Author: Rob J. Hayes
Date: 2019-01-28T18:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: Ein is on a mission from God. A God of Death. Time is up for the Emperor of Ten Kings and it falls to a murdered eight year old boy to render the judgement of a God. Ein knows he can't do it alone, but the empire is rife with heroes. The only problem; in order to serve, they must first die. Ein has four legendary heroes in mind, names from story books read to him by his father. Now he must find them and kill them, so he can bring them back to fight the Reaper's war.

Contents

Title Page

Never Die

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Newsletter

Books by Rob J Hayes

Copyright

Never Die

By

Rob J. Hayes

Some fight for honour, and some for reward.

Some for glory, and others for a cause.

Some fight for freedom, from tyranny and hate.

And some fight for love, not for a person but a name.

With death as their guide, their companion and goal.

They cross all Hosa, spirit, flesh, and soul.

Hounded by demons, from the pages of lore.

What starts with a whisper, must end with a roar.

Prologue

Itami Cho woke to the screams of her own death. She remembered it all.

Chapter 1

The walls of Kaishi had fallen before the first wave of bandits reached the gates. It was clear from the outset that Flaming Fist had sent men in the day before. They hid in the dark places, alleys and sewers, and waited for the signal to climb the walls from the inside and kill the city defenders before opening the gates. No one suspected the attack to come so soon. Cho hadn't expected it to come at all. Flaming Fist was little more than a bandit with a following, preying off small villages and those who couldn't defend themselves. He simply didn't have the numbers to assault a city as large as Kaishi, no matter what recent reports had said. Cho re-evaluated that opinion as soon as the first cries went up.

They rushed from the wine house into a dark street thick with fleeing citizens. Rich and poor alike were shoving each other aside in an attempt to get to the sanctuary; some carrying the most valuable things they owned, some carrying nought but their own lives. They flowed around Cho and her comrades like a river before an island.

Oong, Cho's comrade, known as the Red Bull of Fades, grabbed at one of the fleeing citizens, pulling the panic-stricken fellow from the crowd. "What's happening?" the Red Bull slurred. He was already well into his third jug of wine and he wasn't the only one. Even Cho was feeling a little lightheaded from the drinking.

"The gates are down," the terrified man shouted. "They're in the city. The Flaming Fist has come for his daughter!"

The Red Bull let the man go and leaned upon his great iron-shod staff. "Daughter? No one said anything about a daughter."

Cho shrugged. "We have been paid to defend Kaishi. What does it matter why Flaming Fist is here?"

Qing, often called Hundred Cuts, pouted. "It matters to me," she said. "I like to know which side of the fight I am on."

"The side that is paying us," Oong said.

Cho shook her head. "The side of innocence and justice. Not the side of slavering bandits." No matter what his reasons for attacking, Flaming Fist was attacking, and Cho would defend the city and its people.

"But they are paying us?" Oong asked to no reply.

The sounds of battle were close; the clash of steel, the crackle of fire, the screams of the dying. Cho pushed her way into the crowd towards those sounds, forcing the people of Kaishi to move around her. One man caught at her yukata, trying to pull her away from the fight. Cho brushed him away with a flick of her wrist, but not before she heard a rip. She glanced down to find a small tear in the hem, splitting one of the sunflower designs in half. She counted it a shame, it was her favourite yukata.

Kaishi was a rarity of squat buildings and cobbled streets, the roads were wide and the houses far apart, no doubt to stop fire from spreading. Of course, that didn't account for a band of pillaging bandits purposefully torching everything. The first of Flaming Fist's soldiers they came across were busy slaying the city's guards as they tried to intervene. Cho wasted no time in rushing to their aid. Her slippers breezed across the cobbled streets and her robe fluttered. Her first katana, Peace, slid from its saya with barely a hiss, cutting a silent bloody arc. Two more Flaming Fist bandits went down before they realised they were beset, each one dying from a single strike. Precision was as important as strength when it came to battle. Often more so.

The Red Bull of Fades charged past Cho with a bellow of rage, flailing his staff left and right, caring nothing for precision. The iron rings on either end of his staff made each blow a killing one. Qing held back, her steel fans ready should any of the soldiers make it past the Red Bull and Cho. None did.

Even as the last of the Flaming Fist bandits fell, Cho let out a deep breath and wiped down Peace before sliding it back into its saya next to its partner. It was a cleansing ritual following the kill, as much for Cho's soul, as for her swords. She whispered a prayer for those she had slain, knowing full well the stars were deaf, and those men didn't deserve it anyway.

The surviving soldiers stammered their appreciation. They were not eager to stay, fleeing towards the sanctuary with those they were employed to protect. She couldn't blame them, they were poorly trained and just as likely to get in the way. They needed as much protecting as the townsfolk.

"We should go," Cho said, turning with the fleeing soldiers.

"What about all of those left in the city?" Hundred Cuts had a reputation for lost causes and Cho could now see why.

"They will either hide, flee to the sanctuary, or die. We cannot save everyone. Our efforts are best spent in protection of the sanctuary." It was a reasoned argument, they could not save everyone. Cho chose not to add that they had yet to be paid in full and the men with the coin would be cowering in the dark corners where it was safest. The difference between the rich and the powerful was always made so much clearer by walls. The rich hid behind them, the powerful tore them down.

Hundred Cuts hesitated, still chewing over the idea of leaving so many people to their own fate. Cho felt a tug of her conscience; it had not been so long ago that she might have thrown herself into the city to protect everyone she could. It was, after all, the mantra of a Shintei to protect the weak and to honour any oath sworn, no matter the cost. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe this was one oath she would finally keep. Good sense won out and Cho turned towards the sanctuary. The Red Bull fell in line straight away, Hundred Cuts was not far behind. Some were born to follow, not lead. They rushed through dark streets, ignoring the bright embers floating up into the night sky as the town burned around them.

The sanctuary, as the people of Kaishi called it, was actually a temple dedicated to the stars. From the outside it was a tall pagoda of several floors, with a commanding view of the city around it. Inside, however, there was a hidden basement containing a network of tunnels that led out to the nearby cliff side, emerging behind the Fury Falls. A secret passage hidden behind a waterfall seemed a little obvious to Cho, but the city officials claimed it had never once been discovered.

The steps leading up to the sanctuary from the city were already littered with bodies, some of Kaishi's citizens, but many more of Flaming Fist's men. Amid the corpses stood Murai, the Century Blade, the greatest living swordsman in all of Hosa.

Despite his ancient body, the Century Blade moved as slowly and deliberately as oil over stone. Cho recognised one of the corpses; Wandering Spear, one of Flaming Fist's greatest captains lay dead at the sandaled feet of the Century Blade who bore not a scratch to show for such a memorable kill.

Cho bowed as the Century Blade descended the steps toward her. He was not her master now, nor had he ever been, but he deserved respect and she gave it freely.

"You do this all yourself, old man?" The Red Bull of Fades asked. Cho winced at the disrespect.

The Century Blade smiled and ignored the Red Bull. His wrinkled skin and wispy white beard made him appear kind, almost gentle, though the bleeding bodies nearby said otherwise. Cho wondered how he could have achieved such a feat without a single spot of blood on his white robes.

Flakes of ash were drifting into the clearing in front of the sanctuary. Kaishi was burning. Flaming Fist loved to burn things, most notably his own hands. The Century Blade stopped before Cho and bowed low, ever humble despite his age and experience.

"Whispering Blade," he said in a voice like cracked leather. "Can you hold here while I escort those inside to safety?"

Cho nodded. "Why not help me fight Flaming Fist?"

The Century Blade bowed again and turned toward the sanctuary. "The truer test is to do nothing when called to action. Though the reward is often thankless. I will protect those in need of it, and leave the glory to those more suited to it. Good luck, Itami." He stopped at the foot of the first step and turned back for a moment. "He favours his left side. An old injury given by an older opponent."

There was a still a trickling stream of citizens flowing towards the sanctuary, and Cho let them through. Hundred Cuts even half carried an old man up the steps. As the fires grew higher and hotter, the sounds of battle receded, eventually vanishing all together. Cho waited upon the second step, sitting with her saya pulled across her lap, her hand on the hilt of her first sword, Peace.

The first few Flaming Fist soldiers dashed into the courtyard and made a poor attempt to gain the first step. The Red Bull threw them back with his staff, breaking bones and silencing cries of pain. Still Cho waited. Only when Flaming Fist himself appeared, did she rise from the second step.

He was a large man with not a single hair on his head. He rode into the square astride a horse that seemed ill-equipped to carry his weight. Each of his hands was a mess of puckered scars, and weeping wounds. Such is the price a man pays when they regularly light their own fists on fire.

Bandits emerged from dark streets and alleys, following Fist toward the sanctuary and surrounding the three defenders. So many flowed into the clearing that Cho was certain her eyes were playing tricks on her. Hundred Cuts cursed and backed up to the fourth step. Cho smiled and walked down to meet them head on. Even the Red Bull seemed unusually quiet.

"Where is my daughter?" Flaming Fist's voice was a booming thunderclap. Despite the city burning around him, and all the death carried out in his name, he seemed bored.

"I don't know." Cho refused to raise her voice.

Flaming Fist drew in a deep breath, his face curdling as though he smelled something unpleasant. "Kill them."

The soldiers came forward in a wave, some with spears, some with swords, closing in from all directions. There were no tactics to give, no special orders that could turn the tide of the battle, so Cho gave none. She drew Peace into both hands and charged into the oncoming wave, crashing against them, and weaving into their ranks. She dodged, ducked, twirled, and even jumped. Each stroke of Peace was a death, each counterstroke just as deadly. A circle of bodies quickly formed around her, and others rushed in to take their place. She couldn't allow the spears to stab at her from range, so she kept advancing, always closing in on her enemies. Steel fell towards her, clumsy and hacking; she stepped away from some, and brushed others aside. The cobbled streets ran crimson, soaking her sandals and staining her yukata.

The Red Bull of Fades held just beyond the first step, his staff a whirling bludgeon that made corpses almost as easily as Peace. Hundred Cuts danced around the edges of the attacking swarm using her steel fans to injure rather than kill. Injured enemies were often even more useful than dead ones, but not in Flaming Fist's warband. They were not so much soldiers, as bandits drawn together by a strong will and murderous purpose. They didn't stop to give their injured comrades aid, but stepped over the wounded to join the fight.

Cho knew the Red Bull had gone down when the first cheer went up. There was no fighting to his aid, and between sword strokes and bodies dropped, she glimpsed Hundred Cuts die in the attempt. One moment the woman was dancing around steel, flipping over her enemies and leaving slashed faces in her wake, the next she had a spear erupt from her throat. Cho saw the look of horror on Hundred Cuts' face. It was a vision that would stay with her for the rest of her life.

There seemed no end to the bandits crowding in to kill her, and no relent to the crazed blood lust, no matter how many she killed. Through it all Flaming Fist sat atop his horse and watched, his face a picture of scarred boredom.

Cho brought Peace close to her face and spoke to it, a whispered word none other could hear. The blade hummed in response. Her next strikes cut through swords and armour both, sheering them apart as though they were rice paper. Men died grasping at gushing wounds, falling beneath a shimmering, whispering sword they couldn't block, wielded by a master whose skill they couldn't match. But numbers, Cho knew, counted for much, and she was hopelessly outnumbered. As each man fell to her hissing blade, another rushed in to take his place, clambering over the dead bodies to get to her.

It seemed an inevitability when Cho took a glancing sword thrust to the leg. She slashed out at the swordsman, rending his face in two, but the damage was done. Cho could feel herself slowing down. Peace no longer cut through flesh so easily, the edge dull with so much killing. She backed away, parrying and thrusting, as she cut a path towards the sanctuary. Another strike took Cho in the side, the blade tangling in her yukata, but scoring her ribs and pulling a shout of pain from her. Then she was free of the crowd and staggering towards the steps of the sanctuary. Her foot hit that first step and she turned to find the soldiers weren't following. They waited, a bristling thicket of sharped steel pointed her way. There were bodies littering the clearing, flames rising high from the city behind them into the night, ash falling all around like black snow.

Flaming Fist slipped from his horse and pushed aside his warriors as he made his way toward Cho until there was nothing but charged air between them. Each of his fists was wrapped in an oily chain, but he had yet to set fire to them. "Is this the way you wish to die, Whispering Blade?"

Cho drew herself up, standing straighter again despite the pain. Her breathing was laboured and her leg was wet with blood. She glanced down at her second sword, bound into its saya, but she wouldn't draw it. Not even with death staring her in the face. She had sworn an oath never to draw that sword, and it was one oath she intended to keep. Perhaps the only one she had ever kept. She tightened her grip on Peace, and set her stance, ready to repel a stronger attacker.

Flaming Fist snorted and threw his chained hands up. "Kill her."

His men flowed around him like a wave and crashed upon Cho. She took down two of them before the first sword slid between her ribs. The wielder hit the ground before she did, Peace lodged in his neck. The second cut took the fight from her, the pain as it pierced something vital inside beyond maddening. Two more swords thrust into her chest and Whispering Blade died with a scream.

Chapter 2

Itami Cho - Whispering Blade

Some swords strike with a growl, some with a roar.

Some shake the battle like a rock slide, some bring ruin like a wild flame.

But there is one sword that passes with but a whisper, and you shall know it for it says:

Death has been here.

When she woke, Cho couldn't tell if she was still screaming, or just remembering her last moments. The pain of having so much steel pierce her seemed a nightmare, but it was over now. The sun beat down upon her, a new day even though she had been certain she wouldn't see another one. She breathed in fresh morning air and coughed it out stale. It took her a moment to realise she was lying on the ground, outside the sanctuary of Kaishi, one living body amongst so many dead. There were corpses everywhere, and the smell of burning tasted rank in the back of her mouth. A light breeze whisked through the courtyard, carrying with it the stench of so many dead.

"Not a dream then," Cho said to herself once the coughing had stopped.

"You died." The voice was quiet and small and belonged to a young boy, kneeling on the cobbled streets beside her. He had mud coloured hair and eyes as pale and distant as clouds. He wore a faded black robe fit for a funeral, contrasted sharply by a red scarf around his neck.

Again Cho remembered the pain of her death, crisp and vivid and refusing to fade away. She struggled to sit up and then glanced down and saw her yukata soaked with blood. Peace lay nearby, lodged in a man's neck, and her other sword was still in its saya. She slipped a hand inside her robe and felt her chest.

"They stabbed you. A lot," the boy said. "Even after you died. They stabbed you some more."

Cho counted a dozen painful little wounds, each one clumsily stitched together.

"Sorry. I'm still learning how to use a needle. Flesh is quite different to cloth. It tries to slip away and you have to pull it through. I tried to be thorough." The boy was still kneeling on the cobbles; one little life amidst a sea of bodies. Yet he didn't seem out of place. He seemed very much like he belonged with the corpses. He tugged at his red scarf, working the fabric between his fingers over and over again.

Cho pulled frantically at robes to bare her skin. She didn't trust her fingers to tell her the truth, she needed to see it with her own eyes. But her fingers hadn't lied. The boy hadn't lied. Her chest was riddled with poorly sutured wounds, red marks, and skin fused by fire.

"How did I survive this?"

"You didn't. You were quite dead." There was an apology in the boy's voice.

Cho pulled her yukata tight. It was stiff with dried blood, most of it hers. For a moment she just hugged herself, trying desperately to forget the feeling of swords sliding into her, separating skin. "Then how am I alive? Am I… alive?"

"You are mostly alive. I brought you back. I can do that apparently. Only once though." He nodded, more to himself than to Cho. "Yes. I think only once. There are rules."

"You think?" Cho took a deep breath and placed her fingers to her neck to feel her pulse. It was strong and rhythmic, definitely the pulse of the living.

"You are the first person I've tried it with. You're bound to me now." The boy still hadn't moved, he knelt on the cobbles, fiddling with his scarf. Ash smudged his cheek, but he didn't wipe it away.

"Bound to you?" Cho shook her head. "I thank you for saving my life…"

"I brought you back. I cannot save what is lost, only bring it back for a time. It binds you to me."

Cho struggled to make sense of the boy's words. "The only thing that binds me to a person is my oath as a Shintei."

A frown creased the boy's face. He was young. Cho wasn't the best judge of age, but she doubted he was more than eight years old. Truth be told she was worried he might start bawling there in the street. She decided to look around for his parents, the mystery of how she was still alive could wait, but there was nobody. The courtyard outside the sanctuary was deserted save for corpses and the boy.

The morning light painted the gory scene in its full horror. She wondered how many of the bodies were her doing. Her last moments were a blur of fighting and blood. And pain. Cold steel thrusting into her, a scream that tore from her throat and scattered living and corpses alike. She shook her head and concentrated on the present.

Cho picked Peace from the ground and wiped the blade on her own yukata, there was little that could be done for it now, she would need to find something else to wear and quickly. She slid the sword back into its saya, next to its partner and rose to her feet, feeling her back crack from the stretch.

"You are bound to me," the boy said again, his voice almost pleading. "You have to help me. Those are the rules. Please."

"Help you do what?" Cho's hair had come free from its braid and stirred in the wind, thick brown strands whipping her in the face. She set about tying it back with a strip of her robe while she scavenged the dead for a body roughly her size.

"I have to kill someone." The boy got to his feet and followed after Cho like a puppy as she searched the dead. "I'm not strong enough to do it myself, so I was given the power to bring people back. I brought you back to help me."

"Hmmm." Cho found a corpse with only a savage neck wound by way of injury. She set about stripping the corpse down to its under-wrappings. She preferred the robes of her homeland to the blouse and britches the people of Hosa wore, but she found a pressing need be clothed in something not caked blood. "How long was I unconscious?"

"You were dead since last night. I had to wait for all the bandits to leave and then sew your wounds shut. You were cold by the time I was done"

"Half a day." Cho pushed the mostly naked corpse away and retreated to the steps of the sanctuary. There was less blood there. The boy followed her. "The battle will be long over. I should go after the survivors."

"They're all dead," the boy said. "Why did you sacrifice yourself here?"

Cho turned a frustrated look on the boy, yet he continued to stare at her. "Turn around."

"Why?"

"Because I need to change, and would rather you weren't looking at me."

"Oh. But I've already seen all of you when I sewed your wounds." The boy lowered his head and shuffled around to face the corpse strewn cobbles. "You must have known you couldn't win, but you stayed here anyway. You sacrificed yourself. Why?"

Cho unwrapped her yukata, folding it carefully despite its being ruined, and placed it on the second step. She pulled new under-wrappings out of a nearby backpack and bound her chest tight. She started pulling on the britches, blouse, and faded lamellar, but decided against the last. She was unused to fighting in heavy armour and doubted it would serve her well. She decided to keep her sandals, crisp with dried blood as they were. She had never liked the boots the people of Hosa pulled wore, preferring wraps and sandals.

"Long ago I swore an oath to protect the innocent. Part of my Shintei training." Cho paused and shrugged away the thought that it was an oath she had rarely kept. "I didn't really expect to die." She glanced to where the Red Bull and Hundred Cuts lay, almost lost among the other bodies. Flaming Fist and his men cared little for their own dead further than taking what was in their pockets. "Can you bring them back as well?"

The boy was still gazing away from her. He shook his head. "They are not strong enough. I need heroes to help me." He turned and again fixed her with his pale eyes, a hopeful smile on his lips. "Like you, Itami Cho. You are Whispering Blade."

Cho felt a pang of guilt at that. "I am no hero."

"You are. All of the stories say it, I've read them. You slew a thousand wolves at the Shrine of Saicomb…"

Cho set about tying her swords back around her waist. "It was more like a hundred."

"Including the great wolf, Aeva, the mother of the horde, cursed with human form in the light of the sun. You rescued Prince Ying Sung from the Burning Mines…"

"The stories definitely exaggerated that one."

"But you did rescue him before the cultists could use his skin to summon their demon god." The boy seemed more animated each time he listed one of her deeds.

Cho sighed and nodded once. "Yes. But I wasn't alone. I had help."

"Your duel with the Brothers Venom atop Quiet Eye Mountain…"

Cho raised a hand to quiet the boy. "My death at the hands of Flaming Fist and his bandits."

The boy's smile faded. "You are alive again now."

"Mostly."

"Mostly."

Cho glanced back towards the sanctuary. She needed to see if the people of Kaishi had survived. She needed to find the Century Blade. "What's your name?"

The boy shuffled closer a step, a smile tugging at his lips. "Ein."

Cho knelt in front of him. Meeting his pale stare was unnerving, but she held it. "Ein. I need you to tell me the truth. I truly died here? You truly brought me back?"

"Yes. The shinigami gave me the power to bring back heroes to help me."

"Why?"

Ein fell silent, his stare so pale and unnatural Cho struggled to hold it. She turned from him and knelt beside Hundred Cuts. Hosan prayers were foreign to Cho, so she uttered an Ipian prayer instead. Different language, same stars. Afterwards, she offered the same prayer to the Red Bull, in the hopes their souls would find peace in the darkness between the stars.

"One man?" Cho asked as she stood from the Red Bull's corpse and glanced at the boy.

Ein nodded enthusiastically.

"Is he a bad man?"

Again that enthusiastic nod. "He'll destroy all of Hosa unless I stop him."

"Fine. In light of the debt I owe you, I swear I will do this for you, Ein." Cho drew Peace into her right hand and used the blade to cut off a lock of her hair. Then she slid the sword back into its saya and repeated the oath to the boy, tying the lock of hair into a knot and handing it to him. "Proof of my oath to you. When it is done, you burn that to tell the stars I have kept my word."

Ein slipped the lock of hair into a pocket.

Cho dipped her head in a slight bow. Little did the boy know how meaningless her oaths truly were. "But first…"

The boy brushed past her and Cho felt a chill shiver. He started up the sanctuary steps. "You need to see with your own eyes, that they are all dead."

Chapter 3

They moved quickly through the sanctuary, ignoring the corpses of the townsfolk at their feet. The doorway to the secret tunnels hung open, the painting that had once hidden it slashed and defaced. Cho rushed along the tunnels, desperate to find what had become of the townsfolk. One more oath she had sworn. She had to know whether it was one more oath she had failed to keep.

The rushing waterfall blocked both the sight and sound of the horror that awaited them. Cho edged around it, her back against cold stone, feeling the spray on her face and enjoying the coolness. She set a furious pace, unwilling to slow at all, and yet Ein kept up. He made no complaint, nor stumbled even once despite the jagged rocks below carving bloody wounds into his bare feet. Cho decided she would need to find shoes for the boy and soon. No sooner were they past the waterfall, than the full scene of Flaming Fist's fury spread out before them. Cho stopped, a strangled gasp coming unbidden from her throat.

The river before them was choked with the bodies of the townsfolk of Kaishi, and there were hundreds of them, clogging up the river. Occasionally a body broke free from the others and joined the current, tumbling away from Kaishi into the churning pink rapids below. Tears blurred Cho's vision and she wiped at her eyes. Carrion birds flitted amongst the corpses, both those in the river and those on the banks, pecking at bloated flesh. A few mangy dogs stalked through the dead, worrying at the choicest bits with sharp teeth. She wasn't certain whether the people of Kaishi had anything to do with the disappearance of Flaming Fist's daughter, but they had certainly paid the price either way. An entire town reduced to rotting meat and ghosts in a single day. There were monsters in the world, Cho knew that well enough, but none were nearly so monstrous as man.

Ein tugged at her blouse. He pointed towards the riverbank where it looked as though the people of Kaishi had put up some resistance. She counted dozens of dead bandits down there, left along with the people they had killed.

"I need to go down there," Ein said, tugging on her blouse again.

Cho saw no movement from the bodies, just a few birds digging into dead flesh. "They're dead," she said slowly. The full scope of the massacre had her in shock. She couldn't imagine how anyone could do such a thing; these were innocent civilians not warriors. And Cho had been unable to stop it. She had failed the people of Kaishi. Failed another oath.

"So were you." Ein tugged at her blouse again and Cho relented, allowing him to drag her down the last few feet of rock onto the soft mud below. She walked in a daze. Their feet squelched with every step, bloody mud sucking at her sandals. The shock of the scene finally started to wear off and Cho stepped in front of Ein, one hand resting on the hilt of Peace in case any of Flaming Fist's bandits still lived.

"There was a battle here," Cho said as she passed the first of the bandits, cut almost in two with a single sword stroke.

"The Century Blade tried to buy enough time for the people to escape," Ein said, plodding along behind Cho, struggling through the mud. "But there were too many even for him."

"You saw it?"

"I watched from the top of the waterfall. I had to make sure they were all gone before bringing you back."

Cho almost choked on the question she needed to ask. "Did he survive?"

Ein paused for a moment too long and Cho turned to him, pressing down the weight of grief struggling to rise within. There was both respect and friendship between Whispering Blade and the Century Blade; it went deeper than the time they had spent together. She viewed him as a mentor and a true hero. She liked to think he viewed her as a peer, someone worthy of standing beside him in battle.

"He was still alive when they dragged him away," Ein said eventually. "All of this was his doing." Dozens of bandits lay dead at their feet. Cho would expect nothing less from the only man in the past hundred years to have slain a dragon.

"In his prime he would have killed them all," Cho said. "Flaming Fist included." They walked between the bodies. Ein appeared to be searching for something, though he gave no indication what, so Cho continued. "I came to Hosa after hearing the story of his battle against the Ungan hordes. I had met him once before but I needed to see him again, the one man worth a thousand. And I did. He was always so humble, despite his accomplishments and fame." She felt tears in her eyes again and wiped them away. If the Century Blade was still alive, she would find him.

"That one!" Ein rushed past Cho towards one of the bodies lying in the mud. He was a young man, tall and handsome in life, with a thin dangling moustache and long dark hair matted now with mud. In death his features looked sallow and waxy, his stare vacant and clouded. He wore stained leathers and a faded green, scale hauberk. The scales were split and dented close to his heart, a true strike that would have killed him before he even realised his armour failed him. Ein began fumbling at the armour, pulling at the straps. "Please help me."

Cho swept her gaze across the river of corpses once more, but none save the birds and dogs moved among them. Then she knelt next to Ein, muddying her stolen britches, and helped him remove the front section of scale from the dead man's chest. "Why are we doing this?"

"To bring him back."

Cho was back on her feet in an instant. "You said you needed heroes for this quest of yours. This is one of Flaming Fist's men. One of his captains. He is no hero."

"He can be." Ein pulled away the scale and tossed it into the mud, then tore at the man's shirt, exposing a thin stab wound. "Oh, this will be much easier than you. See, he has only one wound."

Cho reached down and pulled the boy to his feet, wincing at the numb twinge that flowed up her arm. "He is dangerous. If you bring him back I will just have to kill him again."

Ein tugged free of Cho and stared at her, pale eyes showing something she couldn't quite grasp. It was an ancient stare, the sort she'd seen in old soldiers who had witnessed too much, and accepted too little.

"All of this will be gone soon," Ein said, pleading. "I can only see it for so long. I have to bring him back before I lose him."

Cho could see the conviction in his eyes and knew Ein would not be swayed. After a few moments the boy crawled back to the dead man. He pulled out a needle and some thread, and set about closing the wound. Cho retreated a few steps, picking her way through the bodies, and waited with her hand on Peace, ready to send the man back to his muddy grave the moment he woke.

Chapter 4

Zhihao Cheng - The Emerald Wind

Whither it blows, east to west or north to south, The Emerald Wind carries the stench of death.

Such is the way of those who prey on the living, and steal from the dead.

The last thing Zhihao saw before the end was the wrinkled face of a swordsman many times his better. It was quite an insult that a man so old could beat him so soundly. He woke now to a much younger face, wide eyed and smudged with mud and ash. Zhihao shot upright, swung a fist at the boy, missed, and began scrambling away through the squelching mud, his lungs burning with new breath. He crawled no more than a few feet then collapsed again, gasping and wondering when it gotten so dark. He could swear it had been day only a moment ago, but the black sky and stars made a mockery of his memory.

"W—What happ…" Zhihao paused his interrogation to lurch forwards and empty his stomach.

"You really were telling the truth about bringing people back," said a woman, standing behind the boy. "I didn't do that." Her right hand was resting on one of the two swords at her side.

"You weren't dead for so long," the boy said. "And some people just have a stronger constitution."

Zhihao wanted to argue that he had the best constitution any man could hope for, but he was finding it difficult to talk, what with all the retching and all. He was still on the riverbank where the old man had run him through, surrounded by the bodies of those he had once called comrades, though certainly never friends. He looked around quickly for his swords, a dual pair of thin blades, hooked at the end, with crescent shaped hand guards as sharp and deadly as the blade itself. They were lying in the mud just a short crawl away. Zhihao rushed forwards, grabbed one, and stood. He swayed on his feet, dizzy from the retching and his brush with death.

"Where is he?" Zhihao tried to crouch into a ready stance and fought off the urge to collapse. He felt more than a little drunk.

"Where's who?" The woman's voice was barely a whisper, he had to concentrate to hear her over the sound of rushing water.

"The old bastard who stabbed me?" Zhihao pulled at his shirt to find a small, poorly stitched wound very close to his heart.

"Flaming Fist's men overwhelmed the Century Blade after he killed you," the boy said, still kneeling in the mud. His hands were idly rubbing his crimson scarf between little fingers. His eyes were far too pale, piercing in such a way Zhihao found them uncomfortable to meet, so he looked anywhere else and found a river clogged with bodies. "They dragged him away, and left your body here."

"Bastards couldn't even be bothered to wake me up." Zhihao laughed. "Never trust the friendship of rogues… Fuck me, I've been robbed." His hands were bare, his rings missing. He touched at his right ear, finding it painful and bloody, his earring missing.

The woman sighed. "Actually, you were dead, so technically you've been looted."

Zhihao snatched his second sword from the ground and pointed one at the boy and the other at the woman. She had yet to draw either of her swords. "One of you best tell me what is going on before I kill you both."

"Please try. It's all the excuse I need." She stood easily in a warrior's stance.

The boy stood and pulled his scarf a little tighter. His stare was so uncomfortable Zhihao took a step backwards, almost tripping over the body of another of Flaming Fist's men. "Zhihao Cheng, The Emerald Wind, what is the last thing you remember?"

"We came out of the waterfall." Zhihao frowned, his memories were blurry, more evidence of a bit too much to drink. "Hundreds of people all huddling around the river. That old bastard standing in front of them all. Flaming Fist ordered the attack and… He killed dozens." Zhihao glanced around at the bodies of Flaming Fist's men; easily fifty of them sprawled along the riverbanks. "We duelled. I put up one hell of a fight, almost killed him twice."

The woman chuckled, and Zhihao spat at her. "You weren't there."

"No," she replied. "I was dead."

"What?" Zhihao shook his head and backed away another step. The woman did look a lot like someone he had recently seen stabbed a great many times. "He stabbed me. Ran me through right here." He tapped his chest. "I… I…"

"You died," the boy said. "I brought you back. I can do that. You're bound to me now."

"I'm not bound to anyone, kid." Zhihao glanced up at the woman, her hand still resting on the hilt of her sword. "And why the fuck do you look familiar?"

The boy took a step forwards. "She is Whispering Blade."

"What?" Zhihao snorted. "No! We killed Whispering Blade. I know. I stabbed you… her myself."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "Once I was already dead?" She was far too calm.

"Fuck this!" Zhihao backed away a few steps, turned, slipped in the mud, then struggled up to his feet and ran away along the riverbank. He was determined to put as much distance as he could between himself and the two before doubling back and picking up Flaming Fist's trail. It was bad enough his own men, those who served under him and were sworn to obey his orders, not only left him for dead, but they had robbed him too. Some slights were too much and that was certainly one of them. All Zhihao had to do was find the camp, kill the bastards wearing his rings, and kneel before Flaming Fist again. The honest truth of it was that some men were easier to serve than to fight and Flaming Fist was one of them. Anybody willing to set their own hands on fire every time they got into a fight was a man worth staying on the good side of. Not that Flaming Fist had a good side, just a slightly less murderous one.

He followed the river, stumbling along through mud and stopping occasionally to pull a body from the banks and search for coin. The farther from the waterfall, the fewer bodies clogged up the river, but even after an hour of walking a few lay scattered about. The coins they carried were meagre things, but it would be enough for a meal and drink at an inn, if he could find one. When Zhihao thought about food his stomach let loose growls that could scare a wolf pack, and his mouth was as dry as sand. The longer it went on, the more tempting the river looked. It would be so easy to wade in and drink to his fill, but Zhihao knew what lay up stream: hundreds of bodies emptying themselves out into the water. That was exactly how disease started, and he'd seen men shit themselves to death before. That was not the end for a man as great as The Emerald Wind.

By the time Zhihao stumbled across an inn, dawn was casting long shadows on the dirt road ahead of him. It sat at the far end of a bridge that crossed what had become a fast flowing river, dangerous to cross anywhere else. It seemed a prime location, but also a dangerous one, ripe for bandits who might see a lone inn as easy pickings. Zhihao knew this because it was exactly the sort of place he made his name robbing. He stumbled across the wooden bridge, clutching the railing for support, and frequently wiping at his face and wondering when it had gotten quite so hot. The stabbing pain in his chest wasn't helping things, and the pounding headache had put him in a truly foul mood.

At last Zhihao reached the inn, struggling for breath and barely strong enough to push against the wooden door. It didn't budge. Even after he leaned his full weight against it and slumped down to the ground, still the door remained shut.

"It's locked," said an old man with thin grey hair. He wore a dirt stained apron, and held a small trowel as though it might serve as a weapon, pointed at Zhihao. "Closed. Rumour has it Flaming Fist is nearby again. The inn is closed until they pass. No sense putting the family in danger."

Zhihao struggled to pull himself up on the door frame, and then gasped in a breath that set his chest stinging with pain all over again. The sun was rising in the east, back from where he had come, and it shone with a blinding brilliance. It took a lot of effort to push himself away from the door and start back towards the bridge. As he walked past, the old man backed away, farther into a garden sprouting green corner to corner. The thought occurred to Zhihao, he should probably knock the man senseless and steal his food, but it would require stopping, and he was feeling slightly less pain with every step back towards Kaishi.

"Hey!" the old man shouted once Zhihao had gone more than a few steps. "You're bleeding."

Zhihao looked down at his chest and saw a stain of blood leaking out into his tunic, right where the Century Blade had stabbed him.

Chapter 5

It wasn't the silence that grated on Cho, she quite liked the quiet. Nor was it the road they took, with Kiashi, the site of her latest utter failure, to the south and in easy view on her right. What bothered Cho most was the pace. Ein was a young boy with small legs and he seemed in no hurry, calmly plodding along down the dirt road on bare feet, his eyes staring towards the rising sun. Cho had to slow herself to keep pace with him, and that meant a meandering walk that had her feet aching from the journey.

They'd barely spoken to each other since The Emerald Wind had returned from the dead and run away. Cho had stated quite firmly that they were better off without him, and she stood by the opinion. Ein had declared the bandit would soon return and it was well past time they got going. He chose a path that led around Kaishi, skirting the city rather than winding through it. Cho guessed it would add a day at least to their journey, but she didn't mind. She was still feeling some after-effects from being brought back from the dead, the most concerning of all being a fuzziness of head that made her teeth feel like they were vibrating. It was hard to gauge whether it was normal or not, since she had never heard of anyone coming back before.

In the quiet of feet scuffing dirt and cool breeze stirring the grass, Cho tried to remember what it was like being dead. There were dozens of opinions on what happened after death, most of which were passed around by one religion or another, but the stars taught that a fathomless void awaited all those who died: an eternal drifting, alone and apart from everything and everyone. If that was the truth, it seemed like a good incentive to stay alive no matter the cost. But Cho couldn't remember anything. One moment she had been screaming, steel blades piercing her chest, and the next she was silently screaming at Ein. There had been nothing in between. Unless there had. She couldn't help but feel she was missing something, a memory of… somewhere else.

Ein stepped on a sharp stone in the road that pierced the skin of his heel and left him trailing blood. The boy didn't even seem to notice, so set he was on the eastern horizon. Cho pulled him to a stop and they moved to the grass. She sat him down and poured some water over his foot, he was bleeding, but not badly. His feet were a mess of scars, recent and barely healed.

"Oh." Ein pulled a face, then fished in his little pack for his needle.

"You can't just sew it."

Ein poked at his foot. "But the wound needs closing."

"You may have… fixed my wounds while I was dead, but it will hurt." Cho sighed. "I have some spare bandages. We'll wrap it and find you some shoes."

"I can't wear shoes," Ein said. "It was part of the deal with the shinigami. I gained the power to bring people back, on the condition I carry out his judgement on a man. And that I don't wear any shoes. I don't know why he hates shoes so much."

Cho pulled a small strip of bandage from her own pack and turned to find Ein pushing his little needle through his skin. There wasn't as much blood as she had expected.

"Don't you feel that?"

"Yes," Ein nodded, but kept his eye on the needle. "It hurts."

"Most children would scream at pain."

He looked at her then, his terrifying gaze like burning metal heated white. "I'm not most children," he said sombrely.

Cho couldn't stop the shudder that passed through her, nor could she say why it came. It was almost as though the world around the boy was a little darker. Life seemed less vibrant. He claimed he had seen a shinigami, spoken to it and made a deal with death itself. Somehow Cho doubted that the only condition the god imposed was bare feet.

"At least let me wrap them when you're done."

Ein shook his head. "I must remain barefoot." He looked up and gave an apologetic smile. "It's the rules."

She tore her gaze from the boy to look back down the road, a tall man was staggering toward them. He was clearly on the verge of collapse, out of breath and stumbling every other step. Even from a distance, Cho recognised him easily enough.

"There is a foul stench up wind from us," she said.

Ein looked up from stitching his wound shut. "I told you he would come back."

"I didn't deny it. I just said I hoped he wouldn't."

The Emerald Wind staggered closer, his jog slowing to a lurch. His face was pale and his dark hair lank with sweat. He had a hungry look about him, like a wolf gone too long without a meal. It was a look Cho knew well.

"What did you do to me?" The Emerald Wind shouted as he drew near.

"I brought you back." Ein was still pushing the little needle through the flesh of his foot. "It really isn't that hard to understand. You were dead. Now you are not."

The Emerald Wind staggered to a halt and doubled over, his hands on his knees, dripping sweat onto the dirt. "I started bleeding."

"Yes." Ein didn't even look up at the man. "I brought you back. You are bound to me. You have to stay close." He looked up then, cold eyes boring into The Emerald Wind. "You are bound to me for as long as I live."

"Excellent." The Emerald Wind straightened and drew one of his hooked swords. He was so tired the lunge was sluggish. Peace whispered as it slid out of its saya and Cho blocked the lazy strike, both swords ringing as they clashed. Ein did not so much as flinch.

"What? Why?" The Emerald Wind tried to hook Peace and pull it away as he drew his second blade and attacked again. This time Cho stepped into the attack, brushing it aside and putting her body between the bandit and the boy. "He did this to you too. You're bound to him as well."

Cho said nothing. She knew there were no words that would convince him. Some people needed cold steel to concede to another opinion. The Emerald Wind attacked again, feinting right then hooking his swords together and swinging left. Cho saw the ruse, blocked the attack, and kicked the bandit square in the chest, putting him on his arse in the dirt.

"This is your last chance. Get out of the way!" The Emerald Wind shouted. He struggled back to his feet and faced Cho, his swords held ready. She knew it would come to this. She had tried to tell Ein, but he still insisted on bringing the bandit back. The boy claimed people could only be brought back once, and Cho was certain the world would be a better place without The Emerald Wind in it.

They clashed again, kicking up road dust as they danced around each other. Cho moved with fluid grace, ignoring the painful twinges in her chest. The Emerald Wind seemed poorly trained, his attacks obvious and easily parried, but he was slippery as a greased eel, always flipping around her rebuttals, or rolling clear of her range. She expected him to tire as the fight went on, but far from it: the man appeared to be getting quicker on his feet, his strikes more skilful with every parry.

"I have the measure of you now, Whispering Blade," he said after another clash. "It's a very pretty style…"

Cho rushed in, slashing upwards in a strike that should have cut the man in two, but he wasn't there anymore. The Emerald Wind somehow vanished before her attack and replied with his own so quickly Cho barely pulled back Peace in time to block. Almost too late she felt his second sword hook around her ankle. Rather than let him pull her off her feet, Cho threw herself backwards into a handstand, using the momentum to flow back onto her feet and into a ready stance once more.

"Finished," the boy said, still sitting on the long grass at the side of the road. He stood, testing his weight on his injured foot and then walked forwards to stand in between the two combatants.

The Emerald Wind wasn't smiling. He stood ready and wary. Cho had to admit, she had underestimated the bandit. She wouldn't make the mistake a second time.

"Please stop trying to kill each other. I need you both."

Cho saw the way The Emerald Wind's gaze flicked from her, down to the boy, and back again. He was considering the speed at which he could kill Ein, deciding whether he could do so fast enough.

"You need us for what?" The Emerald Wind asked.

"I have to kill someone. A man. I can't do it myself, I'm not strong enough. The shinigami told me to find heroes to fight for me. I've read all about you. Zhihao Cheng, The Emerald Wind. You fought at Dragon's Eye, one man against fifty."

The Emerald Wind straightened from his warrior's crouch, and nodded. "True. I did."

"You led the vanguard at the breaking point of Dangma. It was you alone who emerged from the breach, carrying the head of Sitting Tiger."

Again The Emerald Wind nodded. "He tried to stop me. Put up quite the fight." Cho gauged the distance between herself and the bandit and edged a bit closer. The Emerald Wind was barely even watching her now. She needed to rush in before he could compose himself again.

Ein walked closer to the bandit, right up to him, as though he posed no danger at all. "I need you, Zhihao Cheng, for a feat that will make those other feats nothing more than a footnote in your history."

"A what note?"

"Minor achievements. Barely worth mentioning." Ein was rubbing his scarf between his fingers again.

Even Cho was intrigued now. She straightened up, but kept creeping closer. "Who is it you want us to kill, Ein?"

Ein turned his fathomless pale stare on Cho. "Henan WuLong."

An insane laugh burst from The Emerald Wind, so vigorous he collapsed onto the grass at the side of the road, holding his ribs. Cho found nothing funny about madness, and the boy's quest was doubtless just that.

"You would have us kill the Emperor of Ten Kings? Ordained by the stars themselves," she asked.

"Yes." Ein nodded enthusiastically. "But he wasn't ordained by the stars."

The Emerald Wind snorted out another laugh. "And I suppose we'll just walk up to Wu palace, knock on the gates and challenge him to a duel."

Ein shook his head. "I don't have a way to attack the palace yet. But we won't be alone. I can bring others back. The shinigami told me to recruit many heroes."

"What happens to us if we refuse?" Cho asked. She had already sworn an oath to the boy, but it was beginning to sound like yet another unkeepable oath.

Ein glanced down at the scarf held between his fingers, a sad frown on his face. "You die. Again. I can only keep so many of you alive. If you won't help me, I have to let you go. I'm sorry."

The Emerald Wind stopped laughing and poked about at the grass, squashing something beneath his thumb. "So it's a help me or die thing."

"You were already dead. Without me you would still be dead. I ask only one thing in return."

"Yes. All we have to do to thank you, O mighty giver of life, is kill the most powerful, most heavily protected man in all of Hosa."

Ein nodded.

"What happens if we do?" Cho asked. The other two didn't seem to notice she still had her sword out. "If we help you."

Ein seemed to consider the question for a moment. "I set you free." He gazed from Cho to The Emerald Wind. "Think of it as a chance for the greatest glory, and as a way to save your lives."

And there it was. Ein might be a young boy, not even tall enough to pretend at being a man, but he held their lives in his hands. They were as much as his prisoners as if he locked them up and dangled the key in front of the bars.

"Well it seems I have no choice." The Emerald Wind flung himself back on the grass and stretched out. "For you, my boy, I will kill an emperor. And count it a small price to pay for a second life."

Cho wished she could agree, but she was far from certain it wasn't just a way to waste that second shot at life. But for now at least, she saw no other choice. A Shintei oath, once given, could not be taken back. And she wasn't ready to give up on this one just yet.

Chapter 6

After agreeing to what was undoubtedly a suicide mission, there seemed little else to do but get under way. After all, the Emperor of Ten Kings never left Wu palace, and it was at the farthest end of Hosa, deep within the city of Jieshu. It was weeks away at a good pace, and the boy's little legs set anything but that. Still, Zhihao wasn't about to complain about the delay, even if it did mean spending more time with an insufferable woman and a creepy child. And the boy certainly was creepy. His ghost stare was one thing, and he stared at Zhihao quite a lot, but it was nothing compared to his touch. Zhihao took a water skin from the boy, and for a brief moment their fingers brushed each other. It felt as though his entire arm had been set on fire. When it came time to give the skin back, Zhihao had thrown it at the boy and backed away as quickly as he could.

They skirted Kaishi, much to Zhihao's dismay. He had lost a small fortune in jewellery during his brief stint as a corpse, and he very much doubted Flaming Fist and the men had time to loot the city properly, especially since Fist himself was so dead set on tracking down his wayward daughter. When Zhihao thought about it, and he tried not to, it was entirely possible the whole attack on the city was his fault. Luckily for him the blame was being placed entirely on Flaming Fist, being the violent and half-crazed warlord that he was.

After the recent rains, the road was churned into small mountains of slowly drying mud. The army, and it had been a small army, had come this way during the night. Zhihao hadn't seen it, of course, as he had already been in Kaishi for nearly a full day before the main host of Flaming Fist's men arrived. His orders were to search for signs of the daughter, and then finally open the gates to allow an easy sacking. He had been successful on both accounts, in a way, but Flaming Fist certainly didn't need to know that he had actually spent the entire day in bed with the very daughter he was supposed to be searching for. Given that he was, in part, responsible for the carnage wrought in the city, Zhihao decided that he was actually a little glad they were moving past the city.

The day wore on, midday turning to late afternoon. "There's an inn not too far ahead," Zhihao said. The silence was oppressive, and only part of that was because it somehow contrived to make the crows circling above caw even louder. "I've stopped there once or twice. Excellent wine. We should stop."

"No." The woman seemed to use words sparingly, and always spoke in a damningly quiet voice, making Zhihao listen for her response.

"I'm hungry." Zhihao hadn't eaten since before he was dead, and no doubt she was now considering her own empty stomach. It rumbled to make Zhihao's point for him.

"Ein?" the woman asked.

The boy trudged along slowly, watching mud squelching between his toes with every step. "Eating makes me queasy. But I have to eat, I suppose."

"You are looking a little thin on the bones there, boy." Zhihao went to clap him on the shoulder and paused, remembering the last time they touched. He pulled his hand back and smiled instead. "Growing young man like yourself needs to eat. Build up your strength. A strong arm is the mark of a real man."

"You are my strong arm." The boy looked up at Zhihao, and his face was painfully pleasant. Zhihao couldn't decide if the lad was poking fun or deadly serious.

"Right. Well, then I need to eat. To keep up my strength." A compelling argument no matter which way they tried to sneak around it. The only problem was Zhihao had no idea who he was actually arguing with. It didn't seem right that the boy was in charge, but it seemed even more ludicrous to put a woman in the lead, even if she did know how to swing a sword.

"We'll stop there," the woman said, making it sound a lot like a royal decree. "Unless your friends have already burned it to the ground."

Zhihao laughed. "No chance of that. Flaming Fist does love to burn things." He pointed to the city behind them. "But never inns nor taverns on the road. You never know when you might need a warm bed and a warm meal. He doesn't take kindly to those who disobey either." Zhihao shivered at the memory, and had to admit he was glad, in part, to be free of the warlord.

To the north lay farm land, and Zhihao saw farmers and their workers tending rice paddies. Some of them looked up and watched the three travellers with wary eyes; others just ignored them. Some bandits took whatever they could from whoever they could, and Zhihao had seen the aftermath of such raids, but Flaming Fist had a tight rein on his men and farms were off limits. The cities and villages those farms supplied were fair game, but the world needed farms and farmers, and Flaming Fist understood that. Everyone needed to eat. Even creepy little boys, and half-mute women.

It fell to Zhihao to keep the conversation going and he did so, though it was a little one-sided. The boy occasionally joined in with the odd question or two, but the woman said little, occasionally snorting at Zhihao's more blatant lies. The boy seemed very interested in the tales of The Emerald Wind, and Zhihao was more than glad to embellish his escapades. He was a bandit, through and through, but he knew well how to make himself sound like a hero, and that seemed to appeal to the boy. He was regaling them with his version of the death of General Sitting Tiger, a rousing tale of leading charges and epic duels, almost entirely fictional, when the first of the bodies came into view.

Zhihao fell silent halfway through his story. Staked along the side of the dirt road was an old man. He had been stripped naked and his long hair was now matted into bloody clumps, or lying in the mud where it had been ripped from his head. He was dead, there was no doubt of that, and the stake had been shoved up his arse, pinning him upright like a morbid scarecrow. Only it clearly wasn't working as there were two crows pecking at the corpse, and they'd already been at the juicy bits. It was enough to make Zhihao lose his stomach, but there was simply nothing left in it to lose. So he averted his eyes, and kept walking. The woman stopped in front of the staked out corpse and knelt for a moment, saying a prayer in some language Zhihao couldn't be bothered listening to.

Scenes like this were rare. Hosa had no shortage of bandits or roving war bands, preying on the poorly defended, but few would take the time and effort to erect so grisly a spectacle. Flaming Fist, however, took matters involving his daughter quite seriously.

"What are those symbols carved in his chest?" the boy asked. "Are they some kind of spell or charm?"

The woman pulled the boy away from the body before he could start poking at the corpse, or try to bring the wretched thing back to life. Zhihao very much doubted the man would thank them for a second chance given his current state. Sometimes the afterlife, whatever it held, was simply the better option.

"I don't know," the woman admitted.

"It's old Hosan." Zhihao said, keeping his eyes fixed on the inn ahead of them. "It means kidnapper."

"So it is true? About his daughter?" the woman asked. Zhihao could feel her eyes on him. He didn't answer. He sped up his pace, moving past the others and keeping his eyes ahead. Some lies were too hard to tell, even for a man like The Emerald Wind, and he certainly wasn't about to tell them the truth.

The old man was the first of many stakes along the road side. Zhihao didn't bother counting, some things were best not knowing, but there were dozens of bodies in the distance leading towards the inn. Some were men, some women, but all received a similar treatment. All were dead, stripped to their skin and staked. It wasn't the first grim spectacle Flaming Fist had ever made, but it was certainly one of his worst.

There was movement by the inn and that seemed like a good sign. No doubt what was left of Flaming Fist's army had come this way, which meant Zhihao was following in deep footsteps. He had to admit, to himself at least, he was tempted to rejoin the warband. He'd done some horrible things with them, things that would give nightmares nightmares, but there was a camaraderie among killers, honour among thieves. And never once, in all of his time in Flaming Fist's service, had Zhihao ever gone wanting for a full belly or a skin full of wine. But first he needed to find a way to free himself of the boy.

The staked bodies continued right up to the inn, and it looked like no one had tried to take them down. Maybe it was that no one cared, or maybe no one wanted to get too close. Or maybe it was they were all too scared that some of Flaming Fist's men were still around, ready to punish those who thought to give the poor souls a proper burial. The woman stopped at every corpse, knelt and repeated her prayer to the dead, as though she owed them something. The few people they passed on the road waved a brief hello, but steadfastly refused to look at the grisly spectacles. Perhaps it was just easier not to see it.

Zhihao reached the inn just as the sun was dipping below the western horizon. He was a good distance ahead of the woman and boy. It was a large building, sturdy wooden planks nailed together and only a few spots of rot sinking in. It looked much the same as the last time he had visited it, save for the grisly scarecrows on the approach, and a new paper sign written in the common tongue: Safe Succour. The name made Zhihao smile; it was as much a plea to people like him, as it was an advertisement for weary travellers. A familiar stench in the air wrinkled the nose and tickled the back of the throat. Zhihao tried his best to ignore it, but he knew the smell too well. Unwashed bodies, the living kind, upwind, sour and stale.

The last of Flaming Fist's warnings before the inn was a very different kind to the others. There was far less of a body to this one. Instead of a stake, a hasty wooden sign had been hammered into the ground just outside the door to the inn. Nailed to the centre of the sign was a hand. The skin was wrinkled and grey; the cut end was torn bloody flesh. The hand still grasped a long, slender sword decorated with an ornate engraving of a dragon. Zhihao stared at the it for a few moments, and felt a grin tug at the corners of his mouth. Then he looked back up the road to where the woman and the boy were quickly approaching, having offered prayer to the last of the corpses. He considered kicking the sign over and hiding the sword, but they were close enough to see him, and that would just lead to questions. He was still standing there when they caught up to him, but he just about managed to wipe the smile from his face before they saw it.

He half expected the woman to weep at the sight, but she didn't. She stopped in front of the sign, a grim set to her lips, and bowed her head. Then she took the sword from the lifeless hand with a care approaching reverence.

"Whose hand is that?" the boy asked, uncurling the lifeless fingers.

"It belongs to the man who killed me," Zhihao said, not quite managing to keep the good humour from his voice. "Sorry, belonged. I guess it belongs to the crows and the worms now."

The woman turned a hostile glare on Zhihao, and knelt in front of the sign, holding the sword in both hands like some sort of offering. She bowed her head and closed her eyes.

"What are you doing?" the boy asked, but she did not answer.

"Ignore her," Zhihao sniffed the air again and looked about. "She's probably offering a prayer for his safety or something. He's definitely dead you know. Hand hacked off like that... I've seen people bleed to death from less. Now then, let's find out who stinks shall we?"

The boy followed Zhihao closely as they walked past the entrance to the inn, ignoring the faces peering at them from the windows, and approached the far side of the building. Actually the boy was a little too close for Zhihao's liking, and every time he tried to step farther away the boy closed the gap.

A new smile broke across Zhihao's face when they turned the corner. A few paces from the wall of the inn, two men sat around a good-sized fire. They were laughing and drinking from a couple of wine bottles, occasionally taking turns to spit on the fire so it roared with flames. There was a single body not far away, slumped against the side of the inn. An old man with only one hand and no sword. He was dead, his sky blue robe stained red in many places.

"Ringan, Hufeng," Zhihao shouted as he approached, arms wide. "You can't begin to imagine how happy I am to see you two."

Ringan jumped up and away from the fire, fumbling at the sword attached to his belt, while Hufeng just frowned and took another pull from the bottle in his hand.

"I recognise you!" Ringan hissed, finally drawing his little sword and wiping a sheen of sweat from his grimy forehead. It did little to help, just spread the greasy sweat all over his face.

"Well, I should hope so."

"You're dead," Hufeng said. It sounded a lot like an accusation.

Zhihao shook his head, and stopped well clear of the little man's little sword. "Not at all. It was a glancing blow, knocked me a little senseless, but I'm still very much alive."

The boy grabbed Zhihao's hand and Zhihao felt that horrible stinging numbness up his arm again. He pulled away quickly and tried to put some distance between them, but the boy followed again.

"No. No, I remember it clearly. You were stabbed through the heart," Hufeng said. He was much larger than Ringan, both in height and bulk, and had a deep voice to match his size. He also carried a nasty scythe attached to a chain, but he wasn't whipping it about just yet.

Zhihao shook his head and offered a warm smile that only went as far as his lips. "Stopped by my trusty scale." He banged a fist against his dented armour, and winced at the pain in his chest.

"The blade went right through," the fat man said, a rictus grip on his wine bottle. It was hard to argue with Hufeng, given that over a dozen men, Flaming Fist included, had likely seen him die. "Kui said he even heard one of your fingers snap when he stole your rings, and you didn't so much as blink."

Zhihao raised his left hand and looked at his little finger. "That would explain the pain." He wiggled it a little and shuddered. The knuckle felt like it was full of broken glass. "But as you can see I'm definitely alive. Trust your own eyes, I always say, and not those of a thieving little shit goblin. Believe me, I'll be having words with Kui. Sharp words backed up by steel." Zhihao decided the best way to stop them from asking too many questions, was to ask a few of his own. He sat down on one of the logs near the fire and extended his hands towards the flames. The boy hovered just over his shoulder, fiddling with that little red scarf of his. "So where is everyone?"

"Back along the road a couple of days," Hufeng said, finally getting to his feet. "Been there a while now. Set up camp in the usual spot. Fist sent us out to look at the city, see if it's worth raiding again. Not that we have enough people these days."

"Again?" Zhihao laughed. "The fires have barely cooled from the last time."

"What?" Hufeng's hand reached for the scythe at his belt.

"Who's the boy?" Ringan asked, manoeuvring around Zhihao as though he were contagious.

Zhihao glanced back at the boy. His pale, anxious stare moved from one man to the next as he rubbed his red scarf between fingers. There was fear there, as well there should be. Zhihao had long ago learned it was wise to fear men like him. "I have no idea. He's been following me since I woke up at the river. Feel free to kill him for me."

Chapter 7

By the time Cho rounded the corner of the inn two men were advancing on Ein while The Emerald Wind sat by the fire, staring into the flames. The smaller of the two, held a short sword, and the tall, fat one had a hand on a scythe hanging from his belt. Ein backed away a step, tripped over a discarded wine bottle, and fell on his arse. Cho quickened her pace.

The big man yelled down at Ein. "Who are you? And why are you wearing—" He died mid-sentence as Cho drew Peace and sliced him across the body in one fluid, practised motion.

The little man yelped and raised his sword. Cho set Peace humming with a whispered word, and sliced down, cutting both the man's sword, and his body in two. It was all so quick and clean; both bodies hit the ground at the same time. Blood from the smaller man sprayed The Emerald Wind across the chest, and he leapt up, and danced away from the fountain of gore.

"Argh! Those two were about to do us both a favour." He shook his hands, trying to rid himself of the blood there, but to no avail.

"Are you unharmed?" Cho asked, and Ein nodded as he got his feet underneath him again. There was something close to panic on his young face. Cho turned a scathing stare to The Emerald Wind, but the man just shrugged and walked away towards the inn where a corpse lounged by the wall. He knelt down, wiped his hands on its robe, and then prised the gourd from its remaining hand.

The Emerald Wind sniffed the top of the gourd. "Yes! I can't believe they actually left the strong stuff with him." He pressed the gourd to his lips and drank deep. "Argh. Tastes off." Cho turned away, unwilling to admit the truth of what she saw until she knew Ein was all right. She found the boy looking up at her.

"Thank you. They were going to kill me."

Cho nodded, and felt her throat tighten. "You're safe now."

She looked at the corpse laid by the side of the inn, and suddenly the world seemed very distant, as though she were looking at it through a tunnel. The Century Blade, always so strong and vibrant in life despite his years, looked frail and worn in death. His eyes were closed, the skin of his face grey and sagging. Blood stained his blue robe and his sword hand was just a ragged bloody stump. He no longer looked like the greatest swordsman in all of Hosa. His hair was bloody and matted, his flesh sunken and thin as paper.

"Good riddance." Even The Emerald Wind's voice seemed far away. His comment should have angered her, but all Cho felt was an empty numbness. There was sorrow in there somewhere as well, bubbling beneath the surface.

"You're crying." Ein stood at her side, staring up at her.

"I'm sad," Cho whispered. "It feels as though some of the light has gone from the world."

"The sun is setting," Ein said, looking east instead of west.

The Emerald Wind laughed. "The sun rises over Wu and sets over Long, encompassing all of Hosa." He was sitting beside the corpse of the Century Blade and, Cho thought, looked very much like he belonged there.

"You say you know about heroes?" Cho asked Ein, her voice catching a little on her sorrow. She took a few steps towards the Century Blade and looked down on the body of her friend.

Ein followed her. "I had books about all the heroes of our age. I read them all. I think, I used to hope I would be one, one day. I used to wonder what my name might be. How my deeds might earn it. I suppose that's all past me now."

"Did you read about the Century Blade?" Cho nudged The Emerald Wind with her foot and he shifted a little, then she gripped the Century Blade by his ankles and dragged him away from the wall of the inn.

"Yes."

"I would like you to tell me about him." Dragging the corpse was hard work. He looked so slight and small now life had fled him, but still the was heavy. And the fire behind made her swelter.

"Which story would you like to hear?" Ein asked, sitting down on the chest of the fat man Cho had killed. She thought it strange that he cared so little about the dead man. "About how he battled the great wind serpent, Messimere? Or how he and Light and Po broke the siege at Laofen? Or the time he climbed the Thousand Steps of ShinWo temple, defeating a different master on each one." The boy became quite animated as he recounted the many feats of the Century Blade.

Cho sniffled, struggling to find her voice. Her cheeks were wet, whether from sweat or tears she couldn't tell. "I'll let you decide. Choose one that will honour him."

Ein seemed to think about it for a while, biting his lip and staring into the flames. Eventually he looked up.

"In the Forest of Falling Swords," he began, "it is said the trees grow so tall they reach up to the stars." He spoke as if reciting the story from memory, exactly how it was written. "Some are so large they can take an hour to walk around, with branches so wide a dozen men could walk them side by side. It is said there are people living up in those trees, an entire civilisation that has never once touched the forest floor. And they do not look kindly on surface dwellers. Yet the tree people are not the only ones who call the forest canopy home. There are other things up there, older than Hosa, older than man, older than time itself. For there is a problem with reaching so high. The stars are distant for a reason. In the darkness monsters hide."

The Emerald Wind groaned and struggled to pull himself upright. He swigged again at the gourd, winced at the taste, and stumbled off towards the inn's entrance, a deep frown on his face. Cho said nothing, letting the man go in silence. She finally pulled the Century Blade's corpse to the nearby grass and laid his body there. A sadder day, Cho had never known.

"Should I keep going?" Ein asked.

Cho nodded and sniffed back a sob. "Please do."

"The Century Blade, still a young man at the time, wished to meet with the people of the trees, and learn the secrets of their arts the Century Blade found a smaller tree and wrapped a cloth around its trunk, before securing it to his waist. And that was how he learned to defy gravity, by walking up a tree. Once he reached the first of the branches were reached, the climb became easier, and he traversed the canopies, moving ever higher along the network of branches."

Cho saw a shovel leaning against the back of the inn and retrieved it, along with a patchy blue sheet drying amongst a load of laundry. As Ein recounted the tale, she chopped off a lock of her hair and tied it into a knot and placed it in the Century Blade's hand, silently swearing a new oath. Then she wrapped the Century Blade's corpse in the sheet, and set about digging a grave. Even with the ground softened by recent rains, the digging took a long time, but he was worth the effort. She hoped the old master could find some measure of peace in her attempts to honour him.

"He searched for days, all alone save for chattering monkeys, and the stars looking down on him. When finally he found the treetop city of Unyun, the Century Blade was exhausted and certain there were things, formless creatures slipping through the trees, watching him from within the shadows. But the people of Unyun did not welcome him, not even when he pleaded for them to teach him. Instead they set him five trials, one for each of the great constellations.

"The first trial was patience, after the constellation of Rymer, the keeper of time. But the people of Unyun underestimated the Century Blade, for early on his training in Yoshi temple, he learned the art of true meditation. For five days and nights the Century Blade slowed his body and, without food, water or movement, meditated on what it meant to be among the trees.

"The second trial was endurance, after Fenwong, the drunkard. Five boys they sent to him, each one smaller and weaker than the one before him, and each one attacked the Century Blade. But again the people of Unyun had underestimated him. It would have been as easy as breathing for him to defeat them, but he weathered the storms of their assaults and each time was declared defeated. For up at the pinnacle of ShinWo, on the final of the Thousand Steps, the Century Blade had learned true humility, and that sometimes one can only be victorious in defeat."

Cho stopped briefly to wipe the sweat from her face. The sun was well and truly setting now, and they would soon be near blind if not for the fire and the light spilling out of the inn. It would, Cho had to admit, be far easier to bury the man in a shallow grave. But somewhere in the distance she heard a wolf howl, and she would not bury him only to be dug up by scavengers looking for an easy meal. Cho pulled off her sweat-soaked blouse and continued digging in only her under-wrappings.

"The third trial was restraint, after Osh, the beast master. Five courses of a banquet were brought out to the Century Blade, now starving and weak from exhaustion. They laid each one in front of him and for a full day bid him not feast. But once more they had underestimated the Century Blade, for in the mountains of Osaara, the Rock Biters had taught him to sustain himself on his chi and go weeks without food.

"The fourth trial was sharing, after Ryoko, the one that is all. For before they would teach the Century Blade their ways, they needed to know of his own, to be sure he could be trusted. And for this the Century Blade was happy, for he had already taught so many the ways of his arts. At the Library of All Things, he had learned that knowledge helps to better all of man, and there are few things that should not be shared. He taught the people of Unyun his second greatest technique, the Shimmering Sword."

Cho smiled as she dug into the dirt. "The Whispering Blade."

"What?" Ein stared at her across the dying fire and she shook her head at him.

"What was the final trial?"

"After the fourth trial they took the Century Blade into Unyun and there he was treated to a glorious feast and a warm bed as soft as the clouds. The next day they began his training, teaching him the arts that had been passed down generation upon generation, never leaving the tree tops. For five months he learned their greatest secrets, both in their techniques, and in their way of life. He learned to live amongst the trees, to hunt amongst the trees, and to love amongst the trees. And when he had learned all he could from the people of Unyun, they set him his final trial.

"Up amidst the tallest trees in the world, the people of Unyun were beset by monsters from the stars, a punishment for reaching too high. None could say what the creatures looked like, nor how they should be killed, but it was tradition that the masters of Unyun go out onto the forest canopy alone to hunt and slay one of the beasts. A trial in the name of Sen, the shield."

Ein fell silent then, and Cho looked up from the deepening grave to see him frowning at the dying flames of the fire. "What's the matter?"

"That's how the story ended in my book. There was nothing about how he completed the fifth trial."

"Maybe one day I'll tell you the end to the story. I got it right from the horse's mouth."

Ein smiled then. Somehow it made him look less normal, stretching his mouth unnaturally, and the glow from the fire put a manic glint in his pale-as-snow eyes.

"You should go inside," she said. "Have some food and keep The Emerald Wind out of trouble."

"But you're not done."

"I'll do the rest alone. I have some words I would say without eavesdropping ears." It was true, for the most part. The people of Ipia believed in telling the dead a secret, something no other person in the world knew, so that the living and the dead would forever be bound to one another, no matter how many worlds they might be apart.

Ein stared at her for a while, before his gaze flicked just for a moment to the body wrapped in the sheet. "He's too far gone." With that he stood, stepped over the corpse he had been sitting on, and made his way into the inn. Cho shuddered, feeling a cold wind pass through her, and went back to digging, just a little more and she would be satisfied the hole was deep enough. Satisfied no one would ever dig up the Century Blade..

Zhihao poked his spoon at the bowl in front of him, scooped up something green and shovelled it into his mouth. He chewed slowly and without enthusiasm, then swallowed it down with a grimace. It tasted, he imagined, much like an old shoe that had once belonged to man who worked in the sewers. The problem was, the wine wasn't any better. He had never before drunk something that seemed to parch rather than quench.

He sat alone at a table as far from the door as possible, and everyone else in the inn watched him with that look people reserved for unwanted trash. The owner of the inn, a small man with sallow skin, stood at the door to the kitchen. Occasionally a child would appear, either from upstairs or from inside the kitchen, and the owner would shoo the brat away. If there was anything approaching a wife and mother here, Zhihao had seen no sign. There were only two other people in the inn, a man and woman who had the look of merchants. They wore long hooded cloaks, and hunched over their table, trying to keep an eye on Zhihao without meeting his eyes. Usually he loved just this sort of attention, but something was wrong. He found no joy in the discomfort of others, no joy in food, and no joy in wine. Luckily, Zhihao could still remember the sight of the Century Blade's lifeless body, and that certainly gave him a little joy. He could once again say that no living man had ever beaten him.

When the boy walked in he brought the stench of death with him, it wafted in through the open door and followed him all the way to Zhihao's table. He looked neither tired from a day's walking, nor sad or horrified by the things he had seen. It seemed fairly damning evidence that the boy wasn't quite right. But then he claimed to have had a sit down with a shinigami, and Zhihao doubted anyone walked away from that without being changed for the worse.

"I'm supposed to keep you from getting into trouble," the boy said as he plopped onto the chair opposite Zhihao and stared with those ghostly eyes.

"What trouble could I possibly get into?" Zhihao waved his spoon at the mostly empty room. The boy's stare didn't waver for a moment. "Just who's in charge anyway, you or her?"

"Does it matter?"

Zhihao sucked in a loud breath through his teeth and nodded as sagely as he could. "All groups, every group must have a leader. Someone in charge to make the hard decisions. Someone to point the way. Someone who sees the big picture, who knows the true goal."

The boy nodded slowly at Zhihao's words. It was all a little too easy when Zhihao put his mind to it, especially with one as young as the boy. Children were always so impressionable.

"Now I would have thought that you would be our little group's leader. You have the power, after all. You brought us back. You can set us free?"

"I can. But not until I have finished my quest. I need your help."

"Of course. Of course. So surely you should be in charge. Making the decisions. After all, it's your quest we're on."

Again the boy nodded, his gaze finally falling away to stare at the table. Zhihao breathed a sigh of relief at that. He wondered how much of a wedge he could drive between the boy and the woman. Enough, he hoped, that she might stop protecting him.

A thought occurred to Zhihao then. The woman was outside, tending to a decaying corpse as though it deserved some sort of respect. The boy, on the other hand was inside the inn, seated across from Zhihao. The other people in the inn couldn't stop him; even if they tried he could kill them with ease. So what was to stop him cutting the boy's throat right here, freeing them both from this ridiculous quest. It was a question he was still mulling over when the door opened and the woman entered.

She was carrying her looted blouse in one hand, and the Century Blade's sword in the other. Zhihao looked at her properly for the first time; she was pretty enough despite the filth and grime and dried blood. Certainly she was more muscled than he, but a bit of strength was never something to bemoan. With her under-wrappings around her chest he couldn't see much of what lay beneath, but his eyes were drawn to the stitched together wounds. Zhihao had watched her die. He'd seen his own men, those who served under him in Flaming Fist's warband, thrust hard steel into her. He knew where those wounds had come from, and how recently they had been made, and yet they looked almost old and healed over.

Zhihao was still staring at the woman when she dropped the sword on the table and put her arms through the blouse, and tied it together to hide her chest. When he finally looked up from her breasts he found her staring back with a flat gaze. She could think whatever she wanted, he wanted no piece of her.

"I have decided you will be in charge of the group," the boy said as the woman sat down. Zhihao moaned and slumped in his chair.

She nodded at the boy and turned her attention to Zhihao. "Something you said?"

Zhihao shrugged. "Can't you put that sword somewhere else? Shouldn't you have buried it with the old bastard or something?"

The woman shook her head. "I have a plan for this sword. And I'm happy with it on the table. Why?"

"Because I can still remember what it felt like inside my heart." There was a bitter edge in Zhihao's voice and he was fairly certain he was allowed to be bitter. Just the sight of the blade made his chest hurt.

He expected her to poke fun at him, maybe call him some sort of cowardly name-- it was certainly what the men of Flaming Fist's warband would have done. Instead she picked up the sword, and placed it on the bench next to her, out of sight.

"Uh, thank you." Random acts of kindness confused Zhihao and made him nervous. He pushed his half-finished bowl towards her. "Here, try this."

She looked down at the bowl.

"It's just egg soup. I think the cook put some vegetables in it. I hope that's what the green things are."

The woman spooned some into her mouth, grimaced, and quickly spat it back out. Then she turned that hostile gaze back on Zhihao. He held up his hands and pointed a finger at the saucer of wine in front of him. "Try that next."

"No."

Zhihao sighed. "Just try it. We're both already dead so why would I poison you?"

"You're not dead," the boy said. "You're mostly alive."

"Just try it. Please." It occurred to Zhihao then that he couldn't remember the last time he had said please to anyone.

She picked up the saucer and sipped at it, again grimacing. "How can anyone make rice wine taste so bad? It must be off."

Zhihao shook his head. "At least it isn't just me."

"You're only mostly alive," the boy repeated.

Zhihao let out a growl that was all frustration and no words. "I'm starting to wish you hadn't brought me back. Will all food and drink taste like this?"

"Yes."

The woman shrugged and pulled the bowl of egg soup closer, tucking into the cold, starchy liquid. The table lapsed into a sullen silence that almost convinced Zhihao it was worth leaving them both and suffering the consequences of his separation from the boy. Then he remembered the feeling of his heart tearing open, blood spilling down his chest, and decided he could at least try to lift the mood a little before condemning himself to a second painful death.

"Did he really slay a dragon?" Zhihao sipped at his wine, wincing at the taste. Last time he had been to the inn the wine had been sweet with an odd heat that reminded him of cinnamon on the way down. Now it tasted like dry ash. Still, he rarely drank for the taste alone; there were other benefits to a bottle of wine.

"Yes," the woman replied in between slurps of soup. "Messimere, a great serpent, by all accounts."

"How?"

"How does anyone kill a dragon?"

Zhihao shrugged at that. He'd only ever seen one dragon, Cormar, the Onyx Serpent, as it slithered through the sky in search of prey. It was a truly monstrous thing, longer than any creature had cause to be, and somehow flying without the use of wings. Zhihao was not ashamed to admit, at least not to himself, that he had hid under a chicken coop until he was certain the thing had passed on. "I have no idea how anyone could even try."

The woman smiled at him then, a sly tugging of her lips she tried to suppress. "Exactly."

Zhihao rolled his eyes. "This is why I dislike you people, you answer questions with riddles."

She cocked an eyebrow at that. "You people? So it isn't just me, you hate all Ipians?"

"What? No. I meant women. And I don't hate women, just dislike them. As a rule."

She laughed at that, a quiet chuckle, but her eyes never left the soup. "He had a technique, one he refused to share with anyone. He could rain a hundred swords from the sky. Maybe he used that."

"Now that's something I'd have liked to see." Zhihao sipped at the wine again, still hating the taste. "How did he do it?"

"How do you disappear, leaving a mirage of yourself to blow away like petals on the wind?"

Zhihao shook his head. "I'm not telling you that. It's a trade secret."

The woman spread her hands over the table. "And the Century Blade took his secrets to the grave."

"Wait. Was that why he was called the Century Blade?" Zhihao laughed, spilling some of his wine on the table. "I thought it was because of his age."

She shook her head at him. "He earned that name decades ago, long before old age slowed him."

Zhihao nodded. "That's a good point." He was feeling a little lightheaded and gladdened to discover that he could still get drunk, despite the cursed taste it left in his mouth.

"How are we paying for this?" the woman asked, still spooning soup into her mouth. "I thought your friends robbed you while you were dead?"

"They did. But they didn't do a thorough job of it. No one ever thinks to look in the crotch pocket."

The woman shot him an incredulous glance.

"It's true. Many men do it, hide a small purse down their pants where no one is willing to look."

"Except you?"

"In desperate times. Don't worry, I've long since given up robbing inns. It's bad for business."

The woman pushed the finished bowl of soup away, washed it down with a swig from Zhihao's wine bottle, and belched into her hand. Then she fixed her gaze on the boy across the table, and there was a glint in her eyes, something hard and determined.

"I'm in charge, you said?" the woman asked.

"As long as we move towards my goal. The emperor must die."

The woman nodded. "We will. But I have a duty to perform along the way." She turned to Zhihao. "You know where Flaming Fist is? Where his camp is?"

"Yes." Zhihao had a sudden feeling he didn't like where the conversation was going.

"Take us to him."

He laughed at her. "Vengeance, is it?"

"Justice."

"There's no such thing in Hosa. Justice of the sword is just murder by another name."

The woman's stare was as hard as the line of her lips. "I don't care what you call it. For the oath that I swore the Century Blade, I'm going to kill Flaming Fist."

Chapter 8

One thing Cho liked about inns in Hosa was that people never cared if you slept in the common room, in fact it was expected. There were usually some rooms available but as long as you bought some food and wine, most innkeeps were happy to let you pass out there amidst the other customers. Of course those same innkeeps took no responsibility for any loss of goods while you were asleep. Luckily for Cho the only other guests were merchants and not likely to rob them. Of course, neither Cho nor her two companions carried anything of worth other than their weapons, and few people knew just how much her swords were truly worth. Some prices could not be paid in gold. Some prices could only be paid in lives.

Morning found them bleary eyed and poorly rested. Cho had moved her chair to the wall and slept with her head back, earning a ferocious crick in her neck. The Emerald Wind flopped down face first onto the table and slept in puddle equal parts wine and drool. But the boy slept not at all. He was wide eyed when Cho let sleep claim her, and in the same position when she woke, still staring at her across the table. When she quizzed him about it, Ein just shrugged and offered no excuse.

They breakfasted on eggs again, boiled this time, though still tasting of dried mud. It appeared the inn kept a chicken coop nearby and Flaming Fist's men had let it be. Ein ate sparingly, picking at a single egg, and leaving it unfinished. The Emerald Wind had no such qualms and ate as many as he was given, complaining about the taste with each bite.

They left the inn early, the sun was low but bright. Bruised clouds gathered in clumps on the horizon, and a meandering breeze promised a slighter cooler day than the last. They set their feet towards the sun and walked on. Cho paused briefly to offer one last prayer at the Century Blade's grave, and she promised justice for what had been done to him. She hoped he was watching from the stars. She hoped he'd approve. Likely he would council against it though, saying there was no use risking her life to honour one that was long past caring. It didn't matter, she'd carry out her justice even if the old master appeared as a yokai and forbid it; not that Cho could imagine the Century Blade coming back as a vengeful spirit. Besides, it wasn't just him she wanted justice for. Flaming Fist was responsible for the deaths of the Red Bull and Hundred Cuts. He was responsible for everyone who died when Kaishi burned. He was responsible for yet another broken oath and Cho would make him pay for it.

Cho took one last look back down the road they had travelled yesterday. Kaishi looked fine. The bodies staked by the roadside were gone, taken down sometime in the night. The fires had burnt out and the smoke cleared. The wall stood unbreached. The city on its little hill looked as alive as any other and, judging by the slow trickle of traffic now on the road, it would soon be thriving once more despite the deaths of so many of its people. It seemed a horrid waste to Cho that so many of them had died in a failed attempt to protect the city, and yet just a few days later it soldiered on as though nothing had happened. She turned her back on Kaishi then, and put it, and her failed oath, firmly in the past. Her future promised to be just as violent.

For a long time they walked in silence, passing farmers and merchants on the road, some of whom offered a polite greeting, and others gave them wary distance. It was likely the clothing, Cho decided. The Emerald Wind had his faded scale armour, long ago painted the colour of emeralds and stained with mud and blood he hadn't bothered to wash away. Cho wore her stolen blouse and trousers, taken from one of Flaming Fist's men. It fit her poorly and made her look more vagabond than hero. Worse still was the way it itched and she could only hope the corpse she had taken the clothes from had not had lice. She determined to buy some new clothing as soon as they next entered a city, preferably something of Ipian make.

The Emerald Wind was a sullen grump ranging just a few paces ahead of them to claim some measure of solitude. Given the number of bottles he had emptied last night, Cho guessed it to be a hangover and one he was unlikely to recover from quickly. She was happy for the quiet though, it gave her time to reflect on her situation and all that had happened. It also gave her time to nurture the flame of hatred and anger, turning it into a blaze she would use to fight Flaming Fist. Ein struggled to keep pace, but did not complain. Despite his obvious exertion, he did not sweat, nor slow, nor even loosen his bright red scarf. He hugged his little bag tight to his chest and soldiered on, eyes locked on the eastern horizon.

Eventually they left the road, The Emerald Wind silently veering away north from the beaten track. If he followed any track at all, Cho could not see them. She expected to see grass trampled flat, dirt churned to mud or pounded into miniature mountain ranges. But there was none of that. They waded through long blade grass, feet squelching in the mud below.

"Are you sure about this?"

The Emerald Wind startled at her words. He turned to her then, stopping and rubbing at his face. He yawned and nodded at the same time, before settling into a squint as if the southern sun was too bright all of a sudden. "Fist always makes camp at the standing stones. He thinks being so close to history makes him a part of it." He shrugged. "Complete crap if you ask me. It's this way."

Cho stopped and put a hand on Ein's shoulder to pull him to a halt. The tingling numbness that spread through her, it felt as though she were being sucked into a cold, black void. She quickly pulled her hand away and squeezed it into a fist a few times. "There are no tracks. Where are you leading us?"

The Emerald Wind nodded. "Very true. It's a small wonder. It's still this way though. Fist and what's left of his band have returned to their camp. I left some things there, I wonder if the bastards have gotten round to filching any of it yet."

Cho kept still, trying to decide if the bandit was telling the truth or leading them into some sort of trap. He had spoken to the two men back at the inn, asked them to kill Ein. It was not beyond the realms of possibility that he might have a new plan to see them both dead. But then he had ample opportunity to kill the boy back at the inn, while Cho was burying the Century Blade. The Emerald Wind could have simply stabbed the boy himself. Cho glanced down at Ein again, still and quiet, resolute and determined. She couldn't deny there was something off about the boy that went much deeper than his apparent ability to bring the dead back to mostly life.

"Are we going or not?" The Emerald Wind asked. "I know you want your revenge…"

"Justice."

The Emerald Wind threw up his hands. "Call it whatever you want. I still think it's a bad idea. You don't know Fist. He's a monster. We're already on one suicide mission, why tempt fate by throwing in a second?"

"Are you leading us the right way?" Cho asked again. She kept her voice as flat as possible, but there was anger there, creeping in and sharpening her words.

"Yes! How many times must I say it? Those two you killed back at the inn said Fist was back at the camp. We'll reach it by nightfall… Probably. It's set up on a hill overlooking everything nearby. We won't be able to approach without being seen, and we have no idea how many of his men are left."

"You sound scared."

The Emerald Wind barked out a laugh. "Fear is healthy. I saw the Century Blade kill fifty men. Men I drank, ate, and fought with. Maybe not the best warriors in the world, but skilled enough to make a living out of it. He cut them down with barely any effort. Do you know how long I lasted against the old man?"

"Yes," Ein said quietly, pale eyes fixed on The Emerald Wind.

"Seconds. One breath, two, then that sword sliding into my heart." The Emerald Wind turned away and started walking, cutting his way through the long grass with angry strides. "A man as good as that, who can beat me with such ease, and Fist killed him. That right there is a man worth being scared of. Fear of him has kept me alive for a long time. Now that I'm only mostly alive I'm even more scared."

Cho quickened her pace to catch up with The Emerald Wind, well aware that Ein was labouring to keep up. "He didn't beat the Century Blade alone. Fist's men swarmed him. Ein saw it."

"That's not as much comfort as you might think."

Ein caught up on the other side of the bandit, and stared up at him. Then The Emerald Wind stopped and his image blew away like petals on a wind that wasn't there. Cho startled as he reappeared on the other side of her, calmly walking on as though nothing had happened. Ein stepped in to fill the space he had left.

"You said he's a monster. Flaming Fist. So why follow him?" Ein asked.

The Emerald Wind laughed bitterly. "The thing about this world, the way to survive, is you either become the worst monster you can be, or you find someone else willing to be an even worse monster, and make yourself useful. I learned early in life there are some things I'm just not willing to do, to others and to myself. So I found someone who was."

"How very heroic," Cho said, keeping pace. She rested one hand on Peace's at all times.

"I never claimed to be any sort of hero," The Emerald Wind said. "Quite the opposite actually."

"But you can be," Ein said. "You can live up to the stories I read about you. The good ones."

The Emerald Wind shook his head. "The Nash have a saying, boy. Tomorrow is just more of yesterday. I'm no one's hero. The sooner you realise that, the sooner you can release me from this suicidal quest of yours. Because I'm not going to help you kill the Emperor of Ten Kings. I'm going to betray you the first chance I get, and if that doesn't work I'll take the second chance, and the third, and every other chance I can find." With that The Emerald Wind stalked ahead, putting some distance between them.

Cho and Ein walked in silence for a while, a few steps behind the bandit. "I believe he is telling the truth," Cho said eventually. She knew full well that the best option available to them was to give The Emerald Wind his second death before he became a problem.

Ein shook his head. "It takes a lifetime of evil to be a villain, and only one moment of good to be a hero."

That seemed to be all the boy would say on the matter, and Cho spent some time mulling over his words. It seemed to her the boy had it backwards.

They didn't reach Flaming Fist's camp that night, and The Emerald Wind blamed Ein for setting such a slow pace. It seemed unfair to blame a boy for the length of his legs, but the bandit was in a foul mood and it only seemed to get worse the closer they got to their destination. Cho almost believed he didn't want to return to his life of banditry. Almost.

There were no dreams where Zhihao went when he closed his eyes, only darkness. It was, perhaps, the best sleep he had had in many years. Usually his dreams were full of the things he had done and seen. Sometimes a reoccurring dream from his childhood: the death of his cat, a little black moggy with bright eyes that had followed him everywhere he went in Ban Ping. Some people claimed their dreams were a welcome escape to a better world, or a pathway into their true selves, a way to fathom what their own minds hid from them. Others still, claimed dreams to be portents of the future. Zhihao believed none of it. His dreams were nightmares sent to torture him for all the wrong he had visited upon the world, and all the wrong he continued to visit upon it despite those tortures. So he counted it a welcome respite that he no longer dreamed, and believed that perhaps being only mostly alive came with some benefits.

But he woke, surrounded by the dark with only their small, crackling fire for light, and all thoughts of respite fled. The boy was watching him. Not from across the fire, nor even from his own cloth cloak. The boy was sitting close, just an arm's length away, and watching him. In the dark his stare looked empty, like two pools of icy death reflecting nothing at all.

Zhihao's breath caught in his throat and he found himself unable to move. He was locked in place, watching the boy watching him. Fear had ever come easy to Zhihao, and his miraculous resurrection did nothing to stem the tide of it that rose up now and threatened to wash all reason from him. He tried to move, struggled against his own flesh, and found himself a prisoner of whatever terror it was held him in place.

Very slowly, the boy leaned forwards. He wore no expression, just that blank, fathomless stare that led all the way to the void between the stars. When he finally spoke, his voice was a whisper so quiet Zhihao barely heard it.

"I am the worst monster you know."

The boy held Zhihao's stare for a moment that seemed a lifetime, and then turned away and crawled back to his cloak where he curled into a ball.

Zhihao found himself able to move again and immediately rolled away and rose to his feet. He was just about to launch into a sprint to anywhere but there, when he realised the truth of it. He couldn't run. He was bound to the boy until one or both of them were dead. He crept back to his own pallet and sank down onto his arse. Accepting that sleep was well and truly beyond him, Zhihao settled in to take his turn keeping watch, though in truth he watched nothing but the boy. Worst of all, the boy watched him back, never sleeping nor even blinking. All night they stared at each other until the sun broke free of the horizon.

Chapter 9

Fist's lookouts saw them coming, just as The Emerald Wind had said they would. It was impossible for them not to with the sun high and the morning bright as it was, and the approach to camp long and wide open. They walked over flattened blade grass, crushed into mud and dried into unstable, crumbling footing. It was the most direct route up the steep the hill, and the only one with an opening in the stakes set around the top. It seemed to Cho that Flaming Fist knew his stuff when it came to defending a position, and the nearby forest had felt many an axe to create the fortifications.

With the hill so steep, Cho could see little of the camp at its summit. For all she knew they could be walking right into the midst of an army ready for combat and bristling with energy and sharp objects. If that was the case then so be it, she would walk in with her head high and Peace sharp and ready for the bloody work at hand. Her sworn oath would not let her turn back. She could not abandon this one.

Ein stumbled on the approach, stubbing a toe on a rock. He didn't curse, nor make a sound at the pain, and neither Cho nor The Emerald Wind stopped to help him back up. Cho had no wish to repeat the feeling from the last time she had touched the boy, the memory of it was deterrent enough. The boy got his feet back under him and hurried to catch up, walking alongside The Emerald Wind despite the man constantly shying away from him. Cho walked behind them, readying herself for the fight.

She counted only three lookouts. One was a fat man with hairy jowls, a crooked nose, and lank grey hair. The other two were thinner and looked like brothers, perhaps even twins, both sporting heavily lined faces weathered near to leather by too many years under an uncaring sun. The easiest jobs were often left to the oldest soldiers. Even so, it seemed a scant number to be watching such a large camp.

"Who is that?" shouted the fat man as they drew closer.

Far from the busy hive of activity Cho expected, the camp seemed more full of ghosts than soldiers. She saw a couple of dozen tents, flapping in the slight breeze, and almost as many fire pits, long since burned to cold ash. A single line of dark smoke twisted upwards farther in, and the smell on the breeze was not of cooking but of unwashed bodies. It was far too small a camp to house the hundreds who had sacked Kaishi. Cho wondered if Flaming Fist had designed it that way, knowing that so many would die in the assault. Above the camp loomed the standing stones, each as tall as twenty men, with stories carved onto every surface. Together they told the history of Hosa; all the wars, all of the marriages between the great kings and queens, all of the plagues that ravaged the lands. The standing stones were Hosa's history carved into rock to last an eternity.

The Emerald Wind slogged up the last rise to where the stakes stopped and the two brothers waited, their swords drawn. Dull steel in dull hands made for a poor defence. Along with a nearly empty camp. Cho was beginning to reconsider the idea that she might not make it out alive.

"You're dead," the two brothers said in unison as The Emerald Wind approached, their voices so similar they sounded as one. Both faces held the same look of utter confusion.

The Emerald Wind stopped in front of the two brothers. "Do I look dead to you? Either of you? What about you, Tuntun? Do I look dead to you?" He was almost shouting and his voice was attracting attention. Two more of Flaming Fist's men appeared from around a tent and stared towards them. Cho stopped behind The Emerald Wind, her left hand pulling Peace's saya back a little, her right sitting on the hilt, ready to draw and strike all at once.

"No." The fat bandit's jowls shook with his head. "But… You have to be."

"Why? Because Kui said so? Kui just wanted you to think that so he could steal my fucking rings." The Emerald Wind waved a hand in front of Tuntun's face. "Where is the thieving little toad?"

"Who?"

"Kui!" The Emerald Wind shouted. "Little bastard with a nose that looks like it was squashed onto his face."

The brothers and the fat bandit shared a look. They were blocking the entrance to the camp, and Cho counted four more bandits, all armed, moving their way. "How many of your people are left?" she asked.

"A couple dozen," said Tuntun, leaning around The Emerald Wind to ogle her. "Only ones ain't deserted. It's not the like old days anymore. Who are you anyway?"

The Emerald Wind glanced back at Cho and Ein then and Cho saw in his face he meant to betray them both. It was in the way his eyes passed over them, not even acknowledging he had seen them. "I have no idea, feel free to kill them." He might have been their superior in life, but now The Emerald Wind was only mostly alive, and the men of Flaming Fist's camp had seen him die. They didn't move.

Ein stepped up beside The Emerald Wind and touched his hand. The man jumped backwards, a haunted grimace on his face. Cho was certain then that he felt the same thing she did when touching the boy. He felt the same empty, sucking void.

"You are bound to me," Ein said as he fiddled nervously with his little red scarf.

"What's that?" asked Tuntun, echoed by the brothers. The three guards stared at Ein.

The Emerald Wind glared down at the boy as though he were some sort of monster, fear incarnate.

"What do you think will happen if I die?" Ein continued. "What do you think will happen to you?"

For a moment the guards and The Emerald Wind stood almost still, staring at Ein. Beyond the tents, Cho could see the bandits' reinforcements readying weapons and turning towards the camp entrance.

The Emerald Wind sighed. "Shit."

The Emerald Wind disappeared, blown away on the breeze. The bandits in the camp were rightly shocked, but they had little time to react. Almost as soon as he vanished, he reappeared behind the lookouts and drove the spiked hilt of a sword through the back of Tuntun's neck. He used his other sword to hook one of the brother's legs, and pull him off his feet. Cho stepped into the skirmish, drawing Peace and cutting one brother in half before reversing her grip and driving the blade down into the other brother's heart. Two more souls taken by her sword.

Shouts of warning erupted from the tents. Four more bandits charging at them, and more still stepping out of tents. The Emerald Wind pulled his sword from Tuntun's neck and let the quivering body fall.

"Never liked the bastard, always so proud of his silky blonde hair."

Cho glanced just once at the fat body. "His hair is grey as a rainy day."

The Emerald Wind shrugged and disappeared on the breeze again, and reappeared next to the four bandits charging them. He kicked the first to the ground, and then hooked the second's blade away before slashing the man's ribs. Cho rushed to close the gap. Peace danced left, parrying a blow, before she stepped in and drove the sword through the bandit's chest. His wrinkled mouth worked open and closed as he died, blood dribbling out and down his chest. Cho stepped away, withdrawing Peace from the body and flicking the blood clear.

Another bandit rushed her, screaming and flailing with two knives, each curved and serrated. Cho took two steps back, her sword stance changing with each step, before the man made the mistake of overcommitting to a thrust. She ducked the wild lunge and brought Peace down in diagonal arc across his body. The bandit toppled, screaming, as one of his legs fell away and blood gushed out of the wound.

The Emerald Wind cut a swath of sliced flesh and severed limbs through the attackers. His hooked swords slashed open one man's belly, and then pulled the legs out from under another. Then he hooked them together, swinging them around his head in a wide arc that left three of the slower bandits with slashed faces. And every time the bandits thought they had their former comrade, he vanished, leaving behind a fading image of himself. The bandits were neither smart enough, nor quick enough to understand what was happening, and many of them died each time The Emerald Wind reappeared. Cho saw him do it time and time again, yet still she could not fathom how he managed such a trick. But then, The Emerald Wind could not set a blade humming with just a whisper, to cut through metal and flesh alike. They each had their secret techniques.

Half a dozen more bandits joined the fray, and yet their numbers dwindled. The Emerald Wind showed no remorse or hesitation cutting down the men he had so recently fought alongside, and proved more than capable for the slaughter. Cho backed him up everywhere the battle moved, stepping in to engage and distract, Peace moving in practised slashes. These were no legendary warriors, just hardened thugs, flailing about with weapons they didn't understand. They didn't stand a chance, yet they came on regardless, driven by fear or bravado.

As Cho weaved through the slaughter, limbs and bodies falling with every step, she noticed Ein following them into the camp. He threaded between the fallen bandits, blank eyes staring into the faces of the dead, then flicking his gaze back to her and The Emerald Wind. He seemed at home there, amongst the dead. She lost sight of him as she turned to meet another bandit, lunging in close enough that she could smell his rancid breath and feel the heat of the body as it slid away from her blade.

"WHAT IS THIS?" The voice was a roar of power and fury, and all the fighting stopped, as though all the those locked in this battle to the death were actually just naughty children caught by their parents. Even The Emerald Wind stopped mid-swing, his opponent visibly exhaling with relief.

Flaming Fist was standing under the awning of a giant tent, a look of pure rage on his face. He looked older somehow than the last time Cho saw him in Kaishi. There was more grey in his hair, and more wrinkles on his face. Atrocities could do that to a person, whether they were committing them or just witnessing. They could age a man unnaturally, and Flaming Fist had undoubtedly committed many atrocities at Kaishi. Nevertheless, he still stood tall and straight-backed, and his very presence seemed to command authority. Cho could easily see why other men followed Flaming Fist, even knowing the sort of evil he was.

Cho saw The Emerald Wind take advantage of the distraction, moving quickly and burying the spiked hilt of one of his swords in the forehead of the last remaining bandit. Unless there were others hiding in their tents, only Flaming Fist remained. Cho knelt down and wiped Peace on the tunic of the man she had just killed.

"You're dead, boy." Flaming Fist shouted. His voice was like hearing a distant rock slide when you live at the bottom of a mountain.

The Emerald Wind grinned and glanced at Ein. "Don't worry, boy, he's talking to me. Everyone thinks I'm dead. Well…"

" I saw you die." Flaming Fist took a lumbering step towards them. "You think I don't remember that?"

"I should hope you remember it." The Emerald Wind twirled his swords in his hands. "It was only three days ago."

Flaming Fist paused and held The Emerald Wind's stare for a moment then he turned his gaze on Cho. "You're dead too."

She nodded. "I came back. I am the spirit of justice."

"Vengeance," The Emerald Wind coughed.

Cho ignored him. "I am the anguished hope of all those you have murdered. I am the last gasp of a city in flames demanding retribution. My name is Itami Cho, and by my oath sworn below the stars I will have justice for the murder of the Century Blade."

Flaming Fist laughed. "Ghosts. Haunting my camp." He reached down into the bucket near his feet and pulled out a chain, dripping with oil. "Well I'm no monk, but I'll deal with you the way I deal with anyone who comes calling for revenge." He slowly wrapped the chain around his right hand, thick links clanking against each other. Then he reached down again and pulled a second chain from the bucket and wrapped that one around his left hand. Finally, he clenched both hands into a fist and punched them against each other. The chains sparked and burst into flames, wreathing his hands in the blaze.

Chapter 10

Whispering Blade vs Flaming Fist

"He's all yours, Whispering Blade," Zhihao said, affecting a bow and taking a step backwards. He found the boy waiting for him, somehow having crept closer while they were all distracted. He could still remember the boy's words from the previous night and just the memory of them sent a chill through him. But for once the boy's eyes had another target; he was staring with quiet determination at Flaming Fist.

The woman shook her head as she pulled the Century Blade's sword from the strap around her back, and carefully placed the weapon on the ground, out of the way.

"I never said I'd help you," Zhihao continued. "In fact I counselled against even coming here. Good luck, I say, and I hope you both kill each other."

Flaming Fist lumbered forward past the standing stones. He looked older, grey shocks running through his hair. Lines in his face where before there were none. He wasn't the only one either, Zhihao had cut down three men he knew well from before, and each one seemed to have aged. Clearly something had happened at the camp.

Fist's hands were ablaze, the skin blackened and smoking, but that was as far as injury went. It was a marvel Zhihao had seen a dozen times. By all accounts the man should be writhing on the ground, screaming at the pain of burning skin, but he never so much as flinched. And the wounds on his hands always healed quickly, a matter of days though it should take months or years. It was a marvel, but not a surprise. Everyone had their secrets.

As Flaming Fist approached, Whispering Blade closed the gap and struck first with an upward slash and then a circle in the air and another slash down. Fist brought up his flaming hands, and brushed the strikes away with a sound like a sword being forged. He lunged forwards, but Whispering Blade floated backwards across the packed earth and out of reach. Fist stamped across the ground more slowly then, and swung both fiery hands at her head. She ducked away from the first strike, and blocked the second on the katana, turning the blade sideways to brace against the force of it.

"Mistake," Zhihao breathed, even as the proof of it became apparent.

Flaming Fist quickly seized her blade in a chained fist, but Whispering Blade flipped her grip and pulled the sword away, causing the metal to spark and squeal so loud it hurt Zhihao's ears, and left a trail of wispy smoke following the blade as she stepped clear.

Zhihao doubted Whispering Blade would make the same mistake again. He also doubted Flaming Fist would be so slow to follow up again. He knew now what each combatant would need to do to win. Whispering Blade needed to keep her distance, find a way to strike at Fist's body rather than his hands. Flaming Fist just needed to get in close, if he could just get one hand on the woman she would burn. Zhihao had seen it before and couldn't forget the sight of a man's eyeballs melting out of his skull while he was still alive. He had no love for Whispering Blade, but that was a fate he wouldn't wish on anyone.

They clashed again. Flaming Fist threw a jab at the woman's chest, but she rolled just under it, jumped to her feet, and ran back another few paces. Zhihao doubted she realised just how close she had come to the end.

"Your hair is burning," he called out, laughing. In truth her hair was only singed, but she glared at him all the same.

"Will she win?" the boy asked, his voice quiet against the lull in combat.

Zhihao glanced down to find the boy standing close again, too close. He took a sly step sideways. "She should really draw her second sword," he told the boy. "With two blades she stands more chance of breaking through Fist's defence, or at least getting around it."

They clashed again. This time Whispering Blade feinted left, and then spun right, extending her blade toward Fist's legs, but he was too quick and experienced for that. He punched the attack away and then seized her arm. Whispering Blade's scream tore through the camp. Tents flapped and pulled free from their pegs, and at least one camp fire went up in a whoosh of embers and ash. Zhihao felt it too, his face battered by a rush of air. He squinted against it, and when he opened his eyes again he saw Flaming Fist down on one knee, grimacing, one hand half buried in the earth, extinguished, bracing himself against the force of the scream. Whispering Blade noticed her stolen blouse had caught fire and wrestled to free herself from it . At last she pulled free and threw the fiery scraps to the ground.

With only her under-wrappings, unwashed and grey with sweat and grim, protecting her, and her left arm a motley of red and black bloody burns, Whispering Blade looked every part the hero from the many tales of her he now had to admit might be true. She backed away as Flaming Fist struggled back to his feet.

"You should help her," the boy said. His voice wavered with fear, and Zhihao was glad the boy's eyes were locked on the battle and not him.

"Oh no. This is a duel to the death. It's all very personal."

Both fighters rushed to meet each other, but this time Flaming Fist struck first. He threw a haymaker with his flaming right fist, and when Whispering Blade ducked it, he followed with a punishing jab to her chest that sent her tumbling into a heap near the standing stones.

For a moment Whispering Blade didn't move. At last she spasmed and coughed up a clump of bloody dirt. She slowly climbed to her feet and clutched her ribs with both hands, struggling to draw breath. Zhihao couldn't help but try to will her to fight on before Fist ended it, but when Zhihao looked over at the man, he was growling and trying to pull the woman's sword out of his left leg. When at last the blade was removed, the wound pulsed blood, but it wasn't enough to stop Fist. He threw the sword into the tent behind him, and staggered towards Whispering Blade, who was clinging to a standing stone as though it were the only thing keeping her upright.

"Draw your other sword!" Zhihao's voice was barely a whisper, certainly not enough to reach the woman. It was almost as though she had forgotten she was carrying two blades. "Draw your other sword, damn you!" But still the woman just stood with Flaming Fist bearing down on her, one hand still ablaze.

"She won't," the boy said sadly. "Whispering Blade never once drew her second sword."

Zhihao looked down at him then. The boy was about to watch one of his champions killed, likely burned by a mad warlord who liked to set his own hands on fire, and yet there was nothing the boy could do. Powerless save for the strength of the hero he brought back to life.

"Shit!" Zhihao stepped through the world, leaving an image of himself behind to scatter on the wind. He reappeared next to the battered old tent where Whispering Blade had dropped the Century Blade's sword. Zhihao slipped his boot under the scabbard and kicked out towards Whispering Blade. "Hey, woman!"

Both Whispering Blade and Flaming Fist looked up at the shout, and Zhihao felt like stepping back through the world again and reappearing anywhere else but there. She saw the sword spinning through the air and launched herself, though it looked like it took all the effort she had left. She caught the scabbard in her left hand, and pulled the Century Blade's sword free, and buried it to the hilt in Flaming Fist's chest even as he tried to block it.

Whispering Blade hit the ground in a puff of dust and didn't move. The big warlord was still on his feet, teetering like a punch-drunk pugilist. Zhihao approached slowly, leaning in to get a look at the man's face. Flaming Fist was trying to say something, blowing bloody bubbles with every word. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed backwards, his skull thudding on the packed ground.

Zhihao ignored the woman, unmoving as she was, and approached just out of striking range of Flaming Fist. He prodded the big warlord with a boot, and then followed up with a swift kick. There was no reaction. The blood from both of Fist's wounds slowed to a trickle and then stopped flowing. Zhihao crept closer. Flaming Fist's right hand continued to burn, the smell of roasting flesh strong and pungent. It was a smell Zhihao had experienced more than enough of for his lifetime. He reached down, wrapped a hand around the hilt of the Century Blade's sword, and pulled it free of Fist's chest. Zhihao raised the sword, and plunged it back down into Fist's chest.

"Right. He's dead," Zhihao announced with cheer. He turned away from the body and decided to quickly put some distance between them, just in case he was wrong. Or just in case coming back from the dead was turning into a common occurrence. "Well done."

He stopped by Whispering Blade, and knelt down next to her. She wasn't moving either.

Chapter 11

"Can't you bring her back again?" Zhihao asked.

"No. It only works once."

"So I'm not immortal?"

"Immortality is subjective. Your stories will always be told. Your legend will never die. But your body can. If you die again, I can't bring you back."

"Shit. So she's…"

"She's not dead."

Cho opened her eyes to see both Ein fiddling with his red scarf, and The Emerald Wind staring down at her. Above them she could see one of the standing stones, stretching high into a sky the colour of a bruised plum. The light was fading. In that brief moment the world seemed at a peace… of sorts. Then the pain flooded in and she had to stop herself from screaming. Gritting her teeth helped, though not much. Each second was agony. Her left arm felt as though it were on fire, and it hurt to breathe, a sure sign of at least one broken rib. She summoned all the energy she could muster and attempted to sit up. The pain convinced her it was futile.

"Are you certain she isn't dead?" The Emerald Wind asked.

Ein glanced up. "She's mostly alive."

Cho winced as a twinge of pain lanced through her chest. "Is Flaming Fist dead?"

The Emerald Wind nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes. Quite dead."

Ein's pale stare moved again, towards the body of Flaming Fist. Cho managed to shake her head. "Don't bring him back."

"He would make a valuable ally," Ein said. "He's strong…"

"No!" Cho said it with such force it felt as though something inside of her snapped, opening up a new space inside her to fill with pain..

"We'd just have to kill him again anyway," The Emerald Wind said. He stood from his spot at her side and stretched his arms. "Flaming Fist isn't…" He paused and a grin spread across his face. "Wasn't the sort of man to follow anyone. Bound to you or not, boy, he would go his own way. And his own way would most likely lead to trying to kill us again. Besides, without his life sustaining his technique, his right arm is already burning to ash."

Ein stared at The Emerald Wind. "I could still…"

"Try and I will stop you." The Emerald Wind dipped his head to the boy. "For her sake, of course."

They held each other's gaze for a while, before The Emerald Wind abruptly coughed and moved away. Ein turned back to Cho. "You're hurt."

Cho's skin was blackened in places, cracked and oozing something fouler than blood. The burns spread up her arm, but below her elbow she could make out the shape of a hand burned into her flesh. A permanent mark left by a man who had come so close to beating her. A final and indisputable proof that she had fought against Flaming Fist. And won. It hurt, but it was a pain she would bear with pride, knowing that she had found justice for the Century Blade. And once the sun had set, and the stars gazed down upon them, she would pray for him. There were plenty of stories of the dead speaking to the living through the stars, and Cho hoped she could have one last conversation with him. She hoped he would approve of her measure of justice.

"I can help." Before she could stop him, Ein placed one hand on her left arm and the other on her chest and held them there. The pain vanished in an instant, replaced by that same numb, tingling void so close to pain yet not. It felt as though her whole body had fallen asleep. She drew in a deep breath for the first time since waking, feeling the air fill her lungs. It felt like new life spreading through her veins, new strength coursing into her limbs.

"Well that's fairly unnerving," The Emerald Wind said, staring at Cho's chest. "And I say that even after all the other unnerving things I've seen in the past few days."

Cho managed to raise her head enough to look down at her chest. A huge, purple and brown bruise spread out from where Ein touched her, showing through the gaps in her under-wrappings, and nearly encompassing the left side of her body. Her arm too, seemed to have sped along in its healing, most of the burn fading to an angry red, leaving only the imprint of Flaming Fist's fingers against her skin.

When Ein finally took his hands away, Cho felt the pain rush back in to fill the void, but it was less than before. She could breathe without the stabbing in her chest, and her arm no longer seemed to be both freezing and burning all at once. She even managed to sit up without screaming, needing no help from her companions. The bruising on her chest was tender to the touch, and hurt when she flexed, but the pain was no longer severe enough to subdue her. She ran her right hand over her left arm, feeling the rough, raw skin. It was no worse than a bad case of sun burn. She got her feet beneath her and stood, stretching and flexing the aches away."

"You can heal us?" Cho asked, still testing the limits of her movement. She needed to know how far she could push her body while it was recovering.

"No." Ein stood and brushed the dirt from his trousers, the ragged end of his scarf in his hands once more. "You aren't healed. You're just further along in your recovery. And I can only do it once." He turned towards The Emerald Wind. "You aren't immortal."

The man threw up his hands. "Well that's a shame, because it would make your little quest to kill the emperor a whole lot easier if he couldn't kill us in the process. Are we done here? Can we leave? Fist is already starting to stink, and he didn't smell pleasant in the first place."

Cho summoned her humility and said the words before she could decide otherwise. "Thank you, Zhihao Cheng." She bowed deeply from the waist.

"What?" The word snapped out of his mouth, and The Emerald Wind's cheeks flushed red. "For what? Not getting involved? No need to thank me, it was no effort really."

Cho shook her head. "You saved me."

The Emerald Wind snorted. "I did not. You saved yourself, woman. All I did was pass you a sword, and only then because I'd rather see that old bastard dead than you."

Ein took up the argument, a smile spreading across his face. "I told you you could be a hero."

"I'm not a hero!"

"You were my hero, a long time ago." Cho noticed the woman then, standing next to the farthest standing stone. She was tall and beautiful, with dark hair that cascaded from her head almost to her knees, and bright blue eyes that shone in the dwindling light. She wore matching faded red britches and shirt, with a suit of green scale over her chest. A naginata rested in the crook of her arm, the wooden pole as long as she was tall, and the blade atop it almost half that again. An Ipian weapon, it reminded Cho of her homeland. She had spent four months training with one just like it, before she discovered her skill with a katana.

The Emerald Wind didn't turn around to look at the woman, instead fixing his stare on the corpse of Flaming Fist. "Long ago?" His voice was quiet, wavering. "It was just yesterday. And I wasn't a hero. I just got a lot of people killed so you'd think I was. Fist always knew exactly where you'd gone. He used it as an excuse to attack towns."

Cho looked at the woman again and saw the similarities. For some reason it surprised her that Flaming Fist truly did have a daughter. She had suspected it was a lie; unable to see the man as anything more than a thieving warlord.

"Is he really dead?" the woman asked.

"Yes," Zhihao said, staring at the corpse.

"Have you checked?"

Cho saw a frown pass across The Emerald Wind's face, but he swallowed it down, and nodded. "Yes, of course I checked. I even put a new hole in him to be sure. You are finally free, Yanmei." He smiled then, though Cho thought it was more to himself than to anyone else.

"I've been free for years, Zhizhi." Yanmei walked towards them and Cho instinctively looked around for a weapon. Her second sword was still secured in its saya, but she hadn't drawn it against Flaming Fist, so she certainly wouldn't draw it now. She needed to find Peace, and wouldn't feel complete until the blade was with her once more. The swords were a set, never to be parted. But Yanmei didn't look like she was getting ready to avenge her father.

"After you died there was no one around to spirit me away," Yanmei said. "No one willing to help me escape. So I stopped trying. He'd come for me wherever I went anyway. He'd kill everyone and drag me back just like every time before. So I played the dutiful daughter and joined his little army. What was left of it anyway. But I guess that's nobody now. You killed everyone who was left."

The Emerald Wind shrugged. "I never really did like any of them." He was still staring at the corpse of Flaming Fist, refusing to look at the man's daughter.

Cho moved around the body, glancing at the sword embedded in its chest. The flames around his right fist were starting to gutter, and The Emerald Wind was certainly right about the smell. She ducked into a nearby tent and found Peace lying in the dirt.

"Well, he's dead now. I suppose you can do whatever you want," The Emerald Wind said as Cho emerged from the tent. Yanmei still stood, her naginata nestled against her body. Cho slid Peace back into its saya, next to her other sword.

"Thank you," Yanmei said, bowing her head to Cho just slightly. Cho returned the respect, but didn't take her eyes from the woman. She couldn't be certain there wasn't vengeance on her mind.

Ein said, "Why didn't you desert when the others did?" He was hugging his little pack to his chest again.

"Because my father would have come after me. He was always so protective. He named me Yanmei, the Last Bloom of Summer. Sometimes he treated me as his legacy, training me to take over the warband. Other times he treated me like a delicate flower to be sheltered and protected at all costs." She turned her attention to The Emerald Wind once more. "He never knew about us. I don't think he would have mourned you so if he did."

"Mourned me?" The Emerald Wind laughed at that, but it seemed a shrill outburst, passing dangerously close to hysteria. He aimed a savage kick at the corpse. "I think you overestimate how much I meant to him."

There was a look in Yanmei's eyes, a savageness not there before. Cho rested a hand on Peace's hilt and winced again at the pain in her ribs. She wasn't certain Yanmei would attack, nor certain The Emerald Wind deserved protecting. But she would protect him because he had earned that much. Despite his claims otherwise, he had helped her, saved her even, when it would have been far easier to do nothing. Perhaps, Cho had to admit, Ein was right about the man.

"Why didn't you just kill him yourself?" Ein asked.

Yanmei glanced at the boy, her lips pursed. "Because he was my father. A child should never kill their father. Just as a father should never harm their child."

The Emerald Wind yawned loudly and stretched. "You should never have been here, Yanmei. You should never have been his daughter. You were always far too soft for it."

"Do I still look soft to you, Zhizhi?" Yanmei replied. Cho had to admit, the woman looked anything but soft. She had the bearing of a warrior, far more so than The Emerald Wind.

"Too soft for where we're going." Still Zhihao refused to look at the woman. "And we really should be going."

"Where are you going?" Yanmei took another step forward and The Emerald Wind retreated a step. "I can fight, Zhizhi."

"Really?" Ein looked up and for just a moment there was something like hunger in his pale stare.

"No!" The Emerald Wind moved himself between Ein and Yanmei. He stared down at the boy, blocking his view, and Cho saw real determination there. "No. Not her."

Ein cocked his head to the side. He looked from The Emerald Wind to Cho and back again, and there was something like anger on his youthful face. "Not her, not him, you keep saying. I need more than just you."

"What is this, Zhizhi?"

"Quiet, Yanmei." The Emerald Wind stood his ground in front of the boy, but it looked to Cho as though he were shaking. "Please, not her."

Again Ein turned to glance at Cho and then back, biting his lip in childish determination. "On one condition. You refuse me no one else." The words sounded petulant coming from such a young boy.

The Emerald Wind nodded his head gravely and without hesitation, and Ein looked to Cho once more. She too, nodded at him. She knew well what he meant and what it would entail. Anyone else the boy wanted to serve him, they would kill. Cho now realised the boy would make monsters of both of them before his quest was done. Without another word, Ein turned and started away towards the camp entrance.

Cho watched while The Emerald Wind took a deep breath and put the smile once more on his face. Without even turning to look at Yanmei, he said, "And now I must say goodbye, my love."

"Where did you go, Zhizhi? Why did you leave me? And why haven't you changed?"

Cho turned away from them, following after Ein, but her gaze was drawn to one of the standing stones, and the writing she saw carved into it, between the bodies. The history of Hosa, all the wars, all the kings. And all the princes.

"Whither it blows, east to west or north to south, The Emerald Wind never changes." Zhihao started walking away from Yanmei, waving a hand over his shoulder, but his smile slipped. "And it always carries the stench of death. You can't come with us, Yanmei. Not where we're going. Where we're going people don't come back from. No. You should stay, bury your father. Deep. Bury him deep."

The sun was all but gone, and the stars watched over them as they made their way down the hill from Flaming Fist's camp. It was almost deserted when they entered, now they left it a graveyard, with one beautiful flower still blooming amidst the corpses. Zhihao hated to leave things the way he did, but he had no other way to leave them. So much had changed in so short a time and none of it seemed to make any sort of sense to him. They plodded down the hill in silence, listening to the chirping of cicadas hidden in the long grass. Zhihao was seized by an oppressive melancholy.

Zhihao glanced at Whispering Blade to find her frowning and looking up at the stars. It seemed a private moment, so he left her there and did the only the thing he could. He followed after the boy.

The reason for his melancholic mood was slow in coming, but he soon puzzled it out. Yanmei was the last one alive who actually knew him. Everyone else was dead and good riddance to them. It seemed a sad thing to know that no one else cared for him one bit. And the only person who did care, he had left behind. But things were different now that Fist was dead. Gone was the young girl so full of spirit and energy, always dancing and laughing with men who killed for a living. Gone was the young woman who picked flowers to wear in her hair, and stole Zhihao's kisses when her father wasn't looking. Gone was the woman who begged Zhihao to help her run away and be free from an overbearing father who slaughtered entire towns to keep her by his side. Gone, was everyone and everything Zhihao knew.

"You're a coward," Whispering Blade said as she caught him up. Zhihao might have imagined it, but it sounded like her insult lacked conviction. Either way he was glad of it. Anything to take him away from his own thoughts.

"I never claimed to be otherwise." He smoothed down his moustache. "But weren't you calling me a hero just a bit ago?"

"A person can be both. You helped me against Flaming Fist. Some would certainly call that heroic." Zhihao noticed something then about the woman: she only ever seemed to speak in a whisper. He wondered if it had anything to do with the force she released when she screamed. "But you should at least have told her how you feel."

Zhihao snorted. "How I feel? What would you know about how I feel, woman?"

They walked in silence for a few moments. Zhihao glanced at Whispering Blade. She walked tall, her back straight despite the obvious discomfort. Her chest was a motley of bruising, covered by only her under-wrappings. Her scars, those given to her by Fist's men, were angry red lines of puckered flesh, some with the stitching still showing. Her left arm was red and raw, with a blackened imprint of burning fingers. And her hair fell at an awkward angle, free of any binding. Yet she walked tall and proud, a hand always resting on her sword hilt. Truly, Whispering Blade was worthy of her stories, far more so than Zhihao was worthy of The Emerald Wind's.

"I have a name," Whispering Blade said eventually, her eyes still locked on the boy walking ahead of them.

"So do I. It's Zhihao, in case you were wondering."

She turned a smile on him. "Not Zhizhi?"

"No."

"And you may call me Itami."

Zhihao sighed. "Wonderful, and now we know each other."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

Zhihao sighed at that. "Yes. It's much easier for me to betray someone whose trust I never had in the first place."

"I never said I trusted you," Itami whispered.

"A wise precaution. I'm quite untrustworthy."

"In my experience, it is those who claim to be trustworthy who are most untrustworthy. Those whose claim to not deserve trust, are often far too scared of trusting others." She said it with such levity. Zhihao wondered if she knew how close to the truth she walked.

"Do you think the boy even knows where we're going?"

"Ban Ping, city of veiled enlightenment," the boy called over his shoulder.

Zhihao let out a loud groan. "City of pretentious monks, more like."

"I've never been to Ban Ping," Itami said.

"You're not missing anything."

The boy ignored Zhihao and kept on walking, and Zhihao had no choice but to follow. For a while they walked in silence, but the boy kept glancing at Itami. When he spoke, the boy had a wistful edge to his voice. "We can't go back."

Itami nodded. "I understand."

"But your oath. You buried it with the Century Blade. It can't be burned so how will the stars know you've completed it?" The boy reached into his pack and pulled out a knot of hair that looked suspiciously like it had once belonged to Whispering Blade.

Itami smiled. "There is no need. My oath to the Century Blade will remain, a link binding us together long past both of our deaths."

The boy rubbed the knot of hair between his fingers. "Oaths are important to you."

"Yes. To a Shintei, there is nothing more important than the oaths we swear. Three to complete our training. Protect the innocent. Be honourable even in the face of dishonour. And keep our oaths."

Zhihao snorted. "You swear an oath to keep your oaths?"

"Yes. We do not make oaths lightly, but when we do we are bound to keep them."

The boy seemed to consider this for a few moments, then placed the knot of hair back into his pack. "What if one of your oaths conflicts with another?"

Whispering Blade had no answer to that.

Chapter 12

It took them three days to reach Ban Ping, though it would have been fewer had Ein not insisted on walking barefoot the entire way. After they joined the road they saw quite a bit of traffic; merchants mostly, but also farmers and even a few carriages. The carriages were all curtained to prevent prying eyes from seeing who rested inside, and each was accompanied by soldiers on horseback. They shouted and threatened and everyone: even the merchants with carts full of goods shuffled to the side of the road to let their betters pass unhindered. Both Cho and Zhihao earned some odd looks from those soldiers as they tried to decide whether the two warriors by the road side were bandits or simply travelling sellswords. No doubt they would have been even more wary had they known who they really were: a couple of dead heroes in search of others to recruit into their macabre group.

Cho spoke to some of the travellers who passed them, and even asked one merchant for a half day's ride on the back of his cart. The man had agreed, but Ein refused. It seemed important to the boy that he walk, that his own two bare feet carry him the entire journey. Cho respected his wishes, but Zhihao complained like a babe without a teat.

The first night they stopped with a farmer and his three sons. They were leading a small herd of rangy livestock, mostly pigs and cows, towards Lushu, and set up a camp off the side of the road to sleep under the stars. They seemed happy to welcome some extra swords for the night, especially ones with some technique to back up the steel. They shared what little food and wine they had, though both tasted like rot and ash in Cho's mouth. Their dog, a shaggy hound with fur as grey as a week old porridge, spent the entire time growling at Cho, hackles raised and teeth bared. The Emerald Wind surprised them all with a smooth singing voice and a wide repertoire, though most of the songs contained some sort of dirty limerick or a metaphor for the female body that had the farmers laughing, and Cho cringing. Ein sat silent, watching everyone and sleeping not at all.

When the road split, the farmers went north, and Ein continued doggedly east. Cho and Zhihao both followed without question, matching his pace. It was quite frustrating, but Cho had dealt with far worse in her time. Zhihao, apparently, had not. The Emerald Wind threatened to pick the boy up and carry him on the second day, but it was an empty threat. Both of them knew the feeling of contact with the boy, and neither would put themselves through it willingly.

On the third day the road joined with a main route from the south and the traffic increased, with dozens of people all moving steadily along one way or the other. Cho could see travellers stretching out to the horizon both in front of them, and behind. Many of them looked destitute, beggars on their way to the city with nothing but hope. On the southern side of the road, rice paddies stretched uphill in tiered gardens, the sun glinting off the standing water. On the northern side, the fields continued to the horizon and Cho spotted huge herds of great beasts grazing on the grass. But she saw no soldiers on the roads, nor any watching over the fields. It was far more peaceful than she had expected given the turbulent nature of Hosa's ten kings. When she asked about it, Zhihao snorted.

"Ban Ping is full of monks. Have you ever fought a monk? Most of the time they're all smiles and bows, and 'May the stars shine down favourably upon you'. But if you anger them, they swarm you like a pack of angry hornets. And they're all trained. The monks of Ban Ping are the most peaceful elite soldiers in all of Hosa."

When Ban Ping appeared, it was almost a sudden thing. One moment the eastern horizon was clear and shimmering in the heat, then, as the road curved around a mountain of paddies, a city spread out before them. Cho thought it must be a trick of the eyes, for such a sprawling mess of buildings to appear out of nowhere. There seemed no order to the city, at least from a distance, with tall buildings spread out amongst the smaller ones, and on its southern side it seemed to be trying to climb the mountain face. As the road curved round even further, Cho squinted up against the sun and saw a temple and five large statues jutting out of the rock high up on the mountain. From such a distance all she could discern was that the statues were of monks, and each was in a different prayer pose.

"Amazing!" Cho breathed. Someone pushed her in the back and she stumbled forwards, not even having realised she had stopped. She apologised, and caught up with Ein and Zhihao.

"The shine soon wears off once you meet the monks." Zhihao was in a more maudlin mood than usual. His shoulders hunched and his face was twisted in a heavy scowl.

Ein turned his head to look at Zhihao. "I passed through Ban Ping on the way to Long on a pilgrimage with my father. I liked the monks. They were kind."

"They're kind to everyone. Makes them almost as creepy as you." Zhihao slowed his pace and dropped back, walking behind them. Cho noticed he kept his head down, hands resting on the hilts of his hooked swords. She had seen people act that way before, he was worried someone might recognise him.

"What happened to your father, Ein?" Cho asked. She wondered why she hadn't considered it before, where the boy's family might be and if they were looking for him.

"He died. He took me to see Long. Halfway up the mountain there's a shrine dedicated to a shinigami. He died there." Cho would have thought the boy might feel something over death of his father, but his voice was as flat as his stare.

"The same shinigami who has sent you to kill the emperor?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I didn't ask." There seemed little else the boy would say, but he tightened his red scarf a little despite the heat, and started rubbing the fabric between his fingers.

At the outskirts to the city stood a wooden arch that stood over the entire road. It was painted green with red awnings on top, and seemed to serve little purpose other than to represent the city limits. Three monks stood at the base of the arch, bowing and welcoming everyone who entered the city, or wishing those who were leaving a safe journey. Each of the monks wore a voluminous gold robe with black trim, and their hair was shaved into a thin line along their heads. Cho noticed that most of the travellers ignored the monks, but it didn't seem to stop the men from wishing them well. She couldn't see why Zhihao held them in such low regard.

"May the stars shine favourably upon you," said one of the monks as they passed.

"Fuck you!" Zhihao said, even as Cho bowed and repeated the blessing back to the monk. Again she found the people behind her pressing in, hurrying her along, and she left the monks to their greetings.

The traffic was flowing and most of the people seemed to have a destination in mind. Cho and Zhihao did not, and Ein's pace slowed even further once they were inside the city. Eventually the boy stopped and stared first behind them, then in front, turning around as though he were lost.

"I don't recognise this part of Ban Ping."

Zhihao groaned. "What's there to recognise or not? Look. Street, another street, some buildings. Merchants trying to sell us shit we don't need. Beggars begging. And monks. Everywhere monks. All pretending to keep everyone happy, but really they're here to keep us all in line. City of veiled enlightenment, you called it? More like city of veiled law enforcement. Why are we here, boy?"

"It's on our way to Wu."

"Dozens of towns in ten different little kingdoms are on the way to Wu. This is Ban Ping. Why are we here?"

Ein continued staring first up, then down the street. "I'm looking for someone."

"Who?"

"Chen Lu."

"Never heard of him."

Cho decided it was time to take control of the situation before The Emerald Wind ended up only partly alive. "Let's find somewhere to stay. Somewhere with hot food and a bath."

"Cold food, hot food. What does it matter?" Zhihao scowled at her. "It will all taste like salted dirt."

Cho sighed. "Once we're there, we can ask around for this Chen Lu. I can find somewhere that sells clothes, preferably Ipian. And you, Zhihao, can sulk and hide from whoever it is you think will find you here."

They found an inn and Zhihao paid for a room from the money he had taken from the dead at Flaming Fist's camp. No sooner were they settled, than Cho set out to find a market. Leaving Ein alone with The Emerald Wind was worrisome, though she wasn't sure which one of them was in the greater danger, but a short break from them both was a blessing. The sun passed its zenith as she wandered the streets, and finally asked a passing monk where she might find a store that sold Ipian clothing. He was happy to help and dished out another blessing from the stars as she left. Clothing was not cheap, and Cho was bordering on poor, but she managed to find a serviceable blue hakama to wear over her legs and a black haori to wear over her under-wrappings. She looked more like an apprentice than a master, but that was better than looking like a dead bandit. After purchasing the clothing, Cho spent her very last coin at the local baths. She almost felt sorry for the other bathers when she saw the grime sloughing off of her.

Despite the comfort of the warm water, there was still something wrong. Something Cho couldn't quite put her finger on. She was relaxing, yet she didn't feel relaxed, nor content, nor even relieved. She had an itch that she couldn't seem to scratch. It was tugging at her, pulling at her, and the more she tried to ignore it, the more insistent it became. All of her wounds given to her by Flaming Fist's men felt as though they were reopening. Before long it became too uncomfortable to lie still in the bath. The water felt too hot and oppressive, like it was trying to pull her down. She found herself sinking, struggling to keep her head above the water as it closed in around her. The pain in her chest burned and when she looked down she saw thin trails of blood seeping into the water, mixing with the slow currents.

Cho pulled herself from the bath and staggered towards her clothing and her swords. The world spun as she dressed, first pulling her under-wrappings tight against her chest, then slipping into her hakama, tying the trousers around her waist along with her saya, and finally pushing her arms though her new haori, which she left open. It was bordering on scandalous to have her under-wrappings even slightly showing, but she had spent the last three days walking across Hosa in such a state. At least now she was a little more covered. Either from the heat of the bath, or maybe just the time of year, but Cho found herself sweating and breathless. She staggered back towards the inn in a sort of daze, ignoring the questioning stares and two attempts by monks to help her. With each step the pressure and pain eased and the strange itch lessened, though its source was still a mystery. By the time she reached the inn, all she felt was an unease, a distant feeling that something, somewhere was wrong.

She found Zhihao sulking alone in the common room of the inn, sitting at a low table, his knees folded beneath him. He spotted Cho as soon as she entered, but quickly looked away. As she drew closer she could see he had a full cup of wine sitting in front of him, and a plate with rice and vegetables in states of disarray. It looked as though he had spent more time pushing the food around the plate, than eating it.

Cho knelt down across from Zhihao and picked up his cup. First she sniffed at it, then she gulped down a few mouthfuls. It tasted foul as expected.

"Please, do help yourself."

"Where's Ein?" Cho placed the cup back on the table and took a deep breath. She could still feel the itch somewhere, making her skin feel like insects crawled through her veins.

The Emerald Wind shrugged. "He's asking around for Chen Lu. It appears this is one legendary hero no one has ever heard of. After a while he decided he was going out looking. I opted to stay here." He pulled the cup closer, but then just pushed the mug around a bit rather than drink from it.

"You let the boy go out alone? What if he gets lost?"

"If only," Zhihao snorted. "Can't you feel it? Close your eyes and tell me you can't feel where the boy is."

Cho wasn't in the practice of taking advice from bandits, but Zhihao had proven himself trustworthy, though his maudlin mood since Flaming Fist's camp was doing much to unravel the fondness he had earned. Still, Cho did as he suggested, she closed her eyes and stilled her mind. She felt the itch more keenly, playing across her skin, and tugging at her. When she opened her eyes again she found Zhihao nodding.

"It's like some damned dowsing rod, always telling us exactly which way to go to find him. I felt the same thing back at Kaishi when I tried to leave. The feeling got so bad I could barely stand. It felt like my heart was being eaten by blood worms." He shuddered.

"The farther away he is," Cho said, "the worse it gets. We're bound to him." Until she had felt that itch she had thought it a matter of honour. One more oath she could discard when it got too tough. Now she realised things were more complex, and also more simple. They had no choice but to follow Ein and carry out his will, for if they tried to do otherwise they would die. Again.

The Emerald Wind nodded. "We might as well be wearing chains." He pushed the cup to the side of the table, and then over the edge, spilling the contents on the floor.

"Why do you hate this city?" Cho asked. "Who are you hiding from?"

Zhihao started pushing his plate slowly towards the edge of the table. "I'm not hiding from anyone. And I hate this city because I was born here. My parents gave me to the monks, and those hooded arseholes spent twelve years trying to make me placid like them. I even have the constellation of Lili tattooed on my back. Master Fushus said it would connect me to the most calming of the stars." He looked up at Cho and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "It didn't work."

She hadn't expected him to be so forthright about his reasons, nor his past, but she was glad of it. It certainly explained a few things. A serving woman stopped by the table and plucked the fallen cup from the floor. She gave Zhihao a hard stare. He just smiled back and pushed the plate of food off the table. It hit the floor with a clatter and a sigh from the woman. She scooped up the plate, and as much of the rice as possible, and stormed away. Rented room or not, Cho had a feeling they would soon be asked to leave. Zhihao looked incredibly pleased with himself for the petty act.

"Have you any idea how boring it is," Zhihao continued, ignoring both Cho and the angry serving woman, "to stand at that gate outside the city and bless everyone who passes? For a full month I stood there. Ordered by the masters to be pleasant to everyone. May the stars shine favourably… May the stars shine favourably… I was ready to start cutting throats after the first day. How do you think I felt after a month? Nobody ever says thank you. You're lucky if they just ignore you."

"And yet you were so kind to those now in that position."

The Emerald Wind snorted. "I served my time. Let those poor bastards know what it feels like now."

A burly man with a bloodied apron, a balding head, and a drooping moustache stopped by the table. Cho guessed him either the owner, the cook, or possibly both. He folded his arms across his ample chest, giving them both a good view of the knives and cleavers hanging from his belt. "Leave," the man barked.

Zhihao looked up at the man with a grin, before turning it on Cho. "Do you think he realises how easy it would be to gut him with his own cleaver?"

Cho stood, resting one hand on the saya of her swords. She bowed her head to the man, and then again to the serving woman waiting nearby. "We're very sorry. We'll be going now."

The Emerald Wind let out a groan. "Going where? There's nowhere to go. Ban Ping is such a dull place. Let's just get drunk until the boy gets back."

"We're going to find the boy," Cho said. She resisted the urge to drag Zhihao to his feet. Having grown up with three younger brothers, her experience with petulant boys told her it would only convince The Emerald Wind to resist even harder.

"Wonderful." Zhihao groaned once more, then slipped out from under the table and stood. He squared up to the cook, hands on sword hilts. Cho wondered if it made him angry to find he was a good few inches the shorter of the two. "You should be more polite in the future. I'm The Emerald Wind."

The cook sniffed and looked Zhihao up and down. "I've never heard of you." Cho almost smiled at the blush that rushed to Zhihao's cheeks, but she guessed it would only make the situation worse.

"Well your food tastes like trash."

"That's because we serve trash to trash."

Cho discovered the limits of her patience had already gone and decided to follow them. She turned away from the altercation, certain it could only end in bloodshed, and exited onto a street bathed in long shadows. She heard shouts from within the inn and closed her eyes, trying to ignore it. She was an Ipian Shintei, trained in the ways of the blade to help others, to lend steel and technique to worthy causes. And here she found herself babysitting a brigand, one of the most notorious criminals in all of Hosa, a man who may well have killed as many people as she had saved.

She felt the itch, tugging her north, further into the depths of the city. It was getting stronger. Cho wondered if that meant Ein was moving farther away. She wondered if the boy knew what that would mean for those bound to him, that they would be dragged along behind him, or die from the wounds that had already killed them.

The door slammed open behind Cho, startling her out of her reverie. The Emerald Wind sauntered out looking altogether too pleased with himself. He gave Cho a wink that would have curdled her stomach, had it not already been so from the taste of food and drink.

"Are you finished?"

The door swung shut behind Zhihao. "Yes. And I feel much better, thank you."

"Do I want to look inside?" Cho considered what she might do if she found the cook dead. Would she give the man justice? Or ignore The Emerald Wind's crime? Would their bond to Ein even allow them to kill each other? There seemed so many questions and she had no answers for them.

"Best not. They are all still alive though."

A scream sounded from inside the inn.

"We should go." The Emerald Wind didn't wait for Cho to agree, nor ask her which direction, he just started walking north. Cho sighed and followed.

Chapter 13

The sun had long since fled over the western horizon by the time they found the boy. Zhihao supposed it was someone's job to go around the streets of Ban Ping after darkness had fallen, lighting the street lamps, replacing candles. Actually he supposed it was probably quite a few people's jobs considering how many streets there were in the city. He wondered if he'd be doing it right now if not for a chance encounter with Seifon, the Broken Chain. Zhihao smiled at that; one unlikely meeting with an even more unlikely woman was all it took to turn a life of pious boredom into a life of adventurous crime.

Whispering Blade was as quiet as her name, but she didn't need to speak to make her disappointment known. She did not like that Zhihao had started a fight at the inn, whether he left the cook alive or not. That was the problem with real heroes, which The Emerald Wind was certainly not, they stood up for the weak instead of preying upon them. Heroes called for justice while people like Zhihao cried vengeance. Heroes fought to satisfy honour, as though it were somehow more important than filling their pockets. Heroes were little more than fools waiting to find the one battle they couldn't win, and he would never be one, no matter what the boy said.

At the far end of a small market, sat a fat man lounging on a stool that looked to be straining under the substantial burden. He wore only trousers, cut off above his knees. His bulging gut hung low and wobbled with every movement. The boy was kneeling next to him, apparently listening to whatever the fat man was spewing. Itami wasted no time in threading her way through the merchants packing away their wares, leaving Zhihao to follow unenthusiastically behind her. If he were a better thief, he could easily have made away with a few goods, perhaps even some new rings to replace those he had lost, but Zhihao was more bandit than thief. He preferred to take what he wanted in plain sight and dare the victims to stop him. Unfortunately, such blatant thievery would only bring the legions of monks down upon them.

"… had a monkey once. Little thing never made a sound." The fat man's voice was high-pitched for his size and he was completely hairless. He was also sitting underneath a large yellow parasol despite the sun having given up a while ago. "It wore a hat. A miniature jingasa, in the Ipian style. Used to dance for me. I have no idea what happened to that monkey."

"You probably ate it," Zhihao said. Itami glared at him, and the fat man frowned in his direction. The boy didn't move, just kept staring up at the fat man with those ghostly pale eyes.

The fat man kept up his frowning for a moment, then laughed. "I have eaten worse things." He slapped his belly, setting it jiggling, then reached down for the small wooden keg at his feet, raised it to his lips and drank deeply and noisily.

Itami knelt next to the boy. "What are we doing here, Ein?"

"More wine!" the fat man shouted. If there was anyone nearby, waiting to satisfy his demands, Zhihao did not see them. They were in a small clearing, paved with cut stone, at the back of the market. A raised wooden platform sat even farther back, nestled against the wall of a huge stone building that looked a lot like a gaol.

"I found him," the boy said with a beaming smile. "Chen Lu, Iron Gut."

"That is I," the fat man said happily in his squeaky voice. He slapped his belly again. "Iron Gut Chen. I was regaling the boy with my exploits."

"I already know them all," the boy said proudly. "But I like to hear them from, as you said, the horse's mouth."

"This is he?" Itami asked. "Are you sure?"

"I just told you, I am Iron Gut!" The fat man stood, gaining his feet more nimbly than his size would suggest. Itami stood to meet him. He was taller than Whispering Blade by a good few inches and his overflowing girth made her look like a stick wearing clothes. "I was just telling your boy about my monkey."

Zhihao snorted out a laugh. "He's not my boy."

Iron Gut shrugged. "Your boy. Her boy. Who does it matter? You interrupted my tale…"

"About your missing monkey?" Zhihao considered taking a step closer, but he didn't want to get too close to the fat man. His experience told him men of that size tended to be slow, but if they got hold of you all they had to do was sit down and there was little that could be done but suffocate underneath the mountain of sour flesh.

"I don't like your tone," the fat man said. "You should learn from your boy, he listens with respect."

"He's not my…"

"I am Iron Gut Chen," Iron Gut shouted. Some nearby merchants, still packing up, scampered away quickly.

"Well I am The Emerald Wind," Zhihao shouted back. Despite his deeper voice, his proclamation didn't sound nearly as impressive. He punctuated the statement with a mocking bow closer to a curtsy.

"Who?"

Zhihao straightened up. He felt hot and angry, the good mood from his drubbing of the cook evaporated. "I don't like you, Lead Belly." For the first time he noticed the weapon lying behind Iron Gut's stool. It was a large mace with a metal haft half as long as Zhihao was tall, and a head of stone as large as a pregnant sow. If it was half as solid as it looked, Zhihao couldn't imagine anyone even lifting the thing, let alone swinging it with precision. Iron Gut Chen was either the strongest man alive, or a mad fool. Likely both.

"Are you certain, Ein?" Itami asked the boy. She was standing far too close to the fat man, well within grabbing distance.

The boy nodded. "Yes. I need him."

Itami looked at Zhihao. "Are you going to sit this one out as well? Do you only attack defenceless cooks?"

"Defenceless? He had a vast array of knives. It's not my fault he had not the technique to use them for anything other than gutting vegetables."

Whatever else he was, Iron Gut was not so stupid as to miss the point of the conversation, but he neither moved nor readied himself for the attack. He stood there with his beefy hands on his sides, and a mad grin atop his many chins.

Zhihao sighed. "I really don't think you're going to need me on this one. But if you insist."

The boy stood, dusted off his knees and bowed his head to the fat man. "Iron Gut Chen. I am sorry, but I need your help. I have a quest to carry out, and only those bound to me can be trusted for it. I am sorry, but you must die."

The grin slipped from Iron Gut's face. "I liked you, boy. But there is something strange about you." He growled and slapped his belly again. "Come then. Do you think this will be easy? Do you think this my first fight? Do you see any scars on my skin?"

The boy padded away on bare feet to watch from a distance. He wasn't the only one. With the prospect of a fight, between self-proclaimed heroes and legends no less, a crowd of people were gathering at the outskirts of the market. No doubt some enterprising merchant would already be taking bets.

"You should retrieve your weapon," Itami said, her voice barely a breath. She crouched into a ready stance, one hand on her sword hilt. Zhihao had seen it before, draw and slice in one motion. Back near Kaishi she had cut a man in half with a similar strike.

"I will when I need it."

Zhihao shook his head. The boy wanted heroes, those strong enough to fight, and smart enough not to die needlessly. He had never heard of Iron Gut Chen before, but he was fairly certain they had no need for a fat fool about to get introduced to his own intestines.

"Very well." Itami drew in a breath, tightened her grip, and drew her sword in a deadly slash.

Chapter 14

Whispering Blade and The Emerald Wind vs Iron Gut Chen

Peace scraped across Iron Gut's belly with a sound like screaming steel. Cho felt the shock of it travel up her arm. There was no wound, no parted flesh, no blood, nor even a scratch on the man's skin. His flesh wobbled from the force of the strike, but little more. He grinned down at Cho, his hairless face like some giant grotesque babe. She danced away from him on nimble feet, extending Peace to the side, prepared to retaliate, but Iron Gut didn't move. He just laughed at them and shook his head.

"You think they call me Iron Gut for nothing?" He turned away from them, and pushed stool and parasol aside to get to his mace.

Cho looked across to Zhihao, but said nothing. The Emerald Wind grinned and drew both his hooked swords. "Seems simple enough to me. Don't attack his belly." He leapt forwards, bringing both blades down on Iron Gut's back as the fat man reached for his mace. The blades hit flesh with a dull thud and nothing else. The Emerald Wind drew both swords down, across each other in an attack that should have carved the man's back crossways, but the edges just slipped across skin and left not a mark.

Iron Gut, his back still turned to them, stood up to his full height. He lifted his mace and swung it over his head towards his back. The Emerald Wind threw himself sideways just in time to stop the head of the mace crushing him against the fat man's back. When Iron Gut turned to face them, he brought his mace swinging round, whooshing through the air. Cho backed off another step, putting some distance between them, and Zhihao did the same, no longer looking quite so confident. When the fat man was certain he had their attention, he drew his mace up and brought it down hard on the flagstones beneath them. The ground shook from the impact, pale stone crushed and shattering to chips of rock. Then Iron Gut left his mace embedded in the stone, rushed forwards, and slammed his belly into Cho. She tumbled backwards, rolling along the ground, and used the momentum to flip back onto her feet. The man had surprised her, shocked her into inaction, but such a trick would only work once.

Cho winced at the pain in her ribs. She took Peace in both hands and charged forwards, attacking Iron Gut head on while The Emerald Wind circled around behind him. She slashed him across the chest and then circled her blade around before slicing at his ankles, a dangerous high-low combo, but Iron Gut received not a scratch. He threw a meaty fist at Cho's head but she ducked away just in time,

Zhihao moved in from behind him to wrap a hooked blade around Iron Gut's ankles, the ankle was too big and the blade scraped away. Iron Gut spun around and snatched up his mace. He swung its giant head at The Emerald Wind, but the bandit's image scattered like smoke before a breeze.

The Emerald Wind's technique confused Iron Gut for a moment. The fat man frowned, no doubt wondering where his opponent had disappeared to. Cho seized the opportunity to dash back in. She slashed Peace across the belly, then ducked behind him, dragging the blade along his hip. The Emerald Wind reappeared in front of the fat man and swung both swords at his face. They slipped across the skin of his neck, without a trace, and Iron Gut whipped his mace at Zhihao, but The Emerald Wind had disappeared again.

Cho leapt up onto the fat man's back, digging sandals into the folds of his flesh, and drove Peace down as hard as she could into the fleshy folds at the back of the man's neck. The blade skidded a little, then caught. It was just like trying to drive a sword through stone, the skin didn't break at all. Cho flipped backward in to the air and landed on her feet, then she leapt away just before Iron Gut swung his mace around with a high-pitched roar. He charged her, whipping his mace up and down, each blow shattering the stone beneath them and sending fragments flying into the air. Cho glided backwards on silent feet across the stones. She was running out of room and would soon be crushed against a wall. Iron Gut came on relentlessly, an angry light to his eyes. Cho slid to a halt, and set Peace humming with a whisper, then leapt into Iron Gut's attack, slipping to his right while he swung left. Peace caught and trailed across the man's belly and he stumbled on, slowing to a stop and leaning against the gaol wall, huffing in deep breaths. Cho stood from her stance and let out a sigh, glancing back at Iron Gut over her shoulder.

"That hurt," Iron Gut said. He ran a hand across his belly, but there was no blood, not even a scratch. Even Cho's whispering blade technique couldn't pierce his skin. Iron Gut raised a finger. "I'm going to need a minute." He put his back against the wall and leaned, breathing deeply. His face was flushed red and he was dripping sweat.

Zhihao walked over to Cho to strategise while Iron Gut tried to catch his breath. "Any idea what we should do?" he said. "I assume that was your fancy thrumming blade technique?"

Cho nodded and glanced down at Peace, and then to its partner sword, forever sheathed in the dual saya.

Iron Gut finally had enough breath to speak again. "Infusing the sword with qi." He was still leaning against the wall, his beady eyes staring at them from his pudgy face. "Very smart. But I am Iron Gut. My qi is strong. It makes my skin harder than steel."

Cho smiled then. "What do you know about qi?" she whispered to The Emerald Wind.

Zhihao laughed. "Not a thing."

Cho looked at him, incredulous. "You just said you were a monk for twelve years."

The Emerald Wind snorted. "I was a very poor monk. They weren't about to teach me the secrets of such power."

Iron Gut pushed away from the wall, set a pudgy hand on his mace, and swung it onto his shoulder. "Qi is spirit," he squeaked. "We all have it, but some have more than others." He slapped his belly again. "My qi is strong, and I know how to channel it. Now then…"

The fat man heaved his mace up into the air and slammed it down on the flagstones, shattering them into hundreds of little pieces. A large section of stone leapt up into the air and Iron Gut took his mace in both hands, and swung at it. Cho realised too late what he was doing and ducked, shielding her head. The Emerald Wind simply faded away as dozens of stone chips battered Cho, stinging her skin and tearing open little cuts along her arms and legs. When she looked up, Iron Gut was on her, his mace in full swing.

Cho dropped into a crouch and then flattened herself to the stone floor and felt the mace pass over, air whipping at her clothing. Then she rose to one knee and thrust Peace upwards into Iron Gut's groin. It was far from an honourable strike. But master Akihiko had once said Honour can be lost a dozen times, and regained. Life can only be lost once, and never regained. He was wrong about the second part, apparently. Peace slipped through the fabric of Iron Gut's short trousers and thudded to a stop. Cho glanced up to see the fat man's eyes gone wide. Then he smiled. He swung his mace up and then brought it down just as Cho threw herself sideways, rolled away, and jumped back to her feet. Still, Iron Gut remained unscathed.

"Are you absolutely sure you need this one?" Zhihao shouted to Ein, kneeling patiently next to a stall across the street.

Ein nodded. "My quest requires Iron Gut Chen. You promised to kill him for me."

"How?"

Ein seemed to have no answer to that. The boy just watched, his stare intense and his red scarf twisted in his fingers.

The Emerald Wind groaned and then scattered on the wind. Cho looked back at Iron Gut and found him smiling. He reached out with his right hand just as Zhihao reappeared and wrapped his fat fingers around the bandit's neck. Cho saw the surprise on The Emerald Wind's face, and the panic. He started flailing with his swords, battering them against Iron Gut's head and shoulders, but the fat man didn't even flinch.

"Your qi betrays you." Iron Gut punctuated the words with an uppercut to Zhihao's stomach that had him gasping. He dropped the swords and clawed at the hand around his throat, but Cho could see the grip was too tight. Zhihao was dying… again.

Cho set Peace humming again with a whisper and dashed towards the two men and slashed at Iron Gut's elbow, but again the blade just stopped. The fat man merely grimaced. Then he kicked out at Cho. She danced back slashing at his foot to no effect. He still held Zhihao's throat, and the bandit's eyes were rolling back in his head, his arms hanging limp at his sides.

Cho drew Peace down to her side and set it humming once more, whispering to it again and again until the blade set the air around it buzzing and she struggled to hold it. Then she darted in, dodging around Iron Gut's flailing fist, and slashed at his belly once more, releasing all of the energy she had been building up within Peace. The blade screamed as it dragged across rippling flesh. Iron Gut stumbled back two steps and grunted. Then he dropped to one knee, still clutching Zhihao by the neck. He pressed the bandit's face to the flagstones, then wiped a hand across his giant belly – still no blood..

A crack of thunder rumbled around the marketplace and Iron Gut's head snapped back. The fat man teetered for a moment, then collapsed backwards, dragging Zhihao with him. Cho slid Peace back into its saya and rushed to unclench Iron Gut's fingers from Zhihao's neck. Zhihao flopped free and lay there panting and rubbing at his bruised neck.

"You did it," Zhihao wheezed. "How the fuck did you do it?"

Ein walked towards them. Behind him Cho could see the gathered crowd of onlookers were in something of an uproar, some pointing towards them, and others towards a nearby wall that circled the market.

"I don't think I did," Cho said as Ein drew close, rummaging in his little bag. She looked down at Iron Gut. Where his left eye should have been, there was a deep bloody hole.

"Huh." Zhihao kicked Iron Gut's flabby corpse. "Well then we'll call ourselves lucky. Bastard!" He spat on the fat man's face.

Ein showed no fear, immediately poking at the wounded eye socket. "I can't fix this with a needle. I need a metal poker and fire." He looked up at them, but neither Cho nor Zhihao moved to help him.

Zhihao, still rubbing his neck, said, "I'm really not sure I want this one to come back."

"I'm more worried about who killed him." Cho added and turned around to look at the crowd, who were creeping closer to get a look at their fallen champion.

Then the crowd parted, as a lithe figure strode into the square. At first Cho thought it might be one of the monks, come to enquire about the nature of the fight, but it didn't look like any of the others she had seen. The figure was short and slight, and wore a loose coat and trousers, both of the darkest green. They walked on wooden sandals that clacked on the stone, and carried a long rifle slung over one shoulder. But the most notable thing was that the person was covered head to toe in bandages, wrapped tight against the skin, only their left eye remained uncovered. As he drew closer Cho could see the eye was milky white. Some of the crowd trailed in the newcomer's wake, and Cho heard the name Death's Echo muttered several times, though it was one she did not recognise.

"Eh?" Zhihao grunted as he retrieved his swords. "Who's this?"

"I think it might be your saviour," Cho said. She bowed her head as the newcomer stopped in front of them. His flesh was wrinkled and brown around the eye, and there were stains on the bandages in places where something underneath had seeped through.

"I still need a poker and some coals," Ein said.

"Thank you for your help," Cho said. "My name is—"

"Whispering Blade." The man's voice was ragged and wet, muffled by the bandages. He blinked and turned his eye on Zhihao. "And you are The Emerald Wind. And that is Iron Gut Chen."

Zhihao snorted. "It was."

The bandaged man nodded. "And will be again. My name is Roi Astara."

Cho glanced behind the man at the gathered crowd. "They called you Death's Echo."

Ein moved to stand next to Cho. He looked up at the bandaged man and for a moment they just stared at each other, then Ein turned back to Cho, his scarf in his hands once more. "If I am to bring him back, I need to cauterise the wound. I cannot fix it. I need fire and a poker."

Roi Astara bowed to the boy. "As you wish." He turned to the crowd. "Could someone please fetch a metal poker, with an end no larger than a coin, and a brazier of coals. Perhaps from the blacksmith?" A couple of the townsfolk lingering nearby briefly conversed, then ran to carry out the task. It seemed odd to Cho that a man wrapped entirely in stained bandages could demand such obedience. She wondered if he were some sort of city official.

"Well I suppose I should be grateful." Zhihao took a deep breath and. "Thank you for saving my life."

The bandaged man ignored him and knelt before Ein. "I know you," he said. "The stars told me you would come." Pale stare met pale stare, and Cho found herself quite glad she wasn't in the middle of it. "I swear myself to you and your quest."

Chapter 15

Chen Lu - Iron Gut

"To master one's qi is to master one's body.

To master one's body is to master one's self.

To master one's self is to master one's destiny.

Now bring me another chicken!"

- Iron Gut Chen, on the mysteries of qi.

Chen woke to pain and the smell of burning meat, and one of those things was rare to him. His face hurt. He couldn't say why exactly, but it definitely felt wrong. It wasn't that he didn't know pain, just that he barely felt it these days other than the occasional aching of joints and trapped gas. He sniffed at the smell of cooking meat, burned past edible, he guessed, and it made his face hurt even more. When he opened his eyes he saw he was still in the same stone square where he had met the boy, and told of all his old adventures. It was still a new night and the moon was young in its cycle. When he sat up he found the two fools he had been duelling were still there, watching him.

"What—" Chen coughed. There was something in the back of his throat, something hard and foul tasting. He coughed again, hacked, and then spat a small metal ball into the palm of his hand.

The man with the long face and horseshoe moustache laughed so hard he had to sit down. Chen remembered holding the man by his throat, crushing the life from him. He couldn't fathom why he'd let the man live. The woman with the qi-infused blade stood nearby, hand resting on the hilt of that same sword she had set humming with only her spirit. The boy was closer, kneeling next to Chen, scrutiny in his ghostly eyes.

"He's alive," shouted one of the onlookers. "The fat man is alive."

"I thought Death's Echo did for him," said another.

"He's sat up. He's alive," a third voice shouted.

Chen worked his mouth a little. His tongue felt like swollen leather, thick and dry. He threw the little metal ball away and looked around for his keg. It was mostly empty, but he hoped it had enough left to quench his thirst.

"Do you remember who you are?" the boy asked.

"I am Iron Gut Chen." His voice was slow, and felt like gravel in his throat. "What happened?" He rolled onto his hands and knees and pushed unsteadily to his feet, then he stumbled over to his wine keg.

"You died," the boy said.

"Bah! Impossible." Chen scooped up his keg and shook it to find it almost empty. Then he raised it to his lips and drank deep. It tasted like week-old piss and he spat out the first mouthful. The man with the hooked swords set to laughing again. "This wine has fouled. Someone fetch me some more." He raised the keg to lips again and started to drink, ignoring the foul taste. He had drunk worse many times. He was Iron Gut, after all.

"What happened to his face?" another of the onlookers called out, staring aghast at Chen.

"My face?" Chen asked, dropping the keg and reaching a hand up to touch his skin. He found the left side of his face painful to the touch and soon realised he couldn't see his hand.

"You should probably know, the eye is gone." A muffled voice belonging to a man wrapped in bandages, only his own left eye showing and the gaze even paler than the boy's. He was carrying a strange weapon that looked like a fusion of metal and wood.

"Gone?" Chen poked at his left eye, prodded the melted flesh and wincing at the pain.

"Is it always like this when they come back?" the bandaged man asked.

"Yes," the boy said with a nod. "Whispering Blade fared quite well, but The Emerald Wind tried to run." He turned his attention back to Chen. "Please do not try to run from me."

"What is going on?" Chen shouted. "Someone bring me some wine." No one moved to obey him. He couldn't remember the last time people hadn't jumped at his orders in Ban Ping. Everyone knew Iron Gut Chen was not a man to be ignored.

The bandaged man took a couple of steps forward, his wooden shoes clacking on the flagstones. He bowed, his fist in hand, a sign of respect. "Iron Gut Chen, you died. I shot you in your left eye."

"What?" Chen roared and lurched forwards. He couldn't quite believe that he had died, but it was obvious his left eye was gone and the little bandaged fool in front of him was claiming responsibility. It was a claim he would pay for dearly.

The bandaged man stumbled backwards and tripped, letting out a loud cry as he fell on his arse. Chen closed the gap and reached for him.

"Don't touch me!" the man screamed. Chen noticed there was blood and worse staining the bandages. And there was fear in the man's single eye. Even white as snow, there was fear there. He paused.

The man with the hooked swords stood, his laughter finally stopped. "You lost, fat man. Be graceful about it," he said.

"I should have killed you," Chen said.

"You tried. And failed."

"I could try again. That technique won't save you."

The hooked-sword man grinned at him. "I'll take your other eye."

The Ipian woman shook her head. "Must you antagonise everyone we meet?" she said. Then she extended a hand to the little bandaged one still cringing away on the ground.

"I said don't touch me." He scuttled back out of her reach.

The boy approached again. "My name is Ein. I brought you back after you died and you are now bound to me."

Chen scratched at his chins. He was done with the fools, every one of them. The loss of an eye was a problem, but he had known many men with only one eye, and most seemed quite capable. Besides, it barely hurt as long as he didn't touch it. Most importantly, he was hungry and thirsty. The boy was still babbling something about a quest, but Chen ignored him. He picked up his mace and his parasol, and set off to find an inn with good food and strong wine.

Chen had a specific inn in mind. Townsfolk moved aside to let him pass, some grimacing and others wide eyed, and at least one of the little monks tried to stop him and ask if he needed healing. Chen waved the man away. He was sweating by the time he reached the inn, and a little confused to find its name had changed in the past few days. Nevertheless, he ducked in through the doorway and ordered wine and a plate of meat. He found a large table, dropped his mace on the floor, and slumped into one of the chairs grateful to be off his feet.

The boy and his three companions came through the door a short while later. They joined him at his table, all but the bandaged one, who chose a table nearby and stayed apart from them. Chen decided to ignore them. It seemed as if the fighting was over. Apparently, he had lost, and it had cost him an eye. That they were following him around now was just an inconvenience, but one he could live with as long as they didn't expect him to share any food.

"Iron Gut Chen, my name is Ein—"

Chen silenced the boy with a loud grunt just as his bottle of wine arrived. He ignored the little cup, too, and raised the bottle to his lips, wincing at the taste. "This wine is off too."

The man with the hooked swords leaned back in his chair and laughed again. He had smug eyes, and Chen disliked smug people. "One of the many joys of being only mostly alive," the man said. "Just wait until your food arrives."

The swordswoman chimed in, her voice barely a whisper but clear as water. "Please listen, Chen Lu," she said. "You died. If you don't believe us, have another poke at that eye socket, and tell me if you think a man could survive it. You died. Ein, here, has the power to bring people back. But in so doing he has bound you to him until you die again, or until he releases you. You can't fight it, believe me. If you go too far from him, that wound will reopen and you will die again."

Chen looked at the man with the hooked swords, but he was no longer so smug. He looked sullen now. The woman appeared to be serious, mad or not.

She glanced around then at all the others in the inn as if she had something to say that shouldn't be overheard. There seemed little chance of it, considering the general din. When she leaned forwards there was a deadly serious light in her eyes. "Ein has a quest, given to him by a shinigami. I say this so you will realise the seriousness of your situation. This is not some young boy's fantasy, nor idle desire. It is a quest given to him by a god of death. To kill the emperor."

Chen shrugged. "Which emperor?"

The man with the hooked sword snorted. "The emperor, you fat idiot," he said, throwing his hands in the air. "You've clearly been in Ban Ping too long. The emperor… of Ten Kings. Ruler of all Hosa. And general all round megalomaniac, if half the stories are true."

"They are," the boy said. "Half and more."

"And you need Iron Gut for this quest?"

The boy nodded.

"It isn't like you have a choice," said the smug man.

"You do have a choice," the Ipian woman said. "You have the choice to help us. To help Ein kill the emperor and earn a second chance at life. Or you can choose to stay here and die when we move on."

Chen nodded. "But why me?"

"Because you are Iron Gut Chen," the boy said, fixing him with a pale stare. "You survived the twelve poisons of creeping death. You wrestled Yaurong, the dire bear, to a draw. You held the gate at Fingsheng long enough for general Gow's army to arrive."

Chen grunted. "All true. Though I have put on some weight since those days."

"How can you tell?" the smug man said.

The food arrived and Chen corralled the plates towards him. He stood on no ceremony and wasted no time in shovelling food into his mouth, though the man was right about it tasting like dirt and ash. But Chen had grown up eating decaying rubbish from the streets. He'd been gut sick so many times, his stomach became immune to things that would have killed most men. His gut had become as iron, and his qi had become strong. Besides, he was hungry.

"To kill the Emperor of Ten Kings will require an assault on Wu palace itself," the woman said as she watched Chen eat. "We'll need many hands. Strong hands. Ein says there are few stronger than your own."

"There are none stronger than Iron Gut Chen," Chen mumbled around a mouthful. He pointed at the boy. "Food tastes this way because of you? Because of what you did to me?"

The boy was fiddling with his red scarf. "I brought you back from death. Food tastes that way because you are only mostly alive. Sorry."

"And if we do this thing. You will make the food taste good again?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. You have died, but I promise a second chance at life if you help me. It will also be a feat talked about for as long as people talk. Everyone will know how Iron Gut Chen helped kill the Emperor of Ten Kings. Everyone will know of your strength and your iron gut."

Chen bobbed his head. "Then I will help. I would kill ten of these Ten King emperors for a good meal."

The smug man rubbed his hands together. "Wonderful. And now we have a fat man on board," he said, and reached for the wine, but Chen quickly pulled the bottle away from him. "Not that he really had a choice. None of us do. Except you." He turned to the bandaged fellow. "What shall we do about you?"

The bandaged man cocked his head. "There is nothing you can do."

"I can't bring you back," Ein said. "Not so soon after bringing back Chen Lu. I need time to rest. You can't die yet."

The man's bandages twitched around his mouth. Chen guessed he might be smiling underneath, but it was impossible to tell. "But that is why I have come to serve you. I cannot choose the time of my death. It is happening, even now."

The Ipian woman leaned forward. "What is wrong with you?" the woman asked.

"I have advanced necrosis. The chirugeons called it leprosy."

The smug man's chair scraped across the wooden floor as he moved farther away from the diseased man.

"I am dying, day by day, bit by bit. So much of me is lost already. But the stars told me you would come. They told me you would have the ability to bring the dead back. I do not want to die, Ein. Or at least, I do not want to stay dead."

The boy frowned. "I need time to rest."

The leper bowed his head. "I will serve you until I cannot. Until the last of me rots away.

The smug one groaned again. "Wonderful. A fat man and a leper with a gun. This is why I hate Ban Ping."

Chapter 16

The next day the monks came. Just as Zhihao had predicted, not that Itami or the boy ever bothered listening to him. They didn't come in ones or twos, but in a swarm of coloured robes, sharp steel, and demands. First they demanded that Zhihao and the others leave the inn peacefully. Then they demanded to know why Death's Echo, a champion of the people, was among a group of common brawlers. It was really quite frustrating that not a one of them remembered Zhihao Cheng, the young boy who ran away from the order to become one of the greatest bandits Hosa had ever known. Iron Gut seemed equally annoyed that the monks claimed never to have heard of him. He shouted about his iron gut, and all he had done for the people of Ban Ping, but the monks were resolute on the matter. Eventually the monks announced their final demand. For the crime of brawling in the streets and disrupting the peace of Ban Ping, they were banished from the city for no less than one year. As far as punishments went it was actually quite lenient. Zhihao had heard of hands being cut off for such crimes in some other cities. But the monks were nothing if not a benevolent bunch of star-worshipping arses.

Itami bowed a lot, apologised even more, and made promises of a swift departure. Zhihao might have argued, but he'd had enough of Ban Ping since the moment Ein had mentioned it. So he shut his mouth, rested his hands on his sword hilts, and followed along behind Whispering Blade. The monks escorted them all the way to the eastern city limits; they were taking no chances with them and for good reason.

With the morning sun warming their faces, Iron Gut put up his parasol and shaded himself. The big yellow ball wasn't particularly hot, which made it all the stranger, but the fat man hid behind his paper shield as though his face might melt in the light. He poked at the gooey hole in his face, and looked none too happy about it. Citizens making their way into Ban Ping stepped aside to let them pass. They were an odd bunch: a young boy with a death-like stare, a handsome bandit, a dour swordswoman, a fat man with a with a parasol in one hand and a wooden keg under his arm, and a short rifleman covered in bandages.

The road east led onward in a haze of sun and dust that seemed to turn the world orange. Just like on the western side of Ban Ping, there were carts and carriages and travellers on foot, dozens of beggars trudging into the city and monks handing out bowls of rice. Iron Gut regularly complained he was hungry and often stopped to drink from the keg he carried with him, though the wine tasted foul. Buffalo roamed around the north, with shepherds watching the beasts to deter poachers. Not that it would work. Back in Flaming Fist's company, they would regularly steal such beasts for a good meal at night. Occasionally they'd have to rough up the shepherd, but unless they fought back Flaming Fist wouldn't allow the men to kill him. Fist used to say 'Bandits needed farmers to feed them, and farmers needed bandits so they had something to complain about.'

It was closing in on midday before anyone spoke a word that wasn't a complaint about hunger or a greeting to fellow travellers of the road. The silence bothered Zhihao. It left him alone with his own thoughts and they more often than not turned to self-reflection, which in turn led to self-recrimination. Itami was right to call him a coward. He'd let her fight Flaming Fist alone because he wasn't sure who would win. Sides were best chosen when the outcome was certain. He'd run from Yanmei without so much as looking at her, lest he have to admit something to himself that he simply wasn't capable of.

"So where are we going?" Zhihao asked with false cheer. He told his mind to be quiet and ignored its attempts to continue pointing out his flaws.

"According to you," Iron Gut squeaked, "the palace of Wu." Iron Gut giggled, which set all of his flesh jiggling. Zhihao grimaced and looked away in disgust.

"Our final destination, yes. But the boy isn't done recruiting just yet, are you?" Zhihao caught up with Ein and then drifted back again when the boy looked at him.

Ein pointed north-east. "Past the bamboo forest lies Sun Valley."

A raspy laugh from behind sounded wet and painful, and ended in a cough. Zhihao saw a fresh red stain on Roi Astara's bandages, right where his mouth should be. "A place where masters learn open hand wushu. Sun Valley produces two things: grape wine and heroes."

"Grape wine?" Iron Gut smacked his lips noisily. "I would like to try that. Is it far different to rice wine?"

"Yes," Itami said quietly. "It is sweeter, and fruity."

Zhihao laughed. "Not that you can taste it, fat man. None of us can. Except the leper."

Out of the corner of his eye, Zhihao saw Roi Astara shake his head. "My sense of taste has long since decayed. I don't remember the last time I tasted anything. You think you are unfortunate because you are only mostly alive, that everything you put in your mouth tastes like ash and dirt? You are still more alive than I. Even filth would taste better than no taste at all."

"Well, that's depressing," Zhihao said. He'd not actually considered that the leper might be closer to death than any of them. "How did you get it? The leprosy thing?"

"I died."

"Well, who hasn't?" Zhihao laughed to cover his despair. They had all died, that was how Ein had bound them to himself. He could still just about remember something about being dead. Perhaps it was an echo of the afterlife, whatever that might be. Zhihao remembered light, so much of it darkness couldn't exist, and so bright it hurt. Only there was no pain. He shook his head to clear the confusing thoughts and questioned the leper further before they could all lapse back into uncomfortable silence.

"I went to Long when I was younger," Roi Astara rasped. "To see the shrines built into the mountain. There are hundreds of them. It was beautiful. Some worship the stars, others worship old gods all but forgotten. Some are dedicated to foreign gods from Nash or Cochran, but most are for Hosan and Ipian worship. Some even worship shinigami, the lords of death. I saw statues of them, bare foot and hunched, grotesque things with squat bodies and huge faces." Roi Astara coughed and speckled his bandages with fresh blood. "Each of them has long ears and bulbous or hooked noses. Some have teeth, while others have fangs. They wear rags, barely covering their bodies, and greedy expressions. Shinigami are hungry for souls and guard their collections jealously. I have heard it said they fight from time to time, and that is why some of the shrines are little more than wrecks with broken statues. Overgrown and untended."

Zhihao interrupted the story. "You said you've met one, boy. What did it look like?"

Ein said nothing, his bare feet dragging in the dust of the road. After a while Zhihao turned back to the leper. "So you died?"

"I was praying at the feet of one of the shinigami and someone strangled me from behind. I believe I was made into an offering by one of the priests. I was younger and not strong enough to fight back. Yes, I died."

Iron Gut waded into the conversation with his high voice. "Are you certain? It is quite common for people to stop strangulation before the victim is actually dead."

"Common?" Zhihao asked.

"So I've heard," Iron Gut replied.

"Not speaking from experience then?"

The fat man turned a smile on Zhihao. He looked almost demonic, shaded by his yellow paper parasol. "How is your neck, Green Breeze?"

Zhihao glared. "The Emerald Wind. And my neck is just fine, Lead Belly. Thank you for asking." He gave the fat man a mocking bow, but Iron Gut just turned back to the road and laughed a high-pitched belly laugh.

When the two of them had stopped arguing, Roi Astara continue. "I died. But one of the keepers who tends to the shrines found me and brought me back." Zhihao saw Ein glance backwards at the words. "The traditional way. With care and medicine, and knowledge of the human body. But I was dead too long. Rot set into my body. Over time blood began to well beneath my nails and they pulled free, and some of my teeth fell out. My hair came away in clumps and my skin browned and peeled like fish left too long over the fire." He stopped and held up his left hand. "So far I have lost only one finger." His hands were bandaged, completely wrapped, but it was clear he was missing the index finger on his left hand. Zhihao looked away in distaste. "But the chirurgeons have assured me it is the first of many. My body rots, decaying while I still inhabit it. You may be only mostly alive, but I am mostly dead."

"How very morbid," Zhihao felt a shiver pass through him. "Is it… can we catch it from you?"

"I don't know." Roi Astara turned his milky white eye on Zhihao. "It is probably best we don't try to find out. I keep myself covered. I will eat alone and sleep alone, and never touch anyone."

"That sounds a lonely life," Itami said from up front where she paced along beside the boy.

Roi Astara nodded. "But a necessary one. I can still help people, despite my condition."

"How?" Zhihao asked.

"With this," he said, raising a bandaged hand to point at his one uncovered eye. "And with this." He pointed at his head. "And with this." He patted the rifle slung over his left shoulder.

"The monks certainly respect you," Itami said.

"I have helped the people of Ban Ping many times over the last month while I waited there for Ein."

"Because the stars told you that was where you would find him?"

"Yes."

"You can read them?" Itami asked. "I knew gazers back in Ipia who could read the stars. It earned them positions of privilege, powerful associations."

"No. I cannot read the stars. But they talk to me from time to time. They talk to many people, but most don't know how to listen."

Iron Gut Chen let out an aggressive grunt that might have been a belch in disguise. "Did the stars also tell you how to defeat me?"

Roi Astara shook his head. "No. That was just obvious. Your skin is your armour, Iron Gut Chen. Strengthened by your qi, pushed out from your belly, it makes your skin unbreakable. But a person's eyes are not skin, they are windows from which they see out and others may see in. Windows can be broken."

Iron Gut stopped and turned to face Roi Astara. The pit of his left eye was a ruined mass of melted, twisted flesh, blackened in some places, raw and weeping in others. "You took my eye."

The little leper halted and took a step backwards. They were comically mismatched in size: the fat man, giant and rotund; the rifleman slight and short despite his platform sandals. "I did. Yet still you have more left than I do. You can still see colour, no? You can tell me the hue of the sky or the shade of grass. You can look into a woman's eyes and lose yourself in the depths. I cannot. To me everything is shades of light and dark. Everything is grey.

"You could kill me, Iron Gut Chen," the leper continued, coughing a fresh spray of blood under his bandages. "The look in your eye tells me you would like to. I do not deny I fear death, it is why I am here. It is why I follow Ein, in the hope he will make me mostly alive instead of mostly dead. I fear death, but it would be a relief to not feel rather than feel nothing."

"That's enough, Chen Lu," Itami said. They had all stopped now and were making quite the scene for those nearby on the road. Some slowed to watch, while others moved off the beaten path to give the argument some space. "Why is it, Zhihao, every time you talk someone gets into a fight?"

Zhihao threw up his hands to make sure everyone could see they were not close to his swords. "It wasn't me. Lead Belly started this one. Alright, I'll help. I remember something the monks of Ban Ping used to say. It was one of their teachings, I think." Zhihao cleared his throat and took a deep breath, the words came back to him slowly and reluctantly. "One can either let their losses define them, or define those losses by what is left to them." When he finished he found everyone watching him, even the boy was staring at him with something like curiosity.

Iron Gut belched and started walking. "Monks. As useless as they are numerous."

Itami gave Zhihao a strange look as they set off, bowing her head to him. He considered that look and decided it was probably respect. Then he set about wondering how someone else could respect him, when he had none for himself. He had to admit though, it did feel good not to be the villain for once.

"This isn't over, leper," Iron Gut squeaked and there was real vengeance in his voice. "No one takes from Iron Gut Chen and walks away for free."

Chapter 17

There was no path through the forest of bamboo. It was a maze of tall trees, thin as a person's leg, each reaching forty feet upwards before stretching out to create a thick canopy that let in muted light through disjointed shards. It was a gently swaying sea of green stretching out for days in every direction, and it was the fastest way to reach Sun Valley. It was also the way Ein had chosen to lead them.

The ground crunched under foot, dried leaves and dead trees creating a carpet of brown. Insects chittered all around and the trees whispered with the wind. In some places they grew so dense it would take a men with axes a dozen days to clear a path. In other places the trees grew farther apart, so much so Ein and his heroes could walk side by side, except for Iron Gut who struggled through the forest, pushing aside the tall, green trunks and squeezing his ample girth between them.

There were no other travellers in the forest of bamboo. The only evidence others had ever been there were the markers, each one just about in sight of the one before and after. The markers were little stone towers, each no taller than Cho's knee. Almost like lighthouses, they rose from the forest floor and pointed the way through the forest. Some were in a state of disrepair, crumbling or smashed, and others still had messages carved upon them in old Hosan. Cho couldn't read them, but Chen Lu and Zhihao claimed they were warnings of yokai, vengeful spirits.

She had grown up with brothers; one older and three younger, and knew well how young boys bickered constantly. She also knew the arguing was preferable to those times it stopped, for that often meant mischief was afoot, and Cho had fallen afoul of many a prank set by her younger brothers. But those days and that family life in Ipia were far behind her now. All of her brothers would be full grown by now, probably raising families of their own. Only Cho had followed the warrior's path. Her dedication to her training had made her parents proud, but her failure had broken them. Her exile a shame no family should have to bear. So many years had passed, Cho wondered if they were even still alive.

The arguing started up again when Zhihao laughed at Chen Lu, whose belly was stuck between two large shoots of bamboo. Cho let loose a secret smile; as long as the arguments didn't turn to violence, she quite liked them for the memories they stirred within. Then she caught Roi Astara watching her from the corner of his milky eye, and let the smile fall away. The leper held himself apart from the others, and kept a wary distance from Chen Lu. It was wise, Iron Gut clearly had not forgiven him for the loss of his eye.

"The light is fading." Ein wasn't wrong about that. For a while now the shifting, dancing patches of light on the forest floor had been growing dimmer. The gloom at the edges of Cho's sight was growing thicker. And there were noises that came out as night began to fall, animal calls that almost sounded human..

"We should stop here." Cho halted by a marker. It was mostly intact, though the little carving on top had long since crumbled away. "Before it gets too dark to see the next marker."

"How about a fire?" Zhihao asked. "The leper already looks cold, and I hear the forest of bamboo can get downright frosty."

Cho nodded. "Clear a space and build up some rocks around it. We don't want to set the whole forest alight."

Zhihao affected a mocking bow. "Thank you for teaching me how to play with fire."

They cleared some space for the fire and collected some of the larger dead bamboo, and then fussed about making themselves comfortable on the floor. Ein gathered his knees up to his chest and held onto his legs, while Chen Lu simply collapsed backwards. Zhihao rolled out an old patchy bed roll he had taken from Flaming Fist's camp. Cho brushed away a few twigs and leaned her back against the marker. Roi Astara sat apart from them all, farther away from the fire. When Cho tried to coax him closer, he answered by admitting that none of them wanted to see him eat, and she saw him begin to pull down the bandages around his mouth as he turned away.

Once they were all settled Cho said, "Have you ever heard of the Eeko'Ai?"

Zhihao snorted. "There's no such thing as ghosts."

Roi Astara laughed, a wet rasping cackle. They all looked at him, but his back was turned, his shoulders hunched.

"Not ghosts," Cho said. "Spirits. The Century Blade once told me they dwell in the forest of bamboo. He described them as miniature dragons. Five of them, each no longer than I am tall and sinuous as a serpent. Eel-like bodies with two front paws, padded like a dog's. Their tails don't end, but simply fade away. They found the Century Blade on a night much like this one. He was lost, wandering the forest with no direction or purpose." She recalled his words. "For you cannot find yourself, if you do not first lose your way."

Zhihao let out a loud yawn and rolled backwards onto his sleeping mat. "Please, continue your thrilling tale of a dead man and his journey of self-discovery. Wake me when it's my watch."

"I shall," Ein said, fixing Zhihao with a stare. The Emerald Wind glanced at the boy, and then rolled over to face away from him.

Chen Lu grunted. "I'm interested," he said. "Finish your story." He was chewing on a stick of bamboo and washing it down from his keg. Judging by the sloshing sound, Cho judged it as almost empty.

"I, too, would like to hear it," said Roi Astara. He had turned back to face them, and his bandages were back in place, but he still sat apart from them.

"Osai was the first spirit to come to the Century Blade, streaking through the forest, yellow and orange like the purest flame. It had a face much like a chicken, all wide eyes and beak. And it danced across the tree tops, setting the trees whispering its name. It was a joyful sound, one the forest sang with cheer. But even as Osai greeted the Century Blade, cavorting around him in its glee, the forest fell silent once more.

"Urai was next to appear, but there was no joy or dance in the way the spirit moved. It slipped through the bamboo silently and with severe intent, like a hunter on the tail of its prey. Urai was as deep a green as the bamboo and had the face of a hound, ears flapping and tongue lolling. The spirit's name reached the Century Blade, muttered by its own lips over and over again, as it cut through the trees, eyes fixed on a prey none other could see.

"In the green spirit's wake came Tsai, purple as only flowers can be, with a head like a river cat, all sharp teeth and flashing eyes. It followed in Urai's wake, but flowed along as though it had not a care in the world. Tsai's name was spoken by the shifting of its body, scale against scale, and the word was as clear as a bright dawn. The forest barely noticed its passing.

"Then the forest began to seethe. Leaves shook and the bamboo seemed to grow closer, as though trying to bar the spirit's passage. Noai, the fourth spirit, erupted through the bamboo like a clap of thunder, its wings flapping furiously. It held no regard for the trees and slammed against each one as it passed, causing the forest to boom its name all around. It was deep, ruby red, like flowing gore, and had the face of a shark, teeth gnashing with every undulation of its body.

"Last of all came Ryai. Blue as a bright summer sky, with the face of an owl, all puffed out feathers and wise eyes. It skimmed the forest floor so closely it almost slithered across the ground. But it wound its way around the trees, circling the Century Blade. The fallen leaves spoke its name as it passed, leaving a trail even the most inexperienced of hunters could track. And the forest seemed to come alive with its passing. Flowers opened up and insects scurried in its wake.

"When all five spirits had passed, the Century Blade thought himself lucky. To have seen just one of the Eeko'Ai was thought to be good luck, but to see all five and together was unheard of. That night the Century Blade thanked the stars for his good fortune, and built a small shrine to the forest, to give thanks for showing him the spirits' passing. The very next day, when he woke, the Century Blade found himself on the edge of the tree line, staring out towards Sun Valley and the Cliffs Unbreakable beyond. At first he thought it a boon, the forest having showed him the way. But as soon as he cleared the forest and set his feet once more on the beaten path, he felt a sorrow unlike any other he had felt before. The forest wasn't showing him the way free, it was banishing him from its borders."

Cho stared into the flames of their little fire. She wriggled to find a more comfortable position, then pulled her saya across her lap, making certain her blades were within easy reach.

"I don't think I understand," Chen Lu said. "The forest showed him the Eeko'Ai, then kicked the Century Blade out?"

"No." Roi Astara's voice was muffled and thick, as though he were on the edge of sleep. "The forest ejected the Century Blade because he saw the Eeko'Ai. It was no blessing. Spirits do not haunt places. They haunt people. It is said the Eeko'Ai come only as portents of events that will shape the world. Whatever event they came before, the forest did not wish to witness it."

Zhihao woke to a numb arm and the sight of Ein staring down at him. The fire had burned low and the boy's eyes looked like two pools of crystal clear water. In that moment Zhihao saw a horror far greater than all the wrongs he'd committed. He startled, pulling his arm away from the boy's grasp, and opened his mouth to shout, yet something stopped him. It wasn't the monster looking down on him, nor the sight of the moon through a rare gap in the bamboo canopy. It was the sound of the forest. The intense, oppressive silence that had fallen over their little camp like a blanket. Even shuffling up onto elbows created such a noise, Zhihao was convinced it would bring the wrath of the stars down upon them.

"They're coming," the boy said. "You should meet them on your feet." Ein moved off to wake the others, leaving Zhihao caught on the knife edge of panic and confusion.

"Who's coming?" Zhihao hissed. He rolled onto his feet and kicked at Iron Gut. The fat man moaned, scratched at his belly, then rolled onto his back and let out a snore that ripped the silence of the forest in two. In its wake, riding on the tattered remains of the silence, came horror. Zhihao couldn't place the noises, but he knew one thing for certain; they did not belong in the forest of bamboo.

Itami's sword was halfway out of its saya before she even opened her eyes. She flowed to her feet, shaking off the boy's touch just as Zhihao had. Despite the recent sleep, she was awake and alert, eyes darting around as she looked for the danger. "Whose watch is it?"

"Mine," the rattle came from the leper. Zhihao glanced over to find the man crouching on his wooden sandals, his rifle held in the crook of one arm, and his face pointed upwards slightly, like a wolf sniffing for a scent. "The forest went quiet a few moments ago. Now I hear, something."

"They're coming," the boy repeated as he shook Chen Lu's arm. Flesh wobbled, but the fat man didn't so much as stir.

Zhihao asked, "Who? The Eeko'Ai?" He didn't particularly like the idea of seeing spirits who only appeared on the eve of cataclysmic events.

The boy gave up trying to wake Chen Lu and retreated to stand behind Itami. He shook his head and by the light of the moon and the dying embers of the fire, Zhihao suddenly thought he looked very young. For the first time the boy actually looked his age. And something else too. He looked scared. "Far worse. The yokai are coming."

It was an Ipian word and one Zhihao had never heard before, but drew his swords all the same, and sent another kick at the fat man's leg. Flesh wobbled, but it was like kicking an anvil.

"Vengeful spirits," Itami said as she ushered the boy to stand behind her, between the forest and the light of the dying fire. "Servants to shinigami."

"Shouldn't we be fine then?" Zhihao asked. "I thought you were one of the shinigami's servants? We're on a quest for them, aren't we?"

A strange clicking noise drifted to Zhihao's ears and he turned to find a shape lurching between the trees just at the edge of his vision. There was something in the way it moved, something wrong, that sent a shiver up Zhihao's spine. Then a howl split the night, causing him to jump. It echoed through the forest until Zhihao couldn't tell where it had come from. He knew Hosa quite well, and he knew this region too. There were no wolves so far from the Heshan border, and no hound made a sound quite like that.

"Fuck this!" Zhihao made to kick at Chen Lu again, but the fat man's eyes were open now, staring up into the forest. He slowly levered himself upright and reached for his mace. Zhihao found himself feeling a lot more confident with Iron Gut Chen at his back, though he couldn't really say why.

"I serve a shinigami," Ein said, his voice small. "I think it likely these yokai serve a different one."

The leper said, "The shinigami are gods." He had crept closer to the fire, but he still kept a distance between himself and the others. "And like most gods," Roi Astara continued, "they exist to meddle in the affairs of people, and fight amongst themselves. Whichever shinigami Ein serves has enemies, and those enemies would love to see him fail in his quest."

Zhihao was certain once more that he would have run off if not for the pesky problem of being bound to the boy. It was a bad situation made worse by the fact that he had no experience in dealing with gods or the vengeful spirits they commanded. "How do we fight them?"

Ein stared at him for a moment, dancing flames reflecting in his eyes. "The traditional way."

The first of the yokai to show itself, lurched between bamboo shoots, coming ever closer. It made no sound other than the clicking of bone scraping against bone. Half its face was living pink flesh, and the other bleached skull. One leg looked like any other person's, while the other was bloody muscle and tendons standing stark and white. It stared at Zhihao with its one, right eye, and lurched forwards another step. The yokai howled again and the noise echoed around the forest, and ended with a wet rattle, as though the monster were drowning in its own blood.

The skeletal monster lurched into a run, straight towards Zhihao, its arms outstretched towards him. Zhihao stepped through the world, leaving his image to scatter on the breeze, and reappeared next to the yokai. Two swift strikes with his swords battered the thing's head, tearing away flesh, but leaving no lasting damage. The creature seemed to feel no pain. As it turned towards him, Zhihao ducked under its arms and hooked his swords in its bared rib cage, pivoting and swinging the yokai around.

"Duck!" A high-pitched voice shouted. Zhihao ducked down just as Chen Lu's mace connected with the yokai's body, bursting apart bones and flesh. When Zhihao stood again he found his swords hooked around a single remaining rib connected to a hip and two standing legs.

"Thanks for the warning," he laughed. Then the leg with flesh still attached kicked Zhihao in the face.

Zhihao staggered back a couple of steps, and rubbed at his face with one hand. He stood next to Chen Lu and they watched as the legs teetered, stumbling left and then right, but not falling. After a few moments Iron Gut lurched forwards with a shout and smashed his mace down on the legs, crushing them to the ground. He hit them again and again until he was pouring sweat and huffing in huge breaths. There was little left but pulverised flesh and bone dust, but still one of the feet twitched. Zhihao hooked a sword through the toe bones, and slung the twitching foot deeper into the forest. When he turned to Chen Lu, the fat man nodded at him, a job well done. It only took two legends to deal with a single staggering corpse.

Itami was protecting the boy, her sword held in both hands before her, and a steaming pile of green flesh at her feet. Zhihao considered asking, but quickly decided he had no wish to know what the thing had been.

A rifle sounded and Zhihao turned to see Roi Astara already reloading. The leper nodded and Zhihao glimpsed something red in the forest beyond him. A harsh cackle drifted out from the trees in front of them. Zhihao caught a glimpse of the yokai then, a beautiful woman wearing a wedding robe stained red. She floated above the forest floor, and her black hair flowed as though she were underwater.

"The bullets pass through her," the leper said.

"Let me try some hardened steel instead," Zhihao said with a confidence that he surely didn't feel.

The woman floated towards them, laughing savagely, muddy tears rolling down her porcelain face. Her claw-tipped finger dripped something foul and black. Zhihao darted forwards and hooked his swords together, slashing at the woman. The swords passed through her like she was smoke. Zhihao unhooked his swords and moved in closer. He slashed her again with his left sword, then spun and punched her in the face with the sharpened guard of the right, tearing away bits of the apparition like a breeze through fog; still she advanced, and clawed at his face. He dodged once, and then stepped through the world, leaving his scattered image for the woman to tear at. He reappeared next to Roi Astara.

"That didn't work," the leper said.

"No," Zhihao agreed. "It did not."

Itami breezed past them in a rustle of fabric, the tip of her sword dragging through the carpet of leaves and twigs. She stopped in front of the apparition, ducked a swipe, and brought her blade upwards, cutting the ghost in half. It screamed and seemed to boil away, bubbling and fading until nothing was left of the red dress or porcelain skin.

"That worked," the leper said.

Zhihao nodded. "I tried my best."

"Whispering Blade's best was better."

Zhihao turned and frowned at Roi Astara, and then realised just how close they were standing. He backed off a step, meeting the leper's eye, but there was no hostility there, only understanding.

A screech turned Zhihao around and he saw Ein struggling, pinned to the forest floor by a small green dog with huge front legs and tiny back legs. Its fat body ended not in a head, but in a large mouth with pointed fangs. The boy was trying to push it away, but the hound slipped his grip and took hold of his small arm, worrying it between its teeth. Zhihao flung one of his swords. Hooked swords were not ideal throwing weapons, but he made it work. The blade hooked into the spirit's flesh, and sent it reeling a few feet from Ein. It was enough space for Zhihao to step through the world and dig his second sword into the creature, hooking its mouth. Zhihao yanked the thrown sword free from the hound's flesh, and hooked into the other side of its gaping mouth. He pulled the yokai's mouth wider and wider until its jowls started to tear and blood oozed out. Zhihao's muscles were straining and he was near screaming when the hound's jaw finally split open. But rather than die, the creature lay there on the forest floor, whining in pain and lapping at the blood that leaked from its broken mouth.

Zhihao was still staring down at the creature when Itami stepped past him and buried her sword in the hound's body. It spasmed and then died with a pitiful mewl. Zhihao turned away in disgust and found Chen Lu panting and holding a grotesque man by the arm with one hand while the man chomped at Iron Gut's forearm, heedless of his teeth crumbling against the fat man's iron skin. The man had sallow flesh, hair like straw, and a bulbous nose that mocked his hideous face. Chen Lu used his free hand to seize the man's other arm and rip it off the man's body, but instead of gushing blood, a few drips of black gore trickled from the man's opened shoulder, and he didn't even seem to feel it.

"Jikininki," Chen Lu said. "Corpse eater." He tossed the one armed man onto the camp fire, where it flailed about, and eventually regained its feet. Itami separated his head with a clean swipe of her katana, and the body dropped, smothering what was left of the fire.

They all fell silent then, listening as the normal sounds of the forest returned. The attack was over, for now, that much was clear. Zhihao would have thought the boy shaken by the experience, especially seeing as he was nearly eaten by a faceless green hound, and had the wounds to show for it. But the boy just mumbled something to himself over and over again, and rubbed his scarf between his bloody fingers. Zhihao noticed the wounds were barely bleeding, despite them being quite deep. He wondered at that, but had little time to broach the subject.

Chen Lu pulled the jikininki's burning corpse from the fire and tossed it farther into the forest as though it weighed no more than a doll. Then they all set about putting their little camp in order. In silence they cleared the fire and set it going anew. Then they all settled down to rest again. Iron Gut even managed to return to his deafening snoring again, but Zhihao knew he wouldn't sleep another wink that night. Or perhaps ever again. Before he met Ein, he had known spirits existed, had heard many of the stories, but he had never seen one. Now he had seen six, and even killed one. At least it was a kill he would remember.

"Is this likely to happen again?" Zhihao asked to anyone who might still be listening. Sleep was beyond him and the quiet was a gnawing itch on his nerves. "Not that I don't enjoy fighting half-rotted corpses of women…"

"Hone-onna," the boy said. He had quit his panicked fiddling with his scarf and was busy stitching his wounds. "She wasn't half rotted. The hone-onna rise as skeletons from the grave. They choose healthy victims and steal their organs and flesh, stretching it over their bones to become human once again."

"Oh." Zhihao sighed, no more pleased than before, now that he knew the name of the thing he had defeated.

"The shinigami can command many spirits," the boy continued. "If one has set its eyes on me, I feel it is unlikely the yokai we faced tonight will be the last. We must be vigilant. They know where I am." The boy looked across the firelight at Zhihao. "We are being hunted."

Chapter 18

The remainder of their journey was peaceful, save for Chen Lu's complaining about running out of wine and Zhihao's complaining about Chen Lu's complaints. Cho kept a keen eye on Ein. The wound given to him by the hound spirit was sewn shut, but it showed no signs of healing. No scabs formed, but neither did the wound seem to fester, and the stitches the boy had sewn into his skin held tight. She suggested they bandage it, or maybe even wrap his red scarf around the wound to keep it from getting dirty, but Ein just shook his head and pulled the scarf tighter around his neck. Cho didn't think she was the only one to notice: Roi Astara rarely took his white eye from the boy.

They saw no other spirits, yokai, Eeko'Ai, or any other, and Cho was glad of that. She held no particular fascination or revulsion for them, but neither did she like the trouble that spirits always seemed to bring. Spirits were a part of the world, and had been for as long as the world had been, but they usually kept away from most humans. Except when they didn't, and those were times of great strife in the world.

On the third day the bamboo forest gave way to a wooden path, still under construction. It felt good to have solid human construction under foot again; it gave the impression that they were headed in the right direction, back to some sort of civilisation. The Century Blade may have enjoyed his time lost in nature, wandering forest and mountain, all alone and apart from human contact, but Cho was not him. Whispering Blade much preferred cities to forests and hated the thought of being alone. When she thought about it, she could almost feel what it was like to be dead, in that time before Ein brought her back. She felt that she was alone. A loneliness so complete it was as though no one else had ever existed, and that scared her far more than any trial life had ever thrown at her.

Sun Valley stretched out before them. Hills climbed up high and wide, rising into mountains on either side of the valley, but there, where it was lowest, Cho could see green trees, fields dotted with colour and men and women working them, and a lake that shimmered in the midday light. At the far end of the valley, the largest mountain of all rose up, and nestled into its side was a giant structure, the Sun Valley dojo. She couldn't imagine how men could build such a thing, or how they managed to make it cling to the mountain so.

A large group of men and women near the bottom of the valley were practising a type of open-hand wushu Cho had never seen before as though it were a dance. Dozens of people followed the lead of master, moving in a mesmerising synchronicity. Cho stopped to watch the practice, and before long she found the others next to her. As one, the wushu practitioners let out a powerful shout, voices mingled together to form into a blast of sound, yet the ground did not shake and the grass did not stir. That technique was Cho's alone.

"Strong qi makes strong bodies," Chen Lu said, hiding beneath his yellow parasol. "Weak qi makes weak minds." He reached out and flicked a finger at Zhihao's head.

"My mind is strong enough, fat man," Zhihao replied, but he didn't move away from Chen Lu. That seemed an improvement: The Emerald Wind was no longer trying so hard to keep himself separate from the others.

The wushu master glanced towards them and straightened. He raised his hand and waved, a greeting with some familiarity. Roi Astara was the one to wave back, and the man bowed to his students, then left them. He was tall and rakishly thin, bare chested and dripping with sweat from practising wushu in the sun, but he did not appear tired. Quite the opposite, the man appeared energised. He bounded up the hill toward Cho and the others, a smile written large across his gaunt face, his long black tail of hair whipping about from the motion. He stopped close by and bowed again, this time directly to Roi Astara, who returned the respect, though Cho knew it pained him to bend.

"It is good to see you again, Death's Echo," the man said, his voice deep and full of mirth. "I had thought we might not get another chance."

Roi Astara straightened from his own bow. "I am less than I was before, but still alive for now," he said in his raspy, muffled voice.

"Your search for a cure?"

The leper was silent for a moment too long. Perhaps no one else noticed, but Cho did. He was holding back, maybe from the others or maybe from himself. He truly believed Ein might be the cure for his disease, but hope was a dangerous commodity to give voice to. Inside it could be suppressed and denied, but once it was out, there was no taking it back.

"Ongoing," Roi Astara said at last. "I still fear my body will finally fail before I find it."

The man bowed again, then pushed his tail of hair back behind him, it reached almost down to his waist. "You are, as ever, welcome in Sun Valley. Either to rest, or to live out the remainder of your days in whatever comfort we can offer. We owe you that much and more."

"Thank you."

"We have made enquiries, on your behalf, but Cochtan's healers are also at a loss. They recommended cleansing your chakras. And leeches."

Roi Astara let out a rasping chuckle and the man joined in. "The Cochtans love their leeches. But they have never worked before, I see no reason they would now."

Again the master bowed, and finally turned his attention to Roi Astara's companions. "I, Tien Han, welcome you to Sun Valley. Friends of Death's Echo are friends of the valley."

"Do friends of the valley get fed?" Chen Lu asked without preamble or shame.

"Do you think of anything but food, fat man?" Zhihao asked.

"I think of wine. Occasionally women." Chen Lu nodded to himself. "That about covers it."

Tien looked on, smiling. "We have simple food. Mostly rice and fruit. Some fish from the lake. Perhaps you will grant me your names before I feed you?"

"Iron Gut Chen, master of qi. You'll have heard of me." He finished by slapping his belly. If Tien had, in fact, heard of Iron Gut Chen, he gave no indication.

"Zhihao Cheng…" Zhihao said.

"The Green Breeze," Chen Lu added with a laugh.

"The Emerald Wind." Zhihao stared daggers up at Chen Lu, but the fat man ignored him.

Cho bowed to Tien. "Itami Cho. And this little one is Ein. We are escorting him to Wu, but he wanted to see the legendary Sun Valley first."

"You are welcome to stay with us, and see what our valley has to offer." Tien proceeded to lead them down into the valley. It was a tour of sorts: he pointed out the crops they grew on either side, grapes mostly grew in the central areas of the valley where the sun hit all day round. They were large and red and juicy, and though they tasted foul Cho would happily have eaten a handful. But out of respect she limited herself to only one. Chen Lu was not so deferent and devoured more than many. If Tien thought him rude, he did not say. They were told that most of the grapes were pulped and turned into wine, a far more valuable product than the fruit itself, and then sold to the cities of Hosa, and even a few up north beyond the Cochtan border. Both Chen Lu and Zhihao were quite enthusiastic about the prospect of wine, it was almost as though they had both forgotten that it would taste of filth.

On the east side of the valley they grew brown tea, and on the west side they grew green tea. Tien explained that Sun Valley traded for most of what they needed, and Cho was surprised to discover that most of the tea consumed in Hosa was grown right here in the confines of the valley. It was a booming trade, but despite that fact, Sun Valley remained neutral in the conflict between the ten kings, and even now that the emperor had united Hosa, the residents of Sun Valley remained apart, almost like their own little kingdom. It was only by the strength of their wushu that such a thing was possible. As Tien explained it, Sun Valley traded in tea, wine, and the strongest warriors Hosa had ever known. The evidence was telling: everywhere in the valley men and women were working fields or practising their martial art. It was a small nation of warriors, strengthened by the daily toil of a hard life.

Thanks to Roi Astara, the group spent their first night in Sun Valley as honoured guests at the head of a feast. A grand wooden dojo was cleared of weapons and tables and chairs were brought in. Plates of food were brought out to the tables, and Sun Valley residents, and visitors alike were encouraged to move amongst the tables, sampling whichever foods they liked. When the sun set over Sun Valley even Chen Lu found his belly full.

Cho only picked at her food, despising the taste it left in her mouth, and Zhihao did the same. Roi Astara still refused to eat with anyone else, taking his food to a corner so no one could see what ravages his disease had done to his face. It was curiosity, more than anything else, that led Cho to catch a glimpse of the man's mouth. She snuck up on him silently while he was eating. Before Roi Astara noticed and fixed his bandages, she saw he had no lips, the flesh long since having rotted away, and many of his teeth had fallen out. His flesh was wrinkled and brown, oozing in many places. The man looked half a skeleton, as horrific as the hone-onna.

Ein ate nothing, and drank sparingly. Cho noticed his eyes roving the gathered members of Sun Valley, and the warriors did not suffer that ghostly stare well. The boy could quiet a raucous conversation from across the room with only a passing of his gaze. Despite his scrutiny, it was clear he did not find what he was looking for, and eventually Cho pulled him aside, making certain not to touch his skin.

"We're here for someone?" she asked abruptly "Who is it we're looking for, Ein?"

The boy sighed. "Bingwei Ma, the Master of Sun Valley. The greatest wushu master to ever live."

"And we're going to kill him for you?"

Ein nodded.

"Well, I suppose I could ask around."

"No." The boy's voice was sharp. "I will find Master Ma. Tomorrow you will fight him, and then we will leave Sun Valley."

Cho almost laughed at that. She hadn't stopped anywhere for more than a few hours since meeting Ein, a whole day in Sun Valley seemed heavenly. "We could stay for a few days," she said. "The people here seem quite enamoured with Roi Astara, and I think Chen Lu would relish the generous portions of food."

"No." Ein went back to searching the room with his gaze. "We don't have time to stop. The yokai have found me once, they will find me again and in greater numbers. We need to reach Wu."

Cho shook her head. "Even if we left tomorrow, we're still more than a week away. If we bought horses—"

"No. I will walk. And you will protect me from the yokai attacks. Only you can kill them, Whispering Blade." He looked at her, then lowered his gaze to the swords at her side.

Cho drew in a deep breath and nodded. "I'll tell the others we leave tomorrow." Ein moved away and Cho felt a sourness in her stomach. More yokai were coming, the boy was sure of it, and in greater numbers. But that was not the worst of it. Tomorrow she would have to fight the greatest wushu master Hosa had ever known, and it was a fight she was not certain any of them could win.

Chapter 19

Iron Gut Chen vs The Master of Sun Valley

Zhihao had trouble sleeping that night. It wasn't the foul taste the food had left in his mouth, nor the frustration at having to leave the very next day, though he freely admitted to Itami that he would happily live a few days off the generosity of the people of Sun Valley. No, what kept Zhihao from sleeping that night was the painting of an old woman in the little room he and Iron Gut had been given, and the way the painting's eyes watched him all night. At first, Iron Gut ignored Zhihao, but after some insistent prodding the fat man finally sat up and looked at the painting. The woman in the painting was dressed in a flowing silver gown, her legs braced and her hands held up and apart. The plaque read Ling Gao and claimed her to be the founder of Sun Valley. They both stared at the face in the painting, and eventually Iron Gut sighed and told Zhihao he was crazy. Then the eyes in painting blinked.

It was not a secret hole in the wall where someone might watch through the painting's eyes, nor some trick of the light, or a hallucination on Zhihao's part. The painting blinked once, and then continued watching them. Worse yet, no matter where Zhihao went in the little room, the eyes seemed to follow him. At last Chen Lu declared the painting a type of mokumokuren, and went back to bed. The fat man was snoring within minutes, and Zhihao spent the entire night watching the painting watch him. Even worse was that the eyes seemed to be contagious: new sets kept opening up on the walls and ceiling. Before long the entire room was filled with eyes staring at Zhihao. He would have left to spend the night under the stars, but they were on the door as well, so instead Zhihao sat there and bore it. It was only in the morning at breakfast, when the sun was just rising, that Ein told him a mokumokuren was a harmless type of yokai, likely sent by one of the shinigami to keep watch on him and his heroes. All thought of an extended stay in Sun Valley fled Zhihao that morning, and there was no one more willing climb out of the valley and be on the road again than he. Unfortunately, the boy had one stop for them to make before they left. He had found the next member of their group, or at least the man who would become the next member after they killed him.

They found the Master of Sun Valley in a field at the eastern edge of Sun Valley. The field was mostly dirt, having been harvested, and it needed tilling before new crops could be planted. Rather than use a bull or horse to pull the plough, Bingwei Ma, Master of Sun Valley had simply hooked the harness over his own shoulders, and was doing the job of two work animals all on his own. There was already a small group of people watching, residents of Sun Valley amazed by the man's feats. It was clearly a show. No doubt the man was strong, but those watching must have seen it before; either that or the entire thing was for their benefit, meant to impress. It worked.

"He has impressive qi," Chen Lu said as they watched. He was hiding beneath his parasol, shading himself from the sun.

Zhihao snorted. "It's more than his qi that's impressive, fat man. He's taller than I am and, look at him, he's solid muscle." Even from a distance they could see his arms and chests and legs all bulging with tightly packed muscle, straining with the effort of pulling something no man should be able to pull. The Master of Sun Valley wore only trousers, and tough hide boots. His hair was tied into a topknot and his moustache was thick and threatening to blossom into a full beard at any moment. "What sort of weapons does he use?"

"None," Ein said. "Like all the occupants of Sun Valley, he practises open hand wushu."

"Well there's that, I suppose." Zhihao shrugged.

"It makes him more dangerous, not less," the boy continued, fiddling with his red scarf. "Bingwei Ma started practising wushu as soon as he could stand. By the age of four he was competing with children much older than him. At five he had already surpassed all but the masters. When he was six they declared him a master of open hand wushu. By the age of seven he had surpassed even the other masters. He has not lost a fight since. He is now forty-three."

Zhihao glanced at Itami to find her staring at him. A straight fight against Iron Gut had been difficult enough, and they only won thanks to the leper and his rifle. This Master of Sun Valley sounded even worse. But at least they now had the fat man and his qi fighting with them, rather than against. It seemed a boon given that no weapon could pierce his skin. Zhihao looked up at the fat man and found him playing with his new eye patch, poking a fat finger underneath it to scratch at his empty socket.

"Well this isn't exactly going to be a fair duel," Zhihao muttered to himself. "It will be three on one. The odds will be in our favour." There was no doubt they were in for one hell of a fight and he needed all the confidence he could fake.

"I never said duel," the boy said. "I said he has not lost a fight since he was seven. Bingwei Ma regularly bests the other masters of Sun Valley all at once." The way the boy said it sent chills down Zhihao's spine. "I did not lightly call him the greatest wushu master Hosa has ever seen."

They continued watching until Bingwei Ma had finished pulling the plough around the field. It was the respectful thing to do, and the wearier the man was, the better the odds they might beat him. When he was finished, he stopped by a water barrel and spooned some into his mouth and then over his chest. At last he turned to find the heroes still watching. The citizens of Sun Valley had retreated to their own work.

"Are you away then?" Bingwei Ma asked as he approached them. His voice was smooth and powerful as an ocean tide and made Zhihao want to slink away.

"We have a task first," Itami said. "We intend to be gone by midday."

The Master of Sun Valley nodded, then bowed to the leper. "I do not know you. But I heard my people speak well of you this morning, Death's Echo. You rescued the children, when no one else could find them. And dealt justice to the kidnappers. You have my gratitude, as well as that of everyone in Sun Valley. Thank you."

The leper returned the bow. "I dislike seeing people hurt children." His voice was a wet mumble, low and rough, but the people of Sun Valley had given him new bandages and his mouth was no longer spattered with blood.

"So what is this task you must complete before you go?"

"A challenge," Itami said.

The Master of Sun Valley laughed and nodded. "I should have guessed. You all look like warriors. Even the boy looks formidable. Perhaps in the forest, away from the fields."

Chen Lu grunted. "You do not wish for an audience?"

He shook his head. "My people know my strength. They do not need to see me beat you."

"Ha!" The fat man's squeaked. "More likely you don't want them to see me beat their hero."

The Master of Sun Valley only smiled at the taunt, extending a hand towards the forest. He picked up a light tunic and they walked towards the forest of bamboo together.

Chen watched the Master of Sun Valley as they entered the forest. He was strong, there could be no doubt about that, and he did not look at all tired despite a morning of hard work pulling the plough. But there was something else that assured Chen that the man would be a challenge. He had a calmness to his qi. His energy sat easily inside him, at peace. It would make a nice change. Zhihao's qi was a raging storm, strong yet directionless. Itami's was corrupted by the dead she carried around with her. And the boy had no qi, which was even more impossible than his ability to bring people back from the dead. Chen decided he would enjoy having someone nearby who projected such tranquillity.

They stopped by a small clearing, no more than a dozen paces wide, but large enough that Chen could move without bumping into bamboo. The sun shone down though the swaying gaps in the canopy and painted the forest floor in a swaying dapple of light. The Master of Sun Valley bowed low to them, a sign of respect. Chen attempted to return it, but his bulk only allowed him to bend so far.

"So how do you wish to do this?" Bingwei Ma asked. "Would you like to test yourselves all at once?"

"I will not be taking part," the leper said. "Good luck to you all."

"Coward," Chen grunted at the man. He knew it was not true, but he found it was difficult to forgive a man who had so recently taken his eye. "You can look after my wine then." He dumped his new keg down on the earth, along with his mace and parasol. "And don't touch it!"

The leper bowed his head. "I have no wish to pass my disease to you, Iron Gut Chen."

Itami stepped forward, one hand as always resting on her katana hilt. Chen had never seen her draw the second sword, but he noticed it had no tsuba, and a sword with no hand guard was dangerous. She bowed and said, "With respect to your strength, and ferocious reputation, I feel it would be best if we fought you all at once."

"No," Chen said as he walked past the woman, putting himself between them and Bingwei Ma. "I am Iron Gut Chen. I challenge you to a test of strength, Master of Sun Valley." Chen waved a hand at Ein. "Boy, tell him of my many feats of strength."

Ein was silent for a moment. Chen took the time to straighten his back and puff out his chest a bit. The Master of Sun Valley was so motionless he could have been chiselled from stone.

"You held the gate at Fingsheng against the army of Uros," Ein said quietly. "One hundred men tried to breach the city, but you put your back against it and held."

Chen growled. "You tell it with no conviction, boy. It's as if you're reading from a book."

"No. I know all the stories from memory. I lost my book up on Long."

"There were easily three hundred men that day," Chen said, "and I held the gate for hours. The people of Fingsheng showered me with gifts. Nine out of ten babes born after that day were named Chen, in my honour."

"You sound quite formidable, Iron Gut Chen," Bingwei Ma said. "I will happily engage you in a test of strength."

Itami stepped forward, turning her back on the Master of Sun Valley to shield her words. "Chen Lu," she whispered, "it would be wiser to fight him all at once. We should work together."

Chen shook his head and laughed. "I need neither a Quiet Sword, nor a Green Breeze. I shall best the man myself and prove my worth for the hundredth time. I wrestled the dire bear, you know."

"Yaurong?" Bingwei Ma sounded surprised at that. "An impressive feat to survive."

Chen nodded, more than a little pleased with himself. "It was a draw."

"Bingwei Ma, the Master of Sun Valley, also wrestled Yaurong," this from Ein. The boy was sitting on the ground next to the leper, Chen's wine keg between them. "It remains the only time in recorded history that the dire bear was beaten."

"What? You lie!" Chen shouted

The boy shook his head.

Bingwei Ma laughed at that. "I bloodied the bear's nose and he retreated. In truth it was a short contest. Perhaps Yaurong had eaten some bad fish that day. How shall we do this, Iron Gut Chen? I leave the choice of contest to you."

Chen couldn't decide if the man's humility was genuine, or a way to mock Chen's own accomplishments. In the end it did not matter. He would prove himself by beating the Master of Sun Valley. He would prove himself to the group to which he was bound, and to himself, and also to the very man whom he challenged. No man was unbeatable, and no man had ever matched Iron Gut Chen for strength.

"Whispering Blade," Chen Lu said. "I would have you cut us some lengths of bamboo. As thick a tree as you can find and each as long as the boy is tall."

They waited while Itami selected a thick bamboo tree and tapped at it with a finger. Chen had no idea what she was listening for, but it did not take her long to find a tree that pleased her. With a single slash from her sword she felled the tree and stood aside as it came crashing down. He approved of her choice, it was as thick as a strong man's arm. She then cut the tree into six lengths and returned her katana to its saya.

"Good luck," Itami said, her voice betraying her doubt. She could see what Chen had in mind and knew it would be folly for most men.

Chen picked up one of the lengths of bamboo and made a show of considering it. It was fresh and green and strong. He gripped it at either end, and flexed it. The Bamboo was both strong and flexible, but the single length soon started to give way to Chen's strength. Grunting from the effort, Chen flexed it farther and farther until it split in the middle and snapped in two. He laughed, dropped the two broken ends, and wiped the sheen of sweat from his head. Then he turned to the Master of Sun Valley and gestured to the remaining lengths of bamboo. "Your turn."

Bingwei Ma scooped up his choice of bamboo and placed his hands as far apart as he could along it. He did not grip it with his thumbs and Chen could respect that. It would be easier to break with thumbs splayed out along the length, but such a method could easily end with a severed digit, at least for most people, though no amount of sharp bamboo could pierce his iron skin. The Master of Sun Valley tested his length, flexing it a little once, twice, and then bent his true strength to the task. It lasted no longer than Chen's had and soon there were two split sticks of bamboo on the forest floor.

Chen nodded. "Two then." He bent over and picked up two lengths of bamboo, each of nearly equal size. Itami had done well in chopping the tree down. Gripping two shoots of bamboo at once was difficult, and flexing them harder still, but Chen was strong. His body was tough, his qi was deep. He bent his full power to the task, leaning into the bamboo and flexing his muscles. The shoots groaned as they bent back and finally cracked, splits forming along the lengths until they gave way and Chen ripped them apart. He threw the bamboo to the ground and let out a triumphant shout that echoed throughout the forest.

Chen saw awe on their faces and realised they were finally seeing his true worth. It wasn't just his mastery of qi, or his unbreakable skin, it was his mammoth strength that eclipsed that of any other man.

Zhihao held a smaller piece of bamboo in his hands, thinner than a woman's wrist and already starting to brown. He was flexing it, bending his strength upon it and failing.

Chen turned back to Bingwei Ma again and waved at the final two shoots of bamboo lying on the ground.

"Your strength is impressive, Iron Gut Chen," Bingwei Ma said as he knelt to gather up the bamboo. He grew serious then, grimacing as he took the bamboo in hand and flexed it, bending it as much with his shoulders and back as with his arms. The lengths soon gave way, splitting apart with a crack. "But your technique is raw and unrefined. Your skill limits your progress."

"Cut us more bamboo," Chen said anxiously. He fell silent then, glaring at the Master of Sun Valley as Itami cut down another tree. It was slightly thicker than the first, by Chen's reckoning, and she again cut it into six equal lengths.

"Would you like me to go first this time?" the Master of Sun Valley asked.

"Give the fat man a few more moments of rest," Zhihao said with a laugh. He was sitting on the forest floor, close to Chen's wine keg.

"If you touch my wine, Green Breeze, I will snap your arms just like the bamboo."

Zhihao held Chen's gaze, reached out a single arm, and poked the keg of wine. Chen turned back to the Master of Sun Valley. "I will go first." He scooped up three lengths of bamboo and struggled to get a good grip on all three. Even with his large hands it was difficult to hold them, and even harder to flex them. He took a deep breath and held it as he bent all of his strength upon the bamboo. Before long sweat was pouring down his face and he found himself grunting and growling. But he could not bend all three shoots at once, not to the point where they would split and break. No man could accomplish such a feat. He wasn't sure how long he tested himself, but eventually even Chen had to admit defeat. He threw the shoots down on the ground and took another deep breath, centring his qi in an attempt to find calm.

"You ask an impossible task of yourself, Iron Gut Chen," said Bingwei Ma. "No man can bend three such shoots of bamboo. I think we should call this contest a draw."

"Not before you try."

"I have told you it is impossible."

"Try!"

The Master of Sun Valley nodded and picked up the last three untouched shoots of bamboo. It was even more of a struggle for him to hold all three of once, his hands being much smaller than Chen's. When finally he was satisfied with his grip, Bingwei Ma flexed. It was a boon to see the concentration and effort on the man's face. To see him struggle at the same point Chen had. But the shoots were bending, farther and farther, past the point Chen had managed. He heard them begin to groan at the strain put upon them. Then one of the shoots sprung free from the Bingwei Ma's grip, straightening and bouncing away from him along the forest floor. Bingwei Ma let out a laugh and dropped the two remaining shoots.

"As I said, Iron Gut Chen. Such a feat is impossible, even for men of our strength. Shall we call this contest a draw?"

"No. We wrestle."

"The fat man's an idiot," Zhihao snorted. "Lead Belly, that man is a master of unarmed combat."

Bingwei Ma was smiling at Chen. "Would you like to set the rules?"

Chen nodded. "No punching or kicking. Grapples only. First man unconscious is the loser."

The Master of Sun Valley nodded. "We usually allow conceding down in the valley. Any contestant may tap at the ground to signal their defeat."

Chen laughed. "You may give up any time you wish." He squatted down into a combat-ready stance, his flabby arms held out before him. He knew Bingwei Ma would be the faster of them, but Chen's bulk would give him an advantage up close. All he would have to do is get a good grip on the man and bear him down to the ground where he could smother him. It certainly wouldn't be a pleasant way to die, suffocated by his immense flesh, but Chen was of the opinion that being shot in the face was also an unpleasant way to die.

The Master of Sun Valley took a side-on stance; back straight with one hand held out in front of him, and the other behind. For a few moments they just stood there, watching one another. Then Chen charged, arms held out wide to grab hold of the smaller man. Bingwei Ma stepped to his right at the last moment, ducking under Chen's swinging arm, and Chen felt that same arm wrenched behind him. It was too late to arrest his momentum, and another man's arm might have been pulled from its socket. But Chen's qi strengthened him. He braced, and continued his run, dragging the smaller man along behind him. When finally he slid to a stop, he jerked his arm forwards and threw the Master of Sun Valley to the forest floor. Bingwei Ma rolled several times and flowed back to his feet. A few brown leaves clung to his clothing, but he was otherwise unruffled.

When Chen charged again, the Master of Sun Valley met him head on and they clashed. Chen wrapped his thick arms around the smaller man, gripping him by his tunic and trousers, and then let his full weight fall down upon him, trying to bear him down to the ground. The Master of Sun Valley wobbled and then held, supporting Chen's bulk. He heard the smaller man grunt and felt him tense, and then Chen was lifted from the ground, turned and slammed down onto his back. Before he could react, Bingwei Ma scrambled up his body, wrapped his legs around Chen's right arm, pinning it outward, and then wrapped strong arms about Chen's head.

Panic set in. Chen had heard the boy's words: each of them could only be brought back once. If he died again he was dead through and through. He struggled, flailing about with his one free arm and flinging his weight back against the Master of Sun Valley, slamming him into the ground again and again, but the man held on tight, his grip slipping beneath Chen's chins and finding an unbreakable purchase. Chen heard rushing in his ears, a pounding in his head slowing with each beat. He felt his struggles becoming weaker, the light in the forest growing dimmer, his mind working slower. And then everything went black.

Chapter 20

Whispering Blade and The Emerald Wind vs The Master of Sun Valley

Iron Gut Chen's left arm fell to the forest floor and his eye closed for the final time. He lay still. The Master of Sun Valley held on, pinning the big man's right arm down with strong legs, his arms almost invisible among the folds of flesh at Chen Lu's neck. Cho just watched.

"Should we, um, help?" Zhihao asked.

Cho shook her head. "Iron Gut wished to fight the man alone. As a matter of honour, I will respect that."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Zhihao look to Ein, but the boy said nothing. He and the leper sat near the wine keg, both watching the fight through eyes as pale as fresh snow. Ein knelt, but the leper sat with legs crossed.

Iron Gut Chen did not move. Eventually the Master of Sun Valley loosened his grip, and wriggled out from underneath the fat man's fleshy bulk. He dusted himself off, walked around Chen Lu, and approaching Cho and Zhihao. Despite the contest, Bingwei Ma still looked surprisingly calm. His topknot of hair was still perfectly in place, and he was not even breathing hard. At that moment, Cho could well believe the man had not lost a fight in the past thirty years.

"He isn't dead," the Master of Sun Valley said. "Though he will have an aching head when finally he wakes. It will likely be a few hours. I cut off the flow of blood to his brain, not long enough to kill, but to render unconscious."

Zhihao laughed, picked up Chen Lu's folded parasol and walked over to the unconscious fat man. He opened out the parasol and planted it in the ground to shade Iron Gut's face from the sun streaming in from the canopy above. "Just nobody tell him it was me," Zhihao said as he rejoined the others.

The Master of Sun Valley bowed. "Are we finished?"

"No," Ein said, his voice harsh and insistent. The boy did not stand, but his eyes were fixed on Bingwei Ma. He fiddled with the ragged end of his red scarf, rubbing it in his fingers. "Whispering Blade and The Emerald Wind will fight you next. With weapons."

"As you wish. I will remain unarmed." The Master of Sun Valley straightened from his bow. "Whenever you are ready." He backed off a few steps and waited.

Zhihao joined Cho and they turned away from Bingwei Ma. When they had fought Chen Lu it had been without a plan, and it had nearly ended in Zhihao's death. They needed a strategy if they were to beat an opponent as dangerous as the Master of Sun Valley.

"You can't use your sword," Ein said before they could even start to strategise. Cho just nodded to the order.

"What?" Zhihao said sharply. "We have to beat a man who can't be beaten, and she's not even allowed to use a sword."

Ein shook his head, his eyes wide. "She can't use her sword. At least not to kill him."

"Why not?"

"Because if she does, I can't bring him back."

Zhihao groaned. "What? Why not?"

Ein did not volunteer the answer and Cho certainly wasn't going to. She wasn't sure how the boy knew about Peace, but he obviously knew. Perhaps that was one more detail written in the stories about her. Or perhaps the shinigami had told Ein more than the boy let on. Cho wondered if he also knew about her other sword, but the boy's face showed only nervous concern.

Zhihao glanced at Cho and then Ein, visibly working himself up. At last he said, "Fine. Keep your damned secrets." He looked at Roi Astara sitting next to the keg. "I suppose you're not helping either?"

The leper might have smiled beneath his bandages, they certainly twitched. "I am not well suited to this type of combat. I don't know how to fight, only to shoot."

"Well, just in case I die today," Zhihao said. "I want you to know something. You are as creepy as the boy." With that, Zhihao turned to face the Master of Sun Valley. Cho waited a while longer, but neither Ein nor Roi Astara offered any advice.

Chen Lu was an unmoving lump in the distance, shaded by his parasol amidst the fallen leaves and bamboo. He would be no further help, but it was possible he had tired the Master of Sun Valley a little. They were in a small clearing, surrounded by thick bamboo trees.

"I'll follow your lead," Zhihao whispered as they closed on the Master of Sun Valley. Cho drew Peace into both hands and glided to her right. Zhihao drew his hooked swords and moved to his left. Bingwei Ma crouched down, resting on the balls of his feet, his eyes flicking between the two of them as they flanked him. As they closed in, he moved backwards, step by step, his stance changing with each movement.

When they attacked, Cho and Zhihao moved as one, closing in on Bingwei Ma from either side. He had moved far enough back to be in amongst the bamboo and kicked at a nearby tree as Zhihao approached, forcing him to manoeuvre around the shaking tree. Cho struck, a combo - a cross slash followed by a stab - making certain to keep Peace between herself and her opponent. The Master of Sun Valley swayed away from her first strike, and brushed his hand against her blade on the second, pushing it just out of the way. Peace was sharp as a razor, but Bingwei Ma was careful to only touch the flat of the blade.

Cho saw Zhihao fade from view, his image blowing away on a wind she didn't feel. He reappeared behind the Master of Sun Valley and hooked a blade over the man's left arm, and swung for his neck with the second sword. But Bingwei Ma twisted away, freeing himself from the hooked swords and punched at Zhihao. The Emerald Wind fell backwards and hooked a sword around a nearby tree to pull himself to the side just in time. But Bingwei Ma was not done; he chased Zhihao, sparing only a moment to punch at a tree between himself and Cho. The bamboo splintered and the tree fell towards her.

Cho set Peace humming and sliced through the tree. The main trunk of it crashed to the ground behind her, then she chased after Bingwei Ma as he chased after Zhihao. They were moving quickly through the trees, grunting with effort. Zhihao disappeared again, but the Master of Sun Valley ignored the distraction, focusing on the real Emerald Wind.

Cho caught up to them just as Bingwei Ma threw Zhihao into a thick bamboo tree. Cho leapt into the fray between them to protect Zhihao from the follow-up strike, slicing upwards, but the Master of Sun Valley pulled back and brushed the strike away, then kicked out at her feet. Cho barely stumbled away, then Bingwei Ma was on her. With a flurry of blows he backed her against a bamboo tree and snuck inside her guard. He delivered an elbow to her gut that blew the air right out of her.

Bingwei Ma raised a fist to strike again, but Zhihao leapt in and hooked a sword around the fist and pulled it aside. Then The Emerald Wind slashed at the Master of Sun Valley's chest, grazing him before he caught the sword in one hand. Bingwei Ma pulled Zhihao closer, and punched at his face, but the fist merely scattered The Emerald Wind's fading image and splintered a bamboo tree behind.

Cho rolled to the side of Bingwei Ma and thrust Peace at his chest just as Zhihao reappeared clinging to a tree above the Master of Sun Valley and slashed down at the man's head.

The Master of Sun Valley thrust his hands out to either side, and an invisible rush of energy blew everything away. Cho rolled along the floor, flashes of the forest skipping around her. She hit a bamboo tree with a thud and let out a shout that ripped the air in front of her, splitting all the trees between her and Bingwei Ma in two, but the Master of Sun Valley sidestepped the blast. Zhihao was beyond him, lying in a heap similar to Cho and not moving.

Cho struggled back to her feet, pushing against Peace to help, and then brushed her hair back behind her ears. She took a deep breath and coughed, almost collapsing back to one knee. All the while, the Master of Sun Valley just watched her, calm and ready despite the blood trickling down his chest from the wound Zhihao had delivered. It wasn't much, but it was a weakness. It showed that the man could be hurt, that he couldn't escape every strike. It showed Cho that she had a chance.

"Would you like to concede, Whispering Blade?" Bingwei Ma said, his voice raised to carry.

A thin line of blood trickled down Cho's right arm, and it wasn't her only injury. She set Peace humming with a whisper and charged the Master of Sun Valley, circling around him and slicing at the bamboo trunks, then she darted towards him amidst a torrent of falling trees. He should have moved, she thought, but even with a dozen trees falling towards him, Bingwei Ma stepped into the attack. Cho revered her grip and struck him with the flat of her blade against his chest. Trees came crashing to the ground around them, and when the noise had settled, Whispering Blade and the Master of Sun Valley stood side by side.

There was a grimace on the man's face. Bingwei Ma gagged and coughed blood onto his chin. But he didn't fall. Cho looked down just in time to see the fist coming.

Chapter 21

Zhihao woke to see the forest floor and a man's muscular arse. Something hard pressed into his stomach and he seemed to be bouncing on it. Then he saw the backs of feet, one after another after another. He realised he was being carried on someone's shoulder just as he was thrown to the ground in a sprawling heap. A moment later and Itami was laid out next to him. Zhihao blinked away the cobwebs in his head and found the Master of Sun Valley staring down at them both. He was ruffled at least, some of his hair had pulled free from his topknot and his tunic was ripped in places, his trousers muddied. His chest was still bleeding a little, thin beads running down the chiselled lines of his torso and blood smeared his chin. Zhihao was fairly certain they had put up a tremendous fight. And lost.

With a tired groan, Zhihao shut his eyes and leaned back, hoping for the darkness to claim him.

"So they lost?" Zhihao had no idea how a man's voice could sound bloody, but the leper managed it.

"They put up quite a fight," the Master of Sun Valley said, "but yes. They both live. Are you next, Death's Echo? Or are we finished here?"

Zhihao heard a wet, raspy chuckle. "I don't fight like that, Bingwei Ma. I don't have the body for it." His croaking voice set Zhihao's nerves on edge.

"I understand."

Zhihao opened his eyes again to see the trees swaying above him. The light seemed dimmer now, and through the breaks in the canopy he could see grey clouds marring the blue sky. He knew with a surety it would soon rain.

"Would you share a drink with us before you go?" the leper said. "I'm under strict orders not to touch Chen Lu's wine, but… Well you rendered him unconscious and I doubt he will know."

Zhihao felt his spirits pick up at the promise of a drink. He knew it would taste of week-old egg, but the pleasure of a full gut of booze would be worth it. He might only be mostly alive, but that was more than enough life to get totally drunk.

The leper attempted to lift the keg, but found it too heavy. After a few tries Roi Astara gave up and fetched a wooden ladle from his pack. He popped the cork in the keg and managed to tip it just enough to fill the ladle. When he approached the Master of Sun Valley the man smiled at him and reached for it. Roi Astara almost leapt backwards away from the man.

"You don't want to touch me."

The Master of Sun Valley took a step forwards and reached out again for the ladle. This time Roi Astara didn't move, but Zhihao thought he saw fear in the man's milky eye. "If the stars wish me to share your disease, they will find a way." He cupped the ladle in his hands and drank deep, finishing with a smile. "My people gave him a good vintage."

"They are kind. Far kinder than they should be to strangers." There was a sadness to the leper's voice. The Master of Sun Valley seemed to hear it also. He bowed his head and returned the ladle to Roi Astara.

"You are all welcome in Sun Valley any time. And I would be happy to fight with you all again. Please tell Iron Gut Chen, when he wakes, that he is the stronger. If he works on his technique, he is sure to beat me in any true test of strength." He turned then and bowed to Zhihao. "And you two very nearly had me. I am sure to be bruised for days after that strike, Whispering Blade."

Itami surprised Zhihao by struggling to her knees and bowing her head low. "It was an honour to fight you, Bingwei Ma."

The Master of Sun Valley straightened up, took two steps, staggered against a nearby tree, and collapsed.

"Did we win?" Zhihao asked, turning towards Itami. "How hard did you hit him?"

Itami shook her head. "I don't think that was me. He survived my strike."

Roi Astara approached the fallen master and stood over him. It took him quite some effort to turn the man onto his back using only the butt of his rifle. "I'm sorry, Bingwei Ma," the leper said solemnly.

Itami found her feet and extended a hand to Zhihao, he took it and let her help pull him upright. Together, they approached Bingwei Ma. The Master of Sun Valley was still alive, but barely. Pink spittle bubbled on his lips and his eyelids fluttered. He convulsed once, twice, and then let out a final rattling breath. Then he was still. Zhihao was more than a little confused.

"You poisoned him," Itami said to Roi Astara. It was clearly not a question.

"I poisoned the wine. He drank the wine."

"That's a weak justification."

Roi Astara nodded and retreated a few steps, then sank down against a bamboo tree. "You're right. Very weak. I could not fight a man like the Master of Sun Valley, and if I missed the shot I would not have survived the rebuttal. Poison was the only way for me to win against him."

"Poison is the way of the assassin." There was venom in Itami's voice. Personally Zhihao didn't see a problem with Roi Astara's methods, but then he'd recently been a bandit and had done far worse things in his time than poison a man he couldn't beat in a fair fight.

"And what else would you call me?" Roi Astara asked. "The honourable methods are not open to a man like me, Whispering Blade. I am an assassin. I kill from a distance, with shot or poison or guile. But I kill bad men. Fathers who would beat their children, bandits who prey on those too weak to defend themselves." With every word, Roi Astara's voice became rougher and more blood spattered his fresh bandages around his mouth. "And, yes, Emperors driven mad by their own power."

"But the Master of Sun Valley was not a bad man," Itami said, interrupting the leper. "From what I can tell he was good and honourable. Do you disagree?"

The leper slowly lowered his one-eyed gaze to the forest floor. "You are right. He was not an evil man. But his death was necessary. In this case a good man had to die in order to kill a much worse man. The Emperor of Ten Kings.

"All you know about the Emperor of Ten Kings is that Ein is tasked with killing him, because a shinigami wants him dead. I cannot fathom the reasons of a god, but I know my own. Perhaps you didn't notice the poverty in Ban Ping? The number of homeless vagrants has grown so large not even the monks can feed them all. Perhaps you failed to see that the farmers we pass on the road have carts less laden than ever before? Perhaps if you open your eyes on the way to Wu, you will see more than you expect.

"The Emperor of Ten Kings must die," Roi Astara said. Then he pointed a bandaged hand towards Bingwei Ma. "And if we are to kill him, we will need the help of the Master of Sun Valley."

"What poison did you use?" Ein asked as he approached on silent feet. He knelt down by the head of Bingwei Ma and reached into his little pack to retrieve needle and thread. The boy wasted no time in sewing up the wound on the man's chest.

"Sen root extract," the leper said after a moment. "It has a sharp taste that was hidden by the wine. It acts quickly and taxes the heart until it simply stops."

"How long does the poison take to break down?"

Roi Astara shrugged. "I'm not sure."

The boy turned to stare at Roi Astara and their pale gazes met. Zhihao found he was more than a little pleased he was not between the two of them. Given his harassment the night before at the hands of the yokai, he'd had more than enough of unnerving eyes to last for a full lifetime or two. Eventually Ein turned his gaze to the sky, and stared up through the forest canopy. "I can wait until morning to bring him back, but no longer. We will have to stay here tonight. The yokai will find me."

Zhihao edged around the fallen Master of Sun Valley and found Chen Lu snoring under his parasol. He knelt down and gave the man two hard slaps to the face. It was like slapping steel. The fat man's eyes fluttered open and he stared up at Zhihao. "Did I win?"

"In my experience, people who ask that question already know the answer."

Chen Lu flailed an arm at Zhihao to push him away, then grunted as he rolled onto his side and sat up. "Someone must have won," he pointed a chubby finger towards the Bingwei Ma lying not far away and looked at Zhihao. "Did you do it?" He sounded sceptical.

Zhihao shrugged. "No. The leper killed him."

"How?"

"Poison."

Chen Lu grunted again and struggled to his feet. He plucked his parasol from the ground and held it over his head. Then the man staggered away, moaning and holding a hand to his head.

Itami was collecting fallen bamboo for a fire and Ein was watching over the corpse. Roi Astara sat nearby, his eye flicking from one person to another.

Zhihao was just about to settle down to daydream about Yanmei, when he saw Chen Lu heft his keg from the forest floor and lift it to his lips. "NO!" Zhihao shouted, but it was too late. The fat man gulped down several swallows. "Put it down, you fat idiot! The leper poisoned the wine."

"Eh?" Chen Lu lowered the keg and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "First you kill me, now you poison my wine?"

"Sen root extract," the leper said, not looking up from his contemplation of the ground.

"Oh." Chen Lu raised the keg again and swallowed down a few more mouthfuls. "Ah, I'm thirstier than a desert rat."

"It's poisoned!" Zhihao said again. He was half tempted to storm over and slap the keg out of the fat man's hands, but it was too late for that. The Master of Sun Valley had died after just a single ladle of wine and Chen Lu had already drunk more than that.

"And I am Iron Gut Chen. Boy, tell him of my iron gut."

Ein glanced up from sewing the wound on Bingwei Ma's chest. "No."

"Useless." Chen Lu collapsed to the ground with a thud so heavy Zhihao was certain he felt it through his feet. "I grew up skinny. A boy on the streets with nothing and no one. Do you know what a young boy eats on the streets? Whatever he can. I scavenged for food others threw away, I fought dogs for scraps, I hunted rats and devoured them raw. Time after time I was sick from the filth and rot I ate. Then, one day it stopped. I felt my gut harden into iron and I found I could eat anything. King Lin once tested me with the Twelve Poisons of Creeping Death. Twelve poisons, a drop of each enough to kill a man. Do you know what they did to me?"

Zhihao sighed. "Was it nothing?"

Chen Lu shook his head. "No. I had a horrible case of gas." To emphasise his point he let out a fart that echoed around the forest, then he set about laughing as if he had made the funniest joke Hosa had ever heard. Zhihao wasn't of the same opinion, but good humour was often infectious and he soon found himself chuckling.

As they set their camp ready for the night, Zhihao got the fire going. Ein did not leave the corpse's side, but kept a hand on the man's newly sewn chest. There was concentration on the boy's face, and he took no part in the conversations that flowed around him. Zhihao guessed he was keeping the body fresh enough to bring back from the other side, or maybe warding off spirits, making certain the Master of Sun Valley did not rise as a yokai. The leaves above began to rustle, though there was no wind to be felt, and the light started to fade. As night deepened, the rain started and before long the fire was nothing but smoke and sizzling embers. They were all soaked to the bone, and Zhihao was glad he could not see the horrors such a soaking would make of Roi Astara's bandages. It was in the middle of such darkness and rain that the yokai came again, and in far greater numbers than before.

Chapter 22

Bingwei Ma - the Master of Sun Valley

None so strong and kind.

None so skilled, none so humble.

None so free of fear.

Bingwei woke to darkness, pain, and the clamour of combat. He gasped and clutched at his chest. His heart felt fit to burst, as though it were too large and might explode through his ribs. He opened his eyes to see rain cascading down upon him, and a small boy with moon-pale eyes stared at him. The pain was so intense it was like thousands of needles inside, stabbing him with each beat of his heart.

"Too soon," the boy said, his voice quavering. "But I had no choice. I couldn't hold you there any longer. I had to bring you back."

It was difficult to think in such agony, difficult to make sense of the boy's words, but Bingwei recognised him. He was the child with Death's Echo and the others. Memories of his fights came back to him and then his death. After drinking the wine everything went hot and… He had been poisoned by Death's Echo. The wine was poison.

"Let me help," the boy said and placed his hands on Bingwei's chest. The pain lessened, replaced by a spreading numbness as cold as the grave. He looked up at the boy then and saw death.

In a circle around him Iron Gut Chen, Whispering Blade, The Emerald Wind, and even Death's Echo were fighting creatures out of myth and nightmare. Bingwei recognised them as yokai, vengeful spirits brought back from death by wrongs and atrocities visited upon them in life. They were beset, dozens of yokai all around, waiting out in the darkness and then throwing themselves against weapons that could do nothing against them.

"I have to help." Bingwei shook the boy off him, but the pain returned, lancing through his chest and sapping all of his strength.

"I brought you back too soon," the boy said. "The poison still has you. You have to rest." He reached out again, but Bingwei rolled away and to his feet, fighting waves of nausea and debilitating pain.

"How can I rest when the living are set upon by the dead." He looked down at his chest to see a wound, hastily stitched together. The Emerald Wind had given him that wound, a shallow sword slice across flesh. It would serve. Bingwei dug at the stitches and tore them free, opening the wound. It bled slowly and he felt it trickling down his chest.

Bingwei focused, blocking out the stabbing pain and the throbbing of his heart. Blocking out the sounds of battle all around, and the boy imploring him to lie back down. He blocked out everything and focused on his body, locating the damage and the toxins killing him from the inside. He knelt on the soaking ground, back straight and energy centred, and stretched his hands out in front of him in order to focus that energy. Then Bingwei pushed. It was not a physical pushing, but more a willing of the body to work beyond of its normal constraints. Such was the true strength of the Sun Valley wushu, the ability to make the body do the impossible. He felt the poison move, the damage it had done seeping out of the wound on his chest in thick black ooze. The pain began to lessen, and his heart slowed to a more stable rhythm. But there was something else wrong, something he could not shift.

"Boy. Come here." Bingwei lifted his left arm and pointed to a spot just below his armpit. "Put two fingers here. Just here. Lock them, make them rigid." The boy did as he was bid and Bingwei felt that cold numbness spread out from his touch, burning away the last vestiges of pain. "Now brace yourself, and when I say 'now', push as hard as you can and turn your fingers sharply to the right."

The Emerald Wind let out a shrill scream, scrambling backwards on his behind as a crab as large as a dog charged towards him, pincers snapping at the air between them. On the back of the crab shell was a snarling human face. The Emerald Wind poked at the crab with his hooked swords, but the yokai was unperturbed.

"Now," Bingwei said and braced. The boy pushed and twisted and the blockage shifted. Bingwei lurched forwards and vomited blood as black as oil. He stared down at the pool to find a small wriggling thing struggling against the ooze. It looked just like a child born months too early as it writhed and wailed in the dark and rain.

"Korobokkuru," the boy said. He looked up at Bingwei with a fearful gaze. "You had a yokai growing inside of you."

Bingwei stood and crushed the wailing spirit with the heel of his sandal. He felt better. The poison was all but gone from his body, bleeding out of his chest to be washed away in the rain. He leapt towards the heikegani as it chased after The Emerald Wind, pincers snapping. Bingwei grabbed hold of one claw and twisted until he heard the shell crack, then he tipped the yokai onto its back and punched his fist into its soft underbelly. The heikegani imploded, collapsing in upon itself until all that was left was a stinking carcass, many days rotting already. The Emerald Wind gagged at the smell and stumbled away to retch.

Iron Gut Chen was holding his own, swinging his giant mace back and forth. He could not kill the yokai, but even vengeful spirits had physical bodies, and the big man was happily crushing any that came too close. Whispering Blade was faring even better, her sword seemed able to end the spirits as easily as it could a man, and she wielded it with such skill that no yokai could get close enough to strike without first being struck. But Death's Echo was in trouble. The leper's bullets could do nothing against the yokai and he was no warrior. Without help he was certain to fall. Bingwei rushed to his murderer's defence.

The amikiri attacking Death's Echo was a monstrous thing with the head of a bird, a snake's body, and claws like a crab. Bingwei leapt past the leper and punched a flat palm against the scaled body of the yokai. The teachings of Sun Valley went into great detail about using one's own energy to disperse that which bound the spirits to their physical bodies, and the amikiri dropped to the forest floor in violent spasms.

The yokai retreated into the night with blood chilling howls. No doubt they realised there were now two among the defenders who could end their miserable existences.

The rain still poured through the bamboo canopy and drenched them all. The bandages that covered Death's Echo from head to toe were darkened in places, and grey in others. As Bingwei looked down on the man, he realised just how slight he was, barely larger than the boy in both height and brawn. Despite his size, the leper stood up to Bingwei, staring at him with one white eye.

"You killed me," Bingwei said, and he knew for certain it was true. He had died. He had always known himself to be mortal, but coming face to face with that mortality was harrowing. Bingwei thought, for just a moment, he could still feel what it was to be dead, but it was not so much a feeling as a lack thereof.

"It's what I do," Death's Echo said. He wasn't backing down, despite standing face to face with the man he had just murdered. "And soon you'll know why."

Bingwei realised the others were closing in. Whispering Blade had her sword drawn and Iron Gut Chen held his mace in one hand, and his keg under the other arm. The Emerald Wind looked far less confident than the others, but stood by them. The boy crouched by the soaked remnants of the fire, long since smothered. Bingwei let out a breath and forced himself to relax, then he turned to the boy. "I think perhaps you should explain, Shinigami."

Fat drops of rain dripped from Peace's shining blade to the forest floor as the skies continued to empty upon them. Bingwei Ma stood with his hands bunched into fists, blood leaking down his chest. Ein had said he would bring him back come the morning, but it was still night and there stood the Master of Sun Valley, alive. Mostly alive, Cho corrected herself. None of them were truly alive anymore, not even the leper who stood so close to death it surrounded him like a cold mist.

Bingwei Ma fixed Ein with a hard stare. He had accused the boy of being a shinigami. Cho shifted her grip on Peace, ready to rush in and intervene should the Master of Sun Valley become violent. It was disorientating, waking from death, and the man had a very good reason to be angry with them. But Cho would defend Ein with her life, if need be. It was not just because she had to, though she believed the boy when he said they would die without him. Cho would defend Ein because it was the right thing to do. Despite everything else, all the things she was being asked to do in his name, she knew that keeping him alive was right. It was the one right thing she could hold on to when surrounded by so much wrong.

Ein explained to Bingwei Ma. He told the Master of Sun Valley about his quest, given to him by a shinigami. He explained the rules of their second lives: that they must stay close to Ein, and only in the completion of his mission would they be granted their full lives once again. Bingwei Ma was quiet the entire time, back straight and eyes sharp. If the man held any animosity towards Roi Astara, he did not show it. He'd even saved the leper during their fight with the yokai.

Cho glanced away as Ein talked. There were many corpses around them now, monsters one and all. The yokai were vengeful spirits, but spirits with bodies, taken from the dead. Some were animals, twisted into grotesque forms, while others had once been human, dragged from the grave to serve as puppets for the shinigami that commanded them. There were more than before, many more.

When Ein had finished his story, and his plea, he fell silent. Bingwei Ma stood still, calm and thoughtful. Cho edged closer, hands still gripping Peace's hilt. They had lost their fight earlier, it was true, and she still suffered from the wounds dealt to her, but she would fight the Master of Sun Valley again if he made just one threatening move. Eventually Bingwei Ma nodded and looked up to the night sky, hidden behind clouds and forest canopy.

"Sun Valley is isolated. None come to us other than traders. We fear no soldiers, nor bandits. We work together, train together, live together. We welcome outsiders, for the goods they bring and the stories of the larger world they tell." Bingwei Ma paused and drew in a deep breath. Cho noticed him swaying just slightly on his feet. He was exhausted and that meant she wouldn't get a better chance. "You say this Emperor of Ten Kings is a terror, a man unworthy of the throne he possesses?"

"He has brought peace to Hosa," Roi Astara said. "But it is the peace of the sword, enforced only when it pleases him and only on those who deserve it least. The people of Hosa live in fear. Fear of good men standing by while evil is done to others. Fear of the old ways dying out in favour of new fashions. Fear of being dragged from their homes and branded traitor by the point of spear, for openly worshipping the stars rather than the throne."

The Master of Sun Valley let out a heavy sigh. "Sometimes peace is no more than oppression in disguise."

"Sometimes the few need to stand against the many, so all can see what is right," Zhihao said, then coughed into his hand. "So the monks used to say. I think it was written on a wall somewhere." Cho smiled at Zhihao and The Emerald Wind looked away, his cheeks reddening even in the dark.

"I will help you." Bingwei Ma pulled a small knife from his belt and reached up, sawing through his topknot in three easy strokes. When he was done he turned to Roi Astara. "No man may fight with more than the stars have deemed to give him." He dropped the knot of hair on the ground. Roi Astara bowed.

"I almost had you," Chen Lu said. The big man dropped his mace to the ground with a soggy squelch and raised his keg to his lips, happily gulping down poisoned wine.

"You did. Almost." With the tension broken, they all gathered around the wet bones of the fire.

Ein claimed the shinigami were scared now that the Master of Sun Valley was with them. Summoning yokai to their bidding was taxing, and the shinigami's powers were limited. He said they would likely marshal their strength before testing it against them again. Cho wondered what exactly that meant, and what else the gods of death could throw at them. Her knowledge of yokai was limited to children's stories, but Bingwei Ma and Roi Astara seemed far more knowledgeable on the subject and they both agreed there was yet worse to come. Far worse.

Chapter 23

East of the bamboo forest, at the border of the Shin province, green fields quickly gave way to a rocky expanse, with mountains that ranged high and wide. There were only a few safe passages through the mountains, and most ran close to rivers. Towns were few and far between, and they would not pass close to the Shin capital. Ein set them a course, moving ever east and choosing the south-eastern pass through the mountains. He claimed it would take them almost five days to reach the Qing province, and from there it would be a far easier road to Wu.

By the late-afternoon on their first day in Shin, they came across a small river that wound down through the mountains. Further down stream Cho could hear a rushing waterfall, and the river turned white from rapids. There was barely a cloud in sight, yet the light of the sun provided little warmth against the chill of the Shin mountains.

"It looks cold," Zhihao said. He was standing a few paces back from the water and not looking pleased about the prospect of crossing it.

"Of course it is cold," Chen Lu grinned beneath his parasol. "It runs down from the mountains." He pointed upriver to where the flowing waters disappeared into the rocky heights. "It is probably snow melt. The cold is good for you. Strengthens the body. Strengthens the qi." He slapped his chest three times as though it proved his point. Zhihao still looked unconvinced. Cho knew almost nothing about qi, but Chen Lu claimed just about anything that was hard or painful also served to strengthen the qi.

Cho approached the river and dipped a cloth in, hissing at the frosty bite of the water on her hand. She had to admit, bathing in such fresh water would be refreshing, but she had no wish to undress in front of her companions. They would come across a town sooner or later, and she would pay to soak in some baths. Cold water could be refreshing, but it was never relaxing. A good hot soak in steamy waters, however, could soothe almost any ache away. And she had quite a few to give such treatment to. She was cut, grazed, and bruised all over, and none of her wounds were healing quickly. They were not getting worse, but neither were they getting better. It was concerning, but she put it down to being only mostly alive. She retreated with her dripping cloth to a large rock. There she pulled out her whetstone, soaked it with the cloth, and set to sharpening Peace as the sword required. Proper maintenance was one of the promises she made to Mifune when he presented her with the swords.

"I think I will go in," Bingwei Ma said. "It has been several days since I last washed, and I still have the smell of death on me." He dropped his tunic to the ground and pulled off his boots and then his trousers, so that he was standing in the chill air in nothing but a tight loincloth. Cho watched, Peace forgotten in her hands for a moment. The Master of Sun Valley had a body worthy of attention, and she was happy to spare it. Then Bingwei Ma took a deep breath and strode into the flowing waters of the river. She saw him tense, his buttocks clenching as he waded in.

Not to be outdone, Chen Lu buried the end of his parasol in the rocky ground and placed his keg and mace underneath. The keg was long since empty of wine, but they had filled it at every stream they came across and the big man carried it with him everywhere they went. Rather than try to remove his short trousers from his enormous midsection, Chen Lu just waddled in after Bingwei Ma.

Zhihao backed away from the water and sat on a rock nearby. He was wearing his sulky frown rather than his smile, so Cho guessed his thoughts were on the fatalistic side. She had noticed The Emerald Wind's mood seemed to shift and change as often as the actual wind. One moment he was as cheery as a kitten with a mouse, and the next he became morose and quiet, brooding or snapping at the others.

"Do you not wish to join them?" Cho asked as she turned her attention back to her sword.

"Not really. I can hear Lead Belly calling me skinny already. As though being the prize pig on auction day is a good thing."

Cho smiled at that. The fresh air, and a few nights undisturbed by yokai attacks, had put her in quite a good mood. If she tried really hard, she could almost forget that only a dozen days ago she had buried a friend next to an inn the name of which she had already forgotten. If she tried even harder, she could pretend she didn't quite remember the feeling of being dead and so alone it was as though no one else had ever existed. No. She had a fresh day, a purpose, and the company of people who were fast starting to feel like friends.

Ein stared east, always east. They could see nothing but hills and haze in the distance, but the boy focused so intensely one would think he could see Wu even though they were still many days away.

Roi Astara, on the other hand, spent more time watching behind them, staring out towards the west in case of pursuit. The leper squatted on wooden sandals, secure in his footing despite the treacherous terrain. Cho thought she saw something in his eye, a longing every time he glanced at the water.

"Should you not wash your wounds?" she asked.

Roi Astara shook his head. "I would only foul the water. A village down the mountain may rely on it. One soothing wash for me, a lifetime of illness visited upon them. Every action has a consequence, and I already struggle to live with mine."

"Won't the wounds fester? You have not changed your bandages since Sun Valley."

He turned his pale eye. "I am dying, Itami Cho. Nothing can stop that. My life is entirely in the hands of that boy." A raspy chuckle escaped the bandages around his mouth. "I don't really belong with you all. I can't fight. I'm no hero. But I will fight alongside you, with my rifle and my wits. And I will hope the boy chooses to bring me back when I die. Because only death can cure my disease." He coughed then, raising his right hand to his mouth. When he stopped and pulled his hand away, the little finger bent off at an impossible angle. Roi Astara stared at it for a few moments, then tore the digit away, and threw it into the rocks behind them. "I hope there is still enough of me left to bring back." His morbid laugh echoed around the rocks before turning to a wet cough.

"Something is coming," Ein said, finally lifting his gaze from the eastern horizon and turning it north, along the river. He was fiddling with his red scarf again. "They should get out of the water."

Cho set her whetstone down and hopped off the rock. She could see nothing but flowing water and rocks to the north. At times the river churned white as it rushed over rocks beneath the surface, flowing ever downward. But Cho knew better than to doubt Ein. It was clear he could feel the yokai coming. She waved her arms to get the attention of Chen Lu and Bingwei Ma.

Zhihao let out a long suffering sigh and stood. "The boy says to get out of the water," he shouted. "Something is…" Zhihao paused and Cho saw the colour drain from his face. "That! That is coming!"

Far up the river, a giant ball of pulsing green rolled down the river on the current. It was huge, easily three times as tall as Chen Lu, and seemed to writhe as it rolled towards them.

"Mizuchi," Ein said, his voice cracking a little.

"What does that mean?" Zhihao asked.

Roi Astara picked up his rifle and strode forwards, sighting along it towards the twisted pulsing sphere as it rolled closer. Both Chen Lu and Bingwei Ma were wading towards the shore as fast as they could, but Iron Gut stopped, a mad grin on his face, and turned back towards the oncoming mass.

"It's a river dragon," the leper said "A yokai far more powerful than any we've encountered so far. No bullet will stop that thing."

"Lead Belly, get out of the water!" Zhihao shouted.

Bingwei Ma reached the shoreline and turned, water streaming down his bunched muscles. The ball was approaching faster now, crashing over the water. They could hear it, like hundreds of squealing, hissing voices raised as one. Cho saw mouths in the tangled mass, dozens of them. The yokai was a tangle of eels, monstrous creatures each one as thick as her waist. They writhed together in a dizzying tangle as they rolled closer.

Chen Lu stood waist deep in the water of the river, braced against the current and the oncoming tangle of eels in front of him. He thrust out his arms and laughed, his voice echoing off the rocky riverbanks. "I am Iron Gut Ch—" The mizuchi hit Chen Lu and rolled over him, not even slowing as it continued down the river.

For a long moment they all just stood there in silence. "After it!" Bingwei Ma roared. He leapt over a heap of rocks and sprinted along the shore line, heedless of the sharp stones under his bare feet. Zhihao sighed and vanished, his image fading away on the breeze; he reappeared running alongside Bingwei Ma, his hooked swords drawn.

Cho turned to Ein and Roi Astara. "Look after him," she told the leper. "We'll be back." With that she raced after the others, her left hand holding her saya to stop it tangling in her legs as she ran. Nevertheless, The Master of Sun Valley and Zhihao increased the distance between themselves and her. Bingwei Ma ran with reckless abandon, sprinting along treacherous footing at dangerous speed. The Emerald Wind proved as fleet as his name, easily keeping pace with the Master of Sun Valley, but never outdistancing him. Cho knew Zhihao well enough to know he did not want to be the first into the fight. She lost sight of them briefly as they crested a boulder, and dropped down the other side. Cho could no longer see the tangle of eels either as it rolled its way down the river course, but she could hear it. It hissed and snapped and crashed, and the water roared around it.

Reaching the boulder, Cho leapt over it and braced for the drop on the other side, knees bending to absorb the impact; then she sprang back into motion. She ran as quickly as she dared, eyes fixed on the slippery path over the rocks ahead. One wrong move could easily spell a broken leg and then she'd be useless in the fight. Then she'd be useless to Ein. Cho didn't want to know what the boy would do if one of his champions lost their usefulness. Up ahead, the tangled ball of eels had stopped, wedged on a cluster of jutting rocks. Bingwei Ma ran towards it. He shouted something to Zhihao, then The Master of Sun Valley leapt into the tangle of eels, punching and ripping at the surface as slimy green bodies coiled around him and savage teeth bit at his skin.

Zhihao slowed to a stop and watched, his hands dropped to his sides, his swords all but forgotten in his grip. Cho pulled up next to him as Bingwei Ma fought his way into the ball of eels.

"What did he say?" Cho asked.

Zhihao seemed to start, as though he hadn't even realised Cho was there. "He said to aim for the heads. And that he was going in after Iron Gut."

There was little of Bingwei Ma left visible now, only one muscled leg, still kicking as he forced his way farther into the ball. Or perhaps he was already dead and being devoured, and the leg was all that remained of him. The thought brought a sour taste to her mouth. She drew Peace and leapt into the shallows towards the writhing ball of angry eel.

The footing was treacherous. With the water churned to white froth, and the slippery rocks below the surface, each step became a danger. Brutish faces with beady eyes glared out of the tangle, watching Cho as she moved closer. Then they attacked. Heads darted out of the tangle, jaws wide and snapping, trying to sink their sharp teeth into her flesh. Cho swiped at each head as it came near, still trying to find some sort of stable footing. She opened up cuts in the eel flesh, but that earned her nothing but squeals of agony and splatters of ichor.

Zhihao splashed into the river behind her, both hooked swords swinging. The weapons were poorly suited to the task, every time he hooked one of the eels it pulled away, its hard-packed muscle and coiling body pulling Zhihao off balance.

Cho ducked as an eel lunged towards her from the writhing mass. She reversed her grip on Peace and thrust upwards, splitting its face in two in a gout of oily blood. The eel went limp, dangling useless amid the tangle. Another open mouth shot out towards her. She turned a spinning slash that severed its head and sent it whirling off towards the riverbank. She was finding her footing now, moving slowly but confidently in ankle-deep water churning to muddy froth.

Zhihao yelled. The eel he had hooked was pulling him into the tangle and another snapped needle-like teeth at his face. Cho was just about to rush to his aid when Zhihao drove the pommel spike of his other sword through the head of the eel he had hooked. The monster went limp and Zhihao ripped both swords free. He screamed a bellow of rage and attacked another snapping head.

Then the writhing sphere shifted, the eels below pushing against the riverbed. It started rolling again, cresting the rocks that had trapped it. Then it dropped a dozen feet and continued its chaotic descent down the river. Cho struggled up to the rock cluster, wading deeper into the water. There was no easy way down the drop that wouldn't result in a broken leg or two, and the tangle was picking up speed as it rolled and bobbed along with the current. There was still no sign of either Chen Lu or Bingwei Ma resurfacing.

"What do we do?" Zhihao asked. He was standing on top of a rock, staring down the drop before them.

"Get after it," Cho hissed, already wading back to the shore to climb down the bank. "I'll follow as soon as I can."

Zhihao groaned and his image blew away on the river mist. Cho caught sight of him splashing after the tangle in the river below, keeping to the shallows. She quickly wiped Peace on her haori, and slid it back into its saya, and then clambered over the drop, picking up cuts and scrapes as she descended. Spray from the waterfall stung her eyes as she dropped down the final couple of feet. Cho wasted no time, wading the shallows and running as fast as she dared. She could see Zhihao ahead of her, keeping pace with the tangle, but doing little else. There was not much he could do but lash out at the exposed heads and bodies. There was no way The Emerald Wind could halt the ball on his own. Cho didn't want to admit to herself that there was no way for them to stop it together either.

As the river ran lower down the mountain, trees began to appear, stretching branches over the rushing water. The tangle of eels started to snag on the trees, snapping off branches. Then it hit a trunk that quested out over the water. The tree groaned under the strain and some of its smaller branches snapped, but a few of them held and again the ball lurched to a stop, writhing and bobbing in the rushing water. Two eels lunged out of the tangle towards Zhihao, he managed to half decapitate one, but the second clamped its teeth onto his left shoulder.

The Emerald Wind screamed as the eel lifted him off the ground and dragged him through the gnarled branches of the tree. He stabbed at the creature with his sword hilt, but he was flailing wildly, splattering himself with blood, yet accomplishing nothing. Cho ducked underneath his feet and stabbed straight up with Peace, skewering the eel and showering herself with ichor. She twisted her sword and ripped it free, severing the head completely. Zhihao dropped into knee-high water, briefly going under and then resurfacing with the head of the eel still clinging to his shoulder. He screamed again and batted it with the pommel of his sword. Cho sprang to help him, but another head lunged at her, teeth snapping. And then a single large fist punched free of the writhing mass.

Cho dropped Peace in the shallows; it deserved better treatment, but she needed her hands free. She thrust them into the tangle and grasped the fist, braced her feet on the stones, and pulled.

"Help me," Cho hissed and then Zhihao was there, slashing at the tangle with his right-hand sword. Blood was running down his left arm and the head of the eel was still attached to his shoulder, but The Emerald Wind continued to batter and slice at the eels that snapped at Cho. He couldn't fend them all off, though, and Cho felt the eels' teeth tearing bits of flesh off her legs and arms as she heaved on the hand gripping hers.

When she heaved Bingwei Ma free at last, he was covered in oil and blood, and bleeding from a hundred bites. The Master of Sun Valley gasped down a breath and growled as Cho pulled him farther out of the writhing chaos. He wasn't alone. The more Cho freed Bingwei Ma, the more certain she was that he was dragging Chen Lu with him.

Zhihao continued to dance around them, swatting at the eels as they darted out, but the exhaustion caused him to stumble and he landed on his arse in the water, unable to get back to his feet.

Bingwei Ma was finally free of the tangle, but the Master of Sun Valley had not let go of Chen Lu. Cho rushed in to help, ignoring the teeth snapping at her, tearing at her clothes and skin. Together they pulled Iron Gut Chen out of the ball of eels until he was almost free. The big man was covered in oil and ichor, but had not a single scratch on his skin. In his left hand he clutched at something fleshy and pulsing, something still attached to the tangle by sinuous threads. The writhing eels grew more and more violent, churning into a storm around Chen Lu's arm.

Chen Lu drew in a massive breath and reached in with his right hand, clutching at the fleshy, pulsing gemstone. Then he screamed. "I am Iron Gut Chen!" And tore the thing free of the tangle. All three of them stumbled away, and Bingwei Ma stooped down to drag Zhihao farther away from the undulating mass of eel. It was shuddering now, no longer a ball, but a wobbling, shapeless mass. Some of the eels started squeezing out of the tangle into the river and darting away. More and more of the creatures freed themselves, and then the tangle just fell apart, the eels splashing into the water and slipping over each other in a bid to get away.

Bingwei Ma reached down and pried open the jaws of the eel head still clamped to Zhihao's shoulder. He ripped it free and threw the thing into the churning water. The Emerald Wind was far too silent during the whole process, as though the pain of it could no longer reach him.

Cho almost collapsed now the danger had passed, exhaustion settling upon her in dizzying waves. She started searching around the shallows for her sword. She could not even think of resting until Peace was back at her side.

Chen Lu was staring down at the thing in his hand. Despite being inside the tangle for the longest, he looked unscathed, covered in eel blood and oil and guts. Exhausted but unharmed.

"What is it?" Cho asked as she reached into the water to recover her sword, careful not to touch its blade.

"The heart of a mizuchi," Chen Lu said, between huge panting breaths. He was grinning, despite having barely escaped the fracas with his second life. "It drains the qi of everything it touches. See." Chen Lu pointed to a bloody cut on his right arm. "Even my Iron Gut has limits." He waded over to the shore and placed the heart on a large rock. "You should kill it, Whispering Blade. If I crush it, it will only come back. But you can kill these things."

Cho staggered through the water to look down at the beating heart. It looked like a precious gemstone, blue-green, and about as large as an apple. But it was covered with sharp spikes and pulsed with a mesmerising inner light.

With a violent hiss, Cho drew Peace up, and then plunged it down into the mizuchi's heart. The stone shattered, the soul of the dragon stolen by the sword.

"We should get back to the boy," Bingwei Ma said as he struggled back to his feet.

Cho nodded and glanced down at Zhihao. The bandit was propped up against a rock, not moving.

Chapter 24

It took them the rest of the day to work their way back to where the mizuchi had first appeared. The time passed in a sort of blur of motion and pain, and it felt to Zhihao like an eternity. They had bound his shoulder as best they could with what they had, but the eel's teeth had sunk deep, puncturing the scale pauldron, and biting into the meat. He had lost a lot of blood and couldn't even stand without aid.

Bingwei Ma was injured too, hundreds of small wounds all over his body. He had washed away most of the filth and ichor in the river which served to make his injuries stand out, especially since many of them were still weeping. It emboldened Zhihao a little to see the Master of Sun Valley struggling with injuries similar to his own.

Itami helped Zhihao much of the way, lending him a shoulder or a hand around the waist. She smelled of eel oil and guts, and the stench of it made Zhihao queasy, but he needed the help. Climbing over rocks was the hardest part. Zhihao could use his left arm, but his shoulder felt like it was caught in the grasp of a flaming fist, digging into his flesh. And blood leaked down his arm despite the bandaging, crimson drops splattering on the rocks below.

The boy stood when he saw them, his little pack clutched in his hands. He didn't rush, nor even look concerned, but approached Zhihao in the same way a rider approaches a lame horse. Zhihao didn't know the specifics of the boy's ability, nor the limits of a shinigami's power. He wondered if Ein might let him die and find another warrior, someone more heroic, to replace him. He wondered if Itami would just accept it like she did most of the decisions the boy made. He hoped not. Zhihao hoped she might stand up for him at least that once. They were, after all, working together quite well these days.

"I'm fine," Zhihao's voice sounded drunk even to his own ears. "The Master of Sun Valley needs your needle first."

"You are not fine," Itami whispered.

"No. I'm not." Zhihao rallied his strength. "I'm better than fine." He pushed away from Itami, stumbled, and collapsed against a nearby rock. His legs had no strength and his vision refused to focus.

"I thank you for your concern, Emerald Wind," Bingwei Ma said, bowing his head. "But my injuries can wait for ministration. I would see you recovered before I accept any healing."

And that, Zhihao decided, was exactly why the Master of Sun Valley was a hero and The Emerald Wind was not. He would never be so gracious, insisting another was tended to before him. Some men were destined to be heroic, always putting others first, even at risk to themselves. Zhihao, on the other hand, always put himself first and never with good intentions. He was a bandit through and through and had no place in a group of heroes. But then it wasn't like he hadn't explained that to Ein, and the boy still seemed to think he was worth keeping around. Zhihao couldn't wait to see the boy's face when he was proved wrong about that. When he finally realised Zhihao was a villain, not a hero.

Itami set about removing Zhihao's scale armour, and Ein produced a small pair of scissors and cut away at the tunic beneath. Judging by Itami's gasp, his shoulder was quite the mess, and Zhihao was glad he couldn't see it without turning his head. He was also glad he couldn't work up the effort to turn his head.

"I'll need to sew the wounds shut then speed your recovery," Ein said, reaching into his little pack again and pulling out needle and thread. Odd that the boy could sound so grown up one moment, and then like a scared child the next.

"Like you did to Itami." Zhihao nodded. He'd witnessed that healing and remembered it was quite remarkable.

"Yes. I can only do it once to each of you though. If you are badly injured again, I will not be able to save you."

"Rules?" Zhihao said. "Who makes the rules, I wonder?"

"What?"

"You can only bring us back once. You can only heal us once. Rules the shinigami have to follow. Rules you have to follow. Who makes the rules?"

Ein cocked his head to the side. "No one makes the rules. They are the rules of the world."

"Like water running downhill? Or cats landing on their feet?"

"You're not making any sense, Zhihao," Itami whispered. She looked worried.

"I've lost a lot of blood."

The pain in his shoulder vanished, replaced by a tingling numbness. It was not pleasant. It felt like a cold death creeping inside of him. Out of the corner of his eye, Zhihao saw Ein poking inside the wounds of his shoulder, blood covering his fingers. He pulled something free and for a terrifying moment Zhihao thought the boy was pulling his bones out.

"Here," Ein said, dropping something into Zhihao's right hand. It was long and sharp and looked a lot like an eel tooth. Zhihao decided to keep it as a memento of the time he had bested a mizuchi. It would likely make a fine story one day, and told correctly it might even earn him a free drink. He decided it was probably worth saving until he was fully alive again, when he could actually enjoy the taste of wine.

The stitching seemed to take an eternity, but with Ein's touch on his skin Zhihao didn't even feel the needle. Of course he'd have traded the pain of a needle piercing his flesh over and over again, to get rid of the wrongness of the boy's touch. Some sensations were far worse than pain. The healing, or whatever the boy liked to call it, was over quite quickly by comparison. He breathed a sigh of relief when the boy finally removed his hands. Zhihao's shoulder was a mess of purple bruises and livid pink scars, held together by messy stitches. It was not a pretty job, but he could move his shoulder again, and once he worked the stiffness out, he would be able to swing his sword again as well. But all that could wait. He'd lost a lot of blood during the fight and the boy hadn't been able to fix that, so Zhihao drank as much water as he could, nibbled on some of their dried fruits from Sun Valley, and closed his eyes to bask in the afternoon sun.

Zhihao dozed, dreamless and content. It was perhaps the best sleep he'd had in weeks and it did wonders to improve his glum mood. He woke to see Bingwei Ma perched on a large rock, still entirely naked save for a loincloth. The man was solid slabs of muscle upon yet more muscle, and handsome as a prince from a tale from The Romance of the Three Ages. Well, he was slightly less handsome now he was covered in little wounds and messy sutures. Ein was still working on the man, using a wet cloth to wipe away blood as he stitched, but there was no unnatural healing, only good old fashioned suturing. There was a weariness to the set of Bingwei Ma's shoulders, yet he was rigid and calm despite it all.

The rest of the group were also exhausted. Chen Lu sat nearby, once again under the protection of his parasol. He looked red about the cheeks and arms and none too happy. Roi Astara was nowhere to be seen, and Zhihao wondered if the leper had found some privacy and a pool of water to clean his diseased skin. Itami was in the river again, stripped down to her underclothes and washing eel filth from her hair and clothes. The sky was starting to dim a little, turning from a powder blue to something more royal. Zhihao had no idea how long he had been asleep, but the day had certainly progressed. He knew then they would go no farther that day, but rest close by to the river.

"They came during the day." Zhihao gave voice to the thought that popped into his head, hoping someone else would pick up on it and explain why it seemed so wrong. "That was a yokai, no?"

"A very powerful one," Bingwei Ma said with a nod of his head. "A mizuchi, a qi stealing river dragon."

"That was a dragon?"

"Of a sort." Bingwei Ma drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. "The yokai are growing bolder."

The boy shook his head. "Yokai are just vengeful spirits. People or animals who have died in pain and suffering, come back to punish the life that was stolen from them. You have no doubt seen them before, many times in your life, and not realised it. It is the shinigami chasing us who has grown bolder. It draws them in, gives them purpose by throwing them at us."

"But a mizuchi is no ordinary yokai," Bingwei Ma continued, relentless.

"No. It is not." Ein's voice was flat as hammered steel. He stopped stitching Bingwei Ma's wounds and started fiddling with his scarf. "The shinigami will have expended considerable power to bring it under control, especially so to have forced it into the light of day. With any luck we will be undisturbed for a few days."

Chen Lu said, "But the closer we get to Wu…" and let the comment hang and the boy took it up.

"The more fervent the attempts to stop us. Whichever shinigami has set itself against my purpose will not stop because we have slain some of its minions. I would ask you all to be on your guard. The worst is still to come." There was fear in Ein's voice now.

"I have heard of few yokai more dangerous than a mizuchi," Bingwei Ma said, still insistent.

"Then Sun Valley's teachings are lacking," Roi Astara said from behind Zhihao. Despite wearing wooden sandals, the man was frustratingly quiet. "There are yokai far older and stronger than a mizuchi, but they will resist the shinigami."

Zhihao craned his neck around to look over the rock he was propped against. Roi Astara's bandages looked cleaner, and his eye a little clearer. "Well, as long as they're not likely to attack again today…" Zhihao paused. "Or tonight. I could use the sleep. I was involved in quite a fight today. I vote all those not involved in a battle with a monster from legend take turns on the watch."

The leper stepped around the rock and looked down at Zhihao. "I will watch over you as you sleep."

The victory soured suddenly. There was something in the way Roi Astara said the words that felt like mockery, and Zhihao was certain he would have a fitful night at best. He closed his hand around the eel tooth and squeezed as hard as he could.

Chapter 25

There were no further attacks that day, and the wounded slept long and had earned every bit of that rest. Cho and Roi Astara watched over them, while Ein sat close to the fire and stared east waiting for the sun to rise. At the first rays of light appearing over the distant mountains, Ein stood and dusted himself off.

The rest of the group gradually woke. Zhihao rose slowly and complained about being awoken. Chen Lu was even harder to wake, and threatened open rebellion unless they found something to fill his stomach and soon. He claimed the mizuchi had stolen too much of his qi and he needed food to sustain his Iron Gut. Roi Astara promised to bring down the first edible animal they saw, as long as someone else did the butchering and cooking.

By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, they were on their way, walking southeast over cracked rocks and thin mountain trails to where the leper promised they would soon find a road east that led to Qing province. There was little to do on the road but talk, and Chen Lu seemed happiest to do just that. He had a hundred stories, each more boastful than the last. Eventually, though, even Iron Gut Chen tired of talking and they took turns sharing their tales. Bingwei Ma told them of the trails he faced on his journey to the top of the Cliffs Unbreakable above Sun Valley. He claimed there were ghosts infesting that mountain, not yokai but the souls of all the climbers who had died before reaching the pinnacle. Each ghost had challenged him on his journey, and Bingwei Ma defeated them all. From another man it might have sounded like fancy idle boasting and ghost stories, but from the Master of Sun Valley, Cho could well believe it was true. Besides, over the past dozen days she had seen far stranger things. But she noticed that none of his stories took place outside the limits of Sun Valley.

Day turned to night and the cycle repeated itself again, and still no more of the yokai assaulted them. Ein claimed they were still there, watching and waiting, following. After losing the mizuchi, the shinigami was biding its time and building its strength. On the third day they joined a larger trail east through the mountains and encountered travellers on the path. The people of Shin were hardy and secretive. They travelled in large groups for safety, and many of them carried weapons. Chen Lu laughed every time they threatened the group with those weapons, pointing out that not one of them looked as if they knew how to use them. So they moved on without any trouble. Cho was glad of that. Her honour was already strained with the actions she was committing with Ein. Slaying yokai was one thing, but she had fought against Bingwei Ma, a good man. Though she had not struck the killing blow, she was a party to it. She did not think she could justify killing innocents who wanted nothing more than to protect themselves from strangers. She had, after all, sworn to protect just such people, and she had failed that oath too many times.

They spotted the capital of Shin from a distance on the third day. It sat atop a level plateau, high above the road. Smoke rose from the city in thin plumes, evidence of industry, and a trail of people entered the city by way of a steep mountain road. They looked like ants in the distance. Cho and her companions were moving south of the city, east towards Qing, but Zhihao suggested they detour, and take a couple of days in the city to wrangle up some new supplies. No one else agreed, not even Chen Lu. The people of Shin were not welcoming to strangers, and there were few groups stranger than theirs. Cho didn't blame the Shin, though; they lived in unforgiving and largely barren mountains, with the Cochtan border just to the north. When the people of Shin weren't dealing with crag cats and hostile terrain, they had no choice but to keep their eyes open for Cochtan spies flying overhead on thopters. Regardless, their supplies would last until they reached Qing, where Roi Astara assured them there were many villages happy to trade with outsiders.

On their last night in Shin they had found a small cave, not far from the main trail. It smelled of bear, but Chen Lu simply laughed at that and said no bear could best him. A dried up husk of an old yossam tree nearby provided them with firewood and they sat on the mountainside and watched the stars shine down upon them. Cho had never been able to read the stars like her father or eldest brother, but the stars always brought her comfort.

They told stories at night, sharing the past, and it was Cho's turn. She considered telling the tale of her battle against the Brother's Venom, but Zhihao interrupted even as she started the telling.

"Why do you have two swords," Zhihao asked, yet only draw one? And why is it you can kill yokai when anything I do just seems to make them angrier?"

Bingwei Ma was first to answer. "Because you do not know how to properly use your energy to sever that which binds the yokai to the bodies they inhabit."

Chen Lu chuckled.

"Neither do you, Iron Gut Chen."

"I am Iron Gut Chen. There is nothing I do not know about qi."

"Your own, yes, but you know little about the qi of others."

Chen Lu chuckled. "There is nothing to know. My qi is stronger, and so I am stronger."

Cho noticed Ein was watching her, pale eyes reflecting far too much of the firelight. She tried to look away, but his gaze held her, pinned her there. The more she stared into his eyes, the deeper they seemed to go until she was no longer looking at the boy, but into a fathomless void so dark and cold she could have burned to ash there and then and not felt it.

"Itami!" Zhihao said, throwing a small stone at her. It bounced off of Cho's leg and she managed to tear her gaze away from Ein. "You were going to tell us about your swords."

Cho tugged her saya free of her belt and laid it across her lap. Two swords in one saya; one a katana, a blade of steel folded hundreds of times, and the other…

"It is tradition, in Ipia, for a Shintei to have her own sword crafted upon completion of her training. And so, when I passed all my tests, and the masters deemed me worthy of the title, I made a pilgrimage to the city of Okan, where Mifune, the greatest sword maker who has ever lived, dwells." Cho smiled across the firelight. "He turned me away when I asked him to make my sword. It was neither an issue of money nor respect. When he looked at me he said he could not decide which me needed which sword. I thought him a crazy old man. But, crazy or not, one does not earn the acclaim he has without reason.

"I stayed in Okan five days. Five times I went to Mifune and five times I was turned away. Then, on my last day there, as I was leaving the city, his apprentice found me. I don't know what changed Mifune's mind. I suppose that is the problem when such a blacksmith also happens to be a stargazer. One moment the stars tell him to say no, and the next he is promising me the greatest sword Ipia has ever seen.

"He told me a true sword, one worthy for a Shintei, takes five months to make. So I made myself useful for five months. The people of Okan always need a good sword arm. It is not lawless, far from it, but Okan sits on the edge of Ipia, where the emperor's agents rarely travel. There are bandits, warlords as bad as Flaming Fist ever was. And other things too."

Cho paused and smiled. "That was when I first met the Century Blade, and he taught me how to make a sword thrum with but a whisper."

Chen Lu grunted. "You focus your qi through your voice. It is impressive."

Cho nodded her thanks.

"But also wasteful," the far man continued. "Qi spreads too quickly when released to the world; it is far better contained within. Far better to concentrate it in your own skin."

Cho considered that for a moment and then smiled. "I do not believe I could do what you can, Chen Lu. My voice is what it is and always has been."

Chen Lu grunted disapprovingly but argued no more. After a few moments Zhihao coughed. "So the swords…"

"I spent five months helping the people of Okan at the side of the Century Blade. I learned from him and he from me. We grew close. After five months I returned to Mifune. He was not polite. He told me true work could not be rushed, and my sword would take another five months. I will admit, I let doubt creep in. For a while I believed he was lying to me, that he was trying to keep me in Okan for some reason. It was the Century Blade who convinced me to stay and wait. He said 'For some, a sword is an extension of themselves, and thus any sword will do. For others the sword and wielder are one, two halves of one soul, and neither will ever be complete without the other.' So I decided to wait and give Mifune the five months he needed. Five more months.

"I languished in Okan then. The Century Blade returned to Hosa, and I grew bored. I worked where I could for the locals, but the enemies I faced were not my equal. I had surpassed them. Even without my true swords they were no longer a challenge for me. I made quite the name for myself." Cho glanced at Bingwei Ma. "They called me unbeatable."

The Master of Sun Valley bowed his head and glanced across the fire to where Roi Astara sat, staring out into the night. Then he said, "No one is unbeatable. I fought a thousand battles against the greatest warrior of Sun Valley, and then I was defeated by a leper with a ladle of wine."

"When at last I returned to Mifune," Cho continued, "I had an arrogance borne from youth and a year of battles. The people had already started calling me Whispering Blade, and I had gone through four swords. None could stand the test of my technique."

"Hah!" Chen Lu thumped his leg. "It was you the blades couldn't withstand, not the technique. They shattered with the resonance of your soul."

Cho nodded. "The very lesson the Century Blade tried to teach me. Mifune was less than impressed with my attitude. To my surprise he laid not one sword, but two in front of me. Both katanas and both alike in length, though in little else. The first—" Cho paused to pull Peace from its saya, holding it up to the firelight, "— he named Peace. And he told me its name was its purpose. To bring peace wherever I wielded it."

She ran a hand along the hilt of her second sword still in its saya. "The other sword was dark like obsidian, thin trails of grey like smoke curling along the hamon. It has no tsuba to guard the hand. Mifune called the sword War, and told me I wasn't worthy of it." Cho laughed at the memory, but there was no humour, only a bitter taste in her mouth that had nothing to do with her being only mostly alive. "He didn't even let me handle the blade, but slid it into its saya, and secured it there." She held the saya out to the firelight to show the three thin strips of leather wound through the hilt. Water and wear and time had made the leather nearly as hard as steel.

"This Mifune sounds like an arse to me," Zhihao said. "He gave you two swords and then told you never to draw one of them?"

"More than that. He made me swear an oath never to draw it."

"Why?"

Cho slid Peace back into the saya next to War. Eventually she decided to tell them everything. "He told me they were forged as a pair. Peace steals the souls of its victims, trapping them so they can never be reborn. And War releases those souls, should it ever be drawn, allowing them to reenter the world as the stars see fit. So I swore only to use Peace against those who are evil, and never to release them by drawing War." She paused, trying to stop herself from saying more, but the tale needed to be told. "It's the only oath I've ever kept."

A cackle drifted towards them in the darkness and echoed from the wall of the cave. It only took a moment before they were all on their feet. Cho once more held Peace in her hands. She blinked furiously, trying to see into the darkness, but she had been staring into the flames for too long: her night sight was ruined. Only Roi Astara had not been huddled around the fire, but even the leper was glancing about, unable to find the source of the laughter. It echoed all around them until Cho could hear nothing else. Then, as suddenly as it started, the laughter stopped, and instead she heard the sound of cloven hooves tapping on stone.

From the depths of the cave, beyond their fire, a small white figure trotted. It had the body of a goat, but the face of an old man wrinkled beyond ancient. Six horns curled away behind its ears and its hair was patchy and riddled with mange. The creature closed the distance between them and stopped, heedless of the weapons pointed its way.

"I thought you checked the cave," Cho said, shifting her grip on Peace a little, making ready to strike.

"I did," said Zhihao. He had both hooked swords drawn, but was backing away from the goat-man. "There was nothing in there but bones and bear stink."

"Hakutaku," Ein said. The boy was the only one still seated and he barely even spared the goat-man a glance. "He's not dangerous."

"Not in the traditional sense," Roi Astara said. He had his rifle trained on the creature nonetheless.

Again the creature chuckled, its mouth moving just like a man's. Then the back legs bent and it sat, watching them all around the fire. "Spare some food?" it said. "Been a long time since I tasted anything." Nobody moved to offer the creature anything.

"It's another yokai, isn't it?" Zhihao asked. He had backed so far away now that he was standing next to Cho, and looking like he wanted to go farther. The goat stared at Zhihao, blinked once, and then nodded its head.

"The shinigami sent me."

"Which shinigami?" Zhihao asked. "And how many of them are there?"

"The one chasing me," Ein said. "Hakutaku is sent to talk, not fight. You can put your weapons away." No one did.

The yokai looked at each of them in turn. "No food then? I remember when people were more grateful."

"You should be grateful we don't kill you, goat!" Zhihao said, now a step behind Cho.

"You could." The goat nodded. "But what good would that do ya? I can't fight. Heh, I've only got three teeth." The got-man smiled to prove his point and he wasn't lying.

"So what do you want?"

"Want? To talk. And eat." His face looked hopeful.

Chen Lu shook his head. "You'll get no food from us, yokai. Say your words then leave, or I will eat you."

"No meat on me. Skin and bones here."

Chen Lu shrugged and lowered himself to sit cross-legged. "I can eat skin and bones."

The goat harrumphed, then turned its old man gaze on the boy. "There's nothing in Wu but death for all of you."

"Hah, threats is it?" Chen Lu made a lazy, seated lunge, but the goat sidled away.

"You don't grow as old as I am by making threats." The goat-man sat down again and its eyes crossed as it watched all of them at once.

"You don't speak plainly either. Say what you will, yokai." Bingwei Ma folded his legs beneath him and sat. His face was so grave it made him seem a vengeful spirit himself.

The goat fixed his gaze on Bingwei Ma, and then looked to Ein. "The boy has lied to you. He pits you against a man with the same master as he."

"The Emperor of Ten Kings?" Cho said.

"Just so. Just so. It's the left hand attacking the right. All of you will die in Wu."

Zhihao let out a groan. He was now two steps behind Cho and would likely have gone farther, but that would have put him out of the fire light. "He's clearly lying. Chen, eat him."

Chen Lu gave a mountainous shrug. "I'm warming to the goat. I like the way his voice makes a song of his words."

"Much obliged." The goat's old-man face gave a wide smile, eyes glinting in the fire light.

"Hakutaku doesn't lie," Ein said slowly. "But neither does he tell the truth."

The goat let out a braying laugh. "We all have our curses."

"It's a trick," Roi Astara said, turning away from the goat and squinting into the darkness beyond their little camp. "A distraction. There's an attack coming."

"Ahh, the live one speaks." Again the goat laughed. "No attack. Just me."

"Hey!" Zhihao took a brave step forward so he was standing next to Cho. "I'm alive too."

"Partly alive."

"Mostly alive."

Again the laugh. "Partly alive, mostly dead. What's the difference, I say?"

"I'm bored," Chen Lu said. He picked up his mace and swung it at the goat-man. But the yokai leapt away, bounding over the little fire, between Cho and Zhihao, and out into the night, its braying laughter echoing throughout the cave.

The goat's voice drifted back to them from darkness. "Nothing in Wu but death for all of you."

Chapter 26

Zhihao had only passed through Qing once before. The province was quite heavy handed when it came to dealing with bandits, stamping them out with extreme military force, so it was a dangerous place for men like The Emerald Wind. Flaming Fist had always preferred to stay towards the west, in the Lau and Tsai provinces where banditry was simply considered a peril of everyday life. It's true the pickings weren't nearly so rich, but it was offset by the relative comfort and the unwillingness of the citizens to fight back. No, the fields and forests of Qing were not a place for Zhihao, so no sooner did they pass into the province, than he put up his hood and kept it up. After all, it had been a very long time and he doubted any of the officials were still looking for him, but he had always said it was better to be safe than hanged. Especially when they were crimes of another life.

Though they hadn't seen the goat-man-thing again, and his words were already a day old when they finally reached the outskirts of Qing, they still echoed around in Zhihao's head. No one seemed willing to discuss it, preferring instead just to ignore the entire encounter, but Zhihao couldn't. The yokai had said the Emperor of Ten Kings served the same master the boy did.

"Your feet are bleeding again," Zhihao said as Ein stepped on a sharp stone almost hidden by the tall grass. In front lay Qing: fields of grass as tall as Chen Lu, rivers that ran cold and crystal clear no matter the time of year, and trees that threatened to reach for the very stars themselves.

The boy glanced down at his feet. "Yes. They are."

"Tell me again why you can't wear shoes," Zhihao said.

"Because the shinigami forbade it," Ein replied. Zhihao thought he might be imagining it, but the boy seemed to be scowling more of late.

"Because the shinigami can't wear shoes?" Zhihao pressed the matter. He had no idea why shinigami couldn't wear shoes -- another of those unfathomable rules of the world.

The boy shrugged and continued walking. "I don't know why. I didn't ask."

"Why can't shinigami wear shoes?" Zhihao asked.

"Because IoSen," Roi Astara rasped, "the goddess of consequences, cursed them to always feel the consequences of where they tread."

Zhihao frowned at that. "So the gods can curse each other?"

Roi Astara shrugged. "The shinigami are not like the other gods. They are the reapers, the lords of death. It is their job to collect the souls of those whose time it is to die. But they have, from time to time, strayed from the path. It is not their role to cause death, only serve it. So IoSen cursed them to never wear shoes, so that they might be more inclined to stay upon the path."

Zhihao let out a groan "That's just… stupid."

"Leave it be, Zhihao," Itami said. She was bringing up the rear of the group and smiling. "It's good to see life again. The mountains are so barren."

Roi Astara let out a wet cough. "There should be a village not too far east of here. We should try to get there before night sets in. There's more than just yokai to fear in Qing these days."

They hadn't met any yokai since the goat, and none had attacked them since the mizuchi, but Roi Astara was certain they were out there at night. The leper said he could hear them moving beyond his sight, and the boy agreed. Ein said the shinigami was massing its forces for another attack, one even more dangerous than the mizuchi. Zhihao hoped it was nothing but fear mongering, yet he had a feeling deep down in his gut that said otherwise.

They followed Roi Astara's directions into overgrown fields teeming with insects and birds. Far to the south Zhihao could see the great forest of Qing, a hazy green smudge on the horizon, but the fading light soon robbed him of the view and soon they were traipsing through grass that reached to his shoulder with nothing but moonlight to guide them. It seemed the perfect place for a yokai ambush. They wouldn't see the spirits coming until they were set upon, but Roi Astara pressed onward and nobody argued with the decision. At least not until there was smoke on the wind and the distant screams of the dying.

To the east, beyond the tall grass, Zhihao saw an orange glow. He knew that glow well, the village they were headed toward was burning. Roi Astara stopped and the rest of them stopped with him.

"We should divert south or north," the leper said. "We can go around."

"East." Ein's voice was resolute, almost desperate. "I have to keep moving forwards."

Itami tightened her grip on her sword. "We have to help them, whoever they are."

The boy shook his head. "No. Their fate is their own."

"We were intending to stop in their village tonight anyway."

"No." Ein cried. "You swore an oath to me, Whispering Blade."

"I swore to help you reach Wu and the emperor. And I swore to kill for you, good and evil, so you wouldn't bring back Flaming Fist. I did not swear to let innocent people die when I can stop it."

"You are in the right, Itami," Bingwei Ma said. "The strong should always strive to help the weak. It is the very foundation of a wise society. Ein, you wish us to kill this emperor, an evil man committed only to the justice of the sword. You say you chose us because we are heroes, and it will take heroes to bring this tyrant down. But if we ignore the plight of people under duress, we are more villain than hero."

The boy and the Master of Sun Valley entered into a staring contest then. Zhihao had no idea how Bingwei Ma could stand it, meeting Ein's eyes like that.

"Enough of this," Itami hissed. "I go to save who I can." Then she was gone, sprinting away through the tall grass. A moment later Bingwei Ma followed her.

Chen Lu sniffed loudly. He weighed his empty keg and looked at Zhihao. Then he looked toward the burning village. "They may have wine."

The boy was staring after Bingwei Ma and Itami, watching the grass still swaying in their wake. Zhihao sauntered forward and squatted down next to him. "Personally, I agree with you, boy. A useless risk of life. It's probably just a village bonfire anyway."

"It is bandits," Roi Astara said with conviction.

Zhihao shook his head. "There's no bandits in Qing, foolish leper."

Roi Astara turned his pale eye on Zhihao. "A lot has changed since your time, Emerald Wind. The Steel Prince gathers all men in Qing under his banner. Soon he will march on Wu, and in the meantime his province is beset by bandits willing to take advantage of his singlemindedness."

"I have not heard of the Steel Prince," Ein said.

"He's too young to be in any of your books." The leper coughed, spattering the bandages around his mouth pink. "He is the son of the king of Qing, and a man of strength and focused vengeance, determined to see justice for his father's murder. He is the last challenge to the emperor's rule. And by his side sits the Art of War, a strategist with no equal. Together, they have vowed to bring an end to the rule of WuLong."

"Where can we find this Steel Prince?" Ein asked.

Roi Astara was quiet for a moment, staring south towards the orange blur on the horizon. "I don't know. But maybe someone in the village could point us in the right direction."

The boy turned his ghostly gaze on the leper and they stared at each other then. Whether it was a match of wills or some form of silent communication by way of scary stares, Zhihao couldn't tell and didn't want to know. He laughed and walked forward through the gently swaying grass and slapped Iron Gut Chen on the arm. "I'm bored, fat man. Let's go save the day."

"It's night."

"It's a figure of speech."

Chen Lu frowned, but followed Zhihao into the long grass. "I don't know what that means."

"Then just think of the wine, Lead Belly."

As they emerged from the grass, Zhihao and Chen Lu stopped to take in the sight. The village was larger than he expected, dozens of buildings with wooden walls and sloping roofs of clay tiles, perfect for burning. A stream ran through the centre of the village, bubbling away with water that trickled down from the mountains in the north. It might have been idyllic if not for the corpses and raging fire.

There were dozens of bandits. Maybe not as many as Flaming Fist had boasted in his day, but certainly enough that the authorities of Qing should have hunted them down and stamped them out long ago. Whispering Blade and the Master of Sun Valley were in amongst them, fighting with sword and fist, two against an army. They worked well together, that much was as clear as the night sky. They fought back to back, defending each other as often as attacking the enemy. Zhihao watched as Bingwei Ma leapt up and flipped to his left, and Itami ducked underneath him, switching positions so smoothly the bandits had no idea what was happening. Another two fell to Itami's blade while the Master of Sun Valley snapped arms like kindling, and sent bodies sailing through the air to crash into their comrades.

"I don't think they need saving, Green Breeze," Chen Lu said in between great huffing breaths. He let the head of his great mace fall to the earth and leaned on the handle, watching the battle in front of them unfold. "He kills none of them."

The Master of Sun Valley was a dervish of fists and feet, turning aside blows and striking back with such force Zhihao could hear the pounding of flesh. But none of his attacks were aimed to kill. He still did a far better job of disabling the bandits than Zhihao could have done. Itami, on the other hand, had no such qualms. Every one of her strikes was perfectly measured to kill in a single blow, and she struck men down with staggering ease. Even so, more bandits kept coming, as they left off the looting to join the fight.

Zhihao caught sight of an archer knocking an arrow to his bow. "See," Zhihao said, slapping Chen Lu on the arm again. "I told you they'd need help."

"No you didn't."

Zhihao ignored the fat man, drew his swords, and stepped through the world. The surprise on the archer's face was well worth the effort. Zhihao hooked his sword around the man's neck, dragged him across the dirt and slammed him into the ground. Zhihao left him to bleed out and looked for a new target.

Across a bridge that spanned the stream, he saw villagers, those who were still alive at least. They were children and elders, a woman who looked to be heavy with child. They were grouped up near a burning house, sitting on the ground while two bandits watched them with naked steel in hand. Even as he watched, one of the bandits hauled a woman to her feet and held a blade to her neck. This was the problem with heroes like Itami and Bingwei Ma, they'd lay down arms to save a single innocent life. Zhihao, on the other hand, was well aware that no life was innocent. He preferred to roll the dice and see who survived. And when fighting amateur bandits who barely even knew how to hold a sword, the dice would always favour The Emerald Wind.

Zhihao stepped through the world and appeared behind the bandit. He hooked one sword around the man's arm and pulled the bandit's sword away from the woman's throat. With his other sword he hooked the man's leg and brought him down face first on the hard-packed dirt. From there it was a simple thing to stamp on the man's neck. The other bandit guarding the villagers went down with similar ease, then Zhihao hung up his swords and watched Itami and Bingwei Ma battle the rest of the bandits. Chen Lu, he noticed, had not joined the fight; he still waited near the long grass. Ein and the leper were with him now, and Zhihao wondered which of them had won the staring contest.

A few of the villagers offered Zhihao their thanks for rescuing them, but he ignored them, other than pointing out that nothing said grateful quite like a bottle of rice wine. He was sipping from a cup by the time Itami and Bingwei Ma chased off the last of the attackers.

Itami wiped down her sword and slid it into its saya next to its partner, then bowed low to Bingwei Ma. She hadn't offered that same sign of respect to Zhihao and they had fought together twice now, and he had saved her from Flaming Fist.

Most of the villagers were busy fetching buckets of water from the stream and throwing them over the burning buildings. Others cried over the dead or tended to the wounded. Zhihao walked away from all the noise and took his bottle of rice wine with him. It tasted foul, but it had the familiar bite to it that promised it would get him drunk no matter how it tasted.

Chen Lu, Itami, Bingwei Ma, the boy, and the leper gathered in the centre of the village, surrounded by the dead and the wounded. Many of the bandits were still alive but incapacitated by the Master of Sun Valley, and a couple of old timers were moving among them with swords, finishing them off. It was dirty work.

"Check their pockets before you burn the bodies," Zhihao said. He knelt next to one moaning bandit and started to pull a ring from the man's finger. When he protested Zhihao punched him in the face and pulled the ring off anyway. It was a plain wooden band with a small green gem set in the centre, and it fit quite snugly onto his right index finger.

"Thank you for your help, Zhihao," Itami said as he joined them in the centre of the village. No bow of respect though. Zhihao ignored her.

"You didn't kill them," Zhihao said as he closed on Bingwei Ma. "Any of them."

"I don't kill," Bingwei Ma said.

"They're bandits! They were killing women and children."

Bingwei Ma listened and nodded slowly. "So I saw. But I do not kill. I have never taken a life, and I will never take a life."

"What use is he?" Zhihao said, turning to Ein and the others. "We're on a quest to kill the emperor, and what use is a man who won't kill? Why did you even bring him back?"

"There are other ways to win a fight, Emerald Wind," said Bingwei Ma.

"He's right, Zhihao," Itami said. "He incapacitated as many bandits as I did, and did not take a single life."

Again Zhihao ignored her and focused on Ein. Meeting the boy's eyes was a terror, but anger and pride made Zhihao bold. "You brought us back to kill for you. Why is he exempt?"

The boy took a single step forward. Zhihao held his ground. "The Master of Sun Valley is the greatest wushu master who has ever lived. He can achieve, through strength of fist and principle, what you cannot." The boy cocked his head, his flat stare intense and so deep Zhihao felt he was drowning in it, being sucked into a darkness there was no escape from. "After all, he beat all three of you without killing anyone."

Ein took another step forward and this time Zhihao couldn't hold his ground; his legs wobbled and he faltered back a step. "I decide who I do and do not bring back," the boy continued. "I decide who will help me in my quest. I decide who is useful and who is not." Ein took another step and Zhihao gasped, pain in his chest flaring right where the Century Blade had stabbed him. "Be sure you remain useful, Zhihao Cheng."

Zhihao collapsed to his knees, the bottle of wine rolling free from his grasp. The pain in his chest was unbearable, as though his heart had turned to ice in his chest, and he could barely even see the boy through the tears in his eyes.

"Ein, that's enough," Itami said, stepping in front of the boy. Zhihao heard a loud slap and the pain vanished. When he blinked away the tears Ein was sitting on the ground, staring up at Itami, a red handprint on his wide-eyed face..

"The village is still burning," Bingwei Ma said. "The dead need collecting, and the injured seeing to." With that the Master of Sun Valley strode away to help restore the village to some semblance of order. Just like a hero should. The thought was bitter and Zhihao scowled it away. Chen Lu held out a hand to Zhihao and hauled him to his feet. The fat man said nothing, but patted Zhihao's shoulder. Then he waddled away to drag the corpses out of the village.

Ein had regained his feet and was dusting himself off. Itami moved away to help the villagers. And Roi Astara was still standing at the edge of the long grass, leaning on his rifle and watching everything from a distance. Zhihao turned and walked away and tried to make it look as though he wasn't fleeing from the boy.

The sun had risen and bathed the world in a soft orange glow muted by clouds by the time the village was in any sort of order. The fires had spread among the homes and almost half the village had burned before they got the flames under control. The bodies of the dead were collected, the bandits piled into a hasty pyre, and the villagers readied for burial. The wounded were ministered to however they could be, but there was no one in the village who claimed to be a healer. Cho wagered many more would die before the memory of the attack was forgotten. But at least they had saved the majority of the villagers. Saved them and their food supplies, meagre though they were.

Neither Ein nor Roi Astara took any part in bringing the village to order. Cho could understand it from the leper; he was diseased and unwilling to touch the living, and not strong enough to help with the dead. But the boy had his needle and thread and a rudimentary knowledge of sewing shut wounds, yet he sat and sulked next to Roi Astara rather than helping. Zhihao, too, sulked though in a more helpful fashion. He flung himself into the work of burning the bandit corpses and said not a word to anyone. Cho couldn't blame Zhihao; she too was angry with the way the boy had treated him.

When finally they gathered in the centre of the village, now cleared of bodies, it was to drink clean water and breakfast on sloppy gruel. They were eating when Ein approached, his angry stare sweeping across all of them. "It's time to go." His eyes flicked east towards the rising sun, and towards Wu.

The silence that followed Ein's words was broken by one of the villagers, an old lady with hair as grey as a winter storm. She stood from her little wooden stool and then bowed to the group. "I thank you for all you've done. Without your help, we'd all be dead or dying soon."

"Thanks mean more when accompanied by food," Chen Lu said in his high-pitched voice. Cho shot him a hard stare, but he ignored her. "Our supplies are low and I'm hungry. This… paste won't satisfy a qi like mine." He slapped his belly and grinned.

The old woman looked embarrassed. "We have so little to spare. You've seen for yourself. It's barely enough for those of us who are left."

"Why are your supplies so low?" Roi Astara asked. He was squatting down on his haunches just outside of the circle.

The old woman shrugged and sat back down on her stool. "The emperor takes half of everything, and his tax collectors are stingy with the numbers. More often than not they take the larger half. Then there's the tribute to…" She fell silent, glancing around at them all.

Roi Astara shook his head. "We are not spies for the emperor."

"No. You don't look it." The old lady laughed. "I'm not sure what you look like."

"People who are trying to help, in any way we can." The leper finished with a coughing fit, new stains of red showing through his bandages.

The old lady nodded. "We pay a tribute to the Steel Prince. He takes it to support his soldiers. He's the last hope we have of getting rid of that damned emperor."

"Fan!" An old man, bent-backed with a beard stretching down to his waist, shook his head violently. "Even if these folk aren't spies, you never know who might be."

The old woman wheezed. "Oh, Xinfei, I don't care anymore. What else can they do to us? Take more food? We already don't have enough to feed the village, even with most of the men away. Kill us? Well, it would be one less mouth to feed. And the chances are we'll all die the next time a group of thieves decides to take what's ours. I might as well tell these kind folk what they want to know, and if I get to curse the name Henan WuLong in the process, all the better." She spat on the dirt.

Ein winced at the name, but only Zhihao seemed to notice.

"Ever since Emperor WuLong kidnapped all the kings of Hosa," the old woman continued, "we've been on our own. Nobody comes to help us. Nobody patrols the roads. Thieves come and take what they want, and tax collectors come and take even more. And all the while the emperor sits behind his walls in the city of Jieshu, holding all the kings hostage so none of their sons rise up."

"None but the Steel Prince," Roi Astara said, having overcome his latest coughing fit.

"Too true. Might be true what folk say about him being the strongest warrior since the Century Blade, but he's almost as bad as the thieves. Takes whatever we can spare, food and young men both, and does nothing about the bandits. Just sits in his camp and trains and plans. And every time his people come to take more from us, they say 'Soon. Soon he'll liberate us all.' It's been nearly two years and I don't feel the least bit liberated."

"Where can we find this Steel Prince?" Ein asked, suddenly enthusiastic again.

"How should I know?"

The old man's eyes widened and he quickly looked at the ground beneath his feet, scuffing at the dirt. Cho stood and approached him. "Xinfei, was it?" she said. "You know, don't you? Where we can find the Steel Prince."

"What?" Fan threw up her hands. "Why the stars would he know?"

"Please, tell us." Cho knelt in front of Xinfei and caught his stare with her own. "You're protecting his location. Perhaps that means you believe in his cause. Then you should know that we intend to kill the Emperor of Ten Kings. Our goals align with those of the Steel Prince. We can help each other. Maybe even put an end to your suffering."

Still the old man said nothing.

"Do you know something, Xinfei?" Fan asked. "You tell me now if you know something." He looked up and met her eyes with a guilty smile. "Oh by the stars, you old fool. Tell them!"

By midmorning they were on their way again; not east towards Wu, but south-east towards the great forest of Qing. To find the Steel Prince, infiltrate his army, and somehow kill him without anyone noticing.

Chapter 27

The trees all around them were monsters, many of them so thick it would take twenty of Cho or more to surround the trunk. They were orange-red, with millions of emerald leaves sprouting from branches that began far above the forest floor. Some of the trees were rotting away at the base, no doubt set upon by devouring insects. It was encouraging to think that something so small could take down something so large, given enough time, and the advantage of numbers. Other trees were bulbous, malformed things; their wood seemed to bulge outward where it met the ground. There were rocks too, so large it would take a hundred horses to move them, spread out between the trees. Cho thought it looked like a playground of giants. She felt small and insignificant amongst it all.

The midday sun filtered down to them through the canopy. Birds cooed from high above and leaves and twigs crunched underfoot as the heroes made their way further into the forest. Every now and then she would catch a glimpse of something her eyes couldn't quite see. Movement passing behind trees, shadows there one moment and gone the next. When she strained her ears, she could hear past the bird calls and past the noise of her group's passage; there were whispers here.

"We're being watched," Roi Astara said. The leper was limping and using his rifle as a crutch. Perhaps it was just another symptom of his disease. She pitied him, and couldn't fathom what it must be like to be afflicted with his disease, always needing to be conscious of keeping a distance from everyone, knowing you would never again feel human contact. The thought saddened her more than she could say.

"More yokai?" Zhihao said. He looked tired. They all looked tired. None had slept the night, and more than that, they had spent much of it fighting, putting out fires, and burning the dead. Even Chen Lu was quiet, trudging alone in a sullen silence.

"I don't sense any spirits," Ein said, his red scarf in his hands once more. "At least none that mean us harm. But the forest is drenched in them."

"These are not spirits. They are men watching us," Roi Astara said, from a few paces behind Ein, who trailed his heroes.

"That means we are on the right track then," said Bingwei Ma. "Perhaps we should stop and request an audience?"

Cho dropped back a couple of paces to walk alongside Ein. "Bingwei Ma brings up a good point. You are determined to recruit this Steel Prince to your quest. I do not believe fighting our way to him is the wisest course."

Ein looked up at her then and Cho thought she saw a moment of uncertainty. Then the boy nodded. "Diplomacy then?" He lowered his voice to a whisper so only Cho could hear. "But he still needs to die."

Cho considered that to be a bridge they would burn when they came to it. "Chen Lu, would you do the honours? I believe you have the loudest voice."

Iron Gut Chen laughed and drew in a deep breath. "I am Iron Gut Chen," he shrieked. "And these are my companions. We seek an audience with the Steel Prince of Qing."

As his words faded into the distance, the sounds of the forest flooded back in. There was no response.

"Perhaps the size of my voice scared them off." Chen Lu laughed.

"Perhaps we should point out that we come in peace," Cho suggested.

Chen Lu huffed impatiently and drew in another deep breath. "We come in peace. The boy wants to talk about killing the emperor."

Zhihao slapped Chen Lu's arm. "You really don't do subtle do you, fat man?"

"Subtlety is for small people. Do I look small to you, small person?"

A single arrow whistled through the air from high above, thudding into the ground just a couple of steps ahead of Chen Lu. The shaft quivered in the ground. For a moment Cho thought Chen Lu might take offence, but he just laughed. "I think they heard me."

"You're here to talk?" A tall man wearing plated red ceramic armour stepped around one of the giant trees. He had a short sword sheathed at his waist and a bow in one hand, but he could not have been the one to loose the arrow, the angle was wrong. That meant there were more of them.

"Peace," Bingwei Ma said with a bow from the waist. "We only wish to talk with the Steel Prince. No violence is intended."

The man seemed to mull it over for a moment, and Cho heard footsteps in the leaf litter nearby -- soldiers moving into place to either ambush or escort.

"You must hand over your weapons, " said the man in the red amour. He was greeted by a stony silence. More soldiers appeared from behind the trees and others stepped out onto the thick branches above. Some carried bows and others held guandao with hafts as long as Cho was tall, and curved blades that glinted in the sunlight. Used properly a warrior could cut a person in half with a good strike from a guandao, but Cho wondered whether these soldiers could wield them with such skill.

Zhihao's hands strayed to his swords and Chen Lu dropped his keg and parasol, and tightened his grip on his mace. Cho decided it was time for her to take the initiative. She stepped forward past Chen Lu and pulled her saya free from her belt, placing it on the ground in front of her. "I would ask you keep them safe, and do not draw the blades. As a matter of respect." She bowed then and stepped back.

Chen Lu was next, heaving his mace from his shoulder and dumping it on the forest floor with a thud like a tree falling. "Good luck lifting it."

Roi Astara stepped aside from the group, his rifle held high so as not to appear threatening. "I would not ask anyone else to carry my weapon. I would not like to risk it."

The man in the red armour, now backed by a dozen other soldiers looked unconvinced. "What's wrong with you?"

"Leprosy," Roi Astara said without delay. "Here." He pulled a strip of bandage from a pocket in his green trousers and wrapped it over the firing plate of his rifle half a dozen times. "If any of your men see me remove this cloth, they are welcome to cut me down."

The man in the armour nodded to that and all eyes turned to Zhihao. The Emerald Wind crossed his arms and shook his head. "Am I the only one of us who isn't crazy. I'm not walking into a camp of militant rebels without a weapon."

Cho took another step backwards and smiled at Zhihao. "You'll be the only one. Even if you have your swords; what can you do alone against an army? And consider, do any of us really need weapons to be dangerous?"

Zhihao deliberated her words, but Cho already knew the outcome. The Emerald Wind liked to play the loner, but the truth was he craved the acceptance of others. Eventually he threw his hands in the air, declared them all fools, and placed his swords next to Cho's. Then he retreated to the back of the group to sulk. The red-armoured soldiers moved forward to collect the weapons, two of them having to work together to drag Chen Lu's mace away. Soon an armed escort was leading them farther into the great forest.

Cho soon recognised the evidence of war preparation. The sound of steel on steel, the smell of smoke from a blacksmith's fire, sentries with watchful eyes. Then there were tents among the giant trees, small at first but larger as they continued farther into the forest. They were colourful, in reds and greens and blues, and Roi Astara pointed out that the emblems stitched into the cloth signified soldiers from Qing and from Shin, from Lau and from Song. It seemed every one of the Ten Kingdoms of Hosa was contributing to the Steel Prince's rebellion, even Wu itself. Everywhere, were soldiers, their coloured armour as varied as the tents. Some worked at maintaining weapons, and others trained in the midday light. So many soldiers Cho didn't bother to count them. She had never seen such an army gathered, and wagered there must be thousands of soldiers in the forest. They were treated with a cold scrutiny and more than a little curiosity as they were marched through the camp.

"We all flocked to the prince's call," the man in the red armour said. "After the emperor took the kings hostage, no one else was willing to stand up to him. His taxes are sucking the land dry and he cares for nothing except military conquest. I've heard rumours he means to wage war against Ipia next. So when the Steel Prince declared the emperor a traitor to Hosa, men and women of all walks fled to his banner. When the emperor threatened to kill King Qing if the prince didn't bend a knee, the prince sent his armies to strike at supply lines, and he snuck into Wu alone to watch the emperor kill his father. Fuel to hatred, I believe."

"He refused to capitulate, even to save his father's life?" Bingwei Ma asked.

The soldier nodded. "The way I hear it, when the prince was young he was kidnapped by bandits. I don't know how they got to him, but they did. Some people say it was the emperor's men trying to undermine Qing. The bandits demanded a ransom, money for the boy prince's life. King Qing refused to pay. Said he would never pay. So the bandits sent him a drawing, a description of what they would do the prince's face if they king didn't pay. It wasn't pretty."

Cho shuddered at the thought. "It would take a hard man to stand by as his son faced mutilation."

"He did though, King Qing. Still he refused to pay. Five days later the prince turns up in Singwoo, covered head to toe in blood. The bandits did it, cut the prince's face up. A horrible mess. But then they thought him too weak to fight back and let their guard down. I've heard he killed them all. Even with his face all messed up, bleeding from a hundred wounds, he escaped and killed every one of those bandits. Then he walked all the way back to Singwoo. Collapsed just inside the city walls. But he survived."

Bingwei Ma frowned. "How old was he?"

"Just thirteen."

"As the father acted, so did the son. He learned his lessons well. Though not all lessons are worth learning."

"No compromise. No surrender. No retreat." The soldier in the red armour drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest. "He's the only one who's willing to fight against the Emperor of Ten Kings, no matter the threats or what it costs him. The Steel Prince has vowed to win and return peace to Hosa."

Eventually the soldier with the red armour held up a hand to stop them outside an expansive red tent trimmed with black filigree in the shapes of ravens in flight. The soldier ducked inside the tent, leaving Cho and the others under heavy guard. No amount of force, especially without their weapons, would extricate them from this predicament. Ein shuffled closer to Cho. He looked worried and uncertain. She didn't blame him. She just hoped he didn't ask her to kill the prince there and then.

The soldier in red exited the tent, holding aside the flap for a tall figure dressed in a sky blue robe patterned with red birds in flight, and wearing a white mask that covered the entirety of their face. Along with a hood that matched the robe, and whoever they were showed less of themselves than even Roi Astara. The mask turned to each of them and then the head bowed a little. The voice that issued from the mask, however, was undoubtedly female; eloquent and almost musical. "My name is Daiyu Lingsen."

"The Art of War," Roi Astara said, bowing to the masked woman.

"Some may call me so. Though in truth I am but an adviser to the prince. His decisions win out battles. I know of you, Death's Echo. But who are these others?"

Before Roi Astara could reply Chen Lu stepped forwards, heedless of the steel that bristled his way from the guards. "I am Iron Gut Chen."

The mask tilted to the side a little and there was a pause before Daiyu spoke again. "And the rest of you?"

"Itami Cho." She bowed respectfully and then gestured to the others. "This is Bingwei Ma, Zhihao Cheng, and Ein."

Again there was a pause as the mask turned to each of them. Eventually Daiyu nodded and turned back to the tent, lifting the flap and pausing. Cho heard a voice from within, whispered too quiet to understand. Then Daiyu turned back to them.

"You speak for the others, Itami Cho?"

Cho nodded. "The boy and I."

"Interesting. The others must wait out here." And with that Daiyu ducked inside the tent and held the flap open. Cho was first through with Ein a step behind her, so close she could feel him, as well as the strange fear she felt whenever he was close.

The tent was lit mostly from the outside with only a single oil lantern casting a gloomy light upon the walls of the tent. There was an armour stand, empty of all but a helm polished to a silver shine, and a number of heavy oaken chests. Upon one of the chests was an large, ornate chessboard with intricately carved figurines in place, ready for a game. To one side sat a washbasin on a small table with two chairs next to a rolled-up bed pallet. At the far end of the tent a man in ceramic silver armour sat behind a large wooden desk, staring at a collection of maps and scrolls. He was tall and broad, and his armour that caught the lantern light and reflected it back at Cho. It covered almost every part of him from the neck down and looked both sturdy and well tested. His hair was dark, black as a raven, and glossy, cascading down past his shoulders. When he finally looked up Cho saw several scars on the right side of his face, crossing over each other, tugging at his lip and eye.

"Whispering Blade is dead," the Steel Prince's first words were an accusation, not a question.

Chapter 28

The one thing Zhihao had come to realise about all standing armies, be they imperial troops or rebels or bandits, was that somewhere in the camp there would be wine. And one thing Zhihao was quickly coming to realise about Chen Lu was that there was no one better at sniffing out that wine. So while Ein and Itami were busy convincing the Steel Prince to join their cause, Zhihao and Chen Lu found themselves a group of soldiers with wine to spare. They were, of course, not eager to gift said wine to a couple of roaming vagabonds, but that was one of the reasons Zhihao carried gold rings around. Before long they were sat on stools around a camp fire with a bottle each and, though the wine tasted like ash in his mouth, it was certainly strong enough to give Zhihao a merry attitude.

"Ever wonder why we're here?" Zhihao said. Most of the soldiers around the camp fire were ignoring them, sitting around and sharing stories of their own. A good way to settle the nerves before marching off to war.

"To kill the emperor," said Chen Lu. "Are you addled, Green Breeze? We've come all this way to kill the emperor and now you forget?"

"But why us? Why did the boy choose us?"

Chen Lu laughed and Zhihao knew his response even before the words left his mouth. "I am Iron Gut Chen. I have more heroic deeds to my name than you've had hot meals."

"That's actually my point, Zhihao said. "But if you're so heroic…" He cleared his throat before raising his voice. "Who here has heard of my fat friend, Iron Gut Chen before? Other than every time he shouts his own name?"

There were a few grumbles, one or two of the soldiers shook their heads and looked away. "First time I've heard his name," said a soldier with a drooping moustache.

"I heard he was dead," said another. "Died of old age."

Chen Lu threw back a cup of wine and poured another, a frown fixed on his fat face.

"No no no," said a short, balding soldier. "He died at Ban Ping. Syphilis, I'm sure."

"Syphilis?" Chen Lu screeched.

"So I heard." The soldier took interest in the fire all of a sudden. "Might be I was wrong."

"See what I mean?" Zhihao said. He poured himself a cup of wine and considered it. "They've heard a dozen different stories about how you died, but not one of them can remember your magnificent, heroic deeds."

"Exactly why I must shout them all the more loudly. Perhaps you have not heard of my battle against the Cochtan's Blood Engine?" But the soldiers were no longer paying attention, absorbed in their own conversations. Chen Lu grumbled and threw back another cup of wine. "The boy will have heard. He claims to have heard of all my exploits."

Zhihao nodded. "He had a little book of them. All your greatest feats, and Itami's, and Bingwei Ma's."

"And yours?"

Zhihao shook his head. "That's just the thing, fat man. You're all heroes. You belong in this group. Me?" Zhihao lowered his voice. "I'm a bandit. I didn't save people. I robbed them."

Chen Lu shook his head. "The boy said you were first through the breach at Dangma."

Zhihao laughed at that. "First through the breach, and also last through the breach."

"Huh?"

"You've seen my ability to… not be where I'm supposed to be."

"Mhm," Chen Lu agreed. "A fancy trick. You focus your qi on a point and move there. But, like Whispering Blade your chi is uncontrolled and gives away your destination."

"Itami's qi is uncontrolled as well?"

"Yes. She focuses it through her voice, but I do not think she knows how to stop it from happening. That is why she always speaks in a whispers, yet you can always hear her."

Zhihao didn't even know if qi was real, and it certainly wasn't a discussion he wanted to have with Chen Lu. "Well, when the walls came down at Dangma, I rushed the gap. I put on very brave face and shouted myself raw. But as soon as I was through, I saw the Dangma archers lined up. So I vanished and let the rest of the vanguard take the shots. I reappeared at the back of the rearguard and followed them through."

Chen Lu was frowning at him. "But the boy said you alone walked out of that breach, carrying Sitting Tiger's head."

"I'm not saying I didn't fight that day. But Broken Spear did most of the work against Sitting Tiger. I just popped in while the Tiger's sword was lodged in my friend's chest. I like to think of it as revenge, but I could probably have gotten there sooner if I'd really tried. I chopped the bastard's head off and ran for the breach. The fighting was far from done when I left."

Chen Lu let out a high pitched growl. It was a warning and one Zhihao knew he should listen to, but now the truth was spilling from him and he found he wanted the rest of it told as well. "Even if I had been at the front of vanguard the whole time, and even if I had saved the whole damned day, which I didn't, there was nothing heroic about it. Sitting Tiger called himself a general, but he was just another bandit warlord, and Flaming Fist wanted his fort. We attacked Dangma not because it was a bandit hideout, but because Flaming Fist was jealous of a few walls. Which he then burned down anyway."

"Not all good things are done for good reasons," Chen Lu said. "One group of bandits attacking another. At least there is one less group of bandits in the world."

"The point is, The Emerald Wind is not a hero. I don't belong in this group with the rest of you. I never did."

Chen Lu clapped him on the back so hard he slipped off his stool and nearly pitched into the camp fire. "What a pair we are, Green Breeze," the fat man said. "You, so certain you are a villain and don't belong, despite the boy's insistence. And me, so certain I am a hero and this is exactly where I belong. Hah!"

Zhihao didn't really see how they were a pair. Chen Lu had no qualms over where he was and why, no feeling that he didn't belong. In fact he was so certain he did belong that he was annoyed people weren't singing songs about him. Songs were overrated anyway, Zhihao thought. The Emerald Wind had exactly one song to his name and it started by listing some of his very worst crimes… and then finished by listing all of the others.

Chapter 29

Whispering Blade and Ein vs the Steel Prince

"I was dead," Cho said. "For a while."

"As is The Emerald Wind and Iron Gut Chen and the Last Master of Sun Valley." The Steel Prince glanced down at Ein and then back to Cho, his eyes hard in his scarred face.

"News travels fast," Cho said.

The Steel Prince shook his head. "Not really. So what am I to think? A boy wearing the tattered rags of funeral robes, and no shoes, three legendary heroes, and one infamous bandit, all pronounced to the world as dead, yet here they are in my camp. And then there is Death's Echo. A leper as famed for his assassinations as for the people he has saved. What, Whispering Blade, would you think if such a group of ghosts walked into your camp mere days before you planned to strike at the Emperor of Ten Kings?"

Cho desperately tried to think of an answer, one that wouldn't get them all thrown in a cell or killed again. Then Ein stepped forward to stand just in front of the desk.

"You would think we were here to kill you," the boy said. "And you would be right."

Neither the Steel Prince nor Daiyu moved. Cho found her left hand groping for a saya that wasn't there. "What are you doing, Ein?"

The boy glanced at Cho over his shoulder and a smile ghosted across his lips. "I thought I might try the truth." Despite the confidence in his words, his hands rubbed at the red scarf around his neck.

"You came here to kill me?" the Steel Prince said. "Not very wise to announce it." Cho heard Daiyu moving, gliding across the floor into position behind her. She had no idea of the Art of War's weapons or skill with them, but without her swords Cho was certain to be at a disadvantage

"Unless dying is the only way to ensure you win the war against the emperor."

The Steel Prince leaned forwards, steepling his hands. There was a severe look on his scarred face and Cho knew he was weighing up their worth and deciding whether to kill them. "You'll have to explain to me how I can win a war if I am dead."

"I died," Ein said with a nod. "On Long Mountain my father sacrificed me to a shinigami." He reached up and tugged at his red scarf, pulling it away from his neck to reveal a horrifying motley of purple, black, and red. Cho couldn't help but look away. She couldn't imagine how anyone could do such a thing to a young boy. The Steel Prince, however, looked unmoved.

"The shinigami brought me back," Ein continued, "and sent me on a quest. A single mission I have no choice but to pursue. To kill Emperor Henan WuLong." Ein paused and walked to a chair next to the wash table. It was meant for an adult and too big for the boy, but he dragged it in front of the Steel Prince's desk and climbed up onto it. "To complete my mission, the shinigami gave me the ability to bring back the dead. Whispering Blade was the first. Like the others she is mostly alive, but once I complete my quest, the shinigami will make her fully alive again."

Diayu moved to stand beside Cho, her mask bobbing up and down and tilting side to side as she inspected Cho. Cho couldn't see anything of the woman's face, not even her eyes, but her interest was clear. "You are yokai?" Daiyu asked.

"No!" Cho flinched. "I'm… I'm not really sure what I am. Food and drink tastes like ash, and the world seems a dimmer place than it once was. But I'm alive. I still feel alive. Mostly."

"Fascinating." The woman pulled aside Cho's haori to look at the wounds on her chest. "Twelve wounds was it, that killed you?"

Cho shrugged. "Something like that."

The mask turned towards the Steel Prince and nodded, then Daiyu stepped back away from Cho and resumed her quiet.

"And you think I need your help to defeat the Emperor of Ten Kings?" the Steel Prince said.

"Yes," Ein nodded. He turned around in his seat to stare at Daiyu. "You are the strategist. Do you have a plan that will work?" Then he returned his gaze to the Steel Prince. "Do you have anyone who can kill the emperor?"

The Steel Prince smiled. "You are referring to the rumours that Emperor WuLong is beyond the skill of mortal men. You are suggesting that even once our army breaches the walls of Jieshu, and I storm Wu palace, I will not be able to slay him."

Ein shook his head. "They are not rumours and I am not suggesting anything. I am telling you you'll fail without us. Even if you do breach the walls of Jieshu, you'll never make it past his bodyguards. Each of them is a master in their own art and unbeaten in single combat. Together they are even stronger. You'll never make it to the emperor. And even if you did, he would kill you. He's stronger than you know. But with my help you will survive. All you have to do first… is die."

For a long time silence reigned within the tent. Cho glanced sidelong at Daiyu, but her mask gave away none of her intentions. The Steel Prince was locked in a staring contest with Ein, and for the first time since she had met him, Cho saw the boy lose the contest.

"Tell me what you know," said the prince. "Or I will have you imprisoned and your ghosts put to death."

"The rumours are true," Ein said. "Emperor Henan WuLong is beyond the blades of mortal men. Long ago he went to Long Mountain, to the shrine of a shinigami, and he made a deal with a god of death."

Daiyu shook her head. "Shinigami do not make deals with men, and the only favours they grant are ease of passage."

Ein turned his pale stare on the Art of War then looked back to the prince. "Shinigami make deals with men when the correct rituals are observed. When the correct sacrifices are made."

"What did the emperor sacrifice?"

Ein paused a little too long. "His first born son."

"No," said the prince. "The emperor has never had a son. Nor any child. He has a whole harem of wives and not one of them can conceive."

"He had a son with his first queen. Long ago before he was emperor, back when he was just King of Wu province. He took his son to the shinigami's shrine on Long Mountain and killed him. It was his end of the bargain, the thing he treasured most in life, and in return he was given the means to see his ambition brought to fruition.

"When King Henan WuLong returned to Wu, he marshalled his army and marched on Qing, then on Shin, and on and on until all of Hosa was his. With each conquest his armies grew and so did his power. He became unstoppable, a force of man and shinigami combined, for the death god gave the emperor a portion of his power. And with each kill Henan WuLong learned how better to control that power.

"But shinigami are not to be trusted. Emperor WuLong's power lay in death, and death cannot give life. He could take every woman in Hosa to be his wife, and not one of them would give him a child to replace the one he murdered. I suppose it matters little though, considering he is immortal." Ein stopped and shrugged. "You will not be able to kill him, Prince Qing."

"But you can?" The Steel Prince stood and paced behind his desk. He was tall like Zhihao, and had the same glossy black hair, but the prince held himself rigid and tightly wound as though he were ready to spring into action at any moment. There was something regal about him as well, the way he stood, the set of his jaw. He was a handsome man, despite the ugly scarring the kidnappers had wreaked upon his face. At last, he said, "You say you serve the same shinigami? Why then would it send you to kill the emperor?"

Ein shrugged. "Maybe because it has become bored of the emperor's conquest. Maybe because it wants that portion of its power back. Maybe because it is a god of death and I do not need to know its reasons to carry out its will. And I think the shinigami may find irony in sending a son sacrificed by his father, to kill a father who sacrificed his son." Ein paused. "I cannot claim to know the mind of the shinigami. All I know is I can find no rest until the Emperor of Ten Kings is dead, and that a god of death has granted me some of its power in order to carry out that sentence." With that admission, Ein suddenly looked tired, and Cho realised why she had never seen the boy sleep. He would find no rest until his quest was done. No wonder he pushed them onward so hard, always east towards Wu.

"And you would have me killed in order to help you fight the emperor?"

"You are already fighting the emperor. We intend to help you out of coincidence, if nothing else. But you cannot kill the emperor as you are now."

"Perhaps he doesn't need to," Daiyu said, her calm voice muffled slightly beneath the mask. "We do not have the numbers to take and hold Jieshu. We might be able to breach the walls. If we can utilise the element of surprise, we may even make it to the palace. But the emperor's forces outnumber us, and they have a fortified position. They are most likely to either throw back our assault, or close in on us as we push out towards the palace."

Cho smiled. "This sounds like the beginning of a plan."

The Art of War turned toward Cho and nodded. Then she spoke to the Steel Prince "My liege, you are needed at the front of your army. They are here only because you have brought them. They remain united only because of your will and your leadership. With you at the head of the army these men you have gathered are a force to be reckoned with, but without you they will falter and fail. There is too much bad blood between the ten provinces of Hosa, and the hope that you might free them from the emperor's rule is the only thing that keeps them united. If you break away to storm the palace, I do not believe you could trust the men you leave behind to hold against the emperor's army."

Daiyu turned her mask towards Ein. "You have a small force of heroes at your command. They are not enough to storm Jieshu, to break the walls and do combat with the emperor's army. But they may be enough to assault Wu palace, break through his bodyguards, and kill the emperor while our larger force holds back the Wu army from rushing to their emperor's defence. Divided, we fail. But united, we may well achieve the impossible. And, of course, for this plan to succeed, there is no need for my prince to die."

Ein and the Steel Prince went back to staring at one another, as though each one were daring the other to refute the strategist's plan. Eventually, it was the prince who nodded. "We should take our time to discuss this before making any commitments. Go, talk to your ghosts. Daiyu, if you would summon my captains."

Daiyu bowed and motioned towards the tent flap. Ein slipped from his chair, and said not a word as he walked from the tent. Cho followed Ein and smiled as she breathed in the fresher air outside. Zhihao and Chen Lu and Bingwei Ma were nowhere in sight, but Roi Astara squatted nearby, his rifle held tight to his chest.

"Perhaps we could have our weapons returned to us?" Cho asked the Art of War. "As a sign of good faith, given that we are intending to fight together."

The strategist considered that for a moment, then nodded. The soldier in the red armour retrieved their weapons, and Cho felt a surge of relief having her swords close by again.

"Convince him," Daiyu said quietly, motioning towards Ein. "And I will convince my prince. There is no other way this works." With that the strategist moved away, whispering orders to soldiers waiting nearby.

Chapter 30

Night was settling in and the camp was a buzz of activity as soldiers packed up everything they owned. Some even prayed to the stars, a monk in among them leading the prayer. Cho strode past them all, one hand on her saya. It felt good to have her swords at her hip again; she had felt naked without the familiar weight. Cho was a warrior, a Shintei, and should never be without her swords.

She found Bingwei Ma sitting around a camp fire, stirring a small cooking pot. There were soldiers nearby, busy breaking camp, but there were no others tending the fire or food. Cho sat down across from him and the Master of Sun Valley pushed a wooden bowl towards her, ladling in a portion of watery broth.

"I find cooking to be quite relaxing," Bingwei Ma said as Cho raised the bowl to her lips. "Especially when the world around me seems to be in such chaos. How does it taste?"

Cho smiled. "Like rot, or muddy water maybe. Not good."

Bingwei Ma nodded at that. "I take more pleasure in the cooking than eating. But I find it difficult to flavour the food without a sense of taste. Will the shinigami truly restore us to full life when we complete the boy's quest?"

Cho shrugged. "I see no reason why not."

Bingwei Ma looked up at her then and there was a weary acceptance about him. "I suppose I just see no reason why a reward would be offered, when we have no choice but to do his bidding anyway. Shinigami are not known to be charitable. They are, after all, gods of death. It is risky to believe in capricious powers that view life as worth so little."

"Every day is a risk," Cho said. "A hundred risks. Maybe I'll cross the wrong person, start that fight I can't win. Maybe something in the broth I eat will be off. Maybe a tree branch will fall at just the wrong moment as I pass underneath. Every fight we enter into is a risk. Perhaps I'll have a bad day. Perhaps I'm a little too tired and slower than normal. Perhaps my enemy knows how to counter every move I make. Life is a series of risks, Bingwei Ma.

"Yes, there is a risk the shinigami will not restore us fully to life even after we complete Ein's mission. But I swore an oath to the boy, to see him all the way to Wu, and to help him put an end to the Emperor of Ten Kings. I won't let one risk, or a hundred stop me from trying to fulfil that oath."

"I know nothing of the Shintei," Bingwei Ma said, "but your oaths seem important to you."

Cho nodded. "There is nothing more important," she said. "With each oath I give a lock of my hair, tied into a knot, and when my oath is complete, it is burnt so the smoke will reach up to the stars, and they will know an oath has been completed. When a Shintei dies, the stars judge our worth by the number of oaths we have kept. Those who keep their oaths are given revered places in the light of the stars, to watch over the world." Cho wiped away tears before they could fall. "Those who don't keep their oaths are condemned to the darkness. Forever blind and forever alone.

"I have sworn many oaths. And kept none."

"None?" asked Bingwei Ma.

Cho shook her head. "Even the most important oath a Shintei can swear: to protect the innocent. I have failed it again and again, most often due to my arrogance. Back in Ipia I let a whole village burn, its people slaughtered, while I fought a pointless duel. Again at Kaishi, I failed to protect the people from Flaming Fist and his horde. Over and over again, so many failures."

Cho pulled her saya onto her lap and held it up to the fire light. "This is the only oath I have ever kept. To never draw my second sword. And yet Mifune will never know. The lock of hair I gave him will never burn."

"That is your reason for following the boy," Bingwei Ma said, and went back to stirring the pot of broth. "But I swore no oath."

"I don't think you're the type of man who needs to. You do what you consider right and just. You help those in need. Right now Ein is in need of your help. I am in need of your help, Bingwei Ma, because I do not believe I will be able to kill the emperor alone. All of Hosa is in need. Will you turn away because there is a risk that the promised reward is nothing but empty words?"

The Master of Sun Valley let out a joyful chuckle. "When you put it like that, I don't think I can." Then his smile faded. "But you should be aware, the boy is not what he seems."

That was a statement Cho needed no reminding of. She had seen the strangle wounds around Ein's neck and she had heard how he got them. A young boy choked to death by his own father, just old enough to understand what was happening and why. Just old enough to realise he was being betrayed by the one person who should be beyond betrayal, by the one person who should protect him no matter what. Cho thought she understood Ein a bit better now. Now she understood why he needed his heroes to die, to bind them to him so there could be no betrayal. She understood the boy better now, and pitied him more deeply than ever. But there was something else too, something she had read on the standing stones back at Flaming Fist's camp. No, Cho needed no reminding that Ein was both more and less than the boy he seemed.

"I remember what it was like to be dead," Bingwei Ma said suddenly, staring into the pot he was stirring. "I have never felt so cold and alone, surrounded by anger and fear and… shame. I think I felt shame that I had died. Beaten. I have spent my life winning every fight. I have come to realise how much pride I take in that. Pride in winning, and pride in mercy." The Master of Sun Valley looked skyward. "I have always believed in the stars, that they are our gods lighting the way for us on the true paths we must walk. And they are also our ancestors looking down upon us, watching over us. But what if the space between the stars is more vast than we realise? What if death means being separated from all those we knew in life? I remember what it was like to be dead, Itami, and I do not wish to be dead again. But I cannot kill the emperor. I will not forsake my principles. Not for the boy. Not for you. Not even for myself."

Cho opened her mouth to argue, but suddenly became aware of shouting. Screams drifting from outside the camp, echoed around them. A creaking like one of the great trees that surrounded them groaning against a powerful gale. She turned to see soldiers flooding towards them, shouting for help. One of them slid to a stop next to some of his comrades nearby. The man was doubled over and panting, pointing back the way he had come. When finally he looked up there was true fear on his face. It was the sort of terror Cho often saw in those who were certain they were going to die.

The soldier gasped in a breath and looked at Cho and Bingwei Ma. "Oni!"

Chapter 31

"No wonder the shinigami chasing us has been quiet for so long," Bingwei Ma stopped by a tree and gawked. Cho couldn't blame him, they were witnessing a creature out of legend, one most people would consider nothing more than a fanciful monster tale told to scare children before bed. She herself had seen walking corpses and a river dragon, yet still could barely believe her eyes.

The yokai tearing through the forest in front of them was an oni, a giant ogre standing taller than five of Cho and thick with muscle. Its skin was a dark crimson, the colour of blood, with black wards tattooed around its arms and chest. Thick black braids of hair hung down from the back of the oni's head and two large horns rose up from its brow. It had a flat face, with a pointed nose that hung down past its bottom lip. Two tusks sprouted from either side of its mouth, each one almost as long as Cho's arm. Its beady eyes glowed with a fierce blue light.

"Ugly beast, isn't it?" said Roi Astara. Cho hadn't noticed him standing nearby until he spoke, but he wasn't wrong.

A dozen of the soldiers were busy trying to distract the yokai, poking up at it with long spears, while others sneaked around behind it, carrying large nets of rope. Cho admired their bravery, even as she realised the futility of their attempt to subdue such a monster. In its right hand, the oni held a spiked club made entirely of metal. It was easily twice as tall as any man Cho had ever seen, and the oni swung it back and forth as it paced forward through the trees. The spears of the soldiers were entirely ineffective; they pierced the oni's flesh with ease, but the bloodless wounds closed as soon as the spear was drawn back. The oni fixed its beady blue eyes on each of the men in turn, then crushed them underfoot or turned them to mangled messes of flesh and bone with a single easy swipe from its club. And on it strode, farther into the camp, crushing tents and crushing everyone who rushed to stand in its way.

"Where's Chen Lu?" Cho asked, hiding behind a tree at the outskirts of the Steel Prince's camp.

"Unconscious," said Roi Astara. "He has had too much to drink, even for a man of his size." The leper stepped around a tree and brought his rifle up to his shoulder, pulling away the strip of bandage that covered the firing plate. "The oni are the most powerful of the yokai. They are servants to none, not even the gods. The shinigami must have offered the creature something to work its bidding." Roi Astara pulled the trigger on his rifle and the shot hit the oni's face; it disappearing into the skin. The wound closed up a moment later.

"I do believe I am not suited to this fight. Good luck, Whispering Blade, Master of Sun Valley." The leper turned and dashed away farther into the camp.

The oni turned their way, and for a moment stared straight at Cho, then it turned back to the camp and continued its rampage. It was searching for someone and she could guess who. "We have to stop it before it reaches Ein." She drew Peace into her right hand and sprinted towards the yokai.

Bingwei Ma outpaced Cho and reached the oni first. The Master of Sun Valley slid to a halt before the monster and delivered first a punch then a thunderous spinning kick to the oni's shin. Two strikes that would have felled a man. Bingwei Ma jumped away on nimble feet just as the oni aimed a savage kick at him.

Cho arrived soon after Bingwei Ma. She dodged around behind the oni and cut twice. Each slice cut through the oni's ankles, severing its tendons. It stumbled, but it did not fall. The wounds healed as quickly as she dealt them. Then the oni turned, far too fast for a creature of its size, its club tearing up the earth. Cho threw herself backwards just in time. A trench now lay between her and the oni, large enough for a man to duck down and hide in.

The oni fixed its gaze on Cho and took a thumping step forward that shook the earth. Bingwei Ma leapt from a nearby tree, catching hold of the oni's hair, and climbed quickly up onto its shoulders. Then he punched down twice on top of the monster's head. It let out a roar and swung its club to the side so hard it was embedded in one of the giant trees. Then the creature reached up and grabbed at the Master of Sun Valley.

Bingwei Ma leapt away from the clutching hands, but the oni made another grab for him as he fell to the floor. The Master of Sun Valley turned in mid-air, grabbed hold of a monstrous finger, and swung himself up onto the oni's hand, then he charged at the monster's head. He didn't see the other hand coming, and before Cho could help him, Bingwei Ma was clutched in the monster's grip. He screamed and Cho ran at the monster, already knowing she was too late to save the Master of Sun Valley.

The Steel Prince leapt into view, diving off a tree above them all. His silver armour glinted in the moonlight and he dropped, slashing down with a sword almost as tall as a man. His strike cut all the way through the monster's wrist, severing its hand, and the monster staggered back and screamed. The noise was so loud Cho felt her ears pop. She darted to the severed hand and pushed open the fingers to free Bingwei Ma. He was covered in sweat and grimacing in pain; his left arm hung limp by his side.

"Get away," Cho said, a little more harshly than she intended. "You cannot help with fists and feet, only steel will bring this monster down." Bingwei Ma nodded and staggered away, clutching at his left arm.

Even as the severed arm started to crumble away, like a castle of sand collapsing in upon itself, a new hand grew out from the oni's wound. The Steel Prince continued his assault. He leapt at the oni, swiping left and right and cutting huge gashes of flesh from the creature, then dodging away only to attack from another angle. The soldiers of the rebellion rallied around their leader, spear wielders rushing in to distract the monster while archers loosed shafts at its face. Most either missed or were absorbed into the skin, but some found their mark and stuck there, wooden shafts jutting from its cheeks and lips. They pushed back the oni between the trees. It swung its arms in a mad windmill to ward off the attacks.

Cho caught a good look at the Steel Prince as he clashed with a creature from myth. He seemed as agile as any monk Cho had ever seen, quick as a lightning flash as he dodged around the oni's swipes, and struck like a rock slide with his giant sword.

The Steel Prince buried his sword in the oni's gut, then braced his feet and pushed against the creature's flesh, and leapt free as it tried to grab him with its newly formed hand. He was winning, Cho thought, a mortal man against the most powerful of the yokai. The Steel Prince passed by the soldiers with the net and took it from them, then dashed up a tree, leaping from branch to branch until he was once more above the oni. He dropped the net, and followed it down, driving his sword blade into the monster's neck as it flailed its arms, tangling itself in the rope. The oni roared and dropped forward, crashing to the ground. The Steel Prince rode the beast down and stood triumphantly atop its back.

The soldiers cheered loudly for their prince, and flocked forwards around the oni's body. The Steel Prince held up his hands in victory. Only his eyes and mouth were visible beneath his helmet, but he was grinning widely. In that moment Cho could see how he had gathered so many soldiers from so many different kingdoms under his banner. She could see why they followed him, why they would be willing to fight and die for him. She could see why Ein needed him to fight against the emperor.

The victory celebration came to a quick end when the oni started laughing, a deep rumbling that shook the ground. The Steel Prince bounded off the monster's back, leaving his huge sword embedded in its neck. The monster shifted its hands beneath it and pushed back to its feet. The ropes of the net snapped and the tattered remains fell away with the prince's sword, which clattered to the ground where the oni stepped on it, embedding it in the earth.

The Steel Prince backed up until he was standing next to Cho. "That shouldn't be possible," he said. "My sword should have severed its spine."

Cho almost laughed. "I have seen the dead brought back to life. I have seen corpses walk and monsters with more eyes than fingers. I have seen a goat with the face of a man and heard him tell me I would die. And I have seen a river dragon formed of monstrous eels." She looked at the prince then and smiled. "I have come to believe in many things that aren't possible. Besides, we aren't even sure it has a spine."

A few of the prince's soldiers were harrying the oni again, but it ignored them, glancing first right and then left until it found its club. It wrenched the thing from the tree, splintering bark into shards as tall as a man.

"If you have any suggestions on how to put it down for good," the Steel Prince said, "now would be the time."

Cho gripped Peace in both hands and settled into a warrior's crouch. "Distract it and leave the rest to me." The prince's relentless assault put a courage in Cho, one that made her believe she could do the impossible. She also knew that Peace was the only weapon capable of killing the oni.

Cho waited until the oni turned. It swatted away some arrows with a giant backhand, and then crushed two spearmen who were foolish enough to get too close. She charged, running as fast as she could, and ducked between the monster's legs, swiping left and right. Again the oni stumbled, but landed on a knee before pushing back upright. The remaining soldiers were able to scamper away from the monster. Then it turned its beady eyes solely on her. The oni grinned.

The Steel Prince darted in to dig his sword from the earth, and the oni turned and swiped the prince with its mace, sending him sailing away into the darkness. Cho knew with horrific certainty that no one could survive such a strike.

Perhaps it was a moment of grief for the man that so many, Cho included, saw as hero. Perhaps it was the sudden realisation that the rebellion was over and the goat was right. Without thought or reason why, Cho raised Peace in front of her and screamed.

Peace focused her scream into a cutting edge that hit the oni and blew through the forest like a storm, scattering leaves and splintering trees. The ground shuddered and ripped apart and the oni split in two, both halves struggling to hold together by thin tendrils of slimy flesh. But Cho's scream continued on, bursting apart trees that were centuries old, churning the forest floor, and send half crushed tents into the air like startled geese. Then it vanished into the darkness and left a stillness behind as though all sound had been sucked out of the forest.

The oni wavered, its two halves peeling away from each other, the fleshy tendrils stretching and stretching, and then they stopped. Both sides of the oni's mouth curled up into a manic grin that was all teeth and tusks and menace, and slowly the two halves of the monster began to pull back together. It was healing. But Cho saw something in the midst of the fleshy tendrils. In the centre of the creature's body was a mask in the same shape as the oni's face. Its core.

Once more Cho charged, Peace held out to her side as she ran. Her footsteps whispered through the forest floor and the tip of her sword trailed through the scattered leaves. She leapt, first onto the oni's right knee, and then up into the closing gap between its two halves. She stabbed Peace into the mask. The oni shattered, another soul stolen by the sword.

Chapter 32

The soldiers of the rebellion swarmed around Cho. They cheered and shouted, and some few even clapped her on the arm. There was little like facing impossible odds to spur on camaraderie. Most of them seemed to have forgotten that their prince had so recently been killed.

The oni's metal club was the last reminder that the monster had ever existed. It was embedded in the earth, the tip of the handle rising up above Cho, and it was bloodied. That didn't stop a few of the more energetic soldiers from climbing on it, whooping and shouting about the victory.

Cho nodded to the soldiers' compliments and offers of drink, and searched for a way out of the jubilant crowd. She preferred quiet contemplation, and the creature she had just slain deserved some contemplation. As did the scar her scream had left on the forest. Not even she had known she could perform such a technique, or at least she had not realised she could use Peace to focus her scream into such a cutting edge. She pushed her way out of the cluster of soldiers, nodding at some and bowing to others, suffering their noise. Only when she was free of the press did she see Daiyu hurrying away through the trees, her slippered feet barely touching the ground. Behind the strategist were four soldiers who seemed made of shadow. They had the shape of men in armour, but no colour. Under the moonlight they moved in an odd unison, as though they were one rather than four, and they carried something silver. Something that required four grown men to carry. Cho hurried after them as quickly as she could, though her limbs felt heavy from exhaustion.

The Art of War and her shadowy men moved through the rebel camp at speed. Other soldiers stepped out of the way and then stood by dumbly as they passed, but no one seemed to remark on their passage. Eventually Daiyu and her shadows arrived at the Steel Prince's tent. The strategist held open the flap for the soldiers carrying the prince. Then she turned her masked face toward Cho, nodded, and disappeared into the tent. Cho followed her in without stopping to announce herself.

Inside she found Bingwei Ma sitting cross-legged in front of the desk. Ein was there too, his hands on the Master of Sun Valley's broken arm. Bingwei Ma grimaced but managed a nod as Cho entered. Now she was closer Cho could see the shadows were actually animated statues, formed of rock as black as onyx. They were identical and they moved with a unity of purpose as they placed the prince's body down on the pallet in the corner of the tent. Then all four of the statues crumbled to dust, leaving only small black figurines as proof they had even been there. Daiyu scooped up the four little soldier statues, and crossed quickly to the other side of the tent where she placed them on the large chessboard. Then the strategist hurried back to her prince and knelt by his side as she worked at removing his armour.

"Did we beat the oni?" Bingwei Ma asked.

"Yes," Cho nodded and then looked to the broken body of the Steel Prince. He was clinging to life, but barely. "But the cost was too high." She stepped closer, not out of fear but trepidation. Cho already knew what she would see and knew what it meant. Daiyu had claimed the rebellion would fall apart without the prince at its head, and she could well believe it after seeing the way the soldiers rallied around him as he threw himself at the oni. Disparate forces held together by a hero's will.

"To see such a thing before I die," the Steel Prince murmured, bloody bubbles of spittle on his lips. His ceramic armour was shattering in some places, and bent into impossible shapes in others; it pierced his skin and blood welled up around the shards. His left leg was broken and both his arms. His breathing was erratic, coming in short raspy gasps. Cho could not fathom how the man was still clinging to life.

"I'm sorry." They were inadequate words. "The oni came here because of us. It was chasing us."

Daiyu turned her head towards Cho and the dark eye slits in her mask seemed damning. "You knew you were being chased by such a monster?"

"No," Ein said, taking his hands from Bingwei Ma and fiddling with his scarf now it was back in place around his neck. "It was sent by a shinigami."

"Another one?" asked Daiyu.

"Yes. It seeks to stop me from reaching Wu. I believe it wishes to stop the shinigami I serve from reclaiming the power given to the emperor. This was but the latest of yokai it has thrown at us, though I feel it may also be the last. It must have taken a lot to convince an oni to fight for it." Ein turned his pale gaze on Cho. "You killed it? With Peace?"

Cho nodded.

"Good."

Daiyu poked gingerly at the prince's body, to a chorus of groans and wet gasps. When she spoke, her voice wavered, as though she were holding back tears. "Your armour is crushed into you, my prince. It is both killing you and the only thing keeping you alive. If I try to remove it you will surely bleed to death, but if I do not I cannot treat your wounds."

A ghost of smile touched the Steel Prince's scarred lips. He turned his head towards the Art of War, but there was no sight. "I'm dying. Nothing you do will stop that now."

Silence held for a moment before Daiyu turned to Ein. "You can bring him back?"

The prince's body shuddered. "No!" A hint of steel crept back into his voice. "No, Daiyu. I will not serve a shinigami. I will not serve any god."

"The rebellion will fall apart without you."

The smile drifted back onto the prince's face. He was fading, Cho could see that. His breathing was like a candle with only the wick left to burn, its flame flickering in and out of existence. "You will find another to lead in my place, Daiyu. You are the rebellion." He coughed more blood onto his parched lips. "More than I. It was always you."

Daiyu's shoulders slumped, her head bowed, and Cho heard the sob even muffled by the mask. The Art of War knelt in front of her dying prince, her hands covered in his blood. There was nothing she could do. She gripped hold of a large shard of the prince's armour and pulled it out of his chest. The Steel Prince convulsed once, gasped, and then died, his blood welling up from the wound and spilling out across his chest.

Daiyu let out another sob then turned to Ein. "Do it."

Ein wasted no time pushing past the strategist and setting his little pack down next to the body of the Steel Prince. Within moments the boy was poking at the corpse's wounds.

"This was not as the prince wished," Bingwei Ma said. His frown seemed to darken the tent and the way he clenched his fists made him seem as though he were considering stopping Ein by force. Cho wondered what she might do if the Master of Sun Valley tried. She was honour bound to protect Ein and see his quest to its finish. "His wishes were for you to find someone else to take his place."

Daiyu's mask turned briefly towards Bingwei Ma and then back to her prince. "His wishes don't matter. There is no one else. If word of the prince's death spreads, the soldiers will desert. First one, then many. It may be my strategies, my plans of attack that have let us strike at the emperor and hidden us from retribution, but it was his will that kept us all bound together. It was his banner the men outside flocked to. It was his dream of a free Hosa that inspired them to take up arms and fight against impossible odds." She paused and took a steadying breath. "Did you wish to be brought back, Bingwei Ma?"

The Master of Sun Valley rose from his cross-legged position on the floor and walked to the tent flap. "I was not asked. Your prince made his position clear." He swept his dark gaze to Cho. "Some things are more important than victory." And with that he ducked out of the tent. But Cho knew he wouldn't go far. He couldn't. Not while they were still bound to Ein.

As the boy worked at a feverish pace, his knife and needle darting in and out of the prince's wounds, Cho paced the tent. She spent some time looking at the pieces on the chess board. Two sides of the game, light and dark. The dark pieces were all in the shapes of men: soldiers for the pawns, monks and Shintei, and the king was a warrior dressed in armour that looked a lot like the Steel Prince's. The light pieces were animals and monsters: hounds instead of pawns, ravens and horses, an ornate dragon in the place of a king. All beautifully carved. And somehow the Art of War had brought the pieces to life.

Daiyu sat down behind the desk and looked through the papers scattered there, then pulled out a map and began writing on a separate sheet of paper. Her movements were jerky, forced, and she gripped the brush with a clenched hand.

Cho lowered herself into the seat Ein had pulled next to the desk. "I have never seen a technique like yours before," she said, her voice quiet and even. "Where did you learn it?"

"My grandmother taught me." Daiyu paused and then shook her head. "Not my true grandmother, I never knew her. My mother was a foreigner from Nash. When she heard the emperor was looking for foreign women who might be able to bear him a child, she leapt at the chance. Many women did. They traded their lives and loved ones for a space in the emperor's harem. Lives of luxury and the chance of one day being an empress. I was just eight when my mother abandoned me to the world and made her way to Jieshu. I never saw her again."

The strategist paused and glanced over to where Ein laboured to bring the Steel Prince back to life. "I spent months on the roads of Song, begging for whatever I could, trying to keep clear of soldiers, bandits, and others who might seek to take advantage of a child alone. One day I wandered into Schuan, a village near the western border. I found an old lady sitting alone at a table in front of her house. On the table was a chessboard." Another pause. Cho wondered if Daiyu might be smiling under her mask. "The woman was ancient. Wrinkled beyond age, and barely able to move without the use of two walking sticks. But her mind was sharper than any blade. She challenged me to a game, one I had never heard of before, and promised a full meal if I should win. I lost, but she still fed me. That day and the next and hundreds more."

Cho smiled. "She sounds kind."

Diayu nodded. "As kind as they come. I have no idea why she took me in. She had so many grandchildren of her own and they barely had enough food thanks to the emperor's taxes. But she took me in, and she and her husband fed me and clothed me and taught me the value of working for those things. And she taught me chess. Every day, dozens of games. Hundreds of strategies. She taught to me think three different ways at once: the past, for it is important to remember what has come before in order to see what may come again; the present, because one cannot make plans without first knowing what resources one has available; and the future, to know what one's opponent must do and when, and to position oneself to counter their every move.

"Her last lesson to me was the technique to bring the pieces of the game to life from the earth around me. Her last gift to me…" Daiyu fell silent and waved her hand towards the chess board and its beautifully carved pieces. "She died because they could no longer afford to feed everyone in the village. She ate less and less each day so there would be more food for her grandchildren. And for me. That is the emperor's legacy: ten kingdoms of starvation, all so he can wage his wars. So when I heard of the Steel Prince and his rebellion, I packed up my chess board and found him. I swore to serve him until Hosa is finally liberated from the WuLong rule."

Roi Astara ducked through the tent flap. The leper took one look at Ein working away on the Steel Prince's body and bowed his head. He was silent a moment, no doubt paying his own form of respects.

"So it's true. The Steel Prince died during the fight with the oni." His voice was weary and his eye half lidded. "Will he be… back soon?"

Ein turned around, his eyes flicking only briefly to Daiyu as she sat behind the prince's desk, her attention once more on the paper's there. He looked at Roi Astara and shook his head. There was something in his pale eyes, something on his face. The boy was anxious, fearful even. Cho did not think she had ever seen Ein sweat, but he dabbed at his forehead with his bloody hand and turned back to his work.

Roi Astara coughed and it quickly turned into a wet rasp. The leper seemed to be getting worse by the day and Cho could only hope he lasted long enough for them to reach Wu and complete their quest. Perhaps then the shinigami would allow Ein to burn the disease from his body.

"Perhaps," Roi Astara said after the coughing fit had passed. "You should address the soldiers. There are rumours the prince is dead. Many saw him struck down by the oni and his body carried through the camp. A word from you, strategist, may help to assuage their fears."

Daiyu set down her brush. "How long?" she asked Ein.

The boy shrugged. "His wounds are extensive."

Daiyu slipped out from behind the desk, her robes whispering across the floor. She passed Cho and Roi Astara without a word and swept out of the tent. The leper walked quickly over to the desk and stared down at the papers arrayed there. "Interesting plan. It might work."

"I can't do it," Ein said. The boy's hands were slick with blood and he was shaking his head, there was a light in his eyes that was feverishly bright. He was panicking. "The damage is too extensive. There isn't enough left of the Steel Prince to bring back."

Zhihao was sitting on a stool, staring into the dying embers of the camp fire. His wine bottle was still half full, but he had found his taste for it had vanished. The maudlin mood had settled over him heavily as soon as Chen Lu had fallen asleep.

Roi Astara threaded his way through the swarm of soldiers as they packed away their camp. He limped towards Zhihao more quickly than looked comfortable. The leper cleared his throat, which turned into a cough and then a full-blown hacking wet rasp. Zhihao waited for him to finished without a word. At last the leper said, "Ein needs to see you right away."

Zhihao glanced at the snoring fat man nearby. "Just me or both of us?"

The leper turned away. "He just said to bring The Emerald Wind."

Zhihao left Chen Lu his wine, a pleasant surprise when the fat man woke, and followed Roi Astara through the camp. The leper was silent save for the irregular tap of his wooden sandals as he limped along, leaning heavily on his rifle as a crutch. His health had deteriorated since they had met, the wet coughing coming more frequently, his faltering steps more pronounced. Zhihao guessed that what was left of the man wasn't used to quickly trekking all the way across Hosa, and the strain it was putting on his diseased body was too great. There would come a time when his body would fail, and Zhihao just hoped he wasn't around to clean up the mess. They walked up to the Steel Prince's tent and Roi Astara ducked inside nimbly, making certain not to touch anything. Zhihao followed the leper in.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they did Zhihao spotted Itami, Ein, and the woman in the mask, all gathered around a sleeping pallet in the corner of the tent. Zhihao considered turning around and slipping away before anyone noticed him. Then Roi Astara cleared his throat again, this time without the coughing fit.

"Zhihao, good," Itami said. "We have a problem." She stood and motioned him closer. They were standing over a dead body, one with a scarred face and a mess of wounds that looked like he was simultaneously crushed, mauled by a bear, and treated to the business end of a butcher's block.

"That's the prince, isn't it?" Zhihao said. "By the stars, what did you do to him?"

The masked woman turned Zhihao's way, then stormed past him to the armour stand. Zhihao had never seen ceramic armour painted silver before, but it certainly stood out, catching the lantern light and throwing it back at him in blinding fragment. The chest piece was missing and the left leg too, the rest of it was smeared with blood. The woman glanced at Zhihao again, then back to the armour stand.

"He died during the oni attack," Itami said. She looked Zhihao up and down in a way that had him feeling a little self-conscious.

"The what attack?" Zhihao asked.

"The oni."

Zhihao just shook his head at that. "I must admit, I've been drinking. There were definitely some shouts a while back, but… what's an oni?"

"The most powerful yokai we've faced so far," Roi Astara said. "We could have used your help."

"Oh. Well, Chen Lu had a bit too much drink and I thought I should look after him while he was unconscious. Did we kill it?"

"Itami felled the yokai, but not before it did that to the prince."

Zhihao glanced again at the wreckage that had once been a prince, and edged away from it. "So bring him back?"

"I can't," said Ein. "His body is too badly damaged."

"And now my prince is dead," the masked woman said. "And we have no other options left to us. The rebellion must survive. The Steel Prince must survive."

"Of course," Zhihao said. "But he's dead."

The masked woman shook her head. "The armour might fit, but there is no way he can play the part."

Itami moved next to Zhihao and looked at him like a farmer might at a prize bull. "His hair is a little shorter, but close to the correct colour. Some ink could make his face look scarred, at least from a distance. And it would be up to you to make certain that little contact with the prince is required. You are the strategist behind this entire rebellion. All you need to do is hold the army together for a few days until we reach Wu. All he has to do is the wear the armour, sit a horse, and lead the charge when the time is right."

"Wait… What? Lead the charge?" Zhihao asked. "What charge?"

Ein stood from beside the body and walked over to the armour stand. He had to stand on his toes to reach the helmet, but he managed to pull it free. It was made of the same ceramic plating, painted silver to a shine and marred by blood dried to brown. It had a raven design on the forehead and would cover almost every bit of a man's face except for his eyes.

"If this doesn't work, the troops will disband," the masked woman said. "The rebellion will fall apart, but they will almost certainly kill us first."

"Then make it work," Itami said. "I see no other way of keeping the hope alive."

The masked woman nodded slowly then looked right at Zhihao.

"I don't like the way this conversation is going," Zhihao said. "I can't do this."

"You have to," Ein said. He approached slowly, holding up the silver helmet in his hands. His eyes were pale as fresh snow and just as cold. "Because you're the Steel Prince."

Chapter 33

Guang Qing - the Steel Prince

Unyielding as the ancient earth, unflinching as the tide, unstoppable as a forest fire.

The Steel Prince was born from tragedy to be Hosa's last hope.

"This is a terrible idea," Zhihao said as Itami and Daiyu encased him in the prince's ceramic armour. The chest piece was new, pilfered from another set of armour, and didn't match the rest. It was red and drab, lacking ornament, while the shoulder pieces each had a flock of screeching ravens bursting forth. The right greave, the only one of the leg plates to survive the oni attack, had a wonderfully detailed carving of birds along all its edges. His left leg was bare. Zhihao looked more like a patchwork prince than a steel prince.

"Yet it is the only one we have," said Ein, sounding young and petulant. "His hair is too short." The boy was right. Even brushed out, Zhihao's hair was shorter than the prince's had been.

"We could tie it into a braid?" Itami said.

Daiyu shook her head, her expression invisible beneath the mask. "We will need the hair left down to obscure his face as much as possible. Here." She handed Zhihao a small knife and a mirror.

"For stabbing you?" Zhihao said, a smug smile on his lips.

"For shaving off your moustache," Daiyu said as she opened up a chest and pulled out some brushes.

Roi Astara stood to the side of the tent and watched it all with his pale eye. He neither moved, nor said anything, and his silent presence grated against Zhihao, as though the leper were judging him.

"Perhaps you should go and quietly inform Bingwei Ma and Chen Lu of this," Itami told him.

"Soon," replied Roi Astara. "For now I will wait and see the final ruse."

"The leper just wants to see me humiliated," Zhihao said, grimacing as he scraped away the hairs on his lip.

"That is not how the prince talks," Daiyu said.

"I'm not the prince." Zhihao gestured to the corpse in the corner. "Hero." Then he patted his own chest. "Bandit." Again towards the corpse. "Leader." And once more to himself. "Man hiding at the back with a bottle of wine, waiting to see which way the wind blows."

"Prince Qing treats others with the respect they are due," Daiyu continue as if Zhihao hadn't even spoken. "Where possible he always uses names or titles. He stands straight. No slouching. His voice is slightly deeper than yours, and his accent lighter. Perhaps you could affect a slight growl, put some gravel in your voice."

"Would you like to fetch some stones for me to swallow?" Zhihao said, lowering his voice to a painful rasp.

"That is better." Daiyu waited until Zhihao had finished shaving then approached him with the brushes and several of pots of ink. "I will attempt to mimic the prince's scars. Do not rub at your face or the ink will smudge. I will need to replace the ink each morning."

"What if I have an itch?"

Itami sighed. "Zhihao, please."

Zhihao tore his face away from Daiyu's hands to stare at Itami. "I'm doing this for you. The least you can do is allow me to be grouchy about it."

"Grouchy in private," Daiyu said as she turned Zhihao's face back towards her mask. "Terse in public. The less you say the better. Most orders will come from me and you should simply nod once to signal you agree. Do you understand?"

Zhihao nodded once.

"Good. Now let your face go slack while I scar you." She set about painting his face. Even so close Zhihao could not see anything of the woman's face, only her eyes behind her mask. They were a sparkling emerald. His favourite colour.

By the time Daiyu was done Zhihao had a convincing set of scars that looked passably similar to the prince's. Under close inspection there was no way Zhihao could be mistaken for Prince Qing, but it would be up to Daiyu to make certain there was no close inspection.

"Stand behind the desk," Roi Astara said once Daiyu was finished. Zhihao let out a weary sigh and did as he was told. "Face away from us. Now turn just your head to the left. Look at us over your shoulder."

Zhihao followed the instructions, not letting his annoyance show. With his face scarred and his hair brushed, and standing there in most of the prince's armour, Zhihao felt almost regal. Ein had gone back to kneeling by the body of the real prince, but he stood again and joined the others. He did not look pleased.

"You have a plan of attack?" the boy said.

"I do," said Daiyu.

"Then we should leave soon. Before anyone realises Zhihao is a fake. We will leave the tent and the body here."

Daiyu's mask turned towards Ein and for just a moment it looked as though the strategist was shaking. Itami stepped between them. "We have done a good job, the best we can. The prince's death will not be in vain. This rebellion will serve its purpose to free Hosa from the emperor."

Daiyu nodded, her face still a mystery behind the mask.

"Perhaps I should send in one of your captains," Roi Astara said. "It would be wise if someone sees the prince before rumours of him vanishing spread too far."

By the time one of the prince's soldiers stepped in through the tent, Zhihao was perched on the desk, drumming his fingers against the wood. Daiyu let out a little cough and Zhihao stood and glanced over his left shoulder. The strategist whispered words only he could hear.

"Good. Captain Feng." Zhihao repeated Daiyu word for word.

"You're healthy, my prince."

Zhihao smiled. "Minor injuries only."

Daiyu let out a hiss and Zhihao dropped the smile.

"Strike the camp, Captain. We march on Wu in the morning."

"Tomorrow morning, my prince?" Daiyu said.

"Of course. Not today. Tomorrow."

The captain frowned and opened his mouth but Daiyu strode forward towards the man. "I will see preparations are made. The time has finally come, Captain Feng, to free Hosa." She led the captain out of the tent.

Zhihao slouched down on the desk. "How far is it to Wu?"

"Three days to Wu," Itami said. "And another one to Jieshu." She slipped around the desk and perched next to Zhihao. "Five if you count the assault itself."

"I have to keep this up for five days?" Zhihao said. "What if we try to squeeze Iron Gut into the armour instead. I'm sure he'd make an excellent Steel Prince if he can remember which name to shout."

Itami laughed. "Your face will be covered most of the time. All you'll have to do is ride and look stern and regal. And Daiyu will be by your side to give out the orders." She leaned a little closer. "If we tried it with Chen Lu, all he'd ever do is order more wine."

"Wonderful."

"Besides," Itami smiled at him. "It's only four days march. The fifth day all you'll have to do is lead this army into battle."

Chapter 34

Long before the sunrise of the fifth day, the army reached Jieshu. The city was built into the side of a mountain, utilising steep rock faces on either side and an impossible climb at its back. It was built in three tiers. The outermost was a sprawling mess of haphazard single-storey buildings and sloping roofs that led right into the gutter of the street. The poorest of the city's citizens lived in that outer tier, those unable to afford to live behind the walls. Daiyu, never far from Zhihao's side these past five days, explained it was a bustling shanty town ever since the emperor had come to power and the imperial tax had risen to unmanageable levels. The people there moved like sullen ghouls, stalking to their work and scowling at each other as they went. They fled the rebellion's soldiers as they arrived, like mist retreating from the light of day, slinking away into alleys and hovels.

The night covered the army's advance into Jieshu, but torches were soon lit on the wall ahead, and shouts drifted through the darkness, warnings that a hostile force were in the city.

The acrid smell of smoke grew strong in the air. Fires blossomed ahead and it soon became clear the soldiers of Wu had turned the buildings closest to the wall into a blaze. Daiyu claimed it was a sound strategy, but one that could easily turn the entire outer tier to ash. It lessened the cover the rebels could play with, made them easier targets for archers. The people of Jieshu did little to stop the blaze, retreating farther from the flames as the fire spread from building to building. At the Steel Prince's order, the soldiers of the rebellion spent their first night in the city putting out fires started by those whose responsibility it was to protect the people, not harm them.

As the light of morning rose above the mountains, bathing the palace and wall in a burning light, the last of the fires was finally quenched. The soldiers of the rebellion were weary after the long night of toil and smoke, exhausted both from the march and the hard work. It was an inauspicious start, but Daiyu insisted they could not wait. They had neither the numbers nor the supplies for a lengthy siege. So the Steel Prince gave the order and the soldiers formed up, ready to crash against the walls. Ready to fight for their prince, and die for their prince. Ready to fight to free Hosa. Ready to buy the time they needed for Ein and the others to find and kill the emperor.

"I don't like all this ordering men to their deaths," Zhihao said. He spoke quietly, but Daiyu's mask still snapped around to face him. She was wearing a light suit of scale armour over her robes, and carrying a large satchel at her hip. Zhihao had stolen a quick look inside it and found it contained chess pieces. Little statues of soldiers and monsters. He was starting to think the woman was quite crazy, yet it was her plan they were following.

"My prince," Daiyu said, her head bowing a little. No doubt she wore an expression of extreme disappointment behind her mask, and Zhihao found himself more than a little glad he couldn't see it. "You are not ordering them to their deaths, but leading them to victory and freedom. You should also sit straighter on your horse."

"You try sitting straight with this damned sword attached to your back." It had been decided that the Steel Prince should not change his weapon of choice so close to the final battle, so Zhihao had left his twin hooked swords behind in favour of a huge dadao, almost as long as he was tall. The haft was fully half the length of the weapon, and the blade had a single curved edge. There were nine rings hooked through little holes on the flat side of the blade, which Zhihao considered ultimately pointless except for announcing his presence with every step or swing. The bulky sword was the symbol of the Steel Prince. Luckily, the strategist had allowed him to carry a couple of small knives on his belt and Zhihao wagered he would do more killing with those than with the weight of expectation he carried on his back.

Chen Lu strolled up through the line of soldiers, stopping next to Zhihao and hefting his mace from his shoulder. The Steel Prince's horse side stepped away as the mace hit the ground, and Zhihao clutched at the reins. He had never been a particularly good horseman, but the prince was supposed to be as deadly in a saddle as he was without.

"A hot day for it," Chen Lu said, angling his parasol towards the sun, and shifting his keg into his free hand. "What I wouldn't give for some clouds."

"Why do you hate the sun so, fat… uh… Chen Lu?" Zhihao asked. Staying in character was becoming more difficult the longer the ruse went on. He missed his casual friendship with Chen Lu and Itami. He had barely spoken to either of them since leaving the great forest of Qing. He had barely spoken to anyone but Daiyu, and most of those words had been complaints.

"I have fair skin. It burns easily." Iron Gut grinned.

Zhihao suppressed a laugh. "Is that so?"

Iron Gut frowned. "I do not like this Steel Prince. But The Emerald Wind… there is a man I would call a friend. He was the one man who would laugh with me."

"You sound like you've never had a friend before, Chen Lu."

Iron Gut shrugged. "I had a monkey once."

Zhihao looked down at Iron Gut. "Whatever did happen to that monkey?"

Iron Gut shrugged. "Perhaps I ate him."

Zhihao snorted out a laugh and quickly covered it up with a cough. He didn't think it likely the Steel Prince would be seen laughing before the battle.

They stood in companionable silence for a while, and when Iron Gut spoke again it was in a sombre tone and a quiet voice. "Does it not bother you, Zhihao, that these people will never know who truly leads them? They will never call your name."

Zhihao glanced about to make sure no one else was close enough to hear him. "The only time people like this ever call out a bandit's name is at their execution. It's better this way."

Iron Gut took a last, huge gulp from his keg, then tossed it away. "Good luck… Steel Prince," he said with a smile.

Zhihao smiled back. "And to you… fat man."

Zhihao heard the crunch of wooden wheels on the earth and turned in his saddle to see the covered battering ram working its way up the street behind them. It was a monstrosity, requiring twelve men to pull it back for each swing, a wooden awning above covered in tar to protect it from arrows and oil.

"We are ready to begin the assault, my prince," said Daiyu. "All we require is your order."

Zhihao kicked his horse forward a few steps then wheeled it around to face the Steel Prince's army. He had meant to say something inspiring, something heroic, something that would convince the men they would win the day. But any words that he intended died in his throat as he looked out upon all those faces. Thousands of soldiers from all Hosa. Men with wives and children, parents and siblings, farms and holdings. Men ready to give their lives for an imposter. Zhihao swallowed down the lump in his throat and nodded to Daiyu, and the strategist stood in her stirrups and shouted orders that were relayed down the line. Within moments the vanguard was moving forwards, the steady thump of feet marching in unison, and the sound of wheels grinding against stone.

Chen Lu paced ahead of the main force and stopped only for a moment beside Zhihao, slapping him on the leg. "Magnificent speech, Prince Green Breeze." The fat man laughed at his own jest and dropped his parasol. He hefted his mace up onto his shoulder and marched towards the gate of Jieshu.

"Stay close," Cho whispered to Ein. She could feel the boy holding onto her hakama underneath her borrowed armour, jostling against her as soldiers bumped into him. Many of them thought it strange they were escorting a boy in the vanguard; Cho had heard them whispering and seen the questioning looks sent her way. They didn't know the full plan. They couldn't know that the boy and those escorting him were the only chance the rebellion had of winning the war against the emperor.

Bingwei Ma was close behind Cho and Ein. They each wore a set of ceramic soldier's armour, grey and devoid of ornamentation or design. They were to appear as common soldiers and no more, at least until the gate was breached. Both of them carried a shield also, little more than sturdy planks of wood lashed together with leather, but they would serve to catch a few arrows at least. There was no armour that could fit Ein and he was too small and weak to hold a shield, so he trusted in Cho to protect him and stayed so close she could feel the strange numbing fear pulsing from him. At least they had found him a helmet, though it wobbled loosely on his little head.

The shouts of soldiers mixed with the trumpets and drums from behind to create a cacophony that rattled Cho's senses. It was the way of war: noise and pain and death. Ein's little hands dug deeper into Cho's clothing and found her left hand, holding on, as it always did, to her saya. She felt her arm go numb, that strange chilling sensation like pins and needles spreading out from his touch. Emptiness and loneliness and the inevitability of death, that was what the boy's touch on her arm felt like. Cho wanted nothing so much as to shake Ein loose, but she dare not for the fear of losing him in the press of soldiers.

Chen Lu raced forward at the head of the vanguard. It looked like madness, a lone man of his size wearing no armour and outpacing the army at his back. It was meant to look like madness. As he passed the last of the blackened ruins that had so recently been homes, the first volley of arrows rose into the sky, darkening the sun, and rained down upon him. No doubt the archers on the wall had meant to feather him so completely that there would be not an inch of skin un-pierced, but all they did was slow down the man. The arrows deflected from his skin, hafts bursting apart as though they struck rock. All around Chen Lu the ground was littered with arrows that had missed and those that had hit. He staggered at the impacts, dropping to a knee, but quickly rose back to his feet and continued on.

"For The Emerald Wind!" he screamed in his high-pitched voice as he continued his dash towards the gates of Wu. Then he burst out laughing, a roar of madness and mirth as loud as a thunderclap and terrifying as a tidal wave. Another volley of arrows struck. Still the fat man continued on and the vanguard followed in his wake, five hundred soldiers almost unnoticed behind one man.

"Shields up!" The order passed down the line and Cho held up her shield, pulling Ein even closer to her body despite the sense of wrongness that accompanied him. He clung to her, wild eyed, and a whine escaping his lips. Arrows fell down upon them, peppering the shields. Soldiers fell; some screamed, others just died. But most of them continued on, rolling the battering ram on its trundle, behind Chen Lu.

The gate was as tall as four men and almost as wide, heavy oak planks secured together by bands of iron bolted into place. There would be a bar on the other side as well, maybe more than one. Most people would slow as they approached a gate like that, but Chen Lu picked up speed. He threw his shoulder against it, using his full weight, and Cho heard the crash even over the beat of the drums. But the gate held; it was too much to hope that it might crack open on the first charge. Some guards from atop the wall leaned out to loose more arrows at Chen Lu, and others dropped stones upon him. Iron Gut Chen ignored them all, stopping only to catch his breath before raising his mace and pounding it against the gate.

With the vanguard at the wall, the battering ram passed through the ranks and Chen Lu stepped aside, panting and leaning against the gate, to let the siege engine do its work. Soldiers formed up on either side, their shields raised against the rain of arrows flying down from above. Slowly, the great ram, a huge trunk of tree with a gilded raven design on its front end, was drawn back and back, and then released to swing down and slam into the gate.

Cho's unit slowed to a stop before the wall, out of range of rocks or oil. They hunkered down with shields raised, parting occasionally to let their own archers loose shafts at the guards on the wall. Their job was not to breach: they were to pile through the gap once the ram had done its job. Cho just hoped they would last until then. In a fight she had a chance to strike back, her fate was in her own hands, but cowering there outside the wall, only luck could keep her alive and a Shintei never trusted to luck.

Chapter 35

With the archers loosing shafts and dropping rocks, quite a few of the rebels were going down and not getting back up again. A steady stream of injured were being dragged back to the lines where the bulk of the rebellion forces still waited. Zhihao heard the crack as the ram once again smashed against the gate. Every time the ram was drawn back, Chen Lu pounded against the gate with his mace, but still they hadn't broken through. Zhihao held a hand to his helmet and squinted against the sun. He was impatient, or maybe it was his horse, or maybe it was all the men at his back waiting for the command to charge. Someone, at least, was impatient, and it was making Zhihao nervous.

He leaned across to whisper to Daiyu. "How do you think it's going?" She didn't hear him over the beating of the drums, her mask facing straight ahead. Perhaps the strategist herself was nervous. Her hand was buried in her satchel, though Zhihao could not fathom why.

Zhihao turned around in his saddle to look back at his army. Thousands of soldiers at his back, some nervous, others excited, all of them tired. It had been a long night fighting the fires of Jieshu. It had been a long four days of marching, and no rest at the end, only war. He watched the roof tops, searching for some sign of Roi Astara. The leper claimed he was most useful at a distance with his long rifle. One of the soldiers behind nodded to his prince, so Zhihao returned it and turned back to Daiyu. He placed a gauntleted hand on her arm and she startled a little, but her mask didn't turn his way.

"How is it going?" Zhihao said again, no more loudly than before.

"As well as can be expected, my prince," Daiyu said. "Though I hoped the gate would fall sooner. Perhaps it is time the Steel Prince joined the fray?"

Zhihao laughed at that. "And do what?"

Finally Daiyu looked at him, not even her eyes were visible beneath the stark white mask. "Whatever you can. Just don't die. The effect on morale would be bad." With that the strategist turned her head back to the battle, her hand once again rummaging the satchel at her waist. Over the past four days Daiyu had gone from controlling to disapproving about fifty times a day, but this was the first time she had seemed so cold. It appeared not even Hosa's greatest strategist was above the pressure riding upon her shoulders.

With no other instruction than get involved Zhihao kicked his horse into motion, and galloped towards the gate. He had no idea what to do, no idea what he could do. If Chen Lu couldn't break the gate, if the battering ram couldn't break the gate, there was no way Zhihao was going to make a difference. An arrow flitted by the prince's helmet with a whistle, a hopeful shot that almost got lucky. But it didn't. It missed and only served to give Zhihao a target. He drew the giant sword from over his back, struggling to hold it steady with one hand, and stood up in his stirrups. Then Zhihao stepped through the world.

He had never tried the technique while riding a fast moving horse before, nor moved such a great distance. It was a strain and for a terrifying moment, as he passed between places, Zhihao thought his body would pull him back to the horse. He felt the tug of it, as though his soul were being wrenched in two directions at once. Then it was gone and he was standing on the parapets of the wall, the sun glinting off his borrowed silver armour.

Zhihao jumped down onto the stone walkway behind the parapet, where a line of archers was raining death down into the rebel army. The closest archer, staring at Zhihao with wide eyes, finally raised his bow, a meagre attempt at defence, and the Steel Prince's sword cut through it like kindling. Then Zhihao followed up with a second swipe that took the man's head clean off his shoulders. Zhihao turned on the spot and thrust forwards, puncturing another archer's chest with the sword. They wore no armour, only a uniform of black cloth with high hats that made their heads seem tall. No doubt it was for ease of movement, but it just made them easier to kill.

Zhihao stepped through the world again just as archers from both his left and right turned towards him and loosed. The arrows passed through the image he left behind, and both men fell to each other's arrow. Then Zhihao was behind another archer. He slashed open the man's back and kicked him over the side of the wall. It was possible the sword strike hadn't killed him, but the fall certainly did.

He looked towards the inner city and caught a glimpse of what awaited the rebels in the second tier of Jieshu. An affluent and ordered city with buildings rising up two or three storeys in structured rows. Each one had a sloping roof to deter both rain and thieves. Farther in toward the centre the buildings were larger still: warehouses to store food and supplies, weapons and engines of war. Arrayed in a large open square just ahead of the wall, hundreds of soldiers, maybe a thousand, lined up in squares facing towards the gate. There weren't enough of them. Daiyu said that Wu had at five time as many men as the rebellion, but the soldiers defending the gate were maybe half as many as the rebellion. There was a strange metal bell as well, turned on its side, a team of soldiers with torches standing next to it. Torches seem an odd thing to be carrying so early in the day with the sun new and bright.

A nearby archer swung his bow at Zhihao as he stared out at the soldiers of Wu. The bow clanged against his shoulder, and Zhihao backhanded the man, slammed his head against the stone of the parapet, then threw him over the side to a chorus of cheers from the rebellion's soldiers below. He had no time yet to puzzle out the low numbers of Wu soldiers. More archers on the wall were turning towards him. Zhihao stepped through the world again just as the gate below gave a shuddering crack.

Cho heard the gate crack. At the same time, the ram groaned, the great trunk lurching sideways as ropes snapped and supports gave out. It crashed to the ground, trapping at least one screaming soldier beneath its weight. And the gate was not yet open.

Chen Lu roared in frustration and bent his strength upon the ram, heaving it off the screaming soldier. Then he stepped up to the gate, hefted his mace, and swung with all his strength. The entire vanguard was chanting now, but it was not Chen Lu's name on their lips. "Emerald Wind!" they screamed and every swing of his mace, every crack of the gate only served to make the chant louder.

With Zhihao keeping the archers atop the wall busy and Chen Lu bending his full power upon the gate, Cho broke ranks, dragging Ein with her and trusting Bingwei Ma would follow. It was important they get through the gate before the real fighting started. She pulled the boy farther in, squeezing past soldiers, until she was leaning with her back against the archway of the gate. Chen Lu was there, his mace on the ground, pushing against the gate with all his weight.

"I. Am. Iron. Gut. Chen!" Chen Lu shrieked, his high-pitched voice soaring over those of the chanting soldiers. He pushed, leaning into the gate with everything he had. There was a final crack as the bar snapped and the gate started to swing open to the triumphant cheers all around.

Cho saw it at the same time as Ein, a huge cannon pointed straight at the gate, the mouth of it a roaring tiger just like the banners of Wu. A Wu soldier standing next to it lowered a torch to the top of the giant iron monstrosity.

"No!" Ein's voice was a whisper and Cho dragged him away from the gate just as a sound like thunder shook the world.

Then Cho was on her knees, ears ringing. Her chest felt numb, tingling from the sensation of the boy she clutched to her. Soldiers of the rebellion staggered past, as though they were drunk, staggering about and falling over each other. Others were injured, limbs missing and mouths gaping. Slowly, the sounds of the battlefield came back to Cho, screams piercing the ringing in her head. Ein wriggled against her chest, and she realised she was pressing him hard against her armour. She released him and he gasped, pulling away and falling over. He sat on the ground, shaking his head as if he had something stuck in his ears.

Bingwei Ma emerged from the chaos next to them. He scooped the boy up and placed him on his feet, then held out a hand to Cho. She stared at him dumbly for a moment, seeing his lips moving but unable to make out the words. She turned towards the gate. The battering ram was in ruins, splinters of wood and wreckage, mangled bodies everywhere. There was no sign of Chen Lu, only blood on the ground and his giant mace propped up against the wall. Cho looked back at Bingwei Ma and reached up to take his hand.

"Iron Gut Chen is gone," Bingwei Ma yelled. This time the words reached her, muted through the din. Bingwei Ma grabbed Cho by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. She had never noticed it before, but his eyes were blue, sparkling like a calm ocean. "Itami, do you hear me? Chen Lu is dead."

Cho struggled to understand his words. It didn't really matter. None of it did. She smiled at him. Then the Steel Prince was there, dressed in stunning silver armour, splashed red with blood. She smiled at him too.

"What's wrong with her?" said the Steel Prince.

"She is dazed from the explosion," Bingwei Ma said.

Soldiers were forming up, stepping over the dead and dying, and marching towards the breached gate. The larger force behind them was on the move as well. This was part of the plan, Cho remembered that much, but she couldn't remember the plan itself.

The Steel Prince pulled off one of his gauntlets, stepped close, and slapped her. The shock of it brought a certain clarity to her thoughts. Then the realisation hit her. Chen Lu was dead, reduced to nothing by the blast. His iron skin put to the test and found wanting. Cho blinked twice, and shook the last of the cobwebs from her head. Her left hand found her saya, touching the hilt of both swords quickly to be certain they were still there.

"Back with us?" Zhihao asked.

Cho nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The ringing was still loud in her ears and shouting was dangerous when it came from her lips.

"Good. Stick to the plan," Zhihao said. "Get Ein into the palace. Find the emperor and kill the bastard."

"What will you do?" Bingwei Ma asked Zhihao.

"What would the Steel Prince do?"

"Lead the charge," Bingwei Ma said with a nod that was all respect.

The soldiers of Wu were forming up behind the gate and the soldiers of the rebellion were gathering, eager to do battle.

"Have I mentioned I hate this plan?" Zhihao said. He waved the Steel Prince's sword in the air, shouted to the troops and charged through the broken gate, first through the breach. A huge wave of soldiers stormed through after him, stepping over their fallen comrades.

Bingwei Ma gripped hold of Ein and dragged him through the gate, squeezing past soldiers. Cho followed after him, content to let the Master of Sun Valley lead until her senses fully returned. She shed her armour as she went, dropping the ruse of being just another soldier in the rebellion. First the ceramic chest piece fell to the dirt, then her helmet. The rebellion soldiers surged against the men of Wu guarding the gate, clashing swords and shields and screaming their rage. Their formations crumbling as the battle was joined and reinforcements arrived for both sides, turning the battle into a furious melee. Cho caught a glimpse of Zhihao, flashes of the Steel Prince's silver armour, as he attacked from behind the enemy lines, disappearing and reappearing and cutting down the men of Wu with lighting strokes of the Steel Prince's sword.

When they reached the buildings of the inner city, Cho, Bingwei Ma, and Ein split off from the main force of rebel soldiers. The rebellion was nothing but a distraction. Cho and Bingwei Ma were the real assault.

The Master of Sun Valley let go of Ein as three Wu soldiers rounded the corner of the large building ahead of them. He pulled off his helmet and launched it at the men, then followed it in with a blur of kicks and punches that turned aside blades and shattered armour and bone. Within moments all three soldiers were either unconscious or so injured they wished they were.

"Up," Bingwei Ma said. "We will make better progress on the rooftops."

Cho risked a glimpse around the corner of the building and agreed with him. A full company of Wu soldiers were heading their way. Perhaps two.

Bingwei Ma gathered Ein up into his arms, and the boy let out a panicked squeal. Then Bingwei Ma leapt upwards, grabbed hold of the first eave with his one free arm, and swung himself up to reach the rooftop. Cho followed him as best she could, climbing where she couldn't make the impossible jumps. Before long she rolled onto the sloping roof and steadied herself on the tiles. The soldiers passed by below in a rush of heavy feet.

Cho took a moment to look at the battlefield below. The rebellion soldiers were pouring in from the gate, pushing and shoving at each other. Farther in they were fighting Wu soldiers in tight formation. But more Wu soldiers were marching in toward the fray, rounding corners and slipping through alleys. They were surrounding the Steel Prince's soldiers on three sides. It was a trap.

Chapter 36

Bingwei Ma leapt from rooftop to rooftop, carrying the boy on his back, and Cho followed in his wake. She was struggling to keep up, though it was only partly because of the pace the Master of Sun Valley set. She was distracted by the battle going on below them, keeping one eye on the Wu soldiers in case any should spot them on the rooftops and raise the alarm. None did. They were too occupied closing the noose around Zhihao and the Steel Prince's rebellion.

It felt like a betrayal. Chen Lu was already dead, and they were leaving Zhihao to die down there. No one would even know it was him. If the soldiers of Wu managed to kill The Emerald Wind, his body would be paraded around as the Steel Prince. No one would ever understand the sacrifice Zhihao Cheng made for the people of Hosa. Cho slowed to a stop and watched the battle.

"What are you doing, Itami?" Bingwei Ma was on the next building over, only a short leap away. Ein's pale eyes peered at Cho from beside the Master of Sun Valley. He looked far from pleased to be riding on the man's back, but then Bingwei Ma looked far from pleased about it as well.

"It's not right," Cho said, hoping she wasn't shouting. Her ears were still ringing and her voice seemed somewhat muted. She wouldn't shout now, but down there, amidst the fighting, she would scream. "We're leaving Zhihao to die."

"Maybe," Bingwei Ma said. He deflated, as though he had just admitted to something truly shameful. "But unless we continue, his sacrifice will be for nothing. For once in his life The Emerald Wind has chosen to be a hero. We should respect that by completing our part of the plan."

Cho shook her head sadly. "You go. I'm going back to help. Perhaps both of us together can turn the tide."

"No!" Ein shouted. "You swore an oath to me, Whispering Blade." He sounded angry. He had every right to be. "You will keep it."

Cho looked from Ein, and then down to the silver blur of Zhihao vanishing and reappearing around the battlefield. She shook her head again.

"It has to be you, Itami," Bingwei Ma said. "I will not kill."

Cho clenched her teeth, her hand gripping Peace so tightly it hurt. She turned away from the battle, and leapt across the building to where Bingwei Ma and Ein waited. The Master of Sun Valley smiled at her. "We should get to the palace quickly. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold the boy." They ran on then, leaving Zhihao to fend for himself.

The palace, a giant pagoda rising twenty storeys high, each with its own eaves was swarming with palace guard. Two dozen soldiers, some with bows but most with heavy spears. A shout of warning went up, intruders on the roofs, and Cho knew any further attempts at stealth were useless. They leapt down the eaves of the last building between them onto the stone courtyard before the palace. Bingwei Ma crouched to let Ein clamber onto the ground, then darted off towards the palace guard, leaving Cho to hurry after him.

The Master of Sun Valley was so fast the fight was already in full swing by the time Cho arrived. She dodged around a spear and drew Peace into a deadly arc, severing a guard's sword hand and opening another's throat, all in one motion. An arrow loosed her way and she deflected it with her blade. Another guard thrust his spear at her; she knocked it away, sliced the blade through his thigh, then launched herself at the archers. They were poorly trained and not ready for a battle-hardened Shintei. Cho cut all four of them down in mere seconds, soaking Peace in their blood, then turned back to the spearmen.

All around Bingwei Ma men groaned, trying desperately to crawl away from the wushu master. He took no lives, but spared no bones. The last of the palace guard soon fell. Ein joined Cho and Bingwei Ma, stepping over the bodies without so much as a glance. The boy looked up at the twenty-storey palace before them. "The emperor will be at the top."

Bingwei Ma was already on his way to the entrance. He pushed the doors aside. and a sword flashed out at him from the darkness within. The Master of Sun Valley dodged the blade, caught the arm swinging it, and snapped the bone with a twist. The soldier fell to the ground screaming, and Bingwei Ma kicked him in the head to quiet the man. "We should waste no time here. It's a long way up."

In the centre of the building, a staircase wound its way upwards all the way to the top. Bingwei Ma offered to carry the boy again, but Ein refused. He had already been carried too far, and he must reach his destination by his own two feet. That those feet were calloused and shredded in equal measure and every step left a trail of blood behind, did not seem to bother him.

The palace was heavily guarded, and they were assaulted each step of the way. Cho cut down her opponents with a brutal efficiency. Her victims would find no welcome from the stars, their souls stolen by Peace at the moment of their deaths. Bingwei Ma continued his path of mercy, and though it worried Cho to leave enemies alive behind them, she did not bemoan the Master of Sun Valley's choice.

By the time they reached the top floor of the palace, Cho's arms were tired from the men she had killed. Ein was trailing behind, tired and out of breath. His face looked waxy, his flesh sunken. It seemed as though every step was taking him closer to his own death. He climbed the last step and pointed down one of the corridors. "That way to the throne room. That is where we will find him."

"How do you know?" Cho asked, but Ein didn't answer. He was already staggering towards the empty hallway, his pale eyes locked on the ornate doors at the end, grand things made of red wood and gilded with fanciful designs of leaping, snarling tigers..

Shouts from the stairwell below echoed up to meet them, imperial reinforcements come to check on their emperor.

"We should hurry," Cho said. She and Bingwei Ma started down the corridor, past the limping boy. Ein slowing down, dragging his left foot.

Two figures stepped out from shadowed alcoves ahead of them. One a man, slender and dressed in a dark, cloth suit, with two swords strapped to his back, and a belt that shone with silver darts. Next to him a woman in a black dress patterned with red clouds, wide around the sleeves, and low around the cleavage. She carried no weapons, at least none that Cho could see.

"The emperor's bodyguards," Ein said from behind them.

"Sin," the woman said with a bow, a savage smile on her ruby lips. "My brother, Saint. He doesn't say much." The man gave a single nod, his hands already brushing along the weapons attached to his belt. "I'm afraid we can't let you any closer."

The shouting from the stairwell was getting louder as the soldiers pounded up the stairs as fast as they could. Cho tightened her grip on Peace. She wanted to stop, to assess their best choices with enemies in front and behind, but Ein kept going; she had no choice but to keep pace with him.

Bingwei Ma stepped forward. "Does your emperor fear a single Shintei and a young boy?" He looked at Cho. "You go, Whispering Blade. I will hold the rest of our enemies here."

Ein did not seem to care who stayed or not; he laboured on as though drawn by some invisible force.

Sin looked at her brother and then back to Bingwei Ma. "The Emperor of Ten Kings fears no one and nothing. But why should he have all the fun?"

Bingwei Ma unfastened the clasps that held his chest armour in place, letting it crash to the floor. "Then fight me. I am Bingwei Ma, Master of Sun Valley."

Again the siblings shared a look and the woman turned back to Bingwei Ma with a smile. "So be it. Please put up a fight, or we'll have to steal our master's kill as well."

Cho reached the great doors, with Ein at her side and Peace gripped tightly in her hands. She placed her back against one of the doors and pushed. It slid open on whispering hinges. The room was brightly lit, and they heard no sounds from within. Ein brushed past Cho and slipped in through the gap. She followed him in, and pushed the door closed behind.

Chapter 37

Exhaustion was setting in and Zhihao could feel his limbs growing heavy, along with an uncomfortable throbbing in his chest. He'd used his technique too many times. It seemed like every time he stepped through, he left a piece of himself behind, and he was quickly running out of pieces. The Steel Prince's sword was stained with the blood of a hundred men and dulled from the work.

Zhihao staggered back among the Steel Prince's soldiers and they swarmed past him to protect their prince. The sound of steel on steel, shouts of pain, growls of rage. It was all getting too much for Zhihao. He wasn't the Steel Prince. He was The Emerald Wind. And bandits like him hated fights like this. Losing fights. Impossible fights. Suicidal last stands. Pointless. Zhihao looked up at the wall behind him. With a just another couple of uses of his technique he could be away. He could shed his armour and disappear into the buildings of Jieshu. No one would ever be able to say he hadn't done his part.

Zhihao stepped through the world once more, appearing atop the wall. He slumped against the parapet, resting the big sword against the stone and groaning at the pain in his chest. The archers were all gone now, some dead, others fled once the rebellion pushed through the gate. He was almost alone on top of the wall if one didn't count the crows. It was a strange sort of detached peace watching the battle play out below, knowing his part in it was over. Zhihao sighed and turned to take one last step through the world, away from it all.

He froze, suddenly realising the full extent of the trap the emperor had set for them. Marching up the streets of the outer city of Jieshu, picking their way between the burnt out husks of buildings, were more Wu soldiers; maybe a thousand, perhaps more. There were too many for the rebellion forces to handle, and every rebel soldier would be cut down or taken prisoner if they surrendered.

Zhihao looked for a new avenue of escape, one not swarming with Wu soldiers. Down on the battlefield in front of the gate, directing the troops to where they were needed most, he saw Daiyu. Her mask was still in place and she sat atop her horse, but her white robes were spattered with red. Well it didn't matter anymore; she'd be dead in a short while, attacked on all sides. The rebellion was done for.

The Steel Prince's sword seemed even heavier than before, a dead weight in his hands dragging him down. But Zhihao might need a weapon and, despite his misgivings, the sword was good metal and perfectly balanced. Zhihao hefted the thing onto his shoulder and stepped through the world again.

The crush of soldiers were surprised to see their prince where before there was nothing. Zhihao ignored their cries, pushing through them until he reached Daiyu's horse. The strategist was surveying the battlefield, and shouting orders. When Zhihao reached her side he tugged on her robe. She barely spared him a glance.

"We need to retreat," Zhihao said, forgetting to growl the words; he was so tired.

"We have not yet received word the emperor is dead. We must continue to occupy the Wu forces.."

Zhihao shook his head. "The fight is lost. There's Wu reinforcements behind us, coming from the outer city. At least a thousand… maybe more."

"No!" Daiyu wheeled her horse about. "The battle is truly lost. We must save as many as we can before there are none left to save." She pulled aside one of the nearby captains. "Get to the drums. Signal the retreat."

Zhihao shook his head, and very nearly took his helmet off. But the last thing they needed now was the soldiers realising he wasn't the Steel Prince. "We'll be retreating right into the enemy. There is nowhere for us to run."

Daiyu turned her mask towards Zhihao, and he caught a glimpse of her flashing green eyes. "Then we will need to cut a path to freedom, my prince." The strategist thrust a hand into her satchel and rummaged about for a moment before pulling out a handful of little white statues. They were little hounds carved from marble. She held them close to her mask and paused for a moment as though she were talking to them. Then she stood up in her stirrups and flung the little statues, scattering them amid the enemy troops.

Six great white hounds howled to life, savaging the enemy troops with giant teeth and claws like talons. Chaos erupted in the Wu ranks. The drums of the rebellion changed beat, signalling it was time to fall back and beat a fighting retreat.

"… if it takes everything I have," Daiyu said and Zhihao got the feeling he had heard the end of something not meant for his ears. The Art of War reached again into her satchel and pulled out more statues, flinging them towards the enemy lines all around them. Everywhere her statues landed, monsters made of white stone, or soldiers of onyx sprang to life and started fighting the Wu soldiers. Some were shaped like a man but larger, others looked like lumbering stone golems. And others still were true monsters, the sort of thing Zhihao had seen only in nightmares... or since he met Ein.

The last statue Daiyu drew from her satchel was precious; Zhihao could tell by the way she held it. It was a miniature statue of the Steel Prince. The strategist clutched it to her chest and bent her head over it. If she said any words, they were lost in the cacophony of drums and clashing steel. Then she leapt from her horse, landing nimbly on her feet, and pushed past the rebel soldiers towards the rearguard as quickly as she could. Zhihao followed in her wake, feeling dazed and wondering what sort of creature this statue might summon.

Daiyu pushed past the last of the rebellion's soldiers as they struggled to form up a new defensive line. Zhihao was just a step behind her and saw the same thing he had from atop the wall. Wu soldiers were closing in, their formation tight. The Art of War broke from her own lines and ran forwards, stopping halfway between the rebellion and the approaching Wu forces. Zhihao ran after her, to drag her back if nothing else. She carefully stood the statue on the ground, facing towards the approaching enemy soldiers. Then stepped back and bowed her head.

The statue sunk down and disappeared into the dirt, and Zhihao felt a rumble through his feet. Then a great black hand erupted from the earth, reaching up and clenching into a fist, more of the arm followed, and the fist slammed down on the ground. Another hand emerged, and then a head wearing the same helm Zhihao wore. The giant Stone Prince pulled itself from the earth, then reached back down and pulled out his massive sword.

The Wu soldiers paused their advance, eyes wide and mouths gaping. The golem reached an onyx hand down to Daiyu. She leapt up on it, climbed its arm to its shoulder, and sat there, staring down at the Wu soldiers through her unreadable mask. Then the Stone Prince charged, crushing Wu soldiers and scattering them amidst the burnt out husks of buildings. Zhihao raised the Steel Prince's sword and shouted for his men to follow him into the fight.

Chapter 38

The Master of Sun Valley vs Sin and Saint

The woman, Sin, was clearly a master of open-hand wushu, and her form was exquisite. She attacked with outstretched fingers, the nails on each sharpened to claws. Her dress swept around her, masking her feet. She moved like a hurricane, always turning, never stopping. The man, Saint, attacked around his sister. His swords were long and straight, single edged for slashing and stabbing. He manoeuvred around his sister, filling the gaps she left and leaving no avenue for escape or retaliation, each of his cuts meant to be final and fatal. The siblings worked in such unison, Bingwei struggled to find any opening to counter; it was clear they were well used to fighting two against one. But Bingwei had spent his whole life facing much steeper odds, and none yet had managed to best him.

Sin darted in to take advantage of the space, striking twice with outstretched hands at Bingwei's face. He ducked the first and spun away from the second. She moved around the soldiers' bodies on the floor, flowing like a river following a set course. It made her predictable, Bingwei could see where she would strike from and moved to put more unconscious bodies between them. Again she moved in towards him, her dress swirling around, her hands always moving, making it harder to see where the next strike would come from. Suddenly Sin ducked and over the top of her came Saint, leaping in for the killing blow.

Bingwei leapt forwards, diving under Saint's attack into a roll that put him close to Sin. The shock was plain on her face, but she recovered well. She struck out with her left hand, scoring a searing hit along Bingwei's bicep, but her lunge exposed her chest and he punched her straight to the sternum, sending her tumbling backwards, in a chaotic rumple of dress and flailing limbs. Bingwei turned just in time to dodge a savage sword thrust from Saint and then danced under the follow-up strike.

Bingwei backed up a few paced and watched Saint approach, swords whirling. He quickly spotted an opening in the repetitive patterns. He dodged away from a sword slash, feeling the metal kiss his skin, then slipped to the side and chopped a hand into the man's body that sent him careening into the nearby wall. He had no time to follow up; Sin was upon him again, though she was no longer smiling. Her face was set in a furious grimace as she struck at him over and over. Bingwei dodged some strikes, and blocked others, giving ground again and again to move farther away from Saint as the man recovered his senses. Bingwei heard more shouting as another unit of soldiers reaching the top of the palace.

Still Sin danced around the bodies on the floor, refusing to step over them. Bingwei slid to his left so she had no way to reach him and for just a moment she paused, uncertain. It was all the opening Bingwei needed to step in close and strike her with the heel of his hand to the gut, knocking the wind out of her. As she sunk towards the floor, he grabbed her by the shoulders and launched her at the oncoming soldiers, knocking two of them down and stopping the momentum of the others.

Bingwei felt slower, his vision blurring a little at the edges. He shook the feeling away and launched himself at Saint, forgoing defence to attack. He needed to finish the fight quickly, before exhaustion caught up with him. The smaller man was not prepared for the flurry of blows sent his way and Bingwei moved in so close his swords were all but useless. He struck first at the pressure points, rendering Saint's arms limp, then kicked the man's legs out from under him and spun away, kicking him in the head. The man hit the floor hard and didn't move.

Bingwei stumbled, catching himself on the wall, his vision swimming. The corridor seemed to tunnel into infinity. He closed his eyes for just a moment, shaking away the feeling, and when he opened them again he saw Sin running towards him, snarling, the six remaining soldiers close behind her. Bingwei lurched into a run, squinting against the blurred edges of his vision. Sin let out a scream as they closed, leaping at Bingwei, but he threw himself to the right, stepping up onto the wall and bypassing the woman to engage the soldiers behind her. Despite his waning strength and blurred vision, he felled them all quickly with a series of spinning kicks and thrown elbows.

Sin was the last defender standing. She glared at him over the dozens of bodies, unconscious or moaning in pain. All Bingwei had to do was disable Sin, and there would be no one left to interrupt Itami's battle with the emperor. Then she launched herself at him, screeching like a tengu. She attacked wildly, battering him with straight-fingered jabs that sunk her sharpened claws into his skin. Bingwei struggled to focus his weary eyes on her, his vision doubling and tripling, as she battered him with side-hand chops and fists to the face. The beating hurt, but it was shallow pain, meant to wear him down, and Bingwei waited for her to tire herself out. He swayed on his feet and covered his head with his arms. When finally she halted, he hurled himself at her, catching her wrong-footed. He grabbed her shoulders and drove his knee into her abdomen, then spun her around and wrapped his arm around her throat. She scratched at his arm, flailing madly, swung a clawed hand at his head behind her, but Bingwei's grip was iron. He bore her down to the floor. A wave of vertigo washed over Bingwei and his strength failed him for a moment. Sin slipped her chin beneath his arm and bit down hard on the flesh. Bingwei screamed in pain, but held on as she renewed her assault against him. He was too weak and knew suddenly that Sin's strikes were poison. His strength was failing fast and she was almost free of him. He knew of only one way left to win.

With the last of his strength, Bingwei reached up and wrapped his other hand around Sin's head, then twisted sharply, snapping her neck.

Bingwei let go of the woman and her dead weight thudded to the marble floor. He was on his knees, swaying, his vision all but gone. Bingwei felt his limbs shaking, his mind wandering, his body failing. He knew it was too late. He let out a final laugh as his body finally gave up and he collapsed down next to the woman.

Chapter 39

Whispering Blade vs The Emperor of Ten Kings

The throne room was a wide and open space, mostly empty save for the black throne at the far end. A single shrine stood to the side of the door. It had a statue of an ugly little man with a hunched back and a wide grin. The little man had no shoes. Cho knew then it was a shrine to the shinigami: the one who had given the Emperor of Ten Kings his power and immortality. The one who Ein served.

Standing by an open balcony that overlooked the city of Jieshu, was the emperor himself, Henan WuLong. It could be no one else. He was tall and broad, with dark hair cascading down his back and a black robe tied at the waist. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back. A sword leaned against the throne, within two steps of the man. It was long and straight, the same style of sword favoured by the Century Blade.

"Your rebellion is dead," the emperor said. His voice was deep, it carried well and echoed around the empty chamber. Then he turned and glared at Cho. She wagered he had expected the Steel Prince rather than a woman and small boy. "It can't be. You're dead! I killed you with my own hands."

Ein took a lurching step forward. "Yes, father, you did. You killed me."

The emperor shook his head. "You've been dead twenty years, Einrich. It can't be you." Ein took another step forward and his father staggered back a step. Cho followed Ein slowly, her hand on Peace.

"It is me, father. You sacrificed me to the shinigami. You wrapped your hands around my throat and squeezed the life from my body. I still bear the wounds of it." He pulled the red scarf from around his neck and let it fall, once more revealing the horrible bruising there. He was shaking, whether from rage or exhaustion, or something else Cho couldn't tell. "You have grown powerful on the strength gifted to you. The shinigami has given you immortality and techniques beyond mortal men." Another step. "And what have you done with it? You conquered Hosa and squeezed it dry of wealth and prosperity. You have neglected its people. You care only about your own power. And now the shinigami has sent me to take that power back, father."

The Emperor of Ten Kings rushed to his throne and plucked his sword from its resting place, drawing it and throwing the scabbard to the side. "What have I done with it?" he shouted at Ein. "In the twenty years you have been dead, I have united Hosa. I have brought peace to ten kingdoms who have only ever known war. The cost has been great, but Hosa is stronger now than it has ever been. What have I done with the power gifted to me, Einrich? I have created a legacy. But I will admit the cost was high. Perhaps too high."

Ein took another step forward. "The cost, father, was me!"

The emperor's eyes flicked to the shrine beside the door and then back to his son. "And now the shinigami has sent you to destroy everything I've built? The ghost of my own son?"

Ein shook his head. "Not everything you've built, father. Just you. The shinigami just wants you."

The Emperor of Ten Kings hardened then, his face going still as stone. He stepped away from the throne and held his sword up before him. "He cannot have me. You cannot have me, Einrich. I will kill you a second time if I have to."

Cho rushed forward, stepping in front of Ein, Peace held up before her in two hands.

The emperor glared at her. "Who are you?"

"My name is Itami Cho, Whispering Blade. If you mean to fight, I will be your son's champion."

A bitter laugh erupted from the emperor. "I am beset by ghosts. You brought one of your dead heroes back to life to kill me, son?" He shook his head sadly. "Come then, Whispering Blade. Let me send you back to your grave where you belong."

Cho edged forward, her sandaled feet gliding over the polished wood floor. The emperor moved to meet her, waving the tip of his sword in little circles in the space between them. Cho saw Ein limp backward, settling down at the foot of the shinigami shrine. That was good. She would need space to fight. The emperor held himself well, straight and still, his eyes a piercing darkness locked on Cho. Slowly they circled each other, neither wanting to make the first move. Cho considered a hundred different attacks, analysing which might gain her the best advantage. She changed stance, holding Peace up close to her head, the cutting edge facing upwards. The emperor responded by shifting his right foot forward, turning his body side on. Cho drew in a deep breath, and charged.

They clashed with a howl of sword scraping against sword, then pushed apart from each other. They had swapped places, and once again started circling each other. Cho could already tell the emperor was stronger than her, at least in the terms of raw power. Cho switched her stance, holding Peace behind her, and closed again. She let loose a sweeping, rising strike. The emperor parried the blade and replied with a thrust. Cho dodged to her right and brought Peace down crossways. The emperor blocked the slash, using his strength to hold it with one hand and moving in close to punch at Cho with the other. She leapt away, rushing backwards on swift feet.

Cho was smiling, unable to keep the joy from her face. This was where her heart belonged - however much was left of it - in battle. The moments lived between blades were the sweetest of life. In combat every decision mattered, large or small. A slight turn of a foot and she could trip. A sweaty palm and the blade could slip. Feinting left instead of right could spell the end. It was in those moments, where everything mattered and every decision pushed towards life or death, that Cho felt most alive.

They came together again and again, clashing in a glorious dance of waiting death. Two partners meeting in singing blades and hard-earned skill. Again and again Peace tasted the emperor's sword, and again and again it was turned aside. Cho even set it humming with a whisper, but the emperor's blade did not so much as chip. When they pushed apart the next time Cho felt sweat on her forehead and the air in her lungs. Still the Emperor of Ten Kings stood tall, not even a little colour in his cheeks.

"I know your technique, Whispering Blade." The emperor didn't relax as he spoke; he kept his guard ready. "I used to read to Einrich when he was a child. Does he still carry it around with him? That book about all his dead heroes."

Something tugged at Cho's mind, something she couldn't entirely grasp. She remembered the emperor saying Ein had died twenty years ago. If he carried a book about dead heroes, and she was in it… How long ago had she died?

The emperor sensed her confusion and lunged in. Cho caught the attack on Peace and the sword sang in her hands, the pain of it travelling up her arms. She darted inside his guard and shoved her shoulder into his chest, but it was like running into a wall. The emperor barely budged, then braced his feet and threw Cho backwards. She rolled across the polished floor and up into a warrior's crouch, Peace held out to the side, ready to rejoin the fight.

"You fight for the shinigami because you have no choice. I understand that." The emperor paced forwards, slashing twice and following up with a stab. Cho danced away from each strike, watching for an opening, but the man wasn't just fast, he was skilled as well. Perhaps even her equal. "I will send you back to your grave, Whispering Blade. I will give you back the peace my son has stolen from you."

Cho darted in again, opening with a wide slashing arc, then circling her sword around to cut across the emperor's legs. Again he blocked the strikes with ease. It seemed he was growing stronger with every passing moment, and he pushed her back with a flurry of crushing blows. Cho understood then how the man had united Hosa. He was a monster, as strong as Chen Lu and as skilled as Bingwei Ma. Not even the Century Blade had turned her aside so easily. But Cho was not without some tricks of her own, and at least one of those would be in no books written about her. She staggered back a few steps, putting some distance between them and raised Peace in front of her. And she screamed.

Peace caught the force of her scream and turned it into a cutting edge. It ripped through the throne room, splitting the wood of the floor and ceiling alike. The Emperor of Ten Kings raised his sword just in time and caught the blast on his blade. For just a moment, Cho could see her own scream as energy pushing down on the emperor, trying to force its way past his sword. Then the man flung it aside just like he was parrying a strike. The scream continued on its path, tearing past the wooden throne and smashing the balcony beyond it. The sound of large sections of wood crashing into the outside of the palace echoed around them.

The emperor was shaking, his eyes wide and a touch of fear in them. Slowly, he turned to look over his shoulder, to see the destruction Cho's scream had made of his throne room. Perhaps he only meant to glance, but he hesitated a moment and it was all the opening Cho needed. She charged him, launching into a sprint on silent feet. The Emperor of Ten Kings turned back just in time to see Cho coming. She sank Peace deep into his chest.

For a moment, everything was still. Cho was so close she could feel the heat of the emperor's body and smell the sweat on his skin. Then he coughed, blood spraying out of his mouth and running down his chin. He had swayed a little at the last moment and her strike missed his heart, piercing his lungs instead. Either way, it was a killing blow. Behind her, Ein gasped, just as the emperor reached up and grabbed Cho's hand.

Chapter 40

One after another, Daiyu's stone statues fell to the soldiers of Wu; hacked apart to lifeless rock. Each loss seemed to take its toll on the Art of War, and Zhihao could see her reeling in pain. Not that he had a lot of time to watch her, he was busy leading the Steel Prince's men in their bid to safety. The great golem had scattered the Wu forces behind the rebel army and the soldiers of the rebellion were pouring back out into the outer city. Formations were long gone and most were simply fleeing for their lives through streets and alleys blackened by fire. The golem turned back towards the gate, Daiyu still riding on its shoulder. She held the gate while the last of the rebellion escaped.

Zhihao stepped through the world and appeared behind a Wu soldier as he was about to stab a man through the chest. One titanic swing of the Steel Prince's sword, and the soldier went down in two pieces and gush of blood. Zhihao reeled from the effort of overusing his technique. He staggered two steps and dropped to his knees in the dust next to the body. Another Wu soldier seemed to come out of nowhere, or perhaps Zhihao's tunnel vision had simply hidden the man. The Wu soldier had him cornered, and Zhihao watched his death come towards him. The Wu soldier screamed, spittle flying from his moustached mouth, his teeth yellow and his eyes black and furious. The morning light glinted off the sword as it reached the height of its arc and fell towards Zhihao.

The sword crashed into the Steel Prince's helm, and Zhihao sprawled on the ground, his ears ringing like a bell and his head feeling like the soiled end of a weeklong drunk. He crawled away, hand over hand, both cursing and thanking the sturdiness of the helm. A kick rolled Zhihao onto his back and he looked up to see the Wu soldier standing over him, sword raised again, but then a spear poked through the man's neck. He gurgled on blood and then collapsed onto his knees and finally backwards. Dead. The rebellion soldier, the very one Zhihao had just saved, reached down a hand and helped pull Zhihao back to his feet. He squinted at the man, trying to wince away the pain in his head.

"My prince? Your scars are fading."

The words penetrated the haze around Zhihao just enough for him to realise his helm was gone and his face exposed. He clasped the soldier on the arm and pointed towards the city. "Go. Run. Get out of here." He supposed it would be wiser, safer to kill the man, to protect the truth about the Steel Prince. But Zhihao couldn't do it, not to someone who had just saved his life. The soldier hurried away, glancing backwards a few times.

Zhihao looked back towards the gate. Daiyu's golem had done a good job of holding up the Wu soldiers, and the rebellion was all but fled into the city. As he watched, the golem drove its massive sword into the ground, blocking the way through the gate. Then it turned and charged away after the fleeing rebellion soldiers. It was a good deterrent, and it would certainly delay the men of Wu chasing them, but Zhihao knew a way to make it even better. He stepped through the world and reappeared on top of the wall, staring down into the inner city and the army amassed before the wall.

"Soldiers of Wu," Zhihao shouted, trying desperately to ignore the twisting of his vision as a wave of vertigo swept over him. "My name is Guang Qing, the Steel Prince." He saw a couple of archers knock arrows and decided it might be best to plough on quickly. "Your emperor is dead. There is no reason to continue this fight. There is no one to fight for. Now Hosa can start—" One of the archers loosed an arrow and Zhihao dove away. "Fuck you then!" He scrambled back to his feet, turned away from the city of Jieshu, and stepped through the world, reappearing a moment later on Daiyu's lumbering golem.

The pain hit him like a sword in the chest. An agony so intense it blasted the strength from his limbs. Zhihao sprawled on the golem's shoulder, desperately trying to cling to the black rock of its helm, and feeling his grip slipping away.

"My prince, are you hurt?" Daiyu's voice, panicked and also distant.

The pain sunk deeper, piercing its way towards Zhihao's heart. In that moment, Zhihao realised what it was. The archers hadn't hit him with a lucky shot; it was the fatal wound the Century Blade had dealt him opening back up. In the far distance, Zhihao saw the palace of Wu rising up beyond the city. It was getting farther away. Ein was getting farther away. He needed to step through the world again, to go back. But he had not the strength left.

"No," Zhihao wheezed. "I've come too far." He felt his heart stop and his grip slip. For just a moment, Zhihao knew he was falling. Then he was gone.

Chapter 41

The Emperor of Ten Kings wheezed in a wet breath and coughed up more blood, but he didn't fall. Instead he gripped hold of Cho's left hand, crushing it into the hilt of Peace. She tried to scream but no sound made it past the pain. Slowly the emperor pushed away from his body, drawing Peace out of his chest inch by inch until the blade cleared his flesh. And still he held onto Cho's hand, lifting it up above her head. She felt her feet lift off the floor and her fingers snapped as the emperor held her up, still crushing her hand into the hilt of her own sword.

The Emperor of Ten Kings whipped his sword up and agony blasted all thought away. Cho collapsed onto the floor of the throne room, still gasping and unable to scream. The emperor stood there, holding her left arm severed above the elbow, Peace still locked in the grip of her mangled hand. She was bleeding. Crimson leaking out of the stump that had once been her arm, soaking into her clothes. Cho pushed away on slippery feet, struggling to put some distance between them. But she knew it was pointless. She was beaten. The Emperor of Ten Kings had won, and she was already dead, only her body hadn't realised it yet.

There was a sound like a crack of thunder and something hit the emperor. He pitched forward, dropping Cho's severed arm and sprawling on the wooden floor. Cho kept pushing herself backward with her feet, her arse slipping across the polished wooden floor. Then Ein was beside her, gripping hold of what was left of her arm and the numbness that spread out from that touch let her think once more. Her left arm was gone, just bloody flesh dripping from above the elbow. Her vision dimmed, suppressed pain and loss of blood, but Cho clung to what little scraps of sanity she had left.

"I can't heal this," Ein said, his voice panicked. "I can't."

Cho struggled to her knees and fumbled at the binding around her second sword, her right hand feeling clumsy. "Ein, help me free my sword."

The boy shook his head. "You can't. You swore an oath never to draw it and release the evil within."

Cho turned to look at Ein and noticed his pale eyes full of fear. "And in my life I kept that oath. But I'm not alive, am I? You didn't bring me back. You didn't bring any of us back."

The fear drained from Ein's eyes, his face went almost slack. Slowly, so slowly, he shook his head. "No. You are yokai. Vengeful spirits I raised to help me."

It should have been a shock, but Cho had already guessed it. She wondered how long she had been dead, and whether or not she was even truly herself, or just some demon wrapped up in Itami Cho's memories. In the end it didn't really matter. Whether she was actually Whispering Blade, or just some vengeful spirit, she would do as any Shintei would. She would keep her oath.

"In life I kept my oath never to draw this sword. But in death I choose to keep a different one."

Ein nodded, his hands fumbling in his little pack. He pulled out his scissors and snipped away at the leather thong that held Cho's second sword tight in its saya.

Cho was shaking, weak and exhausted, and dying. She could still feel her left arm, strange considering she could see it lying lifeless on the floor across the room. The Emperor of Ten Kings stood and poked his finger into a new hole in his chest, digging around inside his own body until he pulled out a metal bullet. Cho hoped Roi Astara was watching. She hoped he could see what his distraction had bought them all.

Cho shoved Ein away, knocking him on his arse. The pain surged back in, threatening to sweep away her last vestiges of consciousness, but she held on and struggled back to her feet. She was dizzy from blood loss as well as everything she had given to the fight, but Cho steadied herself and took a wide stance. Her right hand found the hilt of her second sword and she crouched, ready to draw. The Emperor of Ten Kings considered the bullet for a moment longer, then threw it aside and snatched his own sword from the floor. The bullet wound was already healing, flesh knitting itself closed.

"Enough. I will kill you both for a second time, and this time neither of you will come back." He charged then, sword in both hands

Whispering Blade stepped into the emperor's strike and unleashed War.

The blade slipped free of its saya and with it came all the souls Cho had killed since Ein brought her back. White light flowed into the throne room as the human souls, those of Flaming Fist's men, the bandits, and even the Wu soldiers, burst forth. They struck the emperor like a hammer blow stopping his charge. Next came the lesser yokai; the jikininki, the inugami, the kiyohime, and all the others. They swept out of the black sword, a tide of blue pulsing light that wrapped around the emperor, digging into his flesh and tearing open wounds. Cho heard the emperor scream and her own voice joined his, the pain of her injuries the only thing still anchoring her to the world. A bright emerald light burst from the sword as the mizuchi broke free of its steel prison. It rushed through the emperor and sapped his qi, weakening him. Without his qi, his wounds no longer healed. His screams stopped then and Cho could see the man's eyes roll back in his head. But his agony wasn't done. His body still clung to life.

Finally the oni was released in a flash of red light that left War steaming in Cho's hand. The ancient yokai disappeared inside the emperor's chest and for a moment the throne room went still. Cho dropped to her knees, done. She was dying and nothing could stop it. Then the emperor's mid-section exploded — his legs fell one way; his torso fell the other. The flashing red light of the oni vanished out of the broken balcony, escaping into the world once more.

War clattered to the floor of the throne room. Its burden spent, it was just a sword again. Cho knelt there on the floor, feeling her life dripping away from her. She was so tired her eyes closed against her will and it was just too much effort to keep her head up. She let it droop forwards, her chin resting on her chest.

"You did it," Ein's voice, far away, or maybe close. It really didn't matter anymore.

Cho forced her eyes open one more time to find the boy kneeling in front of her, staring up at her with his pale gaze. He was so empty, nothing more than a shell really. Cho wondered how she hadn't seen it before. She was yokai, a vengeful spirit raised to serve the shinigami's purpose. But so was Ein. They were, all of them, nothing more than ghostly pawns in a greater game.

"You once said you wonder what your name would have been, had you become a hero," Cho said. She couldn't even find the effort to lift her head, but she smiled. "Death's Echo."

"How did you know?" Ein asked. But Cho couldn't answer. She felt it all slip away and everything went dark.

Chapter 42

Roi Astara - Death's Echo

Somewhere between the crack of thunder and the hammer striking the anvil, lies Death's Echo.

Those who hear it have mere moments to describe the sound, for they are already dead.

Roi drifted down the hallway like a ghost. Bodies lay all around him, some dead, but many more still alive. Bingwei Ma's handiwork. The soldiers of Wu had met their match and more in that one. He truly lived up to his legend, to the stories Roi had read as a boy. He picked his way between the bodies, using his rifle as a crutch, until he came upon the Master of Sun Valley and crouched down by the man's side to pay final respects.

Bingwei Ma was lying next to a beautiful woman, her neck was snapped and her head lay at a damning angle. They were so close they almost looked like lovers, but the truth was as far from that thought as could be. Bingwei Ma was dead, a dozen small cuts marring his skin on his arms and chest and even his face. Not enough to kill a man like that, unless there was something more sinister involved. Sin, then. The emperor's bodyguard. She was well known to use poison, as well as skill, to bring down her opponents. Her brother, Saint, would no doubt be close by. Those two never went far from one another.

"You finally learned to forsake your principles for the greater good, Bingwei Ma," Roi said as he crouched next to the man. "You first died almost sixty years ago. Never defeated. Not once after earning the title of master. But far too trusting of your fellow man." Roi smiled as he remembered the story. "You died to a Cochtan spy who you refused to execute even when caught. The man returned and murdered you in your sleep. Hopefully this death will find you some peace. The Last Master of Sun Valley."

Roi bowed his head for a moment, then he stood and found Saint crumpled against a wall. Blood leaked down from a head wound that had painted his face mostly red. He still had a pulse, but only barely. Roi couldn't leave the man alive to take revenge for his fallen emperor. He had learned that lesson from Bingwei Ma's history. He picked up one of Saint's swords and sunk it into the man's chest, piercing his heart.

The door to the throne room was heavy, but swung open easily and quietly when Roi pushed it. The room beyond was chaos stacked on top of wreckage. Even from a distance he could recognise two bodies in the centre of the room. One was a tall man, rent in two at the waist. The other was a woman, kneeling before the body, one arm dangling at her side and the other severed at the elbow. Beyond them the throne stood untouched, but to the right of it the floor and ceiling both were torn up, leading to a chasm that dropped off sharply where a balcony used to hang. Roi moved forward slowly, his rifle and wooden sandals tapping the floor with each step.

He stopped by Whispering Blade and looked down at her. She looked in a sorry state, pale as a ghost and quite dead, blood still dripping from her severed arm and congealing on the floor. But she was smiling. Her eyes were closed and her mangled, matted hair hung down over her face, but she was smiling in death. The smell of burning hair was strong, and there was a little charred knot of remains in front of her. Roi crouched down in front of Itami and picked up her black sword from her side. He fetched her other sword too, shaking it loose of the severed arm's mangled hand. He placed both swords in front of her, paired and hers as they had always been.

"I remember seeing Kaishi on my way to Long twenty years ago, just before my father killed me." Roi let out a sigh; they were difficult memories. "Flaming Fist's sacking of the city was only a few months old and still the people were recovering. They spoke your name as a blessing, Whispering Blade. Yours and the Century Blade's both, even though you failed to protect them. I'm glad, in death you claimed the justice you could not in life. Thank you, Itami Cho." He bowed his head and was silent for a time. She deserved that much at least.

Roi left her there, kneeling in the centre of the throne room. It seemed fitting somehow. He skirted the body of his father, stopping only briefly to look down on the corpse. He didn't mean to speak, to pay any respects, but the words came unbidden. "I never wanted this, father. You killed me. And long ago I accepted that. Power comes at a price, and you were willing to pay it. I respect that. But I wish I could have told you about my life. I wish I would have had time to tell you how painful it has been these last twenty years, my body decaying. You killed me, and the shinigami brought me back, and put my soul into a body that doesn't know if it's alive or dead.

"I don't hate you, father. I don't blame you." Roi coughed then, feeling the pain deep in his chest and the bleeding that came with it. "Though I should." He stopped and looked down into his father's lifeless eyes. There was fear there, that look of terror when a person knows they have met their end and can do nothing to stop it. Roi shook his head slowly. "Goodbye."

The throne sat empty and Roi had waited long enough. He limped towards it, turned and collapsed into its waiting embrace. His body was small, barely larger than a boy's and the throne was built for a much larger man, but Roi sat it as regally as he could. It faced into the room and there, sitting on a small table that should hold a shrine, was the boy. He grinned at Roi, wide and wolfish, his pale eyes piercing.

"Must you continue to wear my old skin?" Roi asked as the boy hopped off the table. He showed none of the pain he had felt over the past few days, and his feet, though still bare, no longer bled. But that didn't surprise Roi. What approached him now was not really the boy he had been following. The shinigami stopped before the throne and sketched a mocking bow.

"I quite like it," the shinigami said in a voice so similar to Roi's own. "Everyone underestimates me in this body. Just like they did you so long ago."

"It's insulting," Roi said. He placed his rifle against the side of the throne. He wouldn't need it any more. "We're the only ones left. There's no one else to fool." It also reminded him of a time before the disease had wreaked its havoc on his body. A time when debilitating pain had not been a constant companion.

Roi blinked and where his younger body had stood, now stood an old man. He was hunched in the shoulders with squat legs and a face that held too much skin. His nose was long and fat, and his smile cruel. There was nothing human in the pale eyes the old man looked out from. There was nothing human in him at all. "You have questions. You should ask them while I am still in a pleasant mood." The shinigami's voice was like buzzing insects in what was left of Roi's ears.

"It's done," Roi said. "He's dead. Will you now cure me like you promised?"

The shinigami rocked forward on his feet and laughed. "It's already done. No more will your body rot and decay and fall apart like the dead thing it was. Congratulations on your good health."

Roi didn't feel healthy. He felt stronger, further from death, but not healthy. He knew then that the shinigami may have cured his necrosis, but never would the god restore his body's true health to him. He would forever be trapped in a body that had been devastated by a disease. It was a reminder. A reminder of where Roi came from, and to whom he owed all that he had. He let out a bitter laugh then, and for a wonder, it didn't send him into a coughing fit. He realised that for the first time in almost ten years, he could breathe easily.

"Thank you."

The shinigami laughed at that. "I'll be going soon. Best ask those questions."

"Why? Why did you decide to kill my father? Why now?"

"Twenty years," the shinigami said with a cackling laugh. "It seemed a bit much for such a paltry sacrifice as you. But twenty years is what I gave him. Twenty years of immortality and power." The shinigami paused and looked around the throne room. "He didn't squander it."

Roi nodded at that. He knew it was all the answer he would get. The shinigami had given him one just as vague twenty years ago when he had brought Roi back from the death his own father had given him. Shouts echoed from far away, deeper within the palace — Wu soldiers coming to check on their emperor. Roi could only guess at what they might do once they found the emperor cut in half.

"There was no other shinigami, was there?" Roi asked quickly. "You sent the yokai after us."

Again that cackling laugh. "The goat wasn't mine. One of my brother's maybe. I needed to keep you all pushed along, and I needed to charge that terrible sword with both the mizuchi and the oni." The old man turned his head to look at Whispering Blade and the two swords before her. "It was the only thing that could kill him."

"You could have killed my father any time you wished."

The shinigami laughed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"Why lie to them all? Why tell them they were still alive?" Roi said.

"Mostly alive." The shinigami clapped his gnarled hands and chuckled. "They needed to believe they weren't dead. Whispering Blade and The Emerald Wind were the toughest. I had to show them the consequences of Flaming Fist's attack on Kaishi. I had to show them the past. I had to show them the Century Blade's death. Quite an illusion to weave."

Roi looked up at that. "Why not bring back the Century Blade? Surely he—"

"Men like him can't be controlled. They follow their own path, not the path of any other." A cruel grin spread across the shinigami's wrinkled face. "I chose those I did because I knew how to control them. For Whispering Blade I just needed her oath. I pushed for it until she gave it, and then she was mine. The Emerald Wind was even easier: all he needed was a reward. The promise of a second chance at the life he squandered. An impossible reward, but men like him will believe just about anything if the price is right. All Iron Gut Chen needed was a chance for glory. I dangled renown in front of him and he was willing to ignore all the signs that said he had long been forgotten. And then there was the Last Master of Sun Valley. Bingwei Ma spent his entire life not leaving his Sun Valley, hoping a worthy cause would come along, something to give him a glorious death." The shinigami stopped talking and spread his hands wide.

"And what about me? You promised me a reprieve from the disease you planted inside of me. You've given me that and more. But in twenty years will you don my old skin again? Or maybe another? In twenty years will you come to kill me like you did my father?"

The shinigami turned and waddled towards the table next to the door. He clambered up onto it and squatted there, a mocking grin on his face. Roi couldn't tell the moment when flesh became stone. One moment he was locked in a staring contest with a shinigami, and the next moment it was just a statue.

The doors swung open on silent hinges and a dozen Wu soldiers rushed in. The shock of what they saw stopped them in their tracks. Roi saw more men behind them out in the hallway, some checking on their fallen comrades, and others struggling to push into the throne room. It was now or never.

Roi Astara rose from the throne, standing up to his full height and sweeping his single eye over the men gathered before him. He drew in a deep breath and shouted. "Emperor Henan WuLong is dead. My name is Einrich WuLong, and I am the Emperor of Ten Kings."

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Books by Rob J. Hayes

The Ties that Bind

The Heresy Within

The Colour of Vengeance

The Price of Faith

First Earth Stand Alone

City of Kings

Best Laid Plans

Where Loyalties Lie

The Fifth Empire of Man

It Takes a Thief...

It Takes a Thief to Catch a Sunrise

It Takes a Thief to Start a Fire

Science Fiction

Drones

Copyright ©2018 Rob J. Hayes

(http://www.robjhayes.co.uk)

Cover image ©2018 Felix Ortiz

Cover design ©2018 Shawn King

Edited by Mike Myers

All rights reserved.