Wakiagaru (Wakiagaru, #1)

By Lawrence Caldwell

Having just escaped the fall of a dynasty, Lawrence Kazwick, a mercenary mage at the brink of death due to wounds sustained in recent battle, flees with his loyal retainer, Ishi, to the Imperial capital of Mikuma.

Saved by a dancer named Sakura who is to perform for the Imperial Emperor, Lawrence soon finds himself in a country at the knife’s edge of an imminent end. With friends both old and new, he must find a way to preserve the lives of the people around him—and quite possibly gain a fortune in the process.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lawrence Caldwell
• Release date: Apr 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781370228348

Lawrence Caldwell

Lawrence Caldwell is believed by some to be a wandering samurai, or a vagrant, or possibly a ninja—though perhaps in his infinite mystery, he’s none of these things. Whichever the case, he wanders home as Odysseus did after the great Trojan War in some realm unbeknownst to our world. And—by direct theft of a quote from a certain dwarf named Varric Tethras—he "occasionally writes books."

Book preview

Chapter One—The End of a Dynasty

The Failed Mage

Killing was hard work. That was what a certain failed mage on the battlefield thought. His name was Lawrence Cazwick, a mercenary swordsman with some small magical ability. He and his men were taking a quick breather as they waited for their next orders, which would inevitably come at any moment.

The man had been in too many battles to count and half as many mercenary companies. These days he preferred to work alone, though now he was with other soldiers and mercenaries for the war effort.

I… hope… they don’t send… those cavalry men back, Isao panted as he rested in a sitting position, his legs spread.

The small company had just repelled an enemy advance and Lawrence was thinking the same thing, though he wasn’t half as winded as the men he fought with. We were lucky to be atop this hill, the failed mage said.

Hikaru, taller than the average man of these parts, nodded, his fingers visibly tightening on his katana hilt. He was a samurai and wore the customary close-fitting leather armor of his warrior class. Isao was a yari spearman, the shaft of his weapon lay at his side. The other men—other yari spearmen, samurai, and a few archers—milled about, looking expectantly across the battlefield.

Lawrence couldn’t see anything, though he could hear the clamor of battle, the cries of men, both in fury and in death. Today they weren’t fighting a normal foe and the assault they had just repelled had not contained any enemy units they were meant to destroy in this area.

"Where are they, Kazu-wikku? Nishi, another samurai asked as he wiped dirt and sweat from his face. Honorable mage?" he prodded when Lawrence didn’t answer.

His name was Cazwick, but the local language didn’t permit the people to pronounce it correctly. At least not easily. I don’t know, he said. Be ready. Then louder he called, Be on your guard. They could ambush us from the tree line. He pointed, emphasizing the area below, the same direction of fierce battle. It was coming closer. We were sent here to take this hill. We were fortunate that our enemy did not see the advantage in taking this position before our own generals did.

We might need this position, he thought, for our retreat.

A portion of the army would hold the enemy here while the rest of the force escaped, very likely dooming the men holding this ground. Well, Lawrence wouldn’t die here. He wasn’t held to this post by any honor—he was a mercenary—a failed mage, though he didn’t let on about it.

Are they coming? Isao asked, speaking of the increasing pitch of the skirmish taking place behind the tree line. The fighting was quickly nearing their position and a horn blew, one of their own.

They’re recalling cavalry? Nishi asked.

Hikaru moved toward Isao and lightly kicked him on the thigh. Get up, you rat.

The spearman quickly obeyed, grabbing up his weapon. He loped off toward the rest of his squad at the front of the group.

"Spears! Lawrence called, Three rows!" He wanted a nice long line up front, the samurai would be the reserve force to reinforce any breaches in the line, with the archers waiting patiently behind.

"Prepare to break!" Nishi called. He was Lawrence’s second, a reliable warrior, an even more reliable man.

If a troll broke through those trees to charge them on the hill, their force would split into multiple small squads. That was how you dealt with a troll, otherwise they would smash your pretty little lines to pieces. But if the enemy brought their own squads to bear on them as well, things would be much more complicated. Each squad would work almost independently of one another, taking orders from their own captains unless otherwise given other orders by Lawrence or Nishi.

The underbrush at the foot of the trees moved, the screaming and yelling and battle cries of fighting men only a few feet behind them.

Get ready! Nishi called, more to Lawrence than to anyone else. The failed mage still thought that was funny.

They don’t have me lead for no reason.

He watched the tree line. Lawrence loathed not having proper shield bearers, but they didn’t have those in these lands—none that he’d seen before anyway.

Men poured out of the tree line, their backs facing Lawrence and his small force atop the hill. Their colors were wrong. They were red and yellow, the same colors Lawrence and his forces were wearing. They were the colors of daimyō Isekio, their own lord!

They were retreating fast. Most of the men turned and ran up the hill.

Cowards, Nishi spat. Turn and fight!

They weren’t bad soldiers. Many of them turned to hold their ground again in front of Lawrence’s line of spears. They knew they had reinforcements now.

Their commander lumbered up the hill to Lawrence and Nishi, a harried look on his face, a bit of blood and dirt in his bandana. He bowed quickly. It was Captain Hiyashi. Forced to retreat. A troll just beyond the tree line, he said, pointing.

Lawrence liked his battlefield communication style—truncated and as to the point as possible. The failed mage nodded, turned to Nishi and gave the order. His second barked out the order for the force to break up into squads, each force containing spears, katanas and bows. Even in a small squad, a force of combined arms was much more effective against enemy attacks because of its versatility.

My men are exhausted and wounded, Hiyashi said, a dour look on his dirtied face. He liked to fight with his mask split, opened to provide small panels of armor from oncoming attacks from his sides, but leaving his face unarmored for easier fighting. "We will assist you as best we can by keeping their support forces off your backs.

Lawrence nodded and they waited.

The enemy appeared from behind the tree line shortly afterward. Nishi gave the signal for the archers to let loose and shafts flitted from behind them, came back down to hit their marks. The Xai Qi forces were spread out in loose formation to avoid the arrows. Enemy soldiers fell intermittently, many of them crying out as they did so. Volleys often lamed enemies on the battlefield, leaving them to die days or even weeks later without proper medical or magical aid. The archers were more of a cumulative, disheartening tactic at this point.

The Xai Qi archers loosed their arrows as well, but Lawrence’s forces took even fewer casualties, as they were atop the hill and the arrows had less penetrative force when loosed from below. Bucklers came out, but they provided little protection, though they were better than nothing.

"It won’t be long before they send their troll up this hill, Kazu-wikku!"

I know.

Just then a tree cracked over, its canopy crashing to the ground and sending several Xai Qi soldiers scurrying for cover as an enormous, hulking savage stepped out of the forest. Twelve feet tall, arms like tree trunks and legs like bulwarks, the troll came forward, covered in armor and ready for battle. There were multiple arrows jutting out of the armor on its shoulders and back, evidently the shafts that had been loosed from Captain Hanashi’s men.

That sword… Hikaru murmured, holding fast to his katana hilt sticking out of its sheath at his hip.

Just keep your men away from her while I take it down, Lawrence replied. And keep those Xai Qi soldiers off my back.

The enemy forces consisted of as many varied troops as their own, except they had no foot spears. But what they had that Lawrence’s forces didn’t was cavalry—mounted men with yari spears.

You can count on us, Hikaru said. He barked out an order and his squad moved forward, spears up front, samurai behind. Most of the archers would remain on the hill, detached from the rest of the force so they could remain as mobile as possible.

Nishi, make sure the archers don’t get flanked by their cavalry.

The samurai commander nodded, holding the hill as Lawrence and his men charged down the hill, intent on going straight toward any adventurous cavalry with their spears.

Xai Qi arrows flitted past them, some arrows struck, but most of the men were wearing scale mail armor which deflected a fair amount of incoming arrows.

The troll, large and snarling as ever, roared, the sheer onus of its battle cry almost seemed to shake the air itself. Yari spears and samurai alike slowed under its offense. But this wasn’t the first time any of them had faced a troll. In fact, they were a troll killer force.

Unheeding of enemy arrows, Lawrence rushed the troll as he unsheathed his sword. The creature cocked its head in apparent surprise before Lawrence swung his blade in an overhead arch, but the troll parried his blow with its armored forearm. It attempted to sweep the failed mage aside, but Lawrence rolled from its reach, spun on his heel and stabbed his blade toward his enemy’s thigh, his blade merely glancing aside.

Difficult to get in the gaps, he thought as he turned and began slashing at Xai Qi archers and deflecting arrows with his blade in short swift strikes.

The failed mage paid little heed to his peripheral surroundings as Nishi and his samurai, along with their yari spear counterparts, joined the melee. Men fell, screaming, grunting, and howling battle cries. A bloody samurai fell before him, but Lawrence ignored the dying man, jumped over his soon to be corpse and went after the troll that had completely forgotten about him.

The brute was moving laboriously up the hill, grunting and hulking like an oversized swine when the failed mage swiped his blade upward, bringing the tapering edge through the flesh at the back of the troll’s armpit where there wasn’t any armor.

The troll howled, turned and swiped its long cleaver of a blade in blind fury, but the attempt was a failed one. Lawrence had already backed away. The troll paused for a moment, eying him as pikes from atop the hill began to fan out for the inevitable fight.

The troll looked at him, narrowed her eyes and with a baleful look of teeth and saliva, turned about and pursued him.

He taunted the enemy by goading the lumbering beast. It roared in fury and charged him. One wrong move and the failed mage would be a dead failed mage. Surprisingly the troll attempted to stab him with her blade, but the mercenary stepped aside, not bothering to parry such a large blade and rejoined the attack with his own sword, but the troll pulled back, narrowly missing his blade.

You fight carefully, Lawrence called. What kind of troll are you?

A narrowing of those big yellow eyes told the man that the troll wasn’t going to continue falling for his taunts.

She’s smart, he thought. Usually it was easy to goad a troll into a blind fury so that it would, though incredibly dangerous in this state, act stupidly in a low-form brawling way. She’s experienced.

Something hit the failed mage in the back of the arm. It hurt, but he paid it no mind. But when the troll’s eyes narrowed in on where the pain was coming from, he glanced down toward his upper arm to find a bloodied shaft and an arrow head. She lunged while he was distracted, her blade nearly slicing him in half, but Lawrence managed to lunge for the ground. The blade came back, but he rolled from its edge, the arrow sticking through his shoulder exploding in fiery pain.

Men shouted and the troll roared another thunderous blast as the spearmen jabbed at it. Three of them were swept away instantly. Two of the men didn’t even have a chance to scream their death cries before their bodies were crunched. Lawrence never saw the ragdoll forms come back down, not while he was getting up, moving in for a killing blow.

He shot out his hand, pulled the element he was known for, and screamed as many of the archers on the hill surely found the fires on their arrow tips sucked away. The troll turned to face her attacker with a fling of its tree-trunk arm, but Lawrence crouched to avoid the blow.

He came back up and volleyed a fireball into the trolls face. Its mouth was open mid-roar and the back of its neck exploded in blood and fire. It stood for a moment, already dead before falling heavily, face-first into the grass.

Lawrence jumped to avoid the creature crushing him. By the time he got back up, which was only half a moment, the Xai Qi retreat sounded.

Lawrence’s forces cheered, and out of excitement for the battle, naturally pursued, until their own horns blew in recall of the scattered squads, calling them back to the hill.

This hill had been won, but the battle today was far from over, and Lawrence was bleeding profusely from his wound. Two samurai rushed to his aid, lending him their shoulders when he collapsed. He closed his eyes, feeling his legs hauled up as he was carried back up the hill. The magical healers would be stationed in a tent near the command area. They were too valuable to keep on the battlefield proper—that was a place for lesser healers.

Well done, Nishi called to him, shaking his good shoulder. Another one down. We will win this battle!

The failed mage blinked his eyes open. I hope so. He had a lot riding on this battle. He may have been a mercenary, but he had built his life in Omosaku. Having a Xai Qi warlord take it wouldn’t do. I’m planning to retire you know.

Nishi laughed. And you will, my friend!

Lawrence smiled just before losing consciousness.

Chapter Two—The Daimyō

The Failed Mage

I think I can hear the ocean, the boy said, turning around to look at Lawrence. This was probably the fourth or fifth time he’d done this to the man, and he was in no mood to be yammered at with clear, yet misaligned excitement.

The failed magician was very sick—on the verge of dying, even. Since the arrow wound, he’d been feeling worse and worse as the days progressed, and after five days of wandering about the forests and skulking along the roads late at night to avoid any possible pursuers, he’d gotten much sicker. The wound was festering now, and occasionally Lawrence thought he caught a whiff of something foul.  It could have been the boy, or him, since neither of them had bathed in over a week, but he knew the truth. He knew it was that wound. Pulling the arrow out had been an ordeal in and of itself, but the pain after was excruciating, sending fiery tendrils up his arm in a pulsating throb. But that had stopped a day ago, and now his upper arm only felt numb.

Enough, boy, the man muttered, leaning against a tree for support. If they didn’t reach a settlement with a magical healer soon, he’d die.

He grunted, sucked in a lung full of air. He was so tired, and dizzy. Go on ahead and make sure. He was letting hope seep in instead of holding fast to his accustomed realism. A bad sign for a certainty.

Ishi turned and marched up a steep hillock covered in treas. The canopy overhead was thick, so there was little underbrush here. A lucky thing, otherwise Lawrence probably would have collapsed half a day ago had he needed to trudge through thick scrub. The lack of a beating sun on his back was also quite lucky. He was so thirsty, but not to the point of being in danger. He was dehydrated, certainly. But they passed several farms within the last few days, and making off with a jug of water or a few carrots and a cabbage hadn’t been difficult for Ishi. He was a good boy. Certainly way too young to be an attendant for a man fighting on the front lines.

Well… that was over now. Their side had lost and Huromata had won. That ruthless whoreson. The failed mage had lost everything with the end of the war, and it had been the end of the war, as he saw his own daimyō perish under the blade of his foe. It had been all Lawrence could do to escape, run for his life like a coward. Never mind that seppuku nonsense—a common custom of these lands far in the east.

The failed mage—he was really more of a swordsman and mercenary—had failed the academy, and hence forth was known as the failed mage by all his peers back home. That blasted moniker had stuck. So well in fact, he simply thought of himself as the failed mage—though not as a failure. But then…

This damn title, he thought, smirking. Normally he wouldn’t laugh at himself in such a situation, but he was so weak and sick, strangely, things were beginning to seem funny to him. Was he delirious? His vision swayed, but it wasn’t blurry. It hadn’t been blurry for the last hour or so. Maybe he was starting to feel better? No, that couldn’t be it.

What had he been thinking about? He thought for a moment, wondering, trying to recall his own thoughts that seemed to keep slipping from him. He felt like an old man weak in the head. Was this what it was like?

Never mind. He looked up the hillock as he reached its base. He drew a deep breath, a dizzy spell hitting him hard. He leaned over, put his palms on his knees and breathed in and out until he caught some of his breath. After he felt better, he began to make his way up, pulling on tree branches and the occasional vine to help him along. They couldn’t use the roads since there were probably bounties to be awarded to anyone who reported information on fleeing soldiers. Daimyō Huromata was known for that sort of behavior, going so far as to even send soldiers into neutral territory to hunt men down. No, they wouldn’t be seen. In fact, more than once he spoke quite sternly to the young lad about not being seen on the road.

Gods, he hoped they were nearing a real settlement. Even a large town should do, but he’d have to get lucky. He began making his way up the hill in earnest, but he became winded and dizzy so fast, he had to stop as one knee came down on the soft damp earth.

Am I going to pass out? Those trees were swaying quite a lot, and it wasn’t windy. Slowly he lay on his side, the incline of the hill threatening to send him rolling if he fell unconscious.

Boy...

He listened. No sound. None. Where was he?

"Boy!"

He blinked and his attendant was there, rustling in the leaves and the grass as he kneeled beside Lawrence. Ishi was hardly his attendant anymore. They were just traveling companions. Why the young lad hadn’t just melted away in the night, he didn’t know. Maybe he was loyal. Lawrence liked that. Would he have stayed by the boy’s side had their positions been reversed?

Hard to say, he thought. But he didn’t want to think about that now. Useless waste of mind power. He needed to keep his strength.

The boy shook him again and he opened his eyes.

What is it?

Ishi looked at him for a moment, a visible air of worry etched across his smooth features. He couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen years old. So young. Too young to die in a battle. A good thing the fighting was over. At least for now. Maybe Lawrence would leave him behind once he was back to good health. Being around a mercenary could be dangerous. No, it was dangerous.

Yes, the boy said again, shaking the mage. A city. Big one. Very close. Down the hill.

Is it on a river?

Ishi shook his head. Coast.

Well, Lawrence said, guess the sea will be over enough hills and you’ll eventually be right, I suppose.

Ishi frowned, seemingly confused.

He was babbling nonsense. Never mind. 

He lay there for a few more moments. It felt good to lay, to just be still. He felt now that he could close his eyes and just not wake up. His body wanted this. But his inner being cried out at the thought. No he wasn’t going to die here.

Help me up, boy. He turned, grunted as the short lad grabbed onto his forearm and helped haul him up. It took two tries. Ishi wasn’t strong—rather skinny, and Lawrence wasn’t short or even thin. He wielded a sword, being a failed mage, after all.

It took some time, and much effort, but eventually he and the boy made it to the top of the hill. The mage was feeling too sick and dizzy to care for the view, but had he been healthy, he’d have stood there and admired it for a moment or so. The golden sun was just rising above the seaborne horizon, casting the walled city in stark morning shadows, the edges of the walls and the guard towers were limned in golden light while the city remained silhouetted in black, the purple hues receding briskly.

"I told you, Ro-rensu-san."

That you did, boy. Now help me down this blasted hill and then find me a passing wagon. He knew he couldn’t go on any longer, but as sick as he was, any wagon driver would be hesitant to pick up such a passenger.

Still, they managed to make it to the city gate. The failed mage and his boy attendant only had to wait for an hour despite the city being in plain sight. But Lawrence didn’t begrudge them their hesitancy to haul him into their wagons with the city so close. Not close, but still in sight, close enough that any healthy man, or not clearly lamed by past injury, wouldn’t have trouble walking to. When they reached the gate, the boy helped him out of the back of the wagon.

Here, he said, taking the mercenary’s arm and putting it over his shoulder. He had to lean to keep his weight on the boy because of their difference in height. It made it hard to walk properly, not that he could walk properly.

If they don’t let me through the gate, he thought, I’m dead. Very dead.

They waited for what seemed ages before they came forward in line. They simply waved most through, but occasionally stopped some people, taking them aside to question them or refuse them entry into the city. Lawrence didn’t even know what city this was. But judging from the direction they had traveled, and his copious knowledge of the surrounding geography, he had to say that this was probably Omosaku, a pit of a kingdom. Or was it Mikuma? Another pit. Sure, it was rich, but it had a lot of slums, gangs and rife racial tensions—at least that’s what he had heard. Word was that the emperor’s ineptitude in leadership had been steadily deteriorating the country. Why the shōgun or some daimyō didn’t just dethrone him was beyond Lawrence’s understanding.

They were halted and pulled aside. The boy glanced toward the mercenary questioningly, almost acting suspicious and alarmed, damn him. He was probably afraid for Lawrence’s sake, but right now that wasn’t helping. His heart beat faster and unsteadily. He hadn’t known fear like this in some time. He hated it. He felt pathetic. He was pathetic.

There’s an entry toll, the guard said, nodding over to a booth where a man was collecting coin from people entering into the city.

How had he not noticed that? They didn’t have any money. Was he going to die because he didn’t have a few silvers? Damn, he didn’t even have a sword to pawn for the cost.

I see, Lawrence said as he tried to think of what to say. Nothing came to him. He looked at the boy, and Ishi said nothing. Of course he said nothing.

All right, the guard said, a tone of finality in his voice. If you don’t have the coin, you’ll have to move along.

Lawrence was a dead man if he didn’t get through that gate. They could make to rush past. No that wouldn’t work. Too weak. He took a moment to catch his breath as the guard walked back to the booth where the toll collectors sat. There were four of them and they were letting in dozens of people every few seconds. Evidentially getting into the city was easy, so long as you had the entry fee.

Leave it to a greedy ruler to let just anyone in so long as they drop coin into his coffers…

Lawrence put his hand on the boy’s shoulder for support, then told him to go find some money. He nodded and ran off farther down the line. Smart. Begging up here would gather the attention of the guards.

He moved toward the toll booth, staying out of the direct line of entrants into the city. He must have been moving as though he were drunk, but in truth, he was ready to drop to the ground. He had no energy at all.

Instead of speaking to the toll collectors he addressed the guard. I don’t have the money to get into your city, but I’m a mage, I can—

The guard shook his head. No money, no entry!

No—you’re not listening—I—

I said, the guard snapped, no money, no entry! Move along, before I move you along. He shook his truncheon.

The taxes I’ll pay from the money I make in the city will more than make up for it, Lawrence said. He felt a note of desperation creeping into his voice. Don’t you slanted-eyed bastards understand—

The guard moved forward, his truncheon moving in a wide arc as he pulled back to put some force into his blow , but Lawrence, grabbed him by the forearm and ignited his inner flame. What looked like scars on his arm lit up, bright as embers.

The guard tried to shrink back, but Lawrence griped him hard, told him that if he moved, he’d singe the man’s arm off right there in front of everyone. Now bring your commander down here, he ordered.

I’m here, a voice called.

Lawrence looked up to find a man in his thirties with a goatee, hair pulled tightly back into a tail. He was standing on the stairs leading up to the guard tower adjoining the wall. By now Lawrence and the guard he had threatened were surrounded, a large halberd blade angled toward the back of his head, a silent but deadly warning.

Lower your weapons, the commander said. The guards obeyed, and Lawrence glanced about, everyone froze stock-still as they watched the commotion. He let go of the guard’s arm, and the man shrunk back, grabbed his singed flesh. Lawrence hadn’t damaged him, but he would be in some pain for a few hours.

Ishi was there to assist him, every step a laborious toil. He barely made it up the steps and into the guard tower. Lawrence was breathing like he’d just run up a mountain as the commander of the gate guard watched him, concern etched across his features. He didn’t strike Lawrence as an unkind mind—just the opposite.

You look unwell, he said. Please sit. He gestured to a bench near the window. Lawrence felt cold. Too cold for this summer heat.

I’m not going to die now!

You need immediate magical attention, the commander continued.

Lawrence met the man’s eyes for a moment, his own eyes half closing. He shivered for a moment, then nodded, too exhausted to speak. 

What happened? The commander nodded toward the mercenary’s arm.

Arrow, the boy said.

He nodded. The Xai Qi don’t take prisoners. You’re lucky to be alive. My name is Nakamura Tomiichi, and as is no doubt clear, I am the commander of the city guard that patrols the northern wall. My sister…

If only he’d cease his incessant ramblings.

He was nudged by the boy at his side. He stirred. What is it?

You didn’t hear him? The boy asked, leaning over to look into his eyes.

Never mind, Commander Nakamura said. Mage, he added pointedly, I’m going to save your life. I hope you will repay the favor in kind.

Lawrence found the strength to nod to those words. That last act of calling forth his flame must have sapped what little strength he had left.

Regardless he…

The Dancer

Come, come! Yukio commanded. Inside, girl—he’s very sick!

"I’m coming mother," Sakura said as she was ushered into the house by her brother and parents without so much as a greeting. They marched her straight into the guest room where a man was laying on the western-style bed, his body obscured by thick coverings. She immediately recognized the signs of fever from the sweat and pallid complexion. This man was very ill as her mother had said.

Next to the bed a boy was sitting, keeping vigil. His father? she wondered, unable to ward off a pang of emotion stabbing at her. The poor boy.

Just then, he leapt from the stool he was planted on and asked, Can you heal him?

She looked him in the eyes. His hair was disheveled, still halfway in a knot on the back of his head. He looked as though he hadn’t slept properly in days. Or bathed for that matter.

Never mind that, she told herself, her eyes coming to rest on the sick man in the bed. She didn’t want to give an answer right away and accidentally give false hope. There was a lot her magic could heal, but it couldn’t heal all ills. Fever should be just fine, though.

Let me see, she said, moving past the boy toward the edge of the bed. She pulled the covers away from the man’s neck, then put a hand on his forehead.

She began to sense his hurts. His ills had spread throughout his body. She could see them in his mind, tendrils of blackness. Infection. Not the kind of sickness brought on by uncleanliness. No, those had a different feel, they were green—not red. And though he was suffering from evident infection, it wasn’t the same color. So a wound, then. Yes.

She nodded, the room silent as everyone waited for her to give her answer. I believe I can save him.

The boy’s demeanor changed visibly. He stood taller and his eyes brightened. Sakura raised a sharp finger, a habit she learned from her mother—I need to stop doing this—and said, "There is still a chance he could die."

What do you mean? Tomii asked from behind her.

To heal him, she said, I will have to purge the taint. He’s very sick. If I don’t, it’s likely he will die anyway. She turned to the boy and gave him a look of genuine sympathy. I have to purge it from his body by infusing him with a lot of magical energy, you see.

Clearly steeling himself, the boy nodded. Please heal him.

What is your name?

He fidgeted a bit. Ishi. My name is Ishi.

Sakura nodded. Please give me space, Ishi. I will do everything I can to save your friend.

He bowed and stepped aside to let her do her work. This would impact her performance later. What an awful person I am, she thought, worrying about that, though the rest of her troupe wouldn’t think so, and would probably be quite angry with her.

We dance and perform for the emperor, she could hear Umo say, his voice emphatic and sharp. We are not some roadside show who entertains just anyone!

She waved the thought away. It didn’t matter. Not in light of this man’s life. She began to draw on her healing energies. This would take a lot out of her. As she said before, she had to purge the taint, and then she had to heal him. She would be exhausted when she was done.

The man would likely thrash if he had the strength to survive this. Brother, father.

They came up beside her, ready to give assistance. Her mother as well. She had brought in a basin of fresh water and rags.

What can we do? her father asked. Hitomo had a gruff voice and