A Legend Falls

  World of Myth XII

  A Legend Falls

  Travis Bughi

  Copyright 2020 Travis Bughi

  Smashwords Edition

  ISBN:

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  Dedication

  To Jake

  Acknowledgements

  Patricia Hamill for the editing

  World of Myth Series

  Emily’s Saga

  Beyond the Plains

  The Forest of Angor

  The Fall of Lucifan

  Journey to Savara

  Juatwa

  A Legend Ascends

  Takeo’s Chronicles

  Fated for War

  An Enchanted Sword

  Fortress of Ruin

  A Dagger in the Light

  Battle for Redemption

  A Legend Falls

  Prologue

  For Qadir, the most insulting thing about the pillows he sat upon was the fact that he had to sit. With a missing foot and only six fingers left on his body, standing was out of the question. He could have sat on stone, but that was seen as a peasant thing, and Qadir would not be mistaken for one of the common masses. He was a rakshasa, and to make up for his deformity, he made sure to always appear in his true form, with orange fur and bared fangs lest anyone make the mistake of thinking him an invalid.

  Qadir wasn’t old enough to remember the time before, when humanity had been subjugated and served the rakshasa race, but it was recent enough that vivid stories circulated among his kind. Tales of lavish excess, of drinking human blood like wine, and of spending days lounging on thrones of comfort not unlike that which he sat upon now. It was their rightful place, owed to them through superior strength and intellect. It was a black stain on their history that they had ever lost that position.

  In the back of his mind, Qadir knew that’s why the female had not come to him. That rakshasa cub he had summoned at the jinni’s cave would have been full grown within the year, and she would be far too intelligent not to know of his existence and far too powerful to be barred from seeking him out. Yet she had not come, and Qadir knew why. She had watched him be made into a cripple by the hands of a human. Even if that human had been aided by jinni powers, there was no greater shame. Hunters do not submit to the hunted. Rakshasas do not bend to lesser creatures. The female would know that, even if she’d never spent a day with another of her kind.

  And so, it stood to reason that this throne of pillows, with all the status it should have implied, served only to remind Qadir of his weakness. The only solace he had was that the ronin had not taken his greatest weapon of all: his mind.

  To add insult to injury, Qadir didn’t even have the luxury of wallowing in self-pity. To do that required time and solitude, and he was afforded neither between the prying Nguyen royalty pleading for their lives and the bloodthirsty ronin charging out with an army the likes of which Juatwa hadn’t seen in an age. The storm was brewing no longer; it had arrived, and it was a tempest—a tempest of fire, brought forth by a human with short black hair and even blacker eyes.

  The thought of which made Qadir shudder, and that made him ashamed.

  “My lord,” Aiguo Mein said from the rakshasa’s side, “did you hear me? Takeo gathers his army along our southern border. From the reports, I believe his intention is to spearhead an assault straight for the Nguyen fortress, to us. As he did with the Katsus, he wants to cut the head off the body.”

  “I could have told you that without the reports,” Qadir replied, sighing and rubbing his forehead with his one good hand. “It is his style, to aim for the throat. He has no flair for the extravagant. Tactful is not in his vocabulary. To think I’m being backed into a corner by such a brute.”

  “The necessity of winning, my lord,” Aiguo pressed.

  “Need not be stated,” Qadir replied, adding a growl at the end.

  There was a time when his disapproval had caused men to fall to their knees. With one glance, Qadir had silenced hordes of hardened veterans. Then the ronin came along, and now it seemed everyone had something else to fear. Even Aiguo, kneeling within arm’s reach of a rakshasa, was so afraid of Takeo that he did not flinch at Qadir’s aggravation.

  The shame in Qadir’s stomach deepened, as well as his resolve.

  “Xianliang awaits your orders,” Aiguo went on. “He wants to know where to send our troops.”

  “That’s because he is a fool. Anyone with a half a brain should understand by now that Takeo thrives off pitched battles. I should have realized this when he held off the Katsu army with only fifty men, but I was hopeful. Takeo’s entire persona has been built off thrusting himself into impossible situations where defeat and victory stand in totality. It’s only because of this that he is so powerful now, and I’ll not make the same mistake again. Twice already—twice—he has turned my victories into defeat, and this time will be the last, one or the other. I will not risk a pitched battle against him, not again. If I were leading an army of my kind, then it would be different, or if the ronin didn’t have his damned sword, then it’d be different. However, as things stand, only a fool would meet that fiend head-on. I don’t care about the damned Nguyen at this point. I just want to see that man defeated!”

  Qadir clenched his jaw and snarled, regretting the emotional display yet feeling powerless to stop it. In some sense, he understood that he was hinging on insanity. Caught between the feelings of ineptitude and defeat, fear and loathing, his control over his own mind was starting to fray. He, a rakshasa, was losing his grip, and he didn’t know if he wanted to stop it.

  Perhaps it was better to be mad than afraid.

  “You’ve heard the rumors?” Qadir whispered.

  “My lord?”

  “The rumors, what they’re calling him. They called him ‘lord’ before, despite lacking title, lands, or servants, so his enemies tried to taunt him by calling him a dark lord. Who’d have thought his followers would love the idea. The Dark Lord, that’s what they’re calling him. The ronin dons a mantle of fear as he descends upon this place. It’s exactly, precisely, what I should be doing instead. Look at you, Aiguo. Even you have fallen prey to his persona. This land should fear me, not him.

  “The daimyo hide, unwilling to join either army lest they stick their neck out for his sword. The ninjas, as much as they hate him for wiping out a clan, are too afraid to take any contract against him. Even those who follow him, as those who once followed me, only do so in awe of his terrible power. You may wonder why I’m saying this, Aiguo, but soon you will understand.

  “My greatest regret is treating Takeo Karaoshi as if he were human.”

  Qadir paused to adjust his seat. His leg itched—the one missing a foot—and he instinctively reached for it with the arm on that side of his body, which was also missing limbs. Just one thumb remained, hardly enough to scratch his fur, but he did not retract it. To do so now would draw attention, and Qadir could not afford to lose an ounce of respect at this point. He scratched with his single, near-useless digit, and settled back in, ignoring the itch.

  Aiguo waited patiently.

  “I should have treated him as the threat he is from the start,” the rakshasa went on. “In our last fight, I relied too heavily on him lacking his sword, and upon the feeble reports from human eyes. I had the ronin in my grasp, yet I let him escape in order t
o slay those three fat brothers who irked me so much. That was my mistake, to assume the ronin would perish so easily like any other human. I did not comprehend whom I was dealing with.

  “If we are to succeed, I will need assistance. I will need allies beyond these feeble humans, powerful and immortal ones capable of tipping the balance in our favor.”

  Aiguo leaned forward, on edge and enraptured. Qadir could smell it. It boded well he could still inspire some approval, despite the odds stacking against him.

  “You, my servant and companion upon the Karaoshi gallows, will do what I cannot. The ninjas are not the only enemy Takeo has made. There are others, far more powerful, that would like to see the ronin brought low. You know of whom I speak: the oni. There was once a time that the Nguyen would never ally with such creatures, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and I’m certain they’ll sell anything, even their souls, to escape the ronin’s vindication. No man, not even one aided by a jinni’s power, can stand against a dozen oni. Find them and sell them the Nguyen throne for Takeo’s head. No mistakes this time. I want his skull for my chamber pot.”

  “Thy will be done, my lord,” Aiguo said, bowing so low his forehead risked running into the stone floor. “And, if I may ask, what will you do in the time being?”

  He questions me? How dare he. That slithering, spineless, faceless human. The boldness of that request after issuing him a direct order. Were I in any other situation, I’d rip his throat out and drink his blood.

  Were I not so desperate.

  Damn you, Takeo Karaoshi. I’ll see the entire human race in chains for what you’ve done to me, physically and mentally. At least I know that one way or another, I won’t be living in fear a year from now. This all ends soon.

  “It is as I said,” Qadir answered. “Takeo has built for himself a reign of terror. He is adorned by a crown of threats and sits upon a throne of ruthlessness. Yet, this land is mistaken to assume he poses a greater threat than a rakshasa. They need to be reminded of that. When I am finished, Takeo will have no more than a handful of faithful followers. While he aims for my throat, I will aim for the column of shadows he stands upon, and I will strike the man down from the heavens and into the gallows where he belongs.

  “This kingdom will rue the day it stood against the superiority of a rakshasa.”

  Chapter 1

  All things considered, Takeo thought himself above superficial judgments. He was not tempted by pretty faces or put off by sheer ugliness, at least not to the extent that most people were. He’d long thought that part of him had been killed off by his brother, and he was more likely to judge a person by their actions.

  That being said, one glance at Oiu Nguyen was enough to make Takeo’s skin crawl.

  The youngest Nguyen brother was the undisputed runt of the litter. His pale skin with yellow blotches clung to his bones like poorly wrapped meat. White hair grew from his head long and unkempt in spindly webs that ran down his back, translucent in the sunlight and giving him a ghostly shadow when the wind tugged at the fragile strands. His eyes were pink, which wouldn’t have bothered Takeo in the slightest if they didn’t shift about unnaturally. The young man’s gaze darted to shadows and unseen movements as if he were a criminal in fear of being caught. Adding to this, Oiu was fond of wearing old women’s clothing, which drew long and loose over his lanky body, shielding his pale skin from the sun and giving him a haggard look, especially with the way he hunched over his mount. He'd look better if he’d just eat more often, but Oiu carried a level of pickiness unheard of outside privileged royalty. He consumed nothing but white bread and water, and in quantities that would barely sustain a gnome.

  Indeed, it was little wonder to Takeo why Oiu had been left to rot in the Hanu dungeons by his closest kin.

  “Karaoshi,” Oiu said, licking dry lips and panting for some odd reason. He’d been mounted for some time now and hadn’t moved a muscle, so he shouldn’t have been short of breath. “Lord, shouldn’t we have a larger escort? I mean four of us, in potentially hostile territory? As I’ve said, I don’t think our approach will be anticipated, but there could be ninjas. There are always ninjas.”

  Takeo sighed.

  “I rescued you from the Hanu dungeons for one reason, Oiu. Questioning me is not that reason. However, if it will steady your nerves, then I’ll give you an answer. Sure, we may be deep into Nguyen lands, but we’re not far from my armies, and this area has been thoroughly scouted. We four are mounted on some of the finest komainu mounts in the Katsu cavalry, and as I’ve said, four people sends a bigger message than a larger group ever could for this purpose.”

  “Yes, but, well, my lord,” Oiu pressed, “no guards?”

  Takeo closed his eyes and took a breath. These days, few had the courage to ask the same question twice of a man like Takeo Karaoshi. Doing so was more likely a sign of stupidity, and that certainly applied to Oiu. One could only spend so many years in total isolation before their brain would begin to rot.

  “Let’s examine the four people you speak of.

  “Firstly, there’s you, the youngest son of the late Lady Xuan Nguyen and the rightful heir to the throne after we kill your three remaining brothers. Sure, they may have condemned you to death as a traitor for taking my side, but no common daimyo or villager would dare raise a hand against you in these lands. Not only are you of royal blood—a deity of sorts in this part of Juatwa—but no one would risk your wrath for fear that you might win this war and exact vengeance on those who opposed you. Riding alone, unopposed, save for a group of three close advisors sends the right message: that your rule is inevitable.

  “Next, there is me, the infamous ronin, or as my enemies have come to say, ‘The Dark Lord.’ Idiots. Their shortsightedness and limited vocabulary only serve to increase my reputation. They would have done better to call me a usurper or a despot, but I suppose I have Gavin to thank for that. One poetic quip from him and I have a new nickname, this one as a ‘Lord.’ Fantastic, yet not inaccurate. I used to despise that title, but I wear it proudly now. I was foolish before, thinking to win a crown for some other individual. How could I ever entrust my dream to another? So here I am, the future emperor, marching among my lands without fear, as I should. There’s no need to even mention my sword.

  “The third individual isn’t even human. She’s a rakshasa and keen of mind, the likes of which we can never know. Were there any out there waiting for us, she would smell and hear them before they saw us. Were anyone foolish enough to attack, she’d show them the potential of a true hunter.

  “And last, but not least, is the good knight, Sir Gavin Shaw. Admittedly unassuming with his missing ear and left hand, I assure you he’s a deft fighter. More importantly, though, he’s a natural diplomat. Charismatic and congenial to all he meets, this man rounds out the roughness the three of us bring. I’ll have you know this man has saved lives and cheated death more than once with nothing but words and a smile. You’d do well to listen when he talks.”

  Oiu glanced back at the knight in question, the movement exaggerated by his long hood, which sheltered his sensitive skin from the afternoon sun.

  “Smile,” the daimyo said. “Right.”

  The Gavin that Takeo knew wouldn’t have let heavy sarcasm like that go unchallenged. The Gavin that Takeo knew would have chuckled and offered a witty reply, truthful yet free of malice. The Gavin that Takeo knew was dead.

  The man who rode behind Takeo and Oiu, and beside Emy, was a different sort of soldier, hardened by experiences relatively few lived to tell about. Without the angels’ light to shelter him, the horrors of war had finally feasted on his cheerful, good nature.

  Instead of laughing at Oiu’s comment, Gavin stayed grim and disinterested, letting his gaze pass idly among the trees surrounding their winding path. However, Takeo didn’t lose hope. Pain could be a tool at best, an obstacle at worst. The Gavin that Takeo knew would return with the ronin’s help.

  After the events at the Katsu fortress,
Gavin had grown grim and withdrawn, living in relative isolation on Kuniko’s lands. Takeo had thought the knight would stay there, trading sword for plow and soldiers for family, but he’d been wrong. Just as Takeo had gathered up his combined Hanu and Katsu army—or what was left of it between those dead or defected—Gavin had arrived, alone and cowed, with a simple request to rejoin Takeo’s side.

  “You’ve made some poor decisions,” the knight had said, “but so have I, and I’m not the sort of knave that avoids guilt. I never should have left you. It was my choice to give the life of my wife and child, and Krunk, to Botan. You were right. I did not know him, and all those I loved suffered because of my decision. I strayed from our path, and with your permission, I hope you’ll let me rejoin you.”

  Admittedly, Takeo was against letting Gavin back into the fold. The way Takeo saw it, Gavin should be back at Kuniko’s property, happy and healthy, loving his wife and raising his child. Yet therein lay the problem.

  Gavin was neither happy nor healthy. He was miserable, and it showed.

  It wasn’t just the mutilation that scarred the side of Gavin’s head or the gnarled stump of a wrist that lay across his waist, which brought the man low. One could see it in the way he slouched, so unusual for the former knight. Gavin’s hair no longer waved in the wind so easily, either, and its golden hue had lost a fair bit of luster. He had always preferred to grow out a bit of stubble on his chin, correctly believing the gruff look added to his charm, yet now all care was lost. The stubble spread about his face and down his neck, like a beggar in between free trimmings. The knight didn’t seem to care, as if there were no one left to impress.

  Takeo didn't have the heart to send the knight back home. It was clear that Gavin had seen enough disappointment as it was.

  And so they’d assembled; Gavin, Nicholas, and Emy had gone with Takeo and his recently bolstered army, accompanied by the freed Lord Oiu Nguyen and the subservient Lady Anagarika Katsu, to bury the final blade into the war to end all wars. If Takeo was successful here, Juatwa might finally be united under one ruler, and a lasting peace obtained.