Takeo's Chronicles

By Travis Bughi

Contains books #7 through #12 in the World of Myth Series, from Fated for War to A Legend Falls

Beware the righteous, for they are the ones most capable of evil. Takeo Karaoshi knows these words well. After losing his beloved, this infamous and highly skilled ronin teams up with a washed-out ex-knight, a death-seeking viking, and a far-too-kind ogre on a quest to make the world a better place. Yet Takeo knows something they do not. Although the goal is worthy, he is not. No great accomplishment comes without sacrifice, and who better to sacrifice than the wicked and the wretched. A reckoning is at hand, and woe will befall more than the vanquished.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Travis Bughi
• Release date: May 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463500569

Travis Bughi

I started reading young and have never stopped. My mother was determined to make me literate quickly, and she would read to me often. My grandmother, though, takes credit for my addiction to reading. She was a librarian and introduced me to the joy that is reading. It is no coincidence my first World of Myth novel is dedicated to her.My journey from avid reader to hobby writer took its first turn in High School after I read Dune by Frank Herbert. It was a challenge for me at the age of 14, but I was so impressed with it that I began to imagine my own stories. What I wish to accomplish is to give my readers the experience that I want: to be transported to another world and become so absorbed that I lose track of everything around me.Thanks for stopping by.

Book preview

Prologue

Lady Xuan Nguyen, the Old Woman of the Mountain, had a favorite saying: Never do unto others what they will gladly do unto themselves.

She had applied this to many areas of her life with great success. Among these, her first husband, a man of violent and wretched tastes, was the first. An arranged marriage—the last act of control Lady Xuan’s father had exerted over her before succumbing to illness—she’d hated every moment of it, but there’d been no need to kill her first husband, for after he’d given her three sons, he’d gladly died of his own accord, drunk and howling like mad as he’d charged into combat during a border dispute with one of the other daimyos. Her first husband had died with a smile plastered to his face—or so she’d been told. Lady Xuan hadn’t bothered to attend the funeral.

After that, her boring and pitiful second husband had joined the first, but only after giving her four more sons. He’d been sickly, frail, and even older than she was. They’d wed to secure Juatwa’s northern end under one rule, and there’d been no need to kill him either. He was always searching for new remedies to keep him tied to the world of the living, though Lady Xuan knew not why. No one trapped in his body should have desired to live, but she’d played the role of dutiful wife and helped nonetheless. She’d introduced him to the ways of bloodletting, perhaps overzealously, and then had given a mock shrug when the doctors told her they couldn’t stop the bleeding. Her second husband had died with an expression of horror and fear plastered to his face—or so she’d been told. Lady Xuan had fallen asleep at the funeral.

But Lady Xuan’s philosophy did not limit itself to her unfortunate husbands. There’d been other times her enemies had been led to do unto themselves. Rival daimyos had fallen into debt, died in wars, or found their trading routes severely assaulted. Lady Xuan never understood the desire of some rulers to lead their samurai into combat. What was the point of having sworn warriors if one had to do the killing and dying themselves?

Jiro Hanu, like his father before him, had been one to make such a mistake, but Ichiro Katsu had required a bit more planning and tact to make him do unto himself. Yet in the end, he had. His choice of allies, his desire to flee home, and his overbearing confidence in himself had all led to his undoing. Well, that, and Lady Xuan’s surprise assault on his fortress.

After those two had perished, it had finally seemed like everything had come together. Only a few daimyos stood in her way, and once her army swept down upon them, those lords and ladies would kneel before her, too. Juatwa would, for the first time in its history, bow to one leader and unite as a nation. The world would be doomed to quickly follow.

Or so she’d thought. Unfortunately, that’s not how things had played out.

How much has she demanded in ransom? Lady Xuan asked, sitting upon her wooden throne, supported by an overabundance of plush pillows.

Too much, I say, Pircha, her eldest son, replied from an arm’s length away. She demands a king’s ransom, as if Oiu were your only child. I suggest we wait until we capture some prisoners of our own to offer in exchange. Oiu can wait.

Wait in a dungeon? Lady Xuan said. He’s nearly eighteen, and you suggest he should spend his best years in chains? He should be leading, or marrying and having children, as if I need more of those.

Pircha shrugged and replied, He is young. He will survive.

You’re a terrible brother, she said, voice cracking in the middle as she stifled an old cough.

The first thing that had not gone as expected was for Katsu’s surviving relatives to unite. The late Lord Ichiro Katsu had been very careful not to put too much power or trust into any one of his many wives, relatives, and generals. He’d believed each of them capable of betrayal and thus had hoped to stave off that nature by ensuring his death favored none but his enemies, an ingenious and quite successful plan.

Over the corpse of Ichiro, the Katsu family had fought a bitter civil war. Supposedly, for a few short months, assassination had become the leading cause of death in Juatwa’s southern region. Ninjas from across Juatwa had flocked to every Katsu hold, hoping to land one of the countless contracts being handed out. This had gone exactly as Lady Xuan had hoped, and she’d moved to conquer them all before another victor could reign supreme on the Katsu throne.

To her shock, in the face of her armies, the few surviving family members had set aside their differences, joined forces, and rebutted her initial attack. Their brief victory instilled in them a sense of purpose, and they had not fallen back to infighting since.

Two of Katsu’s cousins, standing tall upon the corpses of their slain family members, rose above the others and agreed to work in unison under the title of shogun. Against Lady Xuan’s invading forces, the two cousins, along with an army raised from what forces remained, had met her attack on the open plains of the Katsu territory. With forces mounted on komainu, they’d outmaneuvered, flanked, and driven Lady Xuan’s forces back.

This could have been only a temporary setback, but unfortunately, Lady Xuan’s defeat had emboldened more than just the Katsus, leading to the second thing that had not gone as expected. The late Jiro Hanu’s young wife, Zhenzhen, had broken her oath to submit to Lady Xuan’s rule and fled back to her loyal subjects to raise a second army.

Now, after defeating both Ichiro Katsu and Jiro Hanu, instead of ruling Juatwa as its empress, Lady Xuan was fighting yet another war against the same families headed by different members.

And that wicked woman, Zhenzhen, had captured Lady Xuan’s youngest son!

That filthy little yuki-onna, Lady Xuan seethed. How dare she oppose me? The next time I capture them, I will not be so merciful. I will slaughter her, her son, her uncle, and her mother-in-law, too! I’ll bet this is all that old woman’s fault. Bitter and power hungry, she just doesn’t know when to lie down and die.

Lady Xuan’s eyes, sharp and mean, flicked across the six sons kneeling before her. Her language had been intentional—carefully chosen, one might say—and she watched for signs of betrayal in them, daring any to note the irony of her statement. Surely, at least one thought the same of her, and she waited for that son to reveal himself. Her gaze lingered especially long on her oldest son, Pircha.

Poor Pircha, she thought. He was a grandfather himself now, and age had not been kind to him. He’d grown fat and lazy, and worse yet, contemptuous and stubborn. Above all the others, Lady Xuan knew he wished her dead the most. He was over fifty years old now and yet still found himself bent to her will. He hated it; he must. She would, were she in his position. He must think daily, If only she would die and leave the ruling and leadership to me.

Yet Lady Xuan had no intention of doing so. She’d lived longer than some immortals, and she made sure to keep her indulgences in check so as not to perish like her first two husbands. She would not do unto herself.

Too much, hm? Lady Xuan muttered. Is that how much the ransom is? My youngest son, Oiu, captured by this vile Zhenzhen Hanu, is made to suffer in her dungeons, and the ransom is probably too much. How tragic, as Oiu was my favorite.

Lady Xuan watched the ripple of jealousy pass through each of her sons and hid her smile. Nothing bred good character like jealousy and competition. Ambition could only stem from want.

She lifted a thin, wrinkled finger and traced it across her dried lips. The wispy hairs of a thin, white-haired mustache graced her skin, and she felt her hand tremble from age. It was habit to do so, an unpleasant one as it reminded her that her best years were far behind her. She could not afford to wait things out as she once had. She would die one day, like it or not, but by her effort, she would die an empress.

So be it then, Lady Xuan thought. She would, for once, have to do unto others what they would not do unto themselves.

I must deliver a response, then, she mused aloud. I agree with you, Pircha. We can’t afford to pay ransom. The damage to my reputation alone could be my undoing. I’ve already suffered slight enough. Take whatever amount Zhenzhen has demanded in ransom, deduct a single coin, and add it to the bounty on her head. Perhaps some ninja will be brave enough to try for it.

As you wish, Mother. Pircha bowed low until his forehead touched the ground, which was a considerable effort for him with such a round belly in the way.

At least he knows respect. She huffed and then said, Be gone, all of you! And send in Hyun.

Her sons bowed and left. A short while later, a tall, thin samurai with gaunt cheeks entered her throne room with purpose and pride in his stride. He knelt before her like a passionate devotee before an idol.

It was enough to bring a sparkle to Lady Xuan’s sharp eyes.

Leave us, she said to her remaining personal guards and waited until the doors had closed behind them.

My lady, Hyun Jee spoke to the floor.

My soldier.

Lady Xuan had never said it aloud, but she would have rather given birth to one Hyun Jee than to all seven of her sons. The samurai was fiercely loyal, having been raised up as a warrior in her own household and trained alongside many other samurai to serve her until death. For whatever reason, he’d taken a stronger liking to her than the others, even at an early age, beaming and blushing at the sight of her through his lessons. Lady Xuan had been just over fifty years old when he’d been born, and she could never quite figure out if his devotion stemmed from inner character, a sense of her as a motherly figure, or some perverse attraction.

It was probably a combination of all three, and truth be told, she liked it that way.

I trust your travels went well? she asked.

As well as expected, my lady, Hyun spoke to the floor again, and I would like to thank you. It was nice to visit a place so warm after returning from Khaz Mal.

I am pleased to hear that.

Lady Xuan extended her frail, wrinkled hand. Hyun, catching the movement out of the corner of his eye, rose up and took her hand carefully, kissed it tenderly, and then returned to his kneeled position.

Rise, Hyun, she said. I need you fit for another journey, and I’ll not have your back bowed on my account.

Yes, my lady.

Now, tell me about Savara. Is it as I thought?

It is, my lady. The Great Desert is awash in chaos. The rakshasa who impersonated Ichiro Katsu conquered much of the land before he left to raze Lucifan, so his death left a power void that has plunged the land into violence, which is truly amazing because Savara was already a dangerous place as it was.

You find it interesting?

Oh, yes, my lady, Hyun said, giving a genuine smile. I’m always fascinated by new people and places. Also, as you suspected, the land’s normal level of hatred and distrust towards rakshasas has increased tenfold. Their kind are being hunted and slaughtered across the land. Warlords are paying huge ransoms for any rakshasa heads brought to them, and in every city, one can find bands of mercenaries teaming up to hunt for the beasts. It’s dangerous work, I’m sure, but it pays well. If something isn’t done soon, there might not be any rakshasas left in the world.

As Lady Xuan listened, she rubbed the hairs on her upper lip, occasionally fighting back a cough when she took a deep breath. Hyun’s words were like music to her ears, and she longed to hear more of them.

Tell me of your journey, she said. All of it.

Two years ago, Lady Xuan had learned of Emily Stout, the legendary amazon now known as the Angels’ Vassal, and Lady Xuan had spent a fair amount of coin digging into the amazon’s past. From this, she’d learned the young girl from the Great Plains had spent some time in Savara before traveling to Juatwa, but more importantly, she’d learned Emily could control the last colossus in the world. By the time Lady Xuan decided to do something with this knowledge, the girl had been on her way north to the Khaz Mal Mountains to free her lover, an infamous ronin named Takeo Karaoshi. Lady Xuan had immediately dispatched Hyun to seek the girl out and speak with her, hoping to strike up a peaceful greeting.

As fate would have it, although Hyun had been successful, there had been no need.

Emily Stout had perished saving the city of Lucifan from an invasion by a rakshasa and his armies. Her humble upbringing, grand deeds, and subsequent death had sealed her as a legend in the minds of many, and tales of all kinds were being told across the world by those who claimed to have met her.

Separating fact from fiction became a difficult task.

However, Lady Xuan had secured one piece of Emily’s past that she thought unquestionably correct. Before coming to Juatwa, the girl had traveled across Savara and visited two places: two degraded old structures known as Phoenix Temple and Kings’ Hearth. Lady Xuan had dispatched Hyun to find these places and discover what he could, and also to watch what happened to Savara in the wake of the rakshasa’s defeat.

Hyun had taken a ship of two dozen samurai and traveled to the Great Desert, but his troubles had started right away. In the very first place he landed, he and his ship were assaulted by townspeople who thought him another invader. Hyun had decided to flee rather than waste precious time or effort slaughtering useless villagers. The next two towns had been burned to dust, but the fourth was stable enough to accept him and allow the purchase of supplies. According to the folks there, this was a rare treat these days, and Hyun should count himself lucky.

This proved true, as Hyun quickly discovered that half of the towns on the map he’d purchased were nothing but smoldering ruins. Among sand dunes, Hyun and his men hid from voracious armies of mercenaries that roamed from city to city, looting what little treasure remained and slaughtering any in their path. People found wandering alone were accused of being rakshasas and tortured until they died. Conquered people were being enslaved at an unsustainable rate. There were now more slaves than slavers in Savara, leading to widespread revolts that burned yet more towns, slaughtered yet more villagers, and spawned yet more bands of armed lunatics rampaging across the sands.

Hyun admitted to shedding quite a bit of blood in his short time there.

It amazes me that Savara is still a desert, he said partway through his tale. How the sands can still be dry after all the blood that’s soaked the land? That place should be a swamp.

Hyun had sent his ship back out to sea rather than leave it at one of the unstable ports. Armed with supplies, knowledge, and a healthy attitude of distrust, he’d set out to find Phoenix Temple and Kings’ Hearth, all the while asking any he found about the girl known as the Angels’ Vassal.

As expected, I found too much information rather than too little, he explained. It seems nearly every single man—and more than a few women—across Savara spent one or several romantic evenings under the stars with her. Also, apparently, her footsteps created tiny pools of water, and—you will love this, I’m sure—she had the strength of an oni, the beauty of a mermaid, and the heart of an angel.

Lady Xuan chuckled and coughed again.

The heart of an angel? the old woman repeated. That is rich. How quickly everyone forgets that Emily traveled across the world for revenge. Ha!

Obviously, I paid these people no mind. Those who said she traveled with a samurai, though, those I listened to. They gave me nothing useful, but I did find one baker in a town west of Phoenix Temple who gave me something interesting. Before Emily and Takeo left Savara together, they traveled with others. She was a slave for a short period of time, and according to the baker, the slaver was a rakshasa.

The rakshasa? Jabbar?

He nodded. "That’s my belief. The story that I pieced together is this: Jabbar and his henchmen, which included Takeo somehow, bought Emily and two others, a satyr and a viking, and went to these two temples. The viking turned out to be a well-known person named Kollskegg Ludinson the Sturdy. I hadn’t heard of him, but apparently he’s famous in viking lore.

Anyway, Kollskegg and the others perished in the desert. Only Emily, Takeo, and Jabbar survived. When I reached Phoenix Temple, it was nearly collapsed, but more than a couple of skeletons were scattered about. Kings’ Hearth was similar, but all the bones lay in a pile outside, while the basement was filled with sand. Nothing I found says she acquired the colossus in Savara.

Damn, the old woman huffed.

Lady Xuan assumed she wasn’t the only one with this idea to track Emily’s past and find the link between the girl and the colossus, hoping that perhaps it was a jinni’s gift instead of an angel’s command. To have control of the colossus would spell doom for any and all who stood in her way. Like Ichiro Katsu before her, Lady Xuan just couldn’t resist seeing if perhaps the colossus was a tool that could be used.

I’ll send someone else to Lucifan to keep looking, she muttered, but I won’t keep my hopes up. As for you, I have another task in mind.

I am your will, my lady, Hyun said, bowing low once more.

That you are. Now, have you heard the recent news of what’s taken place in your absence?

Hyun nodded and said, My condolences for Oiu. Had I been with him, he’d never have been taken. I’ll lead a force to reclaim him, if that is your wish.

Bah! She waved a wrinkled hand. Let him rot. I have six more, and they’re all worthless. Pircha couldn’t even conquer the Katsu family before they united! He wants to rule from my seat, the seat I fought to claim, and yet he can’t win a battle I didn’t plan out for him. The inept little bastard, I never should have squeezed him out.

She might have gone on if a cough hadn’t seized her just then. Hyun, wisely, gave no reply. He averted his eyes at the sight of weakness in his mistress.

Meanwhile, Lady Xuan scolded herself for that show of anger. She was more controlled than that; she knew better. Others did onto themselves through lack of restraint, but she was different. Lady Xuan knew her strengths, her weaknesses, and when to keep herself in check.

Unlike her first husband, she never succumbed to rage and bloodlust, and unlike her second husband, she was neither afraid nor timid. She was Lady Xuan, the Old Woman of the Mountain, Juatwa’s future empress, and the world’s rightful ruler.

If she lived long enough.

Now, the task I asked you here for, she said. Come closer. I think I have a way to solve our problems. My army does not lack for loyal, capable soldiers such as yourself, but I need better commanders and generals. As wretched and bloodthirsty as Jabbar was, he did one thing very well: he conquered people. I would follow in his footsteps.

Chapter 1

Let’s get one thing straight; I hate you, and I don’t trust you. I don’t know you half as well as I should, which is already twice as much as I wanted to in the first place. Of what I have heard, nothing has convinced me to give you a chance. You’re a rogue with a dim sense of honor who carries a history of failing those who place their faith in him. Really, it’s a wonder you’re still alive, judging by how many people you’ve managed to alienate and infuriate, me notwithstanding. We were enemies once, still are as far as I’m concerned. The only reason I’ve put up with you thus far is because the only person I hate more and trust less than you is myself.

The presumptuous Gavin Shaw said all of this in the span of two breaths, which Takeo Karaoshi thought a moderately impressive feat, one worthy of an eyebrow raise. He granted it to the man, lifting the left one and glancing at him for a fraction of a second before turning back to view the greatness of their surroundings.

The two men stood atop one of countless yellow, grassy, rolling hills that spread as far as the eye could see. The ceaseless wind swept by them at a speed that was just a tad uncomfortable, making Takeo’s straight, shoulder length hair whip about his head and catch on his thin lips from time to time, forcing him to spit the strands out. The wind did a fantastic job of keeping the heat off his skin, though. With a big, bright sun, hardly a cloud in the sky, and no shade to be found, the Great Plains might have been a desert were it not for the wind sweeping the heat away. Takeo decided he rather liked it. To him, it represented all the good parts of Savara and Juatwa, but none of the bad. No sand or rakshasas, wars or daimyos, the Great Plains may be rough, but they were peaceful, and Takeo thought he could live here for the remainder of his life without regret.

Not that he would, though.

One question, Takeo said. Are you talking to me or yourself? Whichever the answer, my response is the same: likewise.

Takeo shifted to regard the knight again, or at least Takeo still considered him a knight. The world’s only remaining angel had said Gavin Shaw was still a knight bound to oath, promise, and honor—they specifically used those words, which always confused Takeo because he thought oath and promise to be the same thing—so Takeo believed Gavin to be a knight. However, to the Knight’s Order in Lucifan, Gavin was no such thing. He had resigned, relinquishing both title and position.

The Order was headed by a vampire, though, so what did they know? Gavin was a knight, just like Takeo was a samurai.

When one beheld this particular knight, they saw a dashing, handsome gentleman in his early twenties. His chiseled chin and light but broad smile complemented his soft, green eyes, which took the breath away from many young females. His blonde, finger-length hair, broad shoulders, respectable height, and athletic physique added to the charm. Gavin was also fond of growing stubble, never shaving hard enough to clean it all away, yet refusing to let it grow into a respectable beard. The stubble almost hid a long, thin scar on the left side of his cheek, which Takeo took more than a casual interest in, since he bore a similar scar in the same place.

Takeo’s scar had come from a rakshasa’s claw. He had yet to ascertain where Gavin’s came from.

The two shared few other similarities. Takeo was younger than Gavin by at least a year and smaller in both height and physique. His hair was black and straight, always kept meticulously cut to shoulder length, and his eyes were dark enough to rival a moonless night. He tried to remain clean-shaven as best he could, even in the absence of water. And Takeo rarely offered more than a smirk or raised brow, unlike Gavin, who waved his arms and wiggled his face with every word.

As if unsatisfied with their differences thus far, the two also dressed and armed themselves differently. While Takeo wore boiled leather given to him by vikings—something he desperately wanted to replace with a kimono—and armed himself with a dwarven-made katana, Gavin wore simple leather breeches and a white tunic and strapped a shoddy longsword to his side. The only similarity was that they both looked drab.

Yet here they were, together on the Great Plains just outside the southern end of the Forest of Angor, watching a group of behemoths muddle about in the distance and arguing about what they were going to do with their miserable, hated lives.

So we’re in agreement, then, Gavin said, sighing and taking a seat in the tall grass beside Takeo. We’re sticking together?

I suppose it’s for the best, Takeo replied. It’s either that, or we’re stuck with ourselves.

No thanks. Like I said, I hate that guy.

Me, too.

A long moment of silence passed between them, one both welcome and expected. They’d once gone a whole month traveling together without speaking a word to one another. All good things came to an end, though.

So then, Gavin clapped his hands loudly, some fourteen years from now, we’ll return to this forest and see if little baby Cyrus wants to make something of himself. Is that the plan?

I think so, Takeo said. Well, that might be the plan. I mean, for all we know, Cyrus could die between now and then. The Forest of Angor is a dangerous place, judging from my shallow understanding of it. Being a werewolf, he might run off on his own or get into who knows what kind of trouble. Actually, come to think of it, either one or both of us could die between now and then, too. I say we put it out of our minds for at least a decade and revisit the subject then.

I’ll have some difficulty with that. We gave Cyrus’ mother our word we’d return. My word is not given lightly.

Oh please, Takeo sighed. Look at us, Gavin. You’re an ex-knight who stinks of rum and shame. I’m a masterless samurai, a ronin, which makes me an honorless sellsword hardly worth his weight in piss. I think Cyrus’ mother will find it easy to dismiss us if we don’t show up a decade and a half from now. Actually, she might even be glad. And as for Cyrus, I guarantee he’s already forgotten we existed at all. He’s a child.

Takeo’s words carried only a small measure of contempt and sarcasm, and Gavin voiced no disagreement. A gust of wind rushed by as they took in the sight of the behemoths.

There were a good twenty of the beasts a fair distance ahead. These huge, lumbering giants of the Great Plains grew to the size of a small barn, but at this distance, they could be covered from sight with an extended hand. They walked on four short, stubby legs that barely kept their stomachs off the ground and had greenish-brown leathery skin that was impenetrable by all human-made weapons. Only their eyes and stomachs were vulnerable, and those eyes sat on large heads that swung back and forth as the creatures walked. In order to see behind them, behemoths had to turn around. To add, the males had a single, huge horn, bigger than most humans, sprouting from their noses.

Takeo was glad the beasts were so docile. To him, they looked like karkadann, beasts used for riding and pulling burdens in Savara, but enormous. Something that size could be a real terror if it chose to be.

The herd was traveling east across the plains. It would be their mating time soon, and also Emily Stout’s birth season. She would be nineteen this year, Takeo thought as a lump swelled in his throat. She would be nineteen, beautiful, and so full of life.

So, you would embrace the worst in us? Gavin asked.

Takeo blinked, the words jarring him from the depths of sorrow he so frequently visited. It took him a second to adjust back into the world of the living, but once he did, he met Gavin’s eyes to stay grounded in the conversation.

No, the samurai said. I would just prefer that we stay honest with ourselves. If we’re ever to amount to anything, we must first understand where we’re at. How can you stop from drowning if you don’t know you’re in the water at all? As of now, we’re skilled swordsmen with no goals and no restraints. The only laws we follow are the ones we’ve set for ourselves. To some, that makes us dangerous, to others useful, but to ourselves? I don’t know. I’ve been struggling with who I am ever since the angels’ aura touched me.

Gavin flinched and turned back to the migrating behemoths. The angels were a sore subject for him, Takeo knew, but it was unavoidable. Of the five angels that had once existed, only one, Ephron, remained, and Takeo had played a part in bringing down the other four.

It was an action he would forever regret, a sin he could never wash clean.

Gavin sighed and scratched the back of his neck. Yes, well, you are only half right. I know damned well who I am, and my restraints stay firmly intact. I may have resigned from the Knights’ Order, but Ephron is right. He made me a knight, and only he can free me of the oath, promise, and honor I’ve sworn to uphold. The only thing I lack is a proper goal, something to attach myself to.

His eyes flicked sidelong at Takeo, quick enough to be unintentional but lingering enough to make the samurai skeptical of his message. Takeo narrowed one eye back and then turned to look at the behemoths.

Have you sensed that I have a task in mind? he said.

That was my thought, Gavin admitted. Am I wrong?

No, you are not. It seems I am your opposite again. You say you know yourself? Well, I wish to know myself, too. Things were simpler when I was with my older brother. Before he died, I went where he went and killed who he killed. His words—few as they were—were my guiding star in a night so black with death that I never knew it was a nightmare until I awoke. The angels brought the day, but it was Emily who became my sun. Now that she is gone, my night has returned, and I see no more stars. I question why I ever followed one at all.

You speak poetry now or something? And so we’re talking about Emily now, too?

Why not? You said it yourself; we’d have to eventually.

That was half a year ago! Gavin scoffed

You never said there was a time limit.

Gavin stuttered, looked to the sky, and threw up his arms.

Takeo took that as a sign to continue. Anyway, the long and short of it is that I want to know my past. After some two decades or so in this world, I’m finally ready to face my legacy and find out who my parents were and why my brother was so damned afraid to return home. I had the chance to find out once, but I struck the man down. Now I would find another and not repeat that mistake. I am bound for Juatwa, migrating like the behemoths back to my place of birth.

A sharp screech echoed in the air, faint yet far too loud at the same time. Gavin and Takeo both whirled and searched the sky for its source. Gavin spotted it first and slapped a hand into Takeo’s chest because the samurai had looked the opposite way. Takeo turned and followed Gavin’s finger, which pointed to a mass of dark clouds that flashed white and roared with thunder.

Takeo drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment.

Should we move? he asked. That’s a thunderbird, isn’t it?

Despite the many stories told to him by Emily and having lived out here for a good year, Takeo still felt unfamiliar with the Great Plains. This had been Emily’s homeland, not his, and although she’d thought it a prison, Takeo was fascinated with the place and its creatures. One of those creatures was a thunderbird, and Takeo believed they were the most majestic things in all the world, greater even than the angels.

Gavin took one glance at the samurai and huffed at the level of interest written in those black eyes. He took a deep breath of his own and let it out with an exaggerated groan.

Farmers say only fools wait to be killed by thunderbirds, he said, so let us be fools. Doubtless it’s heading for those behemoths anyway, and they’re far enough away the lightning bolts won’t hurt us. Hey, we might even get some rain. That’d be nice. I might be able to wash out some of this rum and shame.

So, against their better judgment and the sage advice of farmers, the two men awaited the thunderbird’s approach.

Another screech pierced the air, and the thunderbird launched out of the mass of dark clouds that swirled around it, headed for the behemoth herd. Even at this distance, Takeo could see its yellow beak, pure white eyes, and mix of white and brown feathers. It looked surprisingly similar to a roc, though not nearly as big. Thunderbirds were as big as behemoths, but rocs were the size of mountains. As it soared, the clouds followed, miraculously appearing about the creature with every beat of its wings. With that came thunder, darkness, and rain, and the thunderbird cast a shadow so great that the darkness even encompassed the men.

As Gavin predicted, the clouds brought a chilling rain. They were on the outskirts of it and thus only received a light drizzle, but the behemoths were encased in the downpour of a thunderstorm. The beasts moaned and waddled together, huddling for safety and yet never bothering to halt their journey eastward. The bird screeched above them, dived down, and selected one of the poor beasts to tear into.

Takeo whipped the water from his eyes and squinted into the distance. Things became harder to discern with the combination of darkness, rain, and distance, but the sight of such an epic struggle was not easy to miss. The thunderbird attacked mercilessly, landing on one behemoth’s back and digging into it with razor sharp claws. Behemoth hide was thick, though, and although the talons found purchase, they did not rip through. The behemoth fought back, leaping up on its back legs to snap at the thunderbird. This proved a fatal error, as this exposed the creature’s vulnerable stomach. Takeo watched in fascination as the thunderbird swooped down and ripped open a gash in the behemoth’s side, all the while screeching horribly.

The behemoth stumbled to the ground, its blood pouring out onto the plains, but the other behemoths trudged onward hurriedly rather than assist the injured. When that happened, the thunderbird flew back into the sky, and Takeo held his breath.

Its two wings came together, and a bolt of lightning shot down to strike the behemoth dead.

The thunder blew into Takeo like a strike to the heart, leaving him breathless. He staggered, then tripped, his flat sandals losing grip on the slick weeds at his feet. Dimly, he was aware of Gavin chuckling at him. More acutely, he was aware of the thunderbird descending from the sky to feast on its meal. It screeched again, this time so loud that both men yelped and covered their ears. Then the bird began to rip into the dead behemoth’s belly.

Nearby, the behemoth herd moved on.

Well, that settles it, then, Gavin said, yelling over the wind, the rain, and the ringing in their ears. I’m coming with you.

Really? Takeo replied. All the way to Juatwa?

Why not? Emily left me for that place, so there must be something special about it. Besides, what’s that old saying? Keep your friends close but your enemies closer? I haven’t decided yet which one you are, but I know for damn sure that I trust you a lot more than I trust myself. At least if I’m next to you, I won’t be climbing back inside a bottle anytime soon. So, lead on, samurai, and sleep well, knowing there is a knight at your back who was spurned by your true love.

Takeo turned to Gavin and, for the first time in the year he’d travelled with the man, felt a warm tug on the fringes of his ice-cold heart. His left cheek twitched in what could have been a smile’s shadow.

Where are we off to first? Gavin asked.

To visit old friends, Takeo replied, and to pay our respects.

Chapter 2

It would be a several month journey back across the Great Plains to their destination, a trip they’d already made three times over the past year. The first trip had been from Lucifan to the Forest of Angor to deliver a set of letters to one ex-amazon-turned-werewolf named Belen. The second had been to take her one-year-old werewolf child named Cyrus back across the plains to the Khaz Mal Mountains for him to be cured by the angel, Ephron. The angel had instead given Cyrus the unique ability to control himself when shifted to his werewolf form and then sent Takeo and Gavin back, again, across the plains to the Forest of Angor to deliver the child back into his mother’s arms.

They’d mumbled some promise about returning when the boy turned sixteen and then left with not a clue as to what to do or where to go. Takeo hadn’t figured that part out until they were back on the Great Plains again.

As to why they had done all of this? It was in the name of Emily Stout, a young woman who’d died defending Lucifan from invasion. She was also a woman whom both Takeo and Gavin had loved. Emily had carried those letters meant for Belen all across the world, and Takeo and Gavin thought it only fitting they finish the delivery when she could not.

During those first three trips, Takeo and Gavin had been rather silent to each other. Old wounds, falling for the same girl, and a general self-loathing kept their tongues firmly lashed to the roofs of their mouths. They’d only spoken enough to ward off insanity, sharing stories of their similarly troubled pasts. Now though, on this trip, they found speaking much easier—or at least Gavin did.

So where in Juatwa are we headed? the knight said, not even halfway through their first hour of traveling. You know, I’ve never been there, but I hear it’s beautiful, full of wars, but beautiful.

That is the most accurate description I’ve ever heard.

"You know, Lucifan has its fair share of violence. Everyone talks and acts like it’s this city of peace, love, and giving, but there are a lot of scoundrels in the streets. I should know because I was one of them for a time. Essentially, the knights do all the fighting while the people do nothing more than lock their doors at night. I’ll have you know that some of the citizens happen to think the knights are an unnecessary expense. They think we’re too well-funded and overpaid, as if any of them are out there risking their lives to fight the scum off the streets. My superiors had a saying that we’d done our job best when people couldn’t be sure we had done anything at all. Well, that’s not the way I would have had it. I would have had public dungeons were it my call. Everyone ought to know what’s happening right under their noses.

Not that the city feels that way anymore, I’ll bet. Not after Jabbar and his army came sailing in from across the sea. I’ll bet the knights live like royalty now, swathed in gold and glory after having helped Emily protect the grand city of Lucifan from the mercenaries of Savara. Ridiculous, really. Perhaps I should have stayed. I’d probably head several squads by now. I . . . I should have helped Emily. I shouldn’t have left her like I did. I know I said a lot about blaming you for her death, Takeo, but I want you to know—

Takeo stopped and whirled about, cutting Gavin’s words short as the man barely stopped short of running into him.

Hey! Why’d you stop?

Is every knight as talkative as you? Takeo asked. Is that how you defeat your enemies? Put them to sleep with a barrage of words?

Gavin blinked, his expression flickering somewhere between offended and stunned. Then he caught himself, and some hardness returned to his charming features.

I beat your face bloody once, he warned. Don’t make me do it again.

And I cut your stomach open once, Takeo replied. Don’t make me do that again.

I was unarmed that time, and also unaware you could draw your blade and swing in the same strike. I won’t make that mistake twice. I know you’re skilled. I saw you kill one minotaur and fight another singlehandedly, but if we had a go again, I think you’d find yourself hard pressed.

I’d like to find out. Let’s find the nearest tree.

They found one of the Great Plain’s signature trees: a sickly skeleton, hardly taller than either of them, with thin, brown leaves. With longsword and katana, the two cut off branches and carved practice swords as they walked, which proved difficult. They probably would have been better off doing one at a time, but they were too stubborn to admit it.

When at last they’d finished, they stopped for the evening atop a rolling hill and squared off. All about them, the tall grass danced in the wind.

Care to boast anymore before we begin? Takeo asked.

Hmmm. Gavin placed a thoughtful finger to his chin. How about this one? You’re a hairless man-child who could easily be mistaken for a tall, shaven gnome, and it would be a grievous dishonor upon my reputation to fight you in the first place, if one could call it a fight at all.

Takeo nodded his approval. Well done, anything else?

Nope. Those are all the words I wish to eat. Now come at me and don’t hold back. You’ll do me no favors otherwise.

I wouldn’t dream of it, Sir Gavin.

Takeo rushed forward and, true to his word, held nothing back. He brought forth his weapon with all the skill and passion within him, sweeping the considerably lighter wooden katana with blinding speed, accuracy, and strength. Gavin was already on the defensive, and after only a few steps, Takeo had both disarmed him and placed his wooden weapon to the man’s chest. Altogether, the duel had lasted no more than a half a minute.

To Takeo, this spoke volumes.

Prodigy indeed, Gavin said, shaking his head. I’ve never faced an opponent like you before, I’ll give you that. Where did you learn to fight like this?

You know, Takeo replied and took his stick back.

A relentless and brutal older brother doesn’t explain everything, Gavin replied. I know lots of people with rough upbringings and others who’ve had to kill from a young age, and I’ve bested them. I’m stronger than you. When we trade blows, I know I can bash your blade aside, yet your speed never gives me the opportunity. Honestly, I find it difficult to follow your strikes with my eyes, let alone anticipate and counter them with my hand.

Gavin reached down and retrieved his wooden longsword from the tall grass. One end had stuck in the dirt, which now clung to the ridges, so the knight brushed that away with a calloused palm.

Part of that, Takeo said, your difficulty, lies in the fact that you haven’t faced many samurai.

None actually, besides you, I think.

So that will come with time. The other thing is that I can sense you have trouble fighting unarmored.

Gavin cringed and then shrugged.

That criticism rings true, he sighed. Full plate armor is something you get used to wearing as a knight. I liked being able to rely on it to blunt less forceful blows. Also, my left hand usually wields a shield. That’s really what’s holding me back.

Well, the shield we can get, but I don’t see you wearing full plate armor ever again. That heavy suit, I imagine, takes quite a bit of time to put on, not to mention having to carry it around.

I’m way ahead of you, Gavin said, waving a hand. I know where this is going, and I’ve already thought it all through. Yes, the armor is impractical anywhere beyond Lucifan. Heavy and cumbersome, it’s too much to carry when traveling. It takes forever to put on, makes too much noise, slows you down, and I would bake to death in Savara and freeze solid in The North. No full plate—I get it—but the shield, that I can’t do without.

It’s settled, then. We’ll get you one the moment we reach Lucifan. For now, though, I think you look hungry. Let’s make you eat your words once more.

Gavin sighed in relief and anticipation before readying his longsword. At least let me have a different meal this time. One moment, he said, squinting one eye in thought. Alright, how’s this? Your brother only taught you the sword because he realized you were so dimwitted that you’d never master more than a single skill in your entire life. A foolish thing, as what he should have done was let nature take its course. Oh, and your mother’s a whore.

This time, it was Takeo who took a pause. He stood up straight and blinked, letting his katana waver in the wind. You know, Gavin, he said. I take it back. I think you’re very apt at defeating your opponents through words alone.

Thank you, Gavin said, smiling and bowing.

As for my mother, well, you could be right.

Takeo motioned for the knight to charge him, and Gavin obliged, pushing off against the grass like a minotaur at full speed.

The knight was bigger than the samurai, stronger, too, as anyone with two eyes would be quick to note. Takeo had faced many such opponents, yet despite this, Gavin’s swift charge still made the air in Takeo’s lungs catch as he brought his katana up in time to parry the blow. Gavin roared, bringing the longsword down in a brutal overhead strike meant to bash in an ogre’s head. Takeo held strong and stepped to the side, letting the longsword sweep off his stick and straight to the ground. He went to counter, but Gavin was already swinging, his arms seemingly unaffected by all the effort he’d put into the first swing.

Takeo actually had to backpedal lest the knight’s strength and close proximity bring him down. Another few parries later and the samurai found his opening, sweeping the longsword aside and then placing point to belly before Gavin could come around again.

Damn it, you are fast, Gavin laughed.

You’re not so bad yourself, Takeo replied with a smirk. Actually, you’re even better than Emily was when I first started training her.

I’ll take that, and I’m glad to hear it. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be a legend, too, some day. First, though, I want to eat something other than words. Second, I really, really want a shield.

They split hard bread, salted jerky, and dried nuts, washed it down with stale water, and lay out for yet another night under the stars. This was the scene they’d played out for the past year, the same scene they’d play out for the next several months, but they did not practice every night.

Most of their energy was diverted to walking, trying to eat up as much distance as they could before darkness and sleep overtook them. Also, Takeo found it erroneous to train Gavin without this shield he so desperately wanted. If the knight wanted to use it against real opponents, he ought to devote his training to wielding it. That was the same tactic he’d applied to Emily, whose choice of weapon had been a dagger.

Takeo was set with his katana, though. To the samurai, shields were for cowards, and daggers for rogues and scoundrels. Takeo was raised to believe that nothing was as honorable as a man or woman charging their opponent with only katana in hand, staring death in the face. Takeo had never picked up a shield, and if he ever did, he was certain it would be about as useful to him as hacking off his left arm. Takeo parried with his sword, dodged, or struck first, as had every samurai before him that he could remember.

Shields were actually surprisingly uncommon, Takeo realized. Some vikings and dwarves carried shields, but to his knowledge, standard shield-carry was unique to the knights. Kshatriyas fought with a similar style, only they carried scimitars, and plenty of others, such as amazons and pirates, fought with weapons only. He wondered briefly why that was. A shield, something to protect yourself, seemed such a practical thing to use. Was every warrior in the world just as suicidal as the samurai?

They must be, he thought. He even asked the knight about it.

Gavin saw no issues with the shield and vehemently recounted the number of times his had saved his life. He spoke of their usefulness, not only in defense, but also in offense, shielding against blows and then bashing opponents so one’s sword could find a point to strike home. The shield was often, mistakenly, seen as a piece of armor when really it was also a weapon and a tool. He promised with a sly smile to prove such to Takeo when at last he carried one, and then went on to explain, in even greater detail, all he’d previously said before.

That was one of the reasons they practiced. Takeo thought Gavin talked way too much.

Those days over the past year when they’d exchanged few words had been, to Takeo, equal parts comforting and maddening. He’d become used to it, though, and there was a sense of normalcy and nostalgia in the silence, reminding him of the many years he’d spent with his brother, Okamoto Karaoshi—a man who had spoken so rarely that whole days would pass without a word from him.

Dark those times had been, but Takeo liked the solemn return of their theme, for his thoughts were equally dark with grief and sorrow.

To Gavin, though, the year’s silence had been a torturous prison. He said as much, often. Now that Cyrus was no longer with them and they had a new destination set, the knight apparently thought himself released of such shackles and couldn’t wait to exercise his freedom. He found much to talk about, asking questions about Juatwa and how they might reach the place, about Takeo’s long hair and the katana itself. Then he would expound for hours about how knights lived, ate, spoke, and served. The knight even had the audacity to speak of weather, which was both an impressive feat and a mark of perseverance because the weather on the Great Plains never changed. Whenever Takeo had listened to enough and found himself unable to stand any more, he would drop his pack and demand another bout. A few solid beatings were usually enough to wear the man’s mouth out, and Takeo could finally drift into silence once more.

At least, that’s how the first month had gone. By the end of their journey, Takeo’s own lips parted in greater frequency, speaking words that would have otherwise slipped through his mind alone. Either he was going mad, begging to get a word in, or this knight’s charm extended beyond his chiseled chin.

Either way, all such thoughts left Takeo when their eyes caught sight of their destination.

As the two crested a hill, the Stout family farm sprung into view in the distance. It was nothing grand, per se, just an old house nearing the end of its life and a somewhat newly constructed barn beside it. About the place, the ground was just dirt, absent weeds, but plowed into row after row of straight mounds ready for planting. Takeo had seen the place only two times before, but those had been just enough to ingrain the picture within his mind. Gavin, on the other hand, had only seen the place but once, and that only briefly.

Is this it? the knight asked, squinting.

To the best of my knowledge, Takeo replied, nodding. We’ll know for certain soon enough.

After a bit more walking, other features of the property could be distinguished. One, in particular, was a tall and lanky man, sitting on the back porch in an old wooden chair. Takeo sighed in relief.

The man was clearly a gunslinger, judging by how he dressed. A large, wide-brimmed hat that blocked his face sat firmly on his head, while a brown overcoat swept about his body. He wore leather pants and a linen shirt, and his feet were encased in shin-high leather boots with spurs on the end that would clink when he walked, announcing his presence to all, lest any make the mistake of thinking him some common foe. Because he was seated in a chair, the overcoat was swept back, revealing the unmistakable shine of the two six-shooters hanging from his waist. Symbol, status, weapon, and wealth, all a gunslinger was and would ever be was tied to his guns. To Takeo, that was a terrible thing, but to most gunslingers, it was a way of life.

This particular one lifted up his hat with one finger, revealing a familiar face with a small beard that grew out solely from beneath his chin. The gunslinger squinted back at the two with skepticism.

Is that who I think it is? Abraham Stout called out.

More than likely, Gavin shouted back as he and Takeo began crossing the dirt fields.

Abraham waited until the two were closer before speaking again. He rose up from his chair and stepped forward off the porch, his spurs clinking and his overcoat sweeping over his guns to hide them from view.

I’ll be damned, he said. Takeo Karaoshi and Sir Gavin Shaw, as I live and breathe. What’s it been? A full year? I thought for sure one of you would have killed the other by now.

Hey now, our journey isn’t done yet, Takeo replied.

Gavin chuckled, and Abraham smiled with one corner of his mouth. The samurai and knight closed the distance, and to Takeo’s surprise, Abraham stuck out his hand with palm open. Gavin took it with only a moment’s hesitation. This gave Takeo time to recover from shock before taking his turn.

I have to be honest, Abraham said. I didn’t expect to see either of you again. Yet, now that I have, I’m not too upset about it. We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms last time.

I don’t blame you for wanting us gone, Takeo replied, words tumbling out the moment he thought them. Unpleasant memories and all that.

Too true, Abraham said, glancing down, and yet they didn’t stop when you two left. I should have been more hospitable. Emily would have wanted that.

Hey, you gave us food, water, and even some shelter, Gavin spoke up. That was everything we needed.

False! came a loud, boastful voice from inside the house. True hospitality would have included mead.

Footsteps heavy enough to rival a minotaur’s pounded on the wooden floorboards of the Stout home. A huge, shadowed figure swung the backdoor open, making the old thing screech and bang against its hinges. Through the threshold stepped a man of such height, size, and build that he could have served as the inspiration for a colossus. He was easily a couple hands taller than Gavin, which made him at least three or more hands taller than Takeo. His shoulders and arms were so wide that he had to tilt his body to walk through the doorway. He was shirtless, wearing only the boiled leather pants and thick, skull-crushing boots favored by vikings. His body rippled with engorged muscles and veins, his shoulders resembled mountain peaks, and a beard thick with brown hair covered his face.

Takeo smiled.

Good to see you, old friend.

Nicholas Stout rushed down the porch, pushed aside his older brother, raised a fist, and slammed it full force into Takeo’s jaw.

Chapter 3

Takeo was often complimented on his combative skills. Some called him a prodigy, his skill breaking the limits of humanity, but he refused to believe so. His older brother, Okamoto, had raised Takeo to understand that arrogance and confidence were two separate things never to be mixed. One must never underestimate an opponent nor overestimate one’s self, lest the opponent be given an undue advantage. Takeo knew he was neither immortal nor flawless and, as such, could be surprised or outmatched like any other.

Nicholas’ strike proved just that.

The punch wasn’t the hardest Takeo had ever received, but it certainly came close. Short of a rakshasa’s strike or an oni’s kick, Takeo could hardly remember a time when his entire world had exploded in stars and thunder. He was dimly aware of being lifted off his feet and thrown like a ragdoll into the air. When he landed, his senses were still reeling with such disorientation that he felt neither the impact nor the slide through a pace of dirt. Even the world’s sound came back to him slowly, as if he were waking from a dream.

Hey! What was that for? Gavin said, his voice distant.

Takeo’s eyes adjusted back just enough to see the monstrous, blurred figure of Nicholas turn and hammer a fist into the blurred form of Gavin’s face. The knight sputtered and tumbled back like Takeo had, collapsing from the force of the blow. Then, the blurred figure came over and grabbed Takeo by his clothes before lifting him off the ground. In this instant, Takeo’s sight came back to reveal Nicholas holding him aloft with a bloodied fist ready to strike again.

That, Nicholas said through clenched teeth, is for leaving without me.

My apologies, Takeo muttered, trying to work his jaw while tasting blood.

Nicholas dropped him to the dirt, where Takeo collapsed, as he was still trying to regain control of his body. Nicholas stepped back to join his brother, who kept his thumbs looped in his belt. The two watched in silence as both Gavin and Takeo slowly picked themselves up.

She was my sister, you jerks, Nicholas went on, voice notably deeper than last Takeo remembered. "She was my sister, and she carried those letters for years across the whole world. Who do you think had more right to deliver them, huh? You, Gavin? Was it because you fancied her and couldn’t