest, and most direct route to Nakashima, and they were correct. From the barbarian continent, if one sailed due east across the sea, they would reach the Soto islands, a collection of barrier islands off the coast of Nakashima. From there they could refresh and regroup, for the tiny garrisons on Soto had all been pulled, seeing that their resistance would do little to stop the invasion. From Soto, it was only a few hours to Nakashima, with this beach being the longest stretch of land that they could use to stage the invasion. To both the north and the south of the beach there were craggy and unassailable cliffs, and beyond, the strongholds of both the Ryū and the Henji domains. This location made the most sense from a strategic standpoint, and the barbarians had numbers on their side. They did not need to plan a surprise invasion or try any subterfuge. All they had to do was arrive.

Henji glanced down towards the beach. The combined army of the Islands was arrayed out in front of him, at the head of a gentle embankment. This was another flaw in their plan. They had hoped this beach would have more of a significant embankment, to give the barbarians a harder time fighting uphill. But this slope was merely a few feet high, and not likely to be much of a hindrance, even if they had fortified it. They had set up spiked wooden barricades in a few key places where the embankment was broken, but they were certainly not enough to hold back the tide that was to come.

“It will be a bitter struggle,” Henji thought, calmly stroking his horse’s mane.

The armies were lined up in a similar fashion to the generals. The southernmost group was the host of the Ryū, five thousand in crimson red. In the center were Henji’s men, numbering five thousand in purple. To the north was the Tora, who also had five thousand in obsidian black. Overall, they were about fifteen thousand strong, but they were about to face an army perhaps several times that number. Flags had been mounted to each soldier’s back, bearing the colors and sigils of their clan, and they flapped rhythmically in the mild sea breeze. The only advantage that they held was that of defense, but as the armada loomed closer to the shore, even that seemed like a trifle.

Archers were positioned behind the phalanx and had a decent shot to the shore. It was a bit far for them to be perfectly accurate, but it was assumed that they did not need accuracy with these many warriors storming the beach. The success and survival of these archers was their best hope of victory. This meant that the infantry had to hold and remain secure for as long as possible.

Henji once again studied the two other daimyō. He could not see any fear in the creases of their faces. They did not seem worried in the least, though they very well should have been. Their men were tired, demoralized, and soon to be broken upon by a tsunami of hate. Even with their years of battle experience, surely, they would have some anxieties. Anything could go wrong.

“Why so confident?” Henji wondered, as his long, black hair fluttered about him in the wind.

He turned his gaze back towards the water. The boats were drawing nearer. Soon the hands of fate would turn and plans long prepared in advance would be put into play. He tried his best to keep his composure, but his heart was racing. His face flushed with excitement. The moment he had been waiting for was almost here.

“It’s a marvelous sight,” the Ryū daimyō said, lifting his fearsome dragon helm and fitting it over his head.

“Breathtaking, really,” observed Tora, his deep voice seeming to vibrate through the dense air.

Henji lifted his slender eyebrow. That was a strange way of speaking in the last moments before a battle. “They may have even more than our estimates predicted,” he warned, breaking his silence. “We should be wary.” His smooth voice seemed a great contrast to the grit of the two older men.

The two generals merely ignored him, as they had often done since merging on the march towards the coast. They had not been keen on him joining this campaign, even though he added thousands more to their number. Yet they could not stand against the will of the Shōgun, who had commanded him to join. The entire time they had treated him as if he were a mere annoyance and included him only when they had to.

Henji knew what they must think of him. He was an unknown amongst the bedrock of power in the Islands. He was an adopted heir of a man confined to his bed for the last several years. Since the end of the War of Ashes, the Shōgun had shown him favor, and that had made their jealousy all the worse. As each daimyō jockeyed for power in the aftermath of the war, he had risen meteorically to become a man who frequently had the Shōgun’s ear. He was often seen among the long, dark halls of the palace, and the jealous daimyō could only speculate what he was doing there. They called him ‘the lapdog,’ and he knew that they despised him.

“Let us see what they think of me in the end,” he thought.

Tora began fitting his massive helm, shaped like a tiger’s roaring mouth, which was indeed frightening but appeared to be just as heavy and cumbersome as his mighty breastplate. Henji wanted to laugh. Appearance and tradition were still paramount among the old guard. Even though these men would not likely see any combat themselves, they must appear as though they were ready to spill blood. They must look the part. The more ornate and frightening the armor, the better. It hid their insecurities, their weaknesses, their age.

This was the other problem. The old guard had never faced an enemy like the one that was now coming for them. The barbarians were not as concerned about honor or appearance as the men of the Islands were. What they cared about was the whips on their back and the glory and carnal pleasures that awaited them if they should return to their lands as victors. They were like locusts, mindless and fearless. Their personalities were bound up in the Khahan, and it was his ruthless hand that had stretched across the sea to strangle the Islands.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“It will be a bitter struggle indeed,” Henji thought, repeating that phrase in his mind. His eyes shifted to the north, where there was a great forest beyond the beach. Presently, the woods were dark and quiet. He then returned his attention to the moment at hand. He did not have a great helm to wear, so he merely tugged on his light leather gloves to make sure they were tight on his fingers.

The pages of the daimyō stepped closer to their lords and handed them each a war-fan which was used to signal the adjutant. One side meant to charge, the other meant to hold, and there were other signals depending on how one waved and moved it about. They could see that the first wave of ships was now only minutes away from landing. The ships were packed together like invading ants, with their hard exoskeletons, and myriad legs, the oars, pulling them closer to the beach. These ships were not the fast corsairs that sped across the seas and harried their borders. These were the blocky and heavy transports that lumbered across the ocean with one goal, to make it to the other side carrying as many men as possible.

Simultaneously, all three generals lifted their hands to signal that the battle would soon commence. The adjutants quickly relayed the message, and soon all the soldiers had their weapons drawn, with spears pointed towards the waters.

“Wait until they land,” Tora commanded. “Not a shot or movement until then.”

Henji thought it strange that they should wait until they hit land and shifted in his saddle with annoyance. “Why should we wait when we can hit them as they disembark?” he protested.

“They may want to sue for peace,” Tora suggested.

Henji turned towards the Old Tiger and glared at him. “Do you really think anything we can offer them will make them turn back now?”

Neither of the two men said anything. They continued to stare out onto the battlefield. They were calm, unmoved. Henji’s eyes flashed but he held his tongue. “These old fools!” he lamented internally.

The first few ships had finally landed. Immediately, scores of barbarian warriors leaped off and charged the beach. They were armed, as was their custom, in skins and pelts and carried long, gnarled oaken spears with jagged metal or rock as the spearheads. They wore white face paint in terrible patterns and had armor and decorations of bone. They ran up the beach, congregating in a well-ordered mass.

“We should fire arrows!” Henji insisted, watching the swarm grow.

“Hold!” Ryū cried.

“Hold!” repeated Tora.

“For what?” Henji raged, letting his voice break out as he had not done in quite some time. He could see several ships, then a dozen ships, then two dozen ships grind to a halt upon the beach. The great host was gathering and had now begun to rapidly approach the embankment. They had already swelled into such a mass that they appeared equal to or larger than their own host. But just before they were to meet in a great collision that could shake the pillars of the earth, something unusual happened. They stopped.

Everyone just stopped. For a few moments, there was nothing but the splash of waves when there should have been the cries of a thousand men flooding into battle.

Henji’s eyes surveyed the scene. His heart was beating out of his chest.

“What is going on?” he managed to say in a breathless gasp.

“The barbarians have held up their end of the bargain,” Ryū said, turning his black eyes towards the young daimyō. “They will join us in the reconquest of these Islands.”

“Join us?” Henji asked, his face showing great surprise.

“If you are willing,” Tora offered, from his other side. “Together we can reclaim and rule this realm. We can bring it back to honor, like the old days.”

Henji’s pale eyes darted back and forth from daimyō to daimyō. They were both watching him intently, and their hands were lowered to their sides.

“You would be the vassals of the Khahan, that monster?” Henji accused.

“We are already vassals of a different monster. The Khahan promises those who aid him great autonomy in the affairs of their own states. He merely requires allegiance.”

“Treason!” Henji hissed, shaking his head. “It is treason!”

“It is necessary,” Tora replied firmly.

“And if I refuse?”

“Must we say it?” said Ryū coldly, patting the hilt of his blade.

Henji looked down at his men, surrounded by barbarians and traitors. If he did not surrender, they might all be killed.

“It is not dishonorable to give in now,” Ryū continued. “No force of men could possibly stand against this army. We did what was right for the Islands.”

Henji’s eyes wandered toward the old, dark forest. Something there seemed to catch his eye.

“You are right,” he said as a faint, eerie smile appeared on his soft, handsome face. “No force of men, indeed.”

With that, he kicked his horse hard, and it reeled up on its hind legs, neighing loudly. “Treason!” he screamed as loudly as he possibly could, so loud that he thought his voice would shatter in his throat. The sound carried and hung in the air, seeming to echo across the shore and into the ocean.

Before anyone else knew what was happening, chaos enveloped the field. The host of Henji exploded out from the center in all directions, wreaking havoc on the unsuspecting soldiers nearby. The others had not been prepared for this scenario, and even the barbarians collectively took a step back in confusion. The two generals waved their war flags wildly, to give the message that the Henji force had defected and must be destroyed, but they had lost the advantage of initiative, and it took several minutes to sort everything out.

Eventually, the barbarian horde began to move in, hunting for the soldiers in grey, but as they did, they could sense that something else was amiss. The soft sand of the beach began to quake underneath them as if the land were sundering from itself. They froze and looked about wildly, as the battlefield exploded with violence.

“Perhaps it’s a calvary charge,” some reasoned, as the thunderous clamor grew louder by the moment.

In the end, they were only partially right. There was a horse, only one, that made its way down to the beach from the forest, and that was the black horse of Kondo Daisuke. Behind him came an army of ferocious oni, numbering ten thousand strong. They had come down from the northlands of Akaii, for Kondo had successfully completed his mission, which was to sack the Akaii capital with the help of the oni and then lead them south to do battle with the barbarians. It was a fair trade, one which the oni eagerly agreed to. The yomi were finally able to take revenge on the House of Akaii that had plagued them from time immemorial. In exchange, they would give their lives, only once, to fight against the foreign invaders and those who might collude with them. The oni that had come were battle-ready, clad in their fearsome plate mail and bearing great spiked clubs in which they could pulverize their enemies.

No man there had ever seen such a thing in ages, and the cries of war soon turned into screams of terror. Kondo and his oni came down and swept across the beach from the north, as the combined armies of Ryū, Tora, and the barbarians were still in disarray from the Henji breakout. They were unable to regroup in time to stop them.

The oni were hideously savage and spurred on by the darkness of night, they crushed anyone who stood in their path. They clawed and smashed, and impaled Islander and barbarian alike, roaring with murderous fury. Some men were so afraid of the mere sight of them that they laid down helplessly or purposely fell upon their own swords.

“Kondo, you did it,” Henji whispered with great satisfaction, before he rode off, drawing the enraged Tora and Ryū daimyō after him. Henji knew that Kondo faced quite the task, for the Akaii capital had never fallen in its long and storied history. But in this venture, they had inside help and Kondo himself led the enterprise. He was as skillful as they come, but they must have just made it in time, for he had been waiting for Kondo’s signal to shine out of the forest, and he had not seen it until just moments before the battle began.

After galloping for some time towards the northern forest, Henji stopped suddenly and dismounted just as he reached the tree line.

“This will do,” he said, as the Elder Dragon and the Old Tiger pulled up, with spears drawn against him.

“Traitor!” Ryū cried.

“How fascinating! You of all people are surprised by a betrayal?” returned Henji, condemningly.

“You shame yourself by summoning demons to fight for you!” Tora raged. “You will burn in hell for this!”

“I do not see much of a difference,” Henji replied with a shrug. “You meant to use barbarians to seize the Shōgunate. I mean to use the oni to destroy you.”

“But those are yomi!” Ryū exclaimed, glancing back at the carnage behind them. “They are the natural enemies of man and the Emperors!”

“I do not owe my allegiance to an Emperor, for they are gone,” the young daimyō said with a snarl. “I owe it to the Shōgun. And you should as well. He knew you would betray him; that is why he sent me. Did you seriously believe that he would not grow suspicious when the two great enemies of the War of Ashes suddenly decided to work together? Did you really think he was that blind?”

“Enough!” Tora, who was red-faced and seething, spat. “You might think your plan was so clever, but you will not live long enough to see it through!”

Both Ryū and Tora hoisted their long spears and leveled them at Henji, who stood on the ground, the wind blowing through his light kimono. This, in most circumstances, would have been a dire situation. To be surrounded and unhorsed was the traditional position of defeat. He did not even have heavy armor to protect him. Yet he stood calmly as his adversaries circled, slowly unsheathing one sword from his sash, and then another.