In the end, Yama picked a grey horse—his grey—named Stalius from and rode a few laps that passed by far too quickly for his liking, the surroundings a blur as Stalius galloped along. “How much for the horse?” Yama asked as he dismounted Stalius. Wouldn’t have anywhere to put it on my ship, Yama thought dismally as he watched the horse saunter away.
(Are you using sauntered for a horse?) the girl asks.
(You don’t understand,) our hero says as he puts down his pen. (This horse was a masterpiece, a supermodel, the Ritz hotel of horses).
(I wish I could ride one.)
(I can arrange that. I happen to know a certain princess,) our hero proposes, earning a nod from the girl before he returns to the story.
“Not for sale,” Bolor said, shaking his head. “At least, not until you show me a plot of grazing land you can put him on.”
“I suppose that’s fair; I wouldn’t part so easily with a katana.” Even though I did just that.
Bolor nodded. “Speaking of, what’s the chaff between you and Kano?”
Yama shrugged. “He was on one side of the civil war back home, I was on the other.”
Bolor raised an eyebrow. “It seems more personal than that.”
“Is war not personal?” Yama shot back quickly.
“I suppose.” Bolor looked past Yama at Heidi and Anna as they entered the stable, hand in hand. “Ah, I forgot they were coming.”
“Kikuchi, Jochi said your armaments are ready for tomorrow,” Heidi said as she passed by him.
Anna waved back at Yama. “Nice job today!”
“I suppose I’ll see you on the tracks tomorrow,” Yama said before leaving the stables.
Yama arrived in the armory with only a bit of difficulty. “Ah, Ms. Becker send you, did she?” Jochi asked, flipping up his welding mask in lieu of a greeting. “Good, good, come here and I’ll show you what I made for you.”
“First things first, the sword.” He looked over the tinkerer’s table, finding it bereft of long blades. “You did finish it?”
“Easy there, big guy, one gift horse at a time.” Jochi pulled a conical straw hat from a black crate, flattened at the top, a mercury-grey plume at the center. He turned it over to show the steel brow inside and the ring of shielding generators around the rim. “Try it on.”
Yama put it on before feeling around the inner rim for the shielding mechanism’s trigger. Yama’s hand tripped a small switch, and a droning whir filled the air as it shimmered around his head. “Fits like a glove.”
Jochi smiled. “I tried. Wasn’t too sure about your head measurements and since Namuunaa didn’t give me any, I had to use footage from today’s event to figure your numbers and—”
“It’s great, Jochi,” Yama said before the armorer could start drawing diagrams for a lecture on dimensional fittings. “What’s next?”
Jochi pulled out a large necklace of red clay beads, each as big as an apple and sporting a small disc on the outside. “Try this on,” Jochi said as he gave Yama the necklace. “Hit the disk on the middle middle to activate the shielding.”
Yama did as he was told and again the air shimmered again. That’s annoying, Yama thought, turning off the shielding mechanisms. Why I always preferred armor.
“That field should cover from your neck to your heart and your helmet’s field should cover above that.” Jochi turned back to his crate. “You want to see your grenades?”
Yama chuckled. “Don’t think there’s a mercenary alive who doesn’t want to see grenades.”
“Good answer,” Jochi said before he turned around, several smaller necklaces hanging from his hands with grape-sized red and black beads. “Blacks are smoke, red are fire.” He held the chains out to Yama. “Rip one off and watch the magic.”
“Here?” Yama asked as he took the beads from Jochi, scared he might crush them if he moved his hands an inch the wrong way.
Jochi grinned and pointed to the far wall. “Here.”
Yama sucked in a breath and took a bead from the band—parting easily thanks to the small incision that Jochi made—before he threw it against the wall like a javelin. Covers maybe half of a person, Yama reasoned as he watched the black cloud spread before the fans above dispersed it.
“I tried to make the effect bigger, but there’s only so much you can do with condensed black powder gas. If I had time I could have crafted some reinforced glass that I could have pumped with CO2, but then it wouldn’t shatter as well,” Jochi explained.
“It will work great,” Yama said. “Can I try one of the red ones?”
“If you try one of those in my shop, I will shoot you,” Jochi said. “Just know that when the times comes, they will work.”
The smoke beads worked fine enough, Yama reasoned. “By my estimate that leaves only the sword now.”
“Indeed, it does.” Jochi moved to a table with a black cloth hovering ominously atop it like a phantom. “You’re gonna want to saddle up for this,” he said before he pulled away the cloth.
If there was only a crude bar of steel hammered into a blade and stuck on a handle, Yama would have been satisfied. Instead, a glassy blade—a meter and a half of killing edge and as wide as a man’s hand—formed of black metal and swirling grey fingerprints greeted Yama’s gaze and sang to him, drawing him into the storm inside. The long, unwieldy jut of steel was roughly diamond-shaped, sloping gently to either side like a turbine blade before falling into its final deadly taper. A chevron-shaped chappe lay at the intersections of the blade and the crossguard, twisted grey quilling capped by small pear-shaped knobs Black leather strips crisscrossed the handle and a mercury plume matching the one on his helmet wrapped itself around the pear-shaped pommel.
Yama’s hand moved to the handle before he stopped himself, not wanting to mar such a masterpiece. Pity I have to use it, he lamented. “May I?”
Jochi stepped aside. “Of course!”
Yama touched the blade gently with one finger before the others wrapped around the handle. Grip is in order, he thought before he lifted the sword, no heavier than tossing a stone in the air. But will it cut? It is quite light. “Any dummy I can test it on?”
Jochi nodded before turning to a darkened part of his shop. With a flick of a switch, the area was flooded with light from strips that hung above several gel bodies. “Have at it.”
Here goes, Yama thought before he thrust the blade into the first body’s heart. The flesh parted like water, and clear simu-blood flowed smoothly down the blade.
Behind Yama, Jochi crossed his arms, mouth tugging up in a lazy grin. “Well, don’t just stand there! Have at it!”
So, Yama had at it, pulling the blade from the wound and fluidly pivoting so the blade would decapitate the adjacent body. The blade sailed through the air in a blur of black and grey, sighing like a man releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The air flowed around the curved edges in silky strands, letting the steel move it like a great turbine. What had been a blur took on shape only briefly as it cleaved through the dummy’s neck, vanishing back into nothingness when it left the fake flesh. Seeing that the dummy was mounted on some kind of support, Yama used the momentum to bring the blade through the support, dropping it to the ground only a second behind the head that had rested on it. “It will kill.”
Jochi nodded. “A sword worthy of a saint. Do you have a name for it? Nice things have names.”
Yama held the blade and stared into its swirling patterns. “Uzumaki,” he finally said, “for—”
Jochi he held up his hand “I know what it means. It’s a good name.”
“Can I take it with me, or do I have to leave it here?” Yama asked, almost wanting to leave it before he accidentally severed a finger.
“Come this way.” Jochi led Yama to a black belt with small pouches and another belt with an attached sheath of black leather. “Again, I had to guess your measurements, but they’re so you shouldn’t have to much trouble there,” he said before he handed Yama the belt. “The pouches are for your little grenade beads, but be careful you don’t sit down too fast, please?”
Yama laughed. “I will be careful,” he said before strapping the belt with pouches around his gi. The second belt he strapped over his waist so that Uzumaki wouldn’t drag against the ground. “It’s all perfect. Thank you.”
Jochi gave the giant a short bow. “I live to please,” he said. “Any last-minute requests before tomorrow’s games?”
“No,” Yama said before leaving the shop and trekking back to his room. A short divestment and a shower later, Yama settled into a calm but dreamless sleep.
Yama woke—without aid—an hour after the sun had flared to life and quickly dressed before departing for breakfast, later the second trial. Yama wasn’t sure if the tunnels were the same, but the trio of assassins-hired-by-nobody were sure they weren’t, and Yama had no reason to doubt them.
“That one’s not on the blueprint,” Yama heard Brianna whisper as the group passed a door.
“Do you make two entrances to a vault?” Ginevra shot back. “Check again.”
“It’s—”
“After the event,” Ginevra hissed through her teeth.
“Something you two want to share with the rest of the class?” Altan asked.
“No, I don’t want to share!” Brianna called back.
Altan chuckled. “I’m almost impressed by that response,” he said before a set of doors opened and flooded the tunnel with outside light. “Just a little bit beyond on now.”
“I’m not seeing any horses here,” Kano said as he scanned over the palace grounds. “Hey ‘Kuchi, you think we have to wrangle the horses ourselves?”
(Coochie?) the girl says. (How have I been missing it all of this time?)
(Do, not) our hero says through his teeth as he glares an entire greatsword at her.
The girl clutches at fake pearls. (Oh no, whatcha gonna do, coochie man? Gonna hit me with your coochie?) the girl asks before sticking her tongue out.
Our hero rolls his eyes, a small smile creeping stealthily onto his face. (Whatever,) he says before continuing the story.
Before Yama could spit out a retort, Batu’s hearty laugh cut through the air. “That wouldn’t be fair, would it Bolor?”
“Oh, there’d be no horses for them to break,” Bolor said.
“Just ahead, Kano-san,” Altan cooed as he reached one of the palace’s cardinal gates. One by one, he handed out a large pill. “This will monitor your vitals and suspend you in a field of constructive comatose should you suffer enough damage,” Altan explained. “It should, anyway,” he continued, smiling thinly, “so you don’t have to worry about dying. All you have to do is fight, look good, and”—he grinned as the large gates opened slowly behind him—”smile.”
From every window of the skyscrapers around the palace compound hung banners bearing the imperial crests of all empires. Alongside them, cheering fans hung out of the window so they might get an inch closer to their favorite contestant. News drones—black and with telescoping cameras—hovered close to the contestants, while amateur drones corkscrewed and zigzagged through the airs. Closer to the ground was a line of 17 patient horses, Stalius among them, and beyond them was a lane of road that had been completely vacated.
“OR-PHI-EL! OR-PHI-EL! OR-PHI-EL!”
“JACKAL!! JACKAL! JACKAL!” Anu’s fans cried out, surely hyperventilating at the speed they spat it out.
“KA-NO! KA-NO! KA-NO!”
“FA-CI-A! FA-CI-A! FA-CI-A!”
But louder than any of those chants was another set of cries and cheers, repeated like a mantra of strength and a prayer of victory. “KI-KU-CHI! KI-KU-CHI! KI-KU-CHI!”
“I think they liked what you did yesterday,” Ginevra whispered after she had saddled up besides Yama in a flash of purple, nearly making him jump from his boots. “Easy now,” she laughed, “you still have an event to win, big guy.”
Women talking to Yama outside of ordering him to do something wasn’t rare so much as it was overlooked, like the dialogue options in a video game that people skipped through. A woman having something nice to say, then, was like finding an enchanted sword at the bottom of a lake. Too bad that given Yama’s luck, the damned thing was probably cursed. “You too,” he said shakily.
The assassin leaned forward, eyes shining like stars beneath the shadow cast by her hood. “Come on, give us a show,” she whispered. “I wanna see what Jochi made for you.”
Good idea. Yama pulled the blade from its sheath and thrust it above him, a crystalline ring reverberating through over the contestants. The air swelled with a pregnant silence, as if the entire city was holding its breath, but when it found its voice again, there was one name on its lips.
The cheers washed over Yama like a soothing wave, swallowing up whatever knots lurked below his muscles and tendons. But the wave carried a foreign, almost slimy, cold that made Yama shutter as it finger walked over him. Ishimasa had always been sparing with his words, even more so with kind ones. Of all the languages Yama knew, praise was not one, and unlike Sultanii, it could not be studied.
Yama stood like a grey obelisk until one of the announcers spoke. “Kikuchi’s little stunt yesterday looks to have grown the Saint’s following,” the announcer with the thick voice exclaimed.
“Little? Did you see ze size of zose stones yesterday” the other announcer asked. “I don’t zink anything he does is little.”
The other contestants followed his lead, brandishing what weapons Jochi had made and bringing some cheers back to them. “Wow! Look at the hammer on Ogre, it’s bigger than the Sword Saint is!” the deep voiced announcer said.
As soon as the words left the announcer’s lips, a sheen of sweat formed on Yama’s…everywhere, as Kiril turned his head to the sky and blew a ten-story column of fire from his mouth.
Whatever cheers had existed for Yama or converted to Orphiel—fucking heretics—hung in the air until the column of flame vanished ten seconds later, leaving a smoking ghost in its wake.
“RYUU! RYUU! RYUU!”
“Драко́н! Драко́н! Драко́н!”
“DRACHEN! DRACHEN! DRACHEN”
“Forget ze Red Bomber, Petrov is bringing us ze Dragon!” the first announcer exclaimed as Kiril shot another torrent into the air.
Uzumaki felt uselessly light in Yama’s hand as he stared into the mushroom plumes conjured by Kiril. Did you make a sword that can block that, Jochi? Yama wondered, knowing full well that Uzumaki’s swirls would unwind under Petrov’s flame.
Before Kiril could fire off another tower of flame, the news drones projected a holographic image of Otganbayar. Embroidered whitecapped waves lapped gently at the hem of his hanfu, matching his own calm expression. Beside him, Bolormaa had donned a fiery orange hanfu, flames seemingly borrowed from Kiril, as was the bored expression that she wore. “Between my Saint and my newly christened Dragon, this tournament is looking to have no shortage of spectacles,” Otganbayar, his voice crystal clear.
“Along the necks of each of your horses is a red tag with aligned magnetic nodes for prompt reconnecting Guard it with your life, for in this trial, it is. You will have 15 minutes to race around the city, and each tag that completes a lap will earn you one point. At the end of 15 minutes, the contestant with the fewest points will be eliminated from the tournament. You may turn around to chase tags but know that your lap-distance will be adjusted accordingly. You may hurt but not kill each other, and if you hurt the horses, my captain will make sure that you do not repeat the mistake.”
Altan, ever straight, raised a hand into the air, drawing the contestants’ eyes to it. “Find your horse and mount it so we may begin,” he said before he slid a pair of thin goggles from his neck onto his eyes.
Shit! Yama thought as he saw the other contestants put on their own goggles before he moved to Stalius. The helmet shielding will have to do.
“Good luck!” Anna called to Yama from atop her brown horse. Yama simply nodded as Altan held up three fingers and began his countdown.
Yama was thankful that Stalius had more sense of how to win a race than he did. The horse charged forward as the final finger fell, blurring the buildings into rectangular grey blobs and the cheers into an unintelligible mess of nicknames and epithets. Only the other riders and the steeds below them were coherent and recognizable, and Yama figured that was all he needed to focus on.
The horses raced down the channel until it became clear that road was going to fork. Which way? Yama wondered before nudging Stalius to the right. With the turn complete, Yama glanced briefly behind him to see who had followed. Heidi and Anna rode side by side, with Bennet and that damned runt Mordecai only a pace behind them. Behind them, Orphiel’s massive steed pounded the ground with thunderous claps as it barreled toward the other riders.
Our hero puts down his pen before sighing and turning to the girl who has by now calmed herself from her previous coochie antics. (When I say massive, it’s because I don’t know a better word. It had a head as large as my torso and spinal spikes as long as my arm,) he explains before turning back to his work.
Mordecai leaned forward to grab Bennet’s flag, only to bring his hand back when it was clear Orphiel would plow through them. “Close!” the first announcer exclaimed as Heidi and Anna broke away from each other a fraction of a second before Orphiel could force them apart. “Orphiel didn’t grab any tags, but he’s closing in on Kikuchi. Are we about to see ze first melee of zis race?”
Hell no! Yama thought as he veered Stalius to the side, letting Orphiel pass him by a hair. The brute and his franken-steed bounded past Yama, but not fast enough as Yama grabbed the band from Orphiel’s mount.
“And it looks like the Saint is going to get the first capture!” the second announcer called out as Heidi ripped Stalius’ pendant from the other side. “And he is going to lose it just as fast!”
“Sorry not sorry!” Anna called as she passed right behind Heidi.
Still have one, Yama thought as he looked ahead, spotting a horse with a redheaded rider sprinting towards him, trailed by the two Tatan champions a horse length behind. Is that Kiril? Yama wondered as the horse and rider drew closer, revealing a small stream of flame nipping at the hooves.
That poor animal, Yama thought before his eyes widened as Kiril passed him. Hanging from Kiril’s neck was a necklace with a grape sized orange gem, glowing with the heat of ten thousand suns smashed together. It can’t be, Yama thought, tracking Kiril until he was distant blur behind Stalius.
Enough distractions, Yama thought after Kiril had passed. He could see the rest of the other riders on the hooves of the Tatans and sped up to meet them, ready to test Uzumaki against whatever Jochi had cooked up for the other contestants.
The Tatans rode side by side, sabers low as they looked to collide with Heidi and Anna, parting briefly Orphiel and his franken-steed. Thundering explosions followed the giant as the women fired broom handled pistols, only for the bullets to clatter against fields of shimmering air projected around the Tatans.
Of course they have shields, we all do, Yama thought before grabbing a black bead from his bag and lobbing it at Batu. The glass shattered on Batu’s saber and the Atlasian females diverged to his flanks to grab a tag in the smoke.
As soon as the cloud had formed, the melee inside dispersed it and the duos sped past each other. “Tit for tail! Mademoiselle Shulz has taken a tag but lost her own in ze tussle!” the first announcer exclaimed as the duos reformed, the Tatans set on Yama.
Seeing their sabers hover below them, Yama did the same and veered left so his blade would cut the legs from under Batu’s horse. Instead of veering as a group, the Tatans split again, sabers angled across their body, edges grinning wickedly at Yama as their inner arms grabbed for his lone tag. Shit! Yama thought as his blade caught both sabers while Bolor slipped the tag from Stalius’ neck.
“And our Tatan champions take another tag!” the second announcer exclaimed. “Take that Charley!”
Yama paid them no mind as he picked a target from the remaining candidates, Kano being the closest. The shittier samurai’s sword was smaller in every way than Uzumaki and Kano drew it back as Yama barreled toward him. “Not today Kikuchi!” Kano called out as he veered away, leaving Yama on a collision course with Lee, Balderson just behind.
Lee still had a tag, but as Yama reached for it, he flicked his fingers and sent a wall of wind at the giant before racing around him. “Not me either!”
Shit. I am out of tags, Yama thought as he charged toward Balderson, hoping to salvage something from his first lap. Balderson clenched his hand tight as Yama charged toward him, and a sheet of ice formed in front of Stalius. Fuck! Yama thought, eyes wide as he prepared to be thrown when Stalius came to a sudden and inevitable halt.
Stalius was a smart horse, who knew more about racing than Yama did. He bulldozed ahead, cracking the ice under him. Yama smiled as Balderson’s eyes widened, taking the surprise to slip the tag off Balderson’s horse.
“No ice, and no dice!” Charley exclaimed, “and no tags for Balderson.”
“Sigmund’s man seems to not be finding ground in Tata,” Ganbataar said, “which isn’t new to the Northmen or the Tatan.”
Yama crossed the first lap and glanced over his shoulder to see the scoreboard give him a single point, tying him with several others. Balderson, Bennet, Mordecai, and Orphiel sat below them, while Kirl and Ginevra sat tied for first with two points each. Yama didn’t have long to look at scores as Kiril blew past him and Stalius veered to the side. “Don’t worry, we’re not competing with him,” Yama said as he rubbed Stalius’ mouth, earning a happy snort.
Bennet and Mordecai rounded the corner after him, engaged in some melee as they drew closer to Yama. Bennet closed with Yama first, but Yama pushed him back with a thrust of his sword, nearly clipping the Beastman’s snout. With Bennet off his back, Yama steered Stalius to brush up alongside Mordecai and reached for the boy’s tag.
“Oh no you don’t!” Mordecai yelled as he conjured a sphere of blinding light in his hand. Yama yanked back his hand to cover his eyes while holding Uzumaki just in front of Stalius’ neck to protect the tag.
Gonna need more than light to stop me, Yama thought before he nudged Stalius into Mordecai’s horse. Stalius shoulder checked the other horse, making Mordecai lose control of his spell. As soon as Yama felt the impact, he clawed madly at the other horse’s neck, ripping the magnetic band before draping it over Stalius’ neck. Stalius chortled happily before ducking his head forward and redoubling his pace.
“Call him Ki-two-chi with how he just took Mordecai’s tags,” the second announcer exclaimed, causing everyone to wince at the pun. “The Sword Saint is back in the game, with a vengeance!”
“Ganbaatar, never say zat again,” Charley said on behalf of everybody.
(You know some of us laughed at that little bit back home, right?) the girl objects.
(My story, my rules,) our hero says.
Yama didn’t bother to see if Bennet or Mordecai struggled for the one tag between them and rode forward with Uzumaki close to Stalius’ neck. Just need to wear down the clock now, Yama thought as a horse jumped from one of the alleyways and put himself on a crash course for the giant.
From the straight posture, Yama determined the rider was none other than Altan and, looking lower, he could see that Altan’s horse had six tags dangling from it. Or maybe we can win this, Yama thought, smiling thinly. Beyond, Orphiel’s steed galloped toward Yama, Ginevra just behind.
As Yama neared, fully ready to bulldoze Altan with his larger frame and larger horse, Altan zigzagged and let his body fall perpendicular to the horse. Cheater, Yama thought as he saw the gleaming band that went around Altan’s waist and joined him to the horse. Before Uzumaki could skewer Altan, a whirring sound filled the air and the band jerked him back to his seat, unbloodied and with one tag in hand. Damnit! Yama thought as he looked to clash with Orphiel and Ginevra.
Except, it was only the two giants on their steeds as Ginevra’s horse proceeded without a rider. Where is she? Yama wondered before Ginvera phased onto Stalius’ neck. If the horse experienced any discomfort, his gait did not show it.
Yama swatted at Ginevra, only for her to catch his hand and loop a tag around it, one of three that she held. “That was a shitty trick he pulled with the band,” Ginevra said before she phased back to her horse.
Is she protecting me? Yama spared a glance behind him to see that Altan had retreated back into the alleyways as Ginevra handed Orphiel a band. Is she protecting all of us?
“It seems ze Captain is Captain’t!” Charley yelled. “And it seems like ze Purple Phaser is ze Purple Pleaser.”
“Captain Altan may be a great racer, but Ms. Walker is much more mobile.”
Upon completing the next lap, Yama glanced at the floating scoreboard in the sky to see that Asha and Brianna had also increased their lead by two points, tying them with Maria, and Yama along with the Tatans and Atlasians for the middle of the pack. Above them by one point, were Kano and Lee, and just below them the by same amount were Anu, Balderson, and Orphiel. Kiril had long since left everyone in the dust, sporting seven points at half time and showing no signs of cooling down…ever. Bennet and Mordecai had yet to secure another flag, and remained at one.
When Yama passed Ginevra again, she phased onto Stalius’ neck. She squatted onto her hindlegs, the impromptu tripod of ass and feet remarkably stable. “Bennet,” Yama said as he pointed at Ginevra’s horse, three fluttering like neckties behind it. “Bennet over that little runt.”
Ginevra gagged, her green face radioactive against her purple garb. “That pig?”
“Which do you want to spend the next week with?” Yama asked as Kano and Lee came into view.
“I suppose you’re right,” Ginevra said before she phased back to her horse.
Ginevra sped past Kano and Lee while Yama aligned himself for Kano. “Not now either!” Lee called out as he buffeted Yama with a cloud of fog and charged past him. The course was already set for Kano, however, and Yama thrust his long arms through the fog and grabbed a tag from Kano’s silhouette.
“Impressive!” Charley exclaimed as Yama exited the fog. “Ze Sword Saint takes another tag, but can he keep it?”
What does he mean? Yama thought before his eyes widened. Altan had jumped from the shadows again, a mere stone’s throw from Stalius. There were six tags still on Altan’s horse, but they were no longer Yama’s objective. The points meant nothing if the game had no order to it.
As Altan neared, Yama held his arms out wide to cut the captain with his black blade, sorely in need of a coating of blue paint. Altan ducked again to snatch another tag, but when the motor in his saddle whirred, the severed wire that had held him in place dropped him to the ground instead. Yama heard Altan tumble and roll and didn’t bother looking back to see the man curse at him. “Good boy!” Yama exclaimed as he pet Stalius again, earning another snort.
“Wow! Kikuchi has left our captain in the dust!” Ganbaatar yelled out.
“But now it looks like he’s going after ze Sword Saint with a vengeance, and I don’t think it’s tags zat he wants!” Charley added.
Looking back, Altan was indeed hot on his hooves. “Shit!” Yama grunted before he grabbed a handful of red beads. “I got something for you!” he yelled as he flung the beads behind him like caltrops. They rolled like marbles before erupting into waist high flames on either side of the shattered glass.
Altan’s horse gracefully leapt over the flames and redoubled its gallop. Yama cursed a string of obscenities—each in a different language—as he palmed a black bead. “You’re looking like a real smoke show today” Yama yelled in Tatan.
Before Yama could shatter the black bead on Altan’s face, a missile wedged itself between the horses from behind, scattering them like pool balls. Glancing back, Yama’s eyes widened as Anna fired another shot from a triple barreled rifle at the hooves of Altan’s steed. The shot grazed past the hooves, and the horse veered away from Stalius as Stalius did the same. “Move Kikuchi!” Heidi yelled as she and Anna rode on Altan’s flank. Yama didn’t wait to be told twice and sped ahead as blades clinked behind him.
“Our captain can’t seem to get a break!” Ganbaatar said. “Everyone seems to want a piece of the action.”
“And Altan has no problem dishing it out to ze Heir of ze 10,039th. Yikes! Zat tumble doesn’t look nice.”
What? Yama looked over his shoulder to see Anna rising shakily to her feet, a deep gash cut into the left leg of her blue pants. A crackling hiss filled the air as the glassy skin bubbled, the foaming froth sealing the skin.
Hot, needle-sharp pricks tingled up Yama’s leg as his body remembered his own battlefield patch jobs. By the sound, Yama could guess how deep the cut was to warrant such a chemical response, and by the angle, Yama could tell that Altan had tried to cut Anna’s leg off and missed. Yama’s blood boiled, swallowing the prickling sensation in his legs, and he spurred Stalius to turn him back toward the cheating captain. “This might hurt a little,” Yama said, earning a snort from Stalius as he redoubled his charge.
Stalius wasn’t the only smart horse to grace the track that day—although he was the smartest—and Altan’s horse halted when she saw Stalius and Yama barreling towards her. The captain—without his harness—was not so lucky and was flung from his horse, landing well behind with a graceful roll over his shoulder. He had still been flung from his horse, and his body splayed out below him like a dropped rope.
Yama hopped off of Stalius, eyes scanning between the weakly-limping Anna and the slowly rising Altan. Between them, Altan’s horse stood still as a statue, eying the fallen riders with a look like a child who knew they were in trouble but didn’t know which parent to try explaining themselves to first. Yama understood. Behind him was order, just punishments for mean cruelty. In front of him was a friend, as close as he got to a friend anyway. Shaking his head, he grabbed the tags from Altan’s horse as he moved to Anna. His temper was too hot to restore order, and the day had been cruel enough.
Yama helped Anna to her feet as Altan rode back into the darkness, handing her three of the captured tags. “Thank you,” Heidi said softly as Yama remounted Stalius.
“Don’t mention it,” Yama grumbled before riding off in the opposite direction. Dumb, big, ugly, nobody ever accused Yama Kikuchi of being one for conversation.
“Impressive! Ze Atlasians have managed to take six, six, tags from our Captain!”
“Impressive? More like impossible,” Ganbaatar added.
“See how fun that was,” the man at the fire said with a smile, riding beside Yama on a horse with a coal hide and ashen hair.
“Piss off,” Yama grunted before batting the man away, only for the man to ride into an alleyway and vanish into the shadows.
Altan bothered Yama no more on this track and Yama lost only one tag—to Maria—in the remaining laps.
Again, Altan gathered the contestants on the stage where the horses had been lined up previously. With the help of Batu and Bolor, the captain was able to calm the horses and line them up in order of points.
Kiril Petrov and his traumatized horse, 21 points
Ginevra Walker, 12 points
Yama Kikuchi and the best horse a man could ask for, 11 points
Jira Kano, 10 points
Genji Lee 9, points
Bolor Dulgun 9, points
Heidi Becker, 8 points
Maria Facia, 8 Points
Batu Jargal, 5 points
Brianna Hayes, 5 points
Asha Okoro, 5 points
Anna Schulz, 4 points
Anu Said, 4 points
Erik Balderson, 4 points
Orphiel Skulley, 4 points
Bennet Blackpaw, 3 points
Mordecai Ramirez, 2 points
Get fucked runt, Yama thought to himself with a smile. Looking down the line, Yama could see Mordecai’s shoulders slump, but the boy made no protest and only kicked idly at a small pebble on the stage.
Kano turned to Yama and held out his hand. “That’s two you’ve beaten me,” he said. “Good job.”
Yama batted the hand away. “We’re not friends.”
Kano’s head hung to the side, a look of confusion on his face. “Have it your way,” the samurai said as he drew back his hand.
(We all saw that, you know,) the girl says. (Everyone thought you were a dick.)
(Well maybe everyone should have seen my friend have bamboo shoved through him like I did,) the giant retorts. The girl rolls her eyes, and our hero returns to his work.
“You know,” that dick said from a nearby campfire. “If you’re going to be all about order and honor, you could at least be civil, or at least pretend you are.”
“Was he civil when he killed my friends?” Yama shot back.
The man rolled his eyes and pulled another marshmallow from his pocket—where did he get them, anyway? “It’s funny how he’s an actual samurai serving an actual lord and he can keep his sword in his pants, while you’re not a samurai, serving someone who isn’t your lord, and you’re gripping your blade like it’s a hard-on. You think if you end up serving the khan, he won’t ever want to see what you can do with bamboo?” Before Yama could respond, a gust of wind blew over the competitor stage, taking the man, his fire, and his marshmallows with him.
“That was quite the performance you all put on!” Otganbayar’s voiced boomed over the speakers. “Never would I have thought that the Tatans would ride the middle of the pack in a horse race, but I am pleasantly surprised by what has been shown. But”—the khan sighed—”some were less impressive than others. Mr. Ramirez will not be competing in the combat trials ahead.”
Looking down the line again, Yama saw the boy nod, once, before waving to the crowd and departing up the steps from which he came.
(You see, even the runt has some grace,) the girl says.
(Fine,) the giant says through his teeth. (I see your point.)
Mordecai’s head did not dip or wane for a single step of his journey back and through the cheers for the winning contestants, a small sound broke out, little more than a whisper.
“Mor-de-cai!”
“Mor-de-cai!”
“Mor-de-cai!”
“Now I am sure you are all wondering, who will be fighting who in two days’ time, and I can assure that we have created a fine slate of duels to come,” Otganbayar said before the screens changed to show matchups.
First Day
Kiril vs Erik
Maria vs Brianna
Asha vs Ginevra
Batu vs Bennet
Second Day
Yama vs Bolor
Orphiel vs Anu
Anna vs Heidi
Lee vs Kano
Cries of “KI-KU-CHI!” and “OR-PHI-EL!” washed over the crowd and Yama couldn’t help but agree. I want to fight Orphiel, why are they keeping me from him?
“The match to make is the Tatans fighting each other, but the khan won’t do that,” Kiril said, having stalked over to Yama and lit a cigarette without the giant noticing. “He thinks you’re going to lose. Idiots.”
“And then they’re feeding you to a jokullskrà from Driftport, the closest thing the universe has to water alterists,” Ginevra said.
Kiril scoffed, any sense of approachability burning up like the end of his new cigarette. “Balderson? I’m going to fucking crush him. He might be my boss, but as far as bosses and alterists go, he sucks,” Kirl said as Altan led them down the tunnels. “As for being Sigmund’s emissary”—he shrugged and looked around—”how much value are any of Sigmund’s men worth anymore?”
A samurai must be willing to use every tool they have
Restraint is of no use to a lord
The Tenets of Tenshi