A Legend Falls Read online

  With no delays or distractions, the Hanu army arrived at the Phan fortress within days. Upon seeing this fortified town for the first time, Takeo immediately understood why Seiji had traveled here.

  The Phan lands were nestled into the rocky ridges of the northeastern side of Juatwa, and although not a port city, the Phan fortress was close enough to the sea to get an influx of trade and wealth. This was exceedingly beneficial because the land was terrible for farming. The numerous canyons and ridges the Hanu army had passed through to get here were proof of that, as well as proof that Qadir wanted them here. It made no sense otherwise why the Nguyen army didn't ambush them at every turn. Even the Phan fortress itself seemed specifically designed to ensnare its foes.

  Built into the side of a mountain, the Phan fortress was one part wall, one part keep. The heavy stones, cut from the same mountainside, stretched about in a half circle from one sheer wall to the other, creating an inner city—or so Takeo assumed as he couldn’t see beyond the wall.

  Rising out of this city was an immense tower that stood as an impressive feat of human engineering and effort. This would be the fortress’ keep that would act as a second—and last—line of defense if the outer wall were to be breached, and Takeo didn’t like the look of it. On first glance, he was determined to get inside the keep before he got beyond the walls if that were possible.

  The entire place was aged, stripped, and weather beaten. They’d be lucky to cobble enough wood together to make rickety ladders, let alone actual siege engines. A dozen plans swarmed Takeo’s mind in a flash as the Hanu army filed into the narrow valley that the fortress occupied, armor and weapons clanging and echoing off the rock, and Takeo weighed each plan’s chance of success.

  Seiji couldn’t be starved out. It was highly unlikely Takeo’s larger force would survive longer than the defenders, who’d had time to prepare and store provisions, especially in this desolate landscape. Supply routes could be established, but that would pull away more soldiers and resources, thinning his already decentralized army. Besides, Takeo couldn’t ignore the risk that would run, what with how dangerous this land could potentially be. It would be foolish to assume the locals would remain pacifists forever, and if Qadir struck back, any army based here would have a horrendous time escaping intact.

  All that considered, Takeo realized he couldn’t be patient. Even a brash, harrowing assault seemed appealing, so long as it was plausible. Takeo scanned the castle through the growing dust in the air as his army trampled the area. Red soldiers, tired from their long march, fanned out and soaked the land, leaving only an arrow’s distance between them and the fortress’ outer walls, as even the defenders had no siege engines.

  Anagarika and Gavin stood close by, as did a handful of daimyo who thought it was worth making the trip just to see the legendary ronin in action. They took their cues from the woman and the knight, who stood silent and focused, taking the scene in as any good commander should.

  “I mean, on the bright side,” Gavin whispered, “this place doesn’t look half as daunting as the Katsu and Nguyen fortresses.”

  Takeo’s eyes swept over the meager number of troops he’d brought—at least in comparison to those times mentioned.

  “Neither does my army.”

  “Yet somehow you won’t let that stop you,” Gavin said. “I’d bet my left hand on it.”

  Takeo cocked a puzzled look at the knight, who laughed.

  “Ah, come on,” Gavin went on, waving with the stubby end of his left arm. “What’s the point of being mutilated if you can’t make jokes about it?”

  “At least you’re in good spirits.”

  “I have my reasons.”

  Takeo homed in on the Phan fortress again. He counted the green figures on the walls, the Nguyen troops who were clamoring into view to see the Hanu red that had come to conqueror them. The walls were not as thick with bodies as Takeo had expected, which made him further understand that a lengthy siege was not in his favor.

  However, with fewer troops…

  “Anagarika,” Takeo said.

  “My lord?” she replied, matching the urgency in his tone.

  “How much rope do we have?”

  “We, uh, wait, rope? I am, well, I’m not sure. How much does my lord require?”

  Takeo didn’t answer. In truth, the amount of rope didn’t matter. Whatever they had would work; it had to. There was no other way. He stepped forward and pointed straight at the keep, that impressive spire that stood like a dragon’s sundial for all to see.

  “We attack tonight,” he said.

  Several of the daimyo balked, and Anagarika dropped her folded arms in surprise. Gavin smirked.

  “My lord, please, did you not just urge caution against this foe?” Anagarika said. “We haven’t confirmed that Seiji is here, or even offered terms—”

  “Oh, he’s here alright,” Takeo cut in, “and caution shouldn't take priority over decisiveness. Not a soul will expect it, not even our own men. A rush on the walls at night has enough risks as it is, let alone breaking the protocol of offering terms, as you said. Yet, what’s the point in that? We’ve come to take Seiji’s head. There’s not a chance he’ll accept. This castle must be taken, so why delay?

  “With the element of surprise and under the cover of darkness, we won’t need half as many breach points as a normal ladder assault would. Simple ropes and grappling hooks will suffice because, although the climb will be slow, we’ll only need one of those entry points to establish a foothold, and the entire castle will fall.”

  Takeo whirled around, eyes alight at the boldness of his plan. The uncertainty that passed among the daimyos’ faces only served to increase his certainty that it would work. If they didn't expect it, there was a good chance that Qadir didn’t either.

  “If my lord will permit me to offer counterpoints,” Anagarika said, bowing, “how can you know a single breach point will be enough? The soldiers there could get overwhelmed, and defeat would only follow.”

  “We'll succeed because I will make it so,” Takeo replied. “I will lead the charge, and once I’m on those walls, nothing will stop me. I’ll carve a trench of dead, and in my wake, our army will swarm the place.”

  Takeo touched his blade, letting his anticipation heighten to an inhuman degree.

  “Qadir is playing a game with me, but I know not what, and I don’t like being ignorant,” he went on. “It’s about time we kicked this thing into motion, for better or for worse. At least I’ll know by morning where he stands.”

  So Takeo spoke; so he was obeyed. Ropes and hooks were gathered and distributed in what little light remained before nightfall. If the soldiers were unhappy about assaulting a castle after a full day of marching, Takeo did not hear about it. Morale was actually reported to be at an all-time high. Everyone was about to witness the infamous tenacity of the ruthless ronin.

  With him at the helm, victory was inevitable.

  Chapter 7

  A hundred times before, perhaps more, Takeo had stood just like this. Armed and armored, shoulder to shoulder, back to front, on the edge of a battlefield. His hands twitched but his heart beat calmly. The lack of light did not disturb his ease, for Takeo had fought in the night as often as the day, and nothing felt so rhythmic, so true, so consistent as warfare. The one unchanging fact in all the turmoil he had faced was that before him stood an enemy to slay.

  In fact, as he thought this, he realized what had disturbed him so much about Qadir’s current tactic. An enemy that did not show its face unnerved Takeo. It was good to be standing among the army again, preparing to charge this keep shrouded in shadows and mystery. Takeo’s fingers touched together, itching for his blade.

  Yet he could not grip it yet. The plan required more tact than that. To keep their plans hidden, the Hanu army had begun to unpack and erect tents and stations, just as they would if they intended to bunker down. The men weren’t allowed to doff their armor, and a shrewd commander on the Phan walls might suspect
something in that, but that was a risk Takeo was willing to take. Equipment was divided up and orders hastily drawn and issued. The army gathered at midnight, as quietly as they could, and crept toward the edge of the camp. There could be no rallying horn to set them all running at once, and any man stupid enough to yell, talk, or even cough loudly was to receive swift punishment. Their signal to charge was to be much simpler than that: extinguishing the last fire in the back of the camp, with flames so meager that it hardly lit the rock wall beside it. Then death would follow.

  Gavin twisted his neck until the bones cracked, then drew his sword to examine the blade. It had been some time since Gavin had fought anyone. He and Takeo had sparred a couple times earlier in the day before Takeo had allowed the knight to join the charge. Gavin was missing a hand after all, and he couldn’t be expected to fight with the same vigor as before, but Gavin was welded to his longsword as much as Takeo was to his katana. The knight had fought well enough to earn a place in the ranks, Takeo thought.

  Hardly a thing could be seen in the dark, but Gavin held his blade aloft nonetheless, eyes looking over the well-oiled, well-sharpened instrument. Takeo wondered what the knight was looking for but said nothing. Only one sentence was to be uttered this night, and the time would come shortly.

  Meanwhile, the honor guard surrounding Takeo stood rigid as could be. As soldiers personally selected by Kuniko to protect the lord general, these men and women had gone through an extensive evaluation, both mentally and physically. Kuniko would be certain these people worshiped Takeo with a religious fanaticism regular daimyo only dreamed about. They weren’t just willing to sacrifice their lives, but eager for it, dreamed of it, and deemed it their purpose in life, so to speak. They would have proved it under dire duress, as well. Takeo had seen what Kuniko did to normal recruits; he could only imagine the scars these individuals bore. Their wounds may even rival Takeo’s, not that he’d ever asked. He made a concentrated effort not to learn their names. Ever since Ping had died, Takeo thought it best that he knew as little as possible about his personal guards.

  At least if he didn’t know them, he could use that as an excuse for why he felt nothing when they died.

  “It’s time,” Takeo whispered. “Kill the fire.”

  A designated runner took off into the camp. Takeo clenched his right hand to keep it away from his sword and took a deep breath.

  “You'll be waiting at the gate, I presume?” Takeo asked.

  “Huh?” Gavin paused, sheathing his sword. “Well, obviously. Since you’re having Emy sit this fight out, I can’t exactly use her help to climb the rope with one hand. And I wouldn’t trust a normal human. Just don’t keep me standing for long.”

  Takeo glanced over his shoulder at his guards.

  “You two, make sure the knight gets inside,” he said. “As for the rest of you, once I’m over the wall, I’m headed straight for the spire. Do not attempt to keep pace with me, but instead stay together and carve a dedicated path forward. If this is a trap, I’ll require a path of retreat.”

  “Sir,” came the unified response, and then the campfire went out.

  Takeo paced forward. He did not dash, for it was dark and the space between the camp and the castle was littered with rocks and holes that could turn an ankle. Besides, with the element of surprise, they did not need speed so much as prudence, and Takeo’s orders for this evening addressed that. Unfortunately, there was only so much one could do when working with an entire army of human beings, and the rocky valley began to come alive with shuffling and muffled clangs.

  Takeo clenched his jaw and increased his pace as much as he dared.

  The man beside him carried the rope and grappling hook, and Takeo watched that man’s path as much as his own. He strained his ears at every turn, listening for shouts coming from the Phan fortress. The shuffling of armor around him made it difficult to hear, but he hoped any alarm raised on the walls would be issued loudly enough to reach his ears. Thankfully, he’d heard nothing thus far.

  At their slow pace, it seemed eons passed before they reached the city, yet the walls loomed out of the blackness soon enough, and Takeo breathed a sigh of relief. At this point, they would surely be noticed, but at least they’d made it this far.

  Like clockwork, shouts echoed out from the Nguyen soldiers above as they finally realized a battle was underway. Takeo let caution slide and sprinted the remaining distance to the wall, shortly followed by those around him. He grabbed the grappling hook from its carrier and swung it about to gain momentum, while the carrier uncoiled the rope. It’d been some time since Takeo had done this, but old habits died hard, and the movement came back to him with decent familiarity. Takeo flung the hook up, heard the clang against the stone, and felt a surge of triumph as the hook found purchase on the first try. A dozen other similar rings echoed out along the walls.

  “Climb with all you’ve got,” he commanded, then took the lead.

  A combination of light weight and wiry strength had always made physical feats a breeze for Takeo, and climbing rope up the side of a rock wall was no exception. Adding to this, he had strong motivation, for every second he delayed climbing the rope was one more second the defenders had to cut it. This entire assault hinged on at least one rope surviving to let the Hanu army inside the walls.

  And by what seemed sheer luck, Takeo reached the top of the wall without a hitch. The Nguyen defenders were sounding their horn now, and Takeo could hear yelling and the clang of armored soldiers running, yet Takeo vaulted onto the walls to find no one. As dark as the night was, he could only see a good five paces in any direction, so Takeo froze for a solid second to see if anyone came bolting out of the shadows, yet there was nothing and no one. No torches on the walls, or even within the fortress itself. The entire place was as dark inside as outside, yet the shouting went on.

  Takeo’s blood went cold. Something was very wrong.

  Did they abandon the walls? That doesn’t make any sense. Someone should be here, at least a few. Even if they knew I led the assault personally, there would be some with the bravery needed to stand against me. What are they planning? What is Qadir planning? Yet then again, what does it matter at this point?

  Takeo wasn’t about to call off the entire invasion on a hunch, as good as that hunch was. His army had just breached the outer walls. Nothing could be gained by yielding this ground. Besides, nothing else mattered so long as Seiji Nguyen died this night. So long as Takeo’s enchanted sword spilled royal blood, the means would be justified. Takeo ripped his sword free and let the fiery strength course through his veins.

  The hunt was on.

  He dashed across the stone walkway just as the first of his personal guards climbed the ledge. Takeo soon found a ladder in the dark, wooden and propped haphazardly against the stone, and propelled himself down several rungs at a time. Fed on inhuman power, Takeo didn’t even pause when he hit the ground, landing in a puddle that soaked his clothes. Takeo dashed into the Phan city faster than the wind.

  The tower loomed in the distance, so grand that it blotted out the stars and thus was easy to find. The shouts ahead—the enemy for sure—continued, though they grew faint, and at every turn around one building or another, Takeo expected to find someone, anyone. Yet every street was empty, every door open, every cart bare, and every barrel overturned. The streets were a mess of puddles and debris, but that didn't slow him down. There was still the target—Seiji, and if only Takeo could find and kill the man, then whatever Qadir had planned would not matter. He couldn’t stop now. Everything leading up to this moment had clearly been designed to make Takeo pause. He would not, could not. Blood must flow.

  Takeo reached the tower’s base almost breathless with his mad dash. With one hand firmly about his sword he looked for the entrance, or even a window. He found the stone path leading to the proper entrance, but it dead ended into a solid stone wall, and Takeo swore. He assumed it was a false one and ran on, circling the massive tower in vain. There wasn’t
even a window. Takeo circled back around, terrified that he hadn’t encountered a single soul, and examined the path that led nowhere again.

  Faintly, nearly imperceptible in the night, he traced first with his eyes and then with his hands along the stone wall. The stone was smooth—remarkably so. He felt along the sides and found a vertical set of stones along the edges, which one would normally associate with a border. Takeo stepped back and examined the entire thing, stopping for the first half second since bounding over the walls to think.

  His jaw dropped with realization.

  The entrance to the tower had been sealed up. Where once a wooden or perhaps metal set of doors stood, large enough for a grand procession, now lay a solid mass of stone as thick as the rest of the walls themselves.

  “What?” Takeo whispered, blinking. “They . . . no.”

  Torchlight flooded the area, bearing down on Takeo like a rising sun. He leapt back from the wall and readied his sword, but the only thing that fell down on him was laughter. He looked up but saw nothing at first, his vision so accustomed to absolute darkness that the dim, orange light was blinding. He held up a hand and blinked until he could see clearly.

  “The infamous Takeo Karaoshi,” a voice called down to him, articulate and direct. “I’ll admit, when the rakshasa claimed you’d be so bold as to rush me on the first night, I was skeptical. Yet here you are! Please say my dear younger brother is with you somewhere.”

  Takeo didn’t reply, other than to whirl around at the sound of heavily armored footsteps rushing toward him. He hefted his sword, expecting an ambush, but instead found his personal guard had caught up with him. They appeared as exasperated and perplexed as Takeo felt, and they looked to the bright light in the sky.

  When Takeo looked up this time, his eyes had finally adjusted. He perceived through the flickering flames two men—one well dressed and with a thin mustache that curled at the ends, and the other a stoic soldier with a bow and arrow in hand, the string drawn back. The torch that Takeo thought he saw wasn’t the normal kind. The flames came from the arrow’s tip, which burned in long, thin flames, as it aimed at Takeo.