“Wait here, someone will be with you shortly,” the guard said after he led Anna and Yama up several flights of stairs. In front of them were two doors under an archway, a green marble horse on either side. They had no rider, but Yama prepared to dive out of the way should they come to life and charge.
Before the guard could turn away, Anna grabbed his shoulder. “Uh uh, after what you pulled last time, you’re staying with us until someone comes.”
The guard sighed. “I am under orders to bring the two lesser finalists here. Someone will be with you shortly.”
Anna clapped her hands together and Yama hoped she would drown in the syrupy sweet smile she wore. “Lovely! You shouldn’t have any problem waiting with us then.”
“Ma-uh-mam,” the guard groaned. “I’m just a guard and make minimum, I’m not even being paid extra for—”
Anna leaned into his ear. “If you don’t, I’ll have him hold you in the air until someone comes to save you.”
I never agreed to this you mad woman! Yama thought. “What are you doing?” he hissed through his teeth. “He might actually have us kic—”
“Fine,” the guard said. “I can wait a little bit, I guess, not like I was going home early today anyway.”
Eventually two Tatan stylists came to the duo, identical from their 5’3” height, their small black buns, their outfits of black dress pants and black V-necks, and their red, almond-shaped eyes. “Follow us, please,” they said in unison.
Yama’s stylist led him to a cubicle formed of several screen dividers while Anna’s led her to one across the hall. “I’m Namuunaa,” the stylist said as she moved a stack of shirts to the side, voice silky and light. “I have to transform you into a Sword Saint,” she said, tapping a tablet.
“Can we start with a sword, perhaps?” Yama asked. “Just show me the armory and I can come up with a design.”
Namuunaa nodded. “In time. I’ve been assigned to make you look less…homeless,” she finally decided. Anna’s stylist giggled while Anna howled with laughter. Namuunaa stifled her own giggle before showing Yama a crude sketch of someone wearing long robes and carrying a zweihander. “We could probably have you carry the sword in one hand, right?”
Yama nodded. “Easily. Two swords sounds nice,” he said, “but the robes, they’re too flowing and would just get in the way.”
“You’re a Sword Saint,” Namuunaa said, deadpan. “I’m trying to lean into that.”
“A Sword Saint, not a sword priest,” Yama countered. “I mean, saints wear all kind of outfits, right?”
“Hermits, yes,” Namuunaa said. “Look, you can’t wear”—she gestured her hands over Yama’s attire—”that. Under no circumstances am I allowed to let you leave in those clothes. Work with me here.”
“How about a warrior monk with a gi or something?” Yama said as he struck a pose, one hand near his head and the other arm extended outwards, as if pointing two swords forward. “I am a monk, and my religion is the blade,” he said in his most serious voice possible.
Namuunaa’s head shot up from her sketch, red eyes gleaming. “That’s brilliant!” She scurried to her feet, leaving her tablet on the table. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said before bolting from the room.
Yama reached for the tablet she had left behind but stopped halfway. I don’t know how to draw, he reasoned before his eyes glanced over the open tabs.
Ginevra Walker. So she’s here. To be expected, Yama thought. Maria Facia, same deal. So now we have at least two assassins in this tournament. He didn’t know if they also had bones to pick, but if their empire had sent them, they probably had other, smaller assignments. At least, I’d give them assignments if I was in charge, Yama thought as he scrolled on, having never woken without marching orders.
Well, three, if you count me, Yama thought before deciding that he didn’t count. I’m not getting paid to take out Jira, and I’ll do it within the bounds of the tournament. I wonder who those two are after though, Yama thought before opening the next tab
Heidi Becker. Atlasian, clearly. I think she’s from one of those noble families, he recalled from a meeting Ishimasa had dragged him to. And my most recent employer. The thought of having to go against another person who had given him orders—even indirectly—sat like a rock in Yama’s stomach. The fact that he didn’t have the same connection Heidi as he did to Ishimasa made the rock lighter, but still a rock. While I am here, I answer to the khan, as he is lord of the castle, Yama reasoned with all the tact and nuance of a baby putting the circle block in the square hole.
Orphiel Skulley, Yama read before clicking on the tab for inspiration. Black chains ran along the drawing’s biceps, and a massive maul rested gently in the large hands, as if it weighed no more than a baby. 33 bony segments ran along the shaft in a crude imitation of a spine, while a ribcage had been painted in white on the long face of the hammer’s head. Orphiel is not fucking around. I can see why he’s the fav—
“What are you doing?” Namuunaa asked as she came into the room with several articles of clothing draped over her arms.
Yama put the tablet down before taking both stacks of clothes from Namuunaa’s arms. “Sorry. I was just looking for inspiration.”
Namuunaa rolled her eyes. “I did mostly women. Do you want a dress?” She giggled. “I’m afraid we don’t have that much satin or bodycon on hand to weave a dress for you, let alone multiple.”
“You did Orphiel though.” Namuunaaa nodded. “Did he bring that hammer or did he have it made?”
“The steel was compliments of Ms. Becker, but it will be made by the khan’s armorer.”
That must be where the sniper rifles came from, Yama reasoned. “Surely that’s not all there is to Ms. Becker’s gift? Weapons are nice, but compared to docks and research facilities”—Yama whistled—”not even in the same zenith value.”
“Not one shipment, no, but to have a constant supply”—Namuunaa mimicked Yama’s whistle to the note—”you tell me how Ganzorig would have done with guns like that.”
That would make him more of a problem, Yama reasoned. “Yea, I’m glad he didn’t.”
“Glad he’s gone? Or is it boring now?” she asked.
A frigid cold shot through Yama like a plunging icicle, unsure of how to respond. Temujin had been his enemy, but he had also been lord of the castle. “Temujin was a great commander and warrior, one that comes once in a generation,” he decided on. And a butcher who slashed through every set of terms and engagements before him and raped half the western edge himself. “He will be missed among the fighters.”
Namuunaa rolled her eyes. “Come now, he’s dead and Otganbayar holds court. If he couldn’t take a slight against his father, do you think he’d be courting these champions?”
“Suppose not,” Yama mumbled. “When I had to fight against his raiders, it was always a bloody and muddy slog. I much prefer bounty hunting.”
“Are you here for said bounty hunting?”
“Would I tell you if I was?”
(That was a good response,) the girl says. (Didn’t know you had it in you.)
(It might shock you to know I am occasionally witty,) our hero says before returning to the story.
“I suppose that’s fair,” Namuunaa said, shrugging. “Any of those gis getting your goat?”
“I like the black one,” Yama held up the article in question, “bit small though.”
Namuunaa waved her hand dismissively. “Think nothing of it. I’ll just get your measurements and remake it to size.”
It’s a nice gi, probably took weeks as is, Yama reasoned. “Can you do that in such a short time?”
Namuunaa nodded. “I have a whole crew of seamstresses under me. If it has cloth or threads, it is ours to control,” she said. “Once everyone sees what we’re having you wear, we’ll be the talk of the western edge’s ball and party scene for months.” She sighed happily, letting her self deflate for a moment before looking back to Yama. “Say, how do you feel about a small skirt or kilt for flare, like a hermit might have?” Around the drawing’s waist, a skirt had been sketched in, formed of wispy, ribbon-like lines over sheets of cloth.
“I could do that,” Yama said. “The tailors you speak of, are they another gift?”
Namuunaa shook her head. “No. We are Otganbayar’s personal tailors, and when you go for a weapon, it will be made by his personal armorer and smith.”
Yama raised a brow. “And when do I get to do that? Because I have about a tablet and a half of suggestions.”
“I’m sure you do,” Namuunaa said, sighing wistfully. “Once you’re done here, I’ll point you to Jochi and you can talk all you want about weapons. Now, how do you feel about cut-off sleeves?”
The tablet showed the same figure dressed in a pair of black gi pants and a matching top cut short at the biceps. “Will this be nano-mesh? Steel-weave? I can’t see cloth being too good for anything involving weapons.”
“I will make you an outfit that you can wear around the castle while Jochi and his apprentices will make you a gi that is fit for the rigors of the tournament. You have nothing to worry about. Now, you are a Sword Saint—”
“I was thinking—”
“You can sort out whatever erotic weapon fantasies you have with Jochi,” Namuunaa cut in. “Let’s focus on the saint part of that equation. Could you fight with a book in hand?”
“Not my choice for a sidearm,” Yama muttered. “I could make it work, but it’s a bit cumbersome.”
Namuunaa frowned before sketching a few lines on her tablet. “How about prayer beads?” The sketch showed a necklace of large beads around his neck and a smaller set of beads in his hand.
“That works better, but it won’t help me fight.”
“Jochi will make something out of them,” Namuunaa said, “but I need to make sure that it all looks good first.”
Yama clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “As is, the gi works for castle wear,” he said, “but for the active outfit, I’ll want pads underneath, plates preferably.”
Namuunaa nodded. “I figured as much.” She drew several quick rectangles over the figure. “Does this work for padding? I’ll let you and Jochi sort out the materials.”
Yama raised an eyebrow as he looked over the squares. “No chest protection? Are tou trying to get me killed.”
Namuunaa waved her hand dismissively. “You’ll have a plate carrier under your gi.”
“And my head?” Yama ran his hands over his face like he was trying to burrow under it. “Am I going to wear plates under my skin?”
Namuunaa made a few more lines on her tablet. “You could use an energy projector around your head, since you’re already nailing the warrior monk look with your face.” She drewa band across the drawing’s head. “Jochi can work one into a headband, if you want. If not”—Namuunaa sighed—”I suppose I could make some headgear, since some monks surely wear something like that, but it would mess with your bun.”
Always preferred actual material to shield projectors, Yama thought miserably, already dreading the heat a projector would generate. “You know, the warrior monks back home, the Sohei, had various armors and armaments.” He took the tablet gently before searching the Tatan dex-net for an image. “Something like this,” he muttered. “It’s a straw hat, yes, but you could make it out of steel and then cover it.”
“That would work.” Namuunaa sketched the design onto the figure. “Anything else?”
“Not here and not now,” Yama said. “If that’s all, I’ll head to Jochi,” he added before muttering, “wherever the hell he is.”
Namuunaa nodded and handed Yama a plastic card. “That’s all I need from you. The card will get you into your room and someone will arrive to take you to Jochi.”
“Can’t you take me? I’m not a big fan of the escort services in the castle.”
Namuunaa sighed, dragging her shoulders to the floor. “You and me both. The gonji threw a royal fit and it has been all hands on deck dealing with her and her servants since Temujin passed. I’m honestly surprised this tournament is happening at all with how shorthanded we are.”
Is that why everything is so slow? Yama wondered. “What did the princess do?”
“She threatened not to cooperate with the rest of the tournament,” Namuunaa explained. “During Temujin’s reign she was still a cute little kid, kind of the darling of the castle during those dark times because”—Namuunaa waved her hands around wildly—”the city might be on fire but just look at how cute she is!” Namuunaa said like she was talking to a dog. “A lot of the servants chose to stick with her over her father and have been riding in circles since he took over.”
“And you?”
“Bolormaa is a good friend of mine, but I have a duty to the castle, so”—she shrugged-”“what can you do? Drama is 90 percent of the job in a castle.”
Yama remembered of his time back home and the hours spent waiting for Ishimasa at court functions, meetings, or parties, most of which the old man didn’t think needed to happen. “Well, I suppose I will wait then, unless you can point me to Jochi.”
“Leave here, go down the stairs to the basement, second left, third right, and then first left will get you to Jochi,” Namuunaa rattled off. “Tell the troll Namuunaa says hi when you go.”
“Will do,” Yama said before leaving Namuunaa’s cubicle, bumping into Anna as she exited her styling room.
Gone were the sweats and tee, replaced with a tight, high-necked parade jacket and dress pants, both a dark, midnight blue. A coat with long tails covered the entire outfit, with the Atlasian triple eagle stitched in gold treads along her shoulder blades. Anna held her beret in her hands—covered in white silk gloves—and looked Yama up and down when she saw him. “Where’s your outfit?”
“They’re still making it,” Yama said, “something about needing to wait for another freighter of cloth.” He gestured his hand up and down Anna’s outfit. “Did they just have that on hand?”
Anna shook her head. “No. I brought it with, and unlike this”—she held her beret to her chest—”this is actually mine.” She stapled her hand to her head in a perfect salute. “Lieutenant first class, Anna Schulz, at your service.”
“Are you with Becker?” Yama asked as they left the dressing area.
Anna shook her head. “If I was, I’d be in her entourage, not entering as a lesser, wouldn’t I?”
“Fair enough,” the giant grumbled.
The ceiling of the tunnel ahead was a repeating pattern of lamellar tiles. Some had been removed to show the pipes above, while the occasional light strip gave the tunnels the barest appearance of code compliance. Yama supposed he had been in worse, but that didn’t make him wish for something more complete and uniform any less.
With how dark it was, each little alcove was another possible assassin in a castle crawling with them. Is the khan doing renovations? Yama wondered, looking over the exposed ceilings and walls. Is that what all the fuss is about? Yama thought that someone should have asked him and Anna who they were, but the servants seemingly didn’t have the time to do anything but scurry past the duo.
“If I know Becker,” Anna said, smiling as they began to walk, “and I do, she’s being sent by Atlas to butter up this new khan with weapons. Competing is just an excuse. Why else would they bring Skarbek series, a special forces weapon?”
Yama nodded. “True, but special forces have sold them before to other Atlasian units, and Becker certainly has the money to buy enough to make her own bid with the khan.”
“You know your Atlas pretty well for a Nimese,” Anna said, impressed. “Mercenary?”
Yama nodded. “I work for Shokuto Ishimasa.”
Anna’s eyes widened. “You work for Shokuto Ishimasa?” she asked as the duo reached the bottom of the staircase, giving each syllable its due respect. “Like, fleet-breaker Ishimasa?”
Yama shrugged as they began to walk. “He’s my father,” he said. Sometimes I do what he says.
“Woah,” Anna muttered to herself. “He must be huge if he had you.”
“Adoptive father,” Yama clarified, causing the gleam to flee from Anna’s eyes. “He’s actually 5’8”,” he added, which turned Anna’s eyes into dark, hollow pits.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Anna said. “Did he send you here to this tournament?” Before Yama could answer, Anna shook her head. “No. If he did, you’d have a gift and wouldn’t be down here.”
You’d be surprised how cheap he can be, Yama thought. “You’re right. I did come on my own, but he’ll know soon enough, I reckon,” Yama said. He has to know my target isn’t dead by now.
“So, why are you here?” Anna asked. “Glory? Money? Politics?”
“To kill Jira Kano for the whole world to see,” Yama said simply, quickly adding, “you?” before Anna could respond. “I know Atlas doesn’t hand out that much time off to their rank-and-file soldiers, certainly not outside the borders.”
Anna nodded. “I’m here because my opa would take me on his knee when I was small and show me how his rifles worked, and when I was bigger, he’d teach me how to shoot. He wanted me to be the best marksman in all of Atlas.”
“Big shoes to fill.”
Anna nodded. “He didn’t get to see me join the military, or be promoted, but I like to think he was watching with Fried then and that he’s watching now.”
“I’m sure he’d be proud.”
The duo arrived at Jochi’s armory a short while later, finding a bald Tatan man hunched over a table littered with overlapping blueprints and tablets pinning them down. A heavy black apron hung from around his neck like a millstone that forever condemned him to his workshop. Large fans along one wall blew a gentle breeze through the room, beating back the stuffy and choked feeling that Yama had been expecting. Behind the man was a workbench on wheels with a matrix of small shelves below and what Yama assumed was the spine for Orphiel’s hammer resting on top. As Anna and Yama entered, he looked up from his designs. “They said you’d be big, but I didn’t realize you’d be this big.”
“Namuunaa says hi, by the way,” Yama said, followed by, “you must be Jochi?”
The man chuckled. “Ah, Namuuaaa, what would we do without her? Yes, I am Jochi. What can I do for you two?”
Anna stepped forward and slapped both hands on the table, making the armorer flinch. “I’ll save you time so you two can talk about his weird weapon fetishes. I want one of those Skarbek series snipers.”
Jochi nodded. “Can be done,” he said, yawning. “Want any sidearms? Pistols, knives, dart throwers, wrist mounted flam—”
“Stachel pistol,” Anna interjected. “It is the standard side weapon of an Atlasian snip—”
Jochi shook his head. “It’s also the weapon of officers, notably Captain Becker. It won’t be good if we have two fraulines from Atlas wielding the same pistol.”
“Well—”
“No. Just no,” Jochi said. “I like the pistol, don’t get me wrong, but this is the khan’s decision and his mind is made up on the matter. No matching motifs or armaments.”
Yama raised a hand. “The Bohren is a fine gun with capabilities to be modified for burst fire,” Yama pointed out. “And it’s a standard Atlasian sidearm.”
“It’s not an officer’s weapon,” Anna pointed out.
Yama shrugged. “Modify it then. I carry one sized up for my hand and surely you can put some gold or silver on it, can’t you?”
Jochi nodded. “I can do it, yes. Would that work?”
Anna crossed her arms. “Fine, just tell me when it’s done and I can come by for an inspection,” she added before stomping out of the room.
“Will do,” Jochi said, watching Anna turn around a corner before looking to Yama. “What can I help you with, big guy?”
“Sword, two hander, double edged, divided by a fuller, wide cross guard,” Yama rattled off. “I’ll be wielding it in one hand, but don’t worry about the weight.”
“Should be easy enough,” Jochi muttered, sketching a sword onto one of his tablets. “Anything else?”
“Can you put a shield generator in the necklace or prayer beads?”
Jochi wrote a note on a different tablet. “Shield generator in the necklace beads will be tough, but I could put it under the straw part of the helmet. Does that work?” Yama nodded, telling himself the protection was worth the heat and dizziness. “The prayer beads though”—Jochi clicked his tongue—”I have another idea.”
“And what do you have in mind?”
Jochi smiled. “Condensed carbon beads. All you need to do is rip them off and shatter them, turning them into a thick gas,” Jochi eaned forward, “like a smoke bomb.”
“A saint wouldn’t use such tricks,” Yama objected. Neither would a samurai.
“You’re a hermit saint, and a hermit would use such tricks to get out of a jam,” Jochi pointed out. “The monks of your country had to fight the samurai the queen or the daimyos sent after them, and that meant fighting dirty.”
He’s well read, I’ll give him that. “But I’m a sword saint. Shouldn’t my focus be on the blade?”
“It will be,” Jochi said before he leaned closer to Yama. “You’re not a dick or crazy from what I can tell, which puts you ahead of most of the contestants up there. So between you and me, you might want a trick up your sleeve if, when, you have to fight them.” Jochi pointed at the metal spine behind him. “That’s Orphiel’s weapon, just the shaft, really, and it will break just about anything that he swings it at.”
Yama stroked his chin, mulling over what Jochi had said. I can’t compete with a hammer like that in the strength department, he conceded. And anybody with a gun, I’m gonna need to get close. “And I can’t get a shield, can I?”
Jochi shook his head. “Namuunaa is telling me prayer beads, or a tome of sorts and as much I’d like to visit her, with the castle as it is, I’d prefer to keep my head down and just work.”
Yama mulled it over for another minute. “Fine,” Yama finally said. “What do you have in mind? Maybe black beads for smoke, red ones for fire?”
Jochi nodded. “I could give you multiple chains, no problem, but if you could come up with some flair for each bead—”
“Like an ignition?” Yama asked. “I thought they were shatter-activated.”
Jochi rolled his eyes. “No. I mean you should come up with a reason why you have multiple different beads.”
“Like a gimmick?” Yama asked, finding himself glad that the word was no longer in his mouth. “I have a gimmick. I’m a sword saint and I use a sword. Badda bing, badda boom.”
Jochi shook his head. “Gimmick, motif, whatever you want to call it. Ogre has his size, that girl has her whole officer schtick, and Jira has all of his samurai stuff. Play into your nickname, really become the Sword Saint instead of Yama Kikuchi.”
“But…I am Yama Kikuchi though,” Yama muttered.
“Not out there you’re not,” Jochi said as he pointed to where Yama had come from. “Out there, you’re the Sword Saint.”
“This is seeming more and more like a pageant than tournament,” Yama said with a sigh. I have got to kill Kano before this tournament kills me. Behind Jochi at the tinkerer’s table was the man at the fire. How the hell did he get here?
“He’s up there you know,” the man said as he pointed one finger to the ceiling before he materialized a marshmallow and bit into it. “All you have to do is kill him.”
“I have to do this right,” Yama said. “He’ll die during the tournament, for the whole universe to see.”
The man scoffed. “Whatever,” he said before finishing his marshmallow and vanishing with a snap of his fingers.
“It is a pageant more than—” Jochi started to say.
Yama pointed to where the man at the fire had been. “Did you see that?”
Jochi turned his head to look at his workbench. “The hammer? Yeaaaa,” he drawled. “I made that, if that’s what you’re talking about.”
Yama shook his head. “Nevermind. You were saying?” So he can appear when I’m not conscious. Yama felt himself shudder, like a cold wind signaling had whispered across his shoulders. Not a pleasant thought. Is this where my mind goes when there’s no battle? When I have no lord? He felt a sudden pressure in his temple, as if he’d been flicked. Not that. Being on my own, then? There was no flick to that idea, but the specter was a bag of taints in the best of times.
“I was saying, this tournament is more of a pageant than a competition,” Jochi continued. “If the khan puts on a tournament worth watching, it’ll erase the considerable stench of all the bodies Temujin burnt to a fucking crisp,” Jochi said, hissing the last words. “Sorry. He’s dead and I shouldn’t be too angry over it, but I still am, I guess.”
“What happened?” Yama asked before adding, quieter, “if I may ask?” Poor manners were like leaving the house without armor, and only disorder could come from such a thing.
“You saw the burnt district on the way here?” Jochi asked softly. “The diplomats and the castle talk, you know, even the armorers.”
“Friends?”
Jochi nodded. “Temujin didn’t let most of us move our families into the castle, so a fair number of us paid for places in the Embassy Sector.” He sighed, shoulder slumping to ground like sloughed pauldrons. “Some of the first places to get the torch.”
I know what that’s like, Yama thought, the reel of the queen puppeteering Ieyasu’s body rushing to the front of his mind. “Sorry to hear that.”
Jochi nodded. “Yea,” he said softly. “I hope that when the district is remade, I’ll finally be able to move on. New forge, new steel, new Ulaan.” He sighed again, slapping his knee. “But enough of that,” the man said with the same glee he had when he had pitched his smoke bombs. “Think of some prayers or mantras for your beads while I make them. In the meantime, you have a dinner to get ready for tonight.”
“Where’s the mess hall?” Yama asked, eliciting a chuckle from Jochi.
“Mess hall, he says,” Jochi said. “No. You’re having a contestant’s dinner with the khan tonight. Dress to impress, because everyone else will be.”
Oh Bone Father, Yama thought, his skin already bristling at the thought of the suit he’d have to wear. What have I gotten myself into?
A structure must only provide support. It need not be seen.
If a structure must be seen, it must not detract from the lord.
The Tenets of Tenshi.