"We cannot wait any longer for the ashkai to make contact with us. We must act without her."
Kish'tar Chikanari's face was hard as he slammed his gloved and mailed fist onto the scrappy table of the rebels' conference room.
"The two months are almost up. She has ignored our messengers' advances."
The masked woman sitting only one chair away from him nodded slowly, her eyes cold.
"It's a pity," she muttered. "Well, no matter."
Another man, this one across the table from the kish'tar, shrugged.
"Myths are only myths, anyway. They can stay that way when it comes to war."
But the fourth man out of the five rebel leaders sighed.
"Who are we, without the names that carry the past and give hope to the present?" he murmured.
Kish'tar Chikanari's eyes flashed as he glanced at the man.
Genjo Masahiro, another kish'tar–and yet a quiet one. Sometimes Chikanari thought Genjo thought too much of the ancient lineages for his own good.
Chikanari's wife, the woman named Rii, answered for her husband.
"We may still have the heir, yet," she pointed out dryly. "Arai Junzo is following the enemy's investigation closely. Once the enemy's net tightens, it will be up to us to retrieve the heir before they do."
Genjo's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
"Anyway." Chikanari drummed his fingers on the table instead of hitting it this time. "We can expect the enemy to make their move soon. Our forces haven't moved cleanly enough to avoid giving notice."
Someone nodded. "True."
Genjo glanced at Rii. "How is the powder experiment coming?"
She frowned beneath the mask. "It's…coming. We'll have to test it, of course."
"If it works, we'll blow down the castle walls before the tyrant knows what hit him," someone added excitedly. Mino Harai, the youngest of the rebel leader group.
Chikanari smiled slightly. "Tis so."
"When do I gather my men?" the fifth and quietest leader among them asked. The man's name was Eguchi Yoriie, but Chikanari suspected it had been something else before the war.
Chikanari closed his eyes. "Two weeks, I think."
He turned to his wife. "Will the powder be ready by then?"
"It should be," she assured him. "We're working hard."
"Good."
Chikanari stood suddenly. "You are all dismissed."
The three other men saluted silently as they, too, rose from their seats and left the room.
Rii stayed behind. Pulling her mask down, she took a quick sip of water.
Her husband watched her, a faint smile playing on his face.
"Do your men obey you?" he asked softly.
She tilted her head to one side.
"When I make them, yes." A brief laugh escaped her dry lips. "Which is easy enough."
He had to laugh with her. "I wonder why that is."
"Probably because I'm married to the roughest man in all of Karun," she returned as she set the cup down and glided towards the door.
Her eyes met his for a moment before she left the room.
"Don't stay up again all night, Josuke," she whispered, pulling up the mask that marked her as another kish'tar.
The sound of her boots faded away in the corridor of the mountain stronghold. Josuke Chikanari bit his lip as he walked over to the window and glanced at the peaks, barely lit by the failing evening light.
Somewhere in the far distance was Hiyashi forest.
And somewhere, the young warrioress who apparently was trying to wage war alone.
Chikanari shook his head. Folly. It was all folly.
War was not a question of laughter and tree ghosts. It was a question of blood and exhaustion and failure.
And its answer…
Well, Karun would wait for the answer.
But Chikanari would make freedom the response.
Or die trying.
~~~
It wasn't often that Valoren Yazawa made his way to a village tavern.
But tonight was one of those nights where comradeship was something to be desired, and soldiers' rough laughter almost music to the ears.
After all, unknown though he was, he didn't need to be unseen.
Yazawa couldn't help but notice how different the two scouts from the court were. There was young Arai, who had barely tasted the alcohol before apparently deciding it belonged better in a cup than in his stomach. And then there was Yumoto, who only too happily finished it for him.
Yazawa leaned back in his chair, a frown coming over his face as Yumoto continued rambling, his arm wrapping happily around Arai's reluctant shoulder.
"We'll make a warrior out of you yet, Arai!" the man bellowed. "Maybe you're only a Karunic metai, but there's no reason you can't become a rashei! Or even a valoren!" Raucous laughter. "I'll test you out front!"
Arai looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"No thanks," he mumbled.
Scowling, Yumoto nearly shoved the young man off his chair.
"Why not?" he demanded.
Arai bit his lip.
"I'd rather not," he muttered.
"Yumoto, leave the lad alone," Yazawa broke in, his hand tightening around his own cup.
The soldier glanced at him. Yazawa groaned–the man's mind was obviously far, far gone already.
"Huh," Yumoto growled, his eyes flitting from Yazawa's face back to Arai's.
Arai started to rise slowly. Yumoto grabbed his arm.
"Hey–"
Whatever Yumoto had been going to say broke into something close to a scream as Arai twisted his arm deftly, breaking free in only a couple of seconds. His face red, Arai stepped back as Yumoto's untwisted hand clenched into a fist.
Yazawa's mouth dropped open slightly.
No, the lad was not a metai. That move wasn't a rashei's training.
It was something older.
"Don't you mess with me, you khur!" Yumoto hissed at the shorter man, both fists doubled now.
Yazawa's eyes narrowed into slits as he watched.
He had no doubt but that Arai Junzo would dance circles around the drunken Yumoto–
except, Yumoto chose that moment to reach for his knife.
Yazawa stood up abruptly.
"Hands off, Yumoto," he snapped, moving towards the center of the room that was quickly emptying of bystanders who didn't want to get involved.
"Oh, come on, rakhai–"
Yumoto's jaw dropped as Yazawa's gloved hand slapped him across the face.
"You've had too much to drink. You're a disgrace to Hoshara." Yazawa's voice was cold as steel. "Hand that over and take your angry head outside."
Yumoto's face turned red as the blood beneath his skin.
"Valoren Yazawa, wh–"
Yazawa grabbed the hand Arai had twisted, and twisted it again–harder.
Much harder. Yumoto's mouth opened in a scream that cut through the tavern.
Yazawa reached for the man's knife. Took it before Yumoto had stopped screaming.
"Get out," Yazawa finished, his eyes locking with Yumoto's.
Then he slammed the blade into the oaken table.
His feet shuffling, Yumoto made his way to the door. He stopped as he opened it.
"Khur!" he spat into the silent room.
Then he disappeared into the darkness outside.
Yazawa sat down heavily, his breath coming a little more quickly than usual.
The Karunic metai. Yazawa scanned the room.
But Arai Junzo had left already, it seemed.
Well, the lad should know better than to get in Yumoto's way.
And if he didn't…then too bad for the both of them.
Yazawa scowled at the table. He yanked Yumoto's knife out of the wood and started carving into it slowly.
A boy stopped by with a pitcher.
No, not a boy. A young man.
"Would you like some more, sir?" he demurred.
Yazawa squinted at his face.
"Aren't you the blacksmith's son? What are you doing here?"
Taro shrugged. "Need money," he laughed.
Yazawa's face relaxed into a smile as he held out his cup and Taro filled it.
But the valoren's eyes followed the boy back to the kitchen.
He didn't know how old Taro Zayasu was, but he could guess.
And he guessed the age was just about right.
~~~
"'Time is up,' eh," the King muttered. "What does that mean, Tadashi?"
The dark-haired warrior took the seat Shiro had left vacant. His face twitched slightly behind his plain valoren's mask.
"I don't know," he replied slowly, softly. "But we will find out when we capture the rakhai."
His face twitched again–in a smile, no doubt.
"One way or another."
The King's face loosened. "You'll really capture her?"
"Of course." Tadashi shook his head. "Haven't I fulfilled every other mission?"
"Yes, but.." The King bit his lip. "No one has ever caught sight of the rakhai before, let alone laid hands on her."
"You've never asked me to," Valoren Tadashi returned smoothly.
King Hoshara sighed.
"They say she fights like her father. Even with both swords. They say she uses his own swords."
"Those are the rumors." Tadashi's eyes gleamed. "If no one has even seen her…no one has ever seen the swords. Simple."
He leaned back on the stool slightly, resting his head on his hands–and the hilt of the longsword that was strapped to his back.
"Besides which, I'm not afraid."
"Well." The King shifted. "I'll leave it to you, then."
"Now?" Tadashi straightened slightly.
The King shook his head. "Not now. Not until we have found the heir." He managed a smile. "I'll leave that to you, too."
"Your wish is my pleasure," Tadashi drawled.
Suddenly he stood up. The stool scraped the floor.
"I'll bid you goodnight, Your Majesty. Warriors must sleep."
"And Kings," the other man added as he, too, rose from his seat.
Tadashi's eyes smiled again.
"Sleep well, Sire."