Tamiko sat in the Inn of the Crimson Tide, wondering if the time had at last come for her to end her long life. She remembered the days of the city that once sat where now only a town remained, even when the city lay a league further inland, and what all called Tarafu Lake was once the harbor, not a fishing pond slowly choking in silt and vegetation. She was sure that the time in which she could solve the town's new predator problem was over. The ancient nosferata no longer had the time to gather the power, nor the stomach to use the methods needed swiftly enough to make a difference.
Over the past two moons, since the wild child had left, four of her "daughters" had answered the nightly siren's song Yariko crooned as she stalked the citizens in the streets and even their homes. The Mistress' plea to Bloodless Keep had been answered with a call of good for her, and other insults to her honor and origins. Tamiko cried softly, knowing her hold on the children and the city was wavering, Another few nights, and those who had fed only partially would succumb to the call of the Huntress, as they had taken to calling Yariko.
And none would stand against her, not since Nariko-sana's body had been found by her now deranged husband. He and another power in the town had been drinking in the shop while the woman was brutally slain. None had seen Toruzu the knife maker since that morning. Nor would they again, Tamiko felt, at least not until most no longer remembered him, and he could return.
She sighed, and decided to use the one last card available, she would try to seek out Toruzu, where ever he had hidden himself, and ask him to make a special blade. One he must use himself. Tamiko knew a secret so dark few others who knew it were still alive. She knew the knife maker's true identity, and status in the guild of assassins who called themselves the Allegiance of the Blades. She stirred herself up to walk in the dark streets, and try to avoid destruction by her now feral daughters. But she held little hope of making it that far. Unless she had help. And only one person in town, and one without it, could stand against a pack of vampires on a rampage, surrounded by a cult of Blood Drinkers dedicated to serving their mistresses.
She stood and walked slowly so as not to allow any in the house to know she was moving to her dressing table. There she unlocked the small chest on it, and took out another locked case. She lifted an onyx stone pendant from her jewelry box, and spoke the words the one in town had taught her in his youth, before he found his own place in the spectrum of those who are dead yet still tread the earth.
In moments shadows filled the room, surrounded her, and she was gone, just as the door to her room was torn from its hinges, and two more of her creations left her service in invading her room. The Inn of the Crimson Tide would never open its doors for business again. At least not for a hundred years or more, until the source of this group of vampires was forgotten in the fog of history.
With the dawn, nineteen drained corpses littered the streets and homes of the town, and three women crucified before the inn for staying true to their Mistress screamed in agonies beyond mortal comprehension, as their bodies were turned to dust by the rising sun's first rays on their bodies.
Despite being told he was to speak to the Daimyo immediately, Scorpio was kept in the great castle of that lord for three days, as the master of the prefecture tried vainly to deal with the problem. In the end, it was the Emperor's envoy, the dreaded lady Yoritoko, who sought him in the garden he spent his days in. She walked in with a grace only age and confidence in one's power could grant. The death toll in town alone was now over two hundred souls, and each night it climbed more, as more vampires seemed to appear from the woods and far off Bloodless Keep. Not to mention the damned who lived, those who worshiped the vampires, and aided them in their hunts.
The great lady did not pretend to be anything but who she was. She came in and took a seat next to him amidst the garlic and wolfsbane planted in the garden. Her face, though still able to stir men's hearts, was lined with the cares of the days, and horrors of the nights. She motioned to her bodyguards to leave, and they did, reluctantly.
They sat there for a long time, silent as the garden itself. When she spoke at last, it was with a voice that was not doing what it was used to. It was filled with fear, loathing, and desperation, not the command he had heard her speak with on their last meeting.
"You are the last one of your guild still alive, hunter. Unless Jinatozu has again evaded death and my spies." The name spoken was legend, Jinatozu was the Grand Master of the Allegiance, every branch owed him loyalty, every local guild master obeyed him over the needs of their own people. He was the deadliest, most prolific, and longest lived assassin known. And the words implied he had been here, and might be among the dead.
The Kenrai clansman was shaken. Nor could he respond. To speak of the members of the guild to those not within it bore the penalty of the Red Knife, to be hunted and cut down in a bloody, public manner. He held still, waiting for the lady to continue her revelations, and fearing what might come next.
She waited patiently, and when the hunter at last looked at her, he found her eyes, leaking tears, awaiting his. "The good of the Empire requires I ignore the law. You may name your price when done, just end these beasts, assassin. And in the eyes and ears of the Emperor, your name will never be mentioned, nor your profession." She did not waver, despite having to blink back the tears constantly from her weakness of having to turn to an Otaku, an outcast in the eyes of her people.
"End this nightmare, as you did before, Kenrai. End it before it ends the empire." She rose, and started to walk away, stopping at the door. "This conversation never took place, hunter. Save in our dreams." She set a single coin, one of the great golden 'Lun's, the heaviest and purest of gold coins in this land on the bench by the door.
The half elven male stood, flexed his arms, and spoke at last. "I understand. What I do may cost me my life, but this town has become my home." He sighed, walked to the bench taking up the coin and spoke the one set of words that could save him, unless it proved the local guild master lived. "I have taken your coin, and agree to the commission."
Yoritoko shivered in fear at the leaden voice the hunter spoke with. He had accepted the job, even thought it might mean his own death. And there was a steel in the voice, the steel of an assassin's blade. She did not enjoy sending soldiers into battle, and this felt far too much like that to the lady who held the power of the Emperor in her words. She hoped, as the hunter, now grim faced, left the garden, to begin his hunt in earnest, would never be needed again.
She noted the guards who stood in the hall moved out of the hunter's way, saluting him as he walked away. They knew just by his face what had been said. They knew him from the hunt for the Leech Witch, when he had shown the red knife he bore to many of them, as he chased her through the town, after saving two children. And they had been the ones that morning to tell Scorpio that he had only delayed the death of the children he had saved that night, for they had been in the bodies recovered with the rising of the sun.
The room was darker than a moonless midnight, so dark it chilled even the cold undead body of the vampire known these days as Tamiko. She shivered out of an old, nearly forgotten reflex, wondering at what was happening. She had triggered the spell correctly, despite the long span of years since the one who had crafted it gave it to her. Her memory was still sharp enough, the undead woman thought, to remember such a simple spell trigger.
Then the darkness and cold parted, and she found herself in a room filled with the half-light of shadows. There was a table with a small lantern on it to cast the shadows in one corner, surrounded by hanging cloths to create the shadows. Beside the table sat the two she needed to see. The dwarven knife maker, and Davet Ciego, the mage of Shadows. The Dyermo smith looked worn and haggard, even she could see this. Davet was even more drained, his normally sharp edges frayed by the attacks of the wild pack of her children.
She took the chair that Davet indicated, trying to avoid panicking. These two together was a terrible thought. Their condition stated that perhaps she had turned to the wrong source for help against her renegade children. The two most powerful men in town, save perhaps the mage who ran the school for the magically gifted children and adults in the area, looking like they had been in fights and lost, was not a good sign.
The Mage of Shadows spoke first, his voice a whisper, and very rough compared to its normal melodic pitch. "So, this time it has happened, and you have lost control of them all. I warned you this day would come, Tamara." She shuddered at the use of the name she had been born under. "The wild urges of your kind cannot be suppressed forever. Sooner or later, the hunger for blood will force them to feed until full." He paused, as his form flickered. "And being repressed for so long, when they break free, it is as if you have unleashed a ravenous beast into the tame, unprotected flocks."
She hung her head, knowing this centuries old argument between them would now be mute. She had agreed all that time ago that if she was ever proven totally wrong, that her kind could live in groups and not go berserk in their feasts, to a judgment by this one's hand. "I admit now my error. Once a child takes the wild path, there is nothing left for the rest but to follow or at last turly die. But how can we send these on to hell where they belong? Can I get your aid in this?"
The dwarf known locally as Tozuru, but born to the name of Jinatozu laughed without humor. "Only a dedicated hunter of your kind could stand against this many of the undead, you fool. And there are none of those here. In case you did not notice, your 'daughters' have even managed to slay several knights of holy orders." He leaned back, stretching his body gingerly, and she noted the many bandages and a splint on his left calf. Tamiko swallowed harshly, realizing that the greatest assassin in the world had been taken from this fight already.
"Then I must find some holy man or woman pure enough to purge all the undead from this land." She sighed.
There followed a short silence, until the Mage of Shadows spoke again in that soft whisper that was all he could project of his voice into the real world from where ever it was that his body abided. "There might be one who could do this mission you ask. If he can be freed from the chambers I am sure the Daimyo tossed him in three days ago." He let his words settle into the mind of those he sat with, hoping they would be the first to offer to speak with one who had shown the early glimmers of being a hunter of the undead and necromancers in his recent adventures.
When it became obvious that neither of them would mention the name, the shade who had once been a man spoke the words. "He could be our weapon in this, if we can free him.."
The Dyermo cut him off, not rudely, but with information. "He is free. Yoritoko freed him. And from the rumors that reached my sources, she has already offered him the job. One I intend to confirm to him, despite his breaking the codes of silence. This is a situation the codes of my guild never anticipated. That all officers in a guild chapter would be taken out, or disabled at once, it was never conceived that a junior member would have to negoriate and accept his own contracts without help from the guild." He snorted. "But damned if he did not try to hold to the codes as best he could."
The woman suddenly knew fear. Once he knew that children had been killed, especially children he had saved during the last great challenge the town had faced, he would be furious. And her own existence would be endangered. Yet she could tell these men had no care for her continued walking the earth. They cared for the town first. Or their own followers in it. She trembled, knowing they had already made their own decision. She reached into her robes, and pulled out the pouch of monies she had.
The coins, the best and greatest of her wealth, weighed heavily in her hand. "I know you cannot control this one, once he begins to hunt. Like my children, he bears a hatred in his heart. For my kind, and those who create other undead. He will not stop this time I fear. You will both be endangered by your own walking of the edges of the dark arts."
The shade merely laughed. "Not all seek immortality and eternal youth, Tamara."
His continued use of her true name irked her. She had long ago hoped that all who knew it were dead, and forgot often that she had shared it foolishly with one she had thought to be like herself in seeking the joys of prolonged life and vigor. "Enough, we cannot hope that your magics will protect us from detection by my wild children. Or would you like your true name spoken for all to hear?"
She glared at the shade, and discovered again the futility of trying to have a staring contest with one whose eyes were no longer in this world. When she at last stopped trying, the room again fell silent, until she made her mind up. There was a clinking of the small bits of metal that held such great worth to so many, as pouch into the lap of the Grand Master of the Allegiance of Blades.
"Whatever it takes, Jinatozu, even if it costs me my continued life. They must be stopped." Her words left her empty, cold and realizing that there could indeed be an end to her rule and seeming life. Even if she could still slink in shadows after all the dust settled, she would never be able to return to her own home again.
"We accept your coin, Tamiko. And worry about yourself, not us. When our time comes, Davet and I will accept the end of our days." The voice of the assassin was heavy as granite, and echoed as if in a great cavern. Or a tomb.
In the keep he had heard enough to know that Itazaki was not going to be of use to him this time round. He knew that the man was broken, and doubted if he would even be sane when he began to function again. If he did. Now he understood more fully the hatred the man had for the undead, and why so many times he had assisted him.
Scorpio sighed, as he entered a side street, normally packed with simple craftsmen and those selling food stuffs from the farms around the town. But today it was nearly empty, and those who still dared walk even by daylight moved swiftly, and with fear in every step. His mind was moving as fast as ever before, thinking of where the vampires would be able to hide, gather with the cult of the Blood Drinkers. He had only a few of his most prized weapons left, and none of the trick ones, or spare knives, having lost or used them on his last job. That Tozuru was missing as well disturbed him deeply. He had counted on the small grey dwarf to be here for replenishing the blades he felt nearly naked without right now.
The Kenrai clansman walked into the ward where the Inn of the Crimson Tide lay, now abandoned, and exposed by all who had patronized it in an attempt to distance themselves from the vampires now. This was the less savory ward, the one he himself lived in when in town. It had always been a den of thieves, whores, conmen and the unskilled craftsmen, those whose works, while functional and often needed, lacked the artistry of the south ward's residents. This was the North Ward, the largest walled section of Cosarali inside the walls of stone, but still small compared to many villages and hamlets even out in the farmlands.
Buildings here towered up over the walls often, rising four to seven stories off the ground, many of those structures made of wood, bamboo and other flammable materials. While known for its fights and murders, more folk died in fires here started by careless fools or simple accidents than ever died at the hands of a thief or slayer. At night it was the last part of the community to grow dark and silent, if one could call the lower level of noise that passed as the predawn hours quiet.
But now, by what he heard, it was as quiet as the tombs on the south shores of the Tarafu. That thought sparked the hunter's thoughts to that place. The ancient, long abandoned necropolis, the city of tombs and graves, that sat beyond the current south shore of the lake. It was carved with low grassy areas and sloughs, once the canals dug for carrying the dead to their final resting places. It was a place few from this society ever entered, with their aversion to disturbing the dead. The local reverence for their ancestors, something that while it was done in the grasslands, went a bit further here, he had discovered over the years. Many of his friends had asked why the alcove built to hold a shrine to his ancestors still sat empty.
But that worship ended at the slowly silting up lake of Tarafu. Once they took a dead body over there, they had left the city of the dead to the dead, and not even tried over the centuries to maintain what had been built in the necropolis. Tombs, no matter how well constructed tilted and broken, the ones that survived still where the largest, some the size of great houses. Houses for the dead, hideouts for the undead.
The hunter stopped in his moccasins, and turn around to head beck to the south. As he did, he noticed the young bully leaning against an empty stall's awning post. He wore the black leathers of the so called Night Maces. It was a gang mostly of thugs and robbers, who preyed on the weak in the ward. They were not the real thieves, those felt that stealth was more important than power. The hunter merely smiled at the boy. When he had come to town, they had tried to intimidate him, to catch him and take his wealth. Once they found out he could not be intimidated, and that attacking him was both difficult and dangerous, they had given up. And the nights he had hunted them, laying a knife to neck or the night they found he had managed to penetrate their little gathering and had a knife to back of their leader had earned him some respect, as well as fear of the hunter.
This one, though, had the air of arrogance he thought indicated youth and a lack of wisdom. The hunter stopped and returned the gaze he was taking from the boy. The boy saw the tanned leathers of a vixgruy the nose horned antelopes of the plains, made into the naturally grey leather pants and vest, with a blue shirt of thin wool beneath it. The hunter saw a boy in leather pants and shirt of black, with silver, gold and bronze buckles, buttons and studs decorating it. His boots were black as well, and came well up his calves. There were stains on the arms and chest of the shirt. as well as on the boots. Brownish red residues, ones that the hunter knew well.
The youth smiled at the hunter, then spoke loudly. "Don't go out at night, gaijin, unless you want to be a dead man. Your days here are done, we rule now. Leave, and we will let you live."
Scorpio did not let any emotions show on his face, at first. then he smiled the one he always gave the Night Maces when they challenged him. He answered the challenge, loudly, and with joy, knowing he had met the enemy. "Today is a good day to die. Are you ready to move to the next world?" He raised his voice, and continued. "I see you wear the blood of your victims well, Blood Drinker. But how do you wear your own." The hunter drew his sword, and took up a stance made for close combat.
The boy's arrogance flickered to fear for a moment, as he realized that the hunter was not scared of his new status. And even more surprised at being marked as a member of the cult. Around them, the few people on the street backed away, in fear of the Blood Drinker, and more fear of catching a stray stroke. The boy knew he had to accept the challenge, but it was only that foolish hunter from the grasslands. What did he know of fighting in the city.
The boy drew his blade, and laughed as his arrogance and ignorance made him overlook the way the clansman held his sword, the position of his feet. The member of the Maces danced more than the hunter, who conserved his movements, moving as little as needed to keep his defensive position. The boy attacked first, one of the side attacks so prevalent in a society ruled by those who gave more credence to the removal of a head, than a sure and safe kill, It was the kind of move that opened one up to a short fight, but that was not what Scorpio wanted. stepped back, letting the swing take his foe around and give him a side to strike easily. A simple poke with the point of the straight short sword he used was effective enough to give the hunter first blood, but he held back from sliding his blade deep between the ribs, and risking lodging his weapon in those bones.
The clansman withdrew, stepping back to avoid the backhand slash the thug tried in rage at having already been wounded. Now his own blood began to flow onto the leather shirt, and his smile of joy was gone. The hunter was everything the others had said he was, quick, efficient, and deadly. The boy knew that others would have gone for the kill, and the motion of his counter strike would have flexed his ribcage to catch and bind the blade in his right lung. He backed out, looking again to the hunter's eyes, and not liking what he saw there. The hunter was angry, something no Mace had ever seen from him.
They sparred for a while, trading blade blocks and moves to form the dance of death. Neither of them desired to end their life here, and it would come down to who had the better skill, the stamina or luck of the moment. And while desire to live on beyond this fight was in both, a desire to live never beat skill. The clash of blades drew the guard, but they stayed back, for word had come that the hunter was not to be interfered with unless it appeared he had joined the Blood Drinkers. They took up places where they could watch, and learned something themselves. Few of them thought Scorpio had skill with any blade but a knife, being from the clans of the prairies, where swords were rare, and spears more common.
The sun continued its climb into the sky, as the two traded blows, feints and spent time just catching their breath. The boy was breathing harder, and the wound he had suffered was taking its toll. The lung had been punctured, and was slowly filling with fluids, evident by the bloody froth he spat from time to time. He was slowing, and knew it. The hunter, in his more conservative manner of fighting was wearing him down. The thug had tried taunting his foe, only to find him as silent as the samurai he had seen fighting outside the walls, or inside when accosted. This man was tougher than he or his brothers had thought, and even the strength of the bloods he had taken, or the special potions the alchemist the Night Maces had taken under their wing would not let him win.
He lowered his blade, pointing it to the ground. It was an offer of ending the battle. The reply was simple. With an underhanded stab, the boy found two feet of steel jammed into his guts, upward to pierce his heart. With a swift twist, and a rapid drawback, the blade came free, splashing the cobblestones along with some pieces of his insides. The young thug staggered back only to have all the strength leave him as if he was a puppet having his strings burnt away by a fire, slowly falling in an uneven heap.
The hunter walked forward, and found a scrap of real cloth to use on the body to wipe off his blade. He spent some time doing so, ensuring the blade had no taint of the blood of the boy left, as he walked away, between the guards, who parted, to allow him to walk by. After the saw he had left the quarter, the junior most of the guild turned to the leader, and spoke.
"So we are to just let him go? What about the body?"
Jenro chuckled, then stared down the fresh recruit from the capital. "You have to learn about Scorpio. He's really good at what he does, However, he is not very good at cleaning up the mess afterward. But we can do that. Get a corpse carrier down here to toss the body into the burn pit west of town. I don't want this one to walk the night." He snorted loudly. "He was not too bright, you do not irritate an assassin. Or disturb one at work."
The words sent a shock through the suddenly gathering crowd. One hissed louder than the others. The guard had just let an assassin go. The thoughts of many, especially those of the Blood Drinkers still hidden in the population, chilled at the idea of the Daimyo hiring an assassin to hunt them and their Mistresses. Some faded away into the crowd, others returned home. A few decided it was time to leave town, and the cult, if they could.
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