Chapter Twenty-Three: Winter is Coming
The old man in the blue cloak paused for a moment, looked up to the treetops, gazed curiously at the bright, glowing fruits. It was said that the sunfruits were capable of healing any kind of wound, and were even rumored to grant immortality, but to the old man's knowledge, no mortal had ever tasted them. An idea occurred to him, then, and he wondered if perhaps it was time for that to change… He knew of one who would be in dire need, soon.
A wry grin tugged at the corners of the old man's mouth. There were many men who would sacrifice much to be able to gain the sunfruits' gift, but they would never find it, whereas the old man could eat one of the sunfruits whenever he wished…but he did not need to. He found the irony extremely amusing.
The old man in blue continued on his way through the trees, finally reaching the pyramid at the island's centre. As he ascended one of the carved stairways to the temple at the summit, the old man gradually became aware of an odd sound coming from the temple. It sounded curiously like weeping. The old man reached the top of the stairs, striding through two of the columns and entering the temple.
The temple itself was nothing extravagant. A brilliant, reddish-gold flame burned in the center of the space. The unnatural quality of the flame was the fact that it was burning in the middle of a pool, right on the surface of the water. Such a thing would never be able to happen anywhere else in Gielinor…but the old man could see why it was happening here.
The water in the pool shone with a soft, blue light, almost as if there was sunlight shining through it from below, and the reddish-gold flame produced no smoke—only light and heat. Water and Light, the two foremost life-giving forces, living off each other's essences.
There were two thrones, simple chairs of wood—one stained a yellow hue, the other a vibrant blue. One was emblazoned with a circumpunct, which was simply a circle with a dot in the centre—representing the sun and its radiance. The other throne, the blue one, was engraved with two horizontal, parallel lines that were zigzags in shape, representing the waters of a river. Because it was morning, the two thrones were situated on the eastern side of the temple, always facing the sun.
The occupant of the blue throne was not present in the temple, leaving it empty. But that was no problem—the old man had not come to see her. No, he had come to see her husband, the master of this temple...the person who was sitting in the other throne, marked with the symbol of the sun.
He had golden brown flesh, and was clad in a skirt-like piece of clothing that wrapped around his waist and extended down to his calves. He wore a gold and white piece of linen cloth on his shoulders and chest, which rested around his neck. He had soft, amber eyes, a strong, square jawline, and a broad, flat nose. Like the old man, he had many forms—he appeared sometimes as an eagle, or an eagle-headed man. Right now, he was in humanoid form.
And he was crying. Hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, the man in the throne was quietly weeping.
"Good morning, Tumeken," the old man greeted the dark-skinned man on the throne.
The sun god did not move from his throne. "Patron of Order, fighter of wars, extinguisher of lives; why have you come here?" he spoke to the old man without turning around to face him.
"May I ask why you are weeping, first?"
"Would a shepherd not weep if an elder-demon entered his pasture and slaughtered most of his sheep?" Tumeken asked, lifting his face from his hands and looking into the sun. His eyes seemed to glow with the radiance of the sunlight as he stared into its source. "So many of my people gone… So many souls for my son Icthlarin to guide to the afterlife. Too many… Did you not weep for the Icyene? Do you not weep now for the men who will die in the Stellantae Province, fighting on your behalf?"
The old man decided to change the subject. "I just finished speaking with one of your creations," the old man said, not answering Tumeken's question. He stood in front of the reddish-gold flame, behind the sun god's throne, patiently waiting for Tumeken to address him properly. "Scabaras still does not seem to fancy me, very much."
"And are you expecting me to harbor rosier feelings towards you than my son? If so, then you are mistaken."
"And how fares the rest of the old family? I hear Amascut has developed quite the rebellious streak…"
A sudden blast of heat exploded outward from the sun god, and his eyes flared with a blinding golden brilliance. He rose from his throne and turned to face the old man in the blue cloak. "Do you come here to mock and insult me? I am mourning the death of hundreds of thousands, millions of my people. Now is a very unwise time to test my wrath."
The old man was unfazed by the brief spurt of anger—it was what he had been hoping for. Tumeken would be easier to reason with when he was not bawling like a newborn. "Well, now that I have your full attention, I can get to the point. This war is entering a new phase."
"The Lord of Chaos is cutting swathes out of your territory, you mean," the sun god interrupted.
"The Centralian Legions are certainly not lacking in valor, but they are nothing more than a stopgap measure," the blue-eyed old man sighed. "I cannot directly enter the battle, for doing so would result in Zamorak's reciprocation, and then no one will survive. In the future, however, there will come a time when I will need to confront the Dark One directly, and when I do, I would very much like to have some divine assistance to keep my subjects from being slaughtered."
"Why in the name of Jas should I help you?"
"Simple," the old man replied. "If I win this war, your people will have a chance to recover. Just look at what the Dark One has done to the Menaphites alone…but I also hear rumors of his mischief in the Ainu Empire, across the ocean. Word has it that he took the Sun Emperor—who is your direct descendant, I might add—and made him into his own personal meat puppet. All that civil war business? That has Zamorak's name written all over it. If he is not stopped, then the Dark One will bring his fires to the Ainu people, and then you will lose all of your followers."
"And what of yourself?" Tumeken asked. "I came to this world before you did. I was here throughout the Second Age, too. You, and Bandos, and Zaros… I remember the way you conquered your lands and imposed your order… You may keep the peace at first, but in a hundred years? A thousand? How long before you decide it's time to bring your order to my realms?"
"Why, Tumeken, you speak as though you have a choice!" the old man sounded very surprised, though it was difficult to tell if it was genuine, or if he was merely being sarcastic. "Would you rather see your lands and people possibly annexed to my empire…or burned to a crisp?" After the sun god remained silent, that was all the answer the old man needed. "That is what I thought. I will call on you when the time is right. It gladdens me that you are still able to see reason."
The fire in Tumeken's eyes died down as the sun god stepped back, returned to his throne. "You and Zamorak have dealt this world irreversible harm. The wounds caused by your war have struck Gielinor to its very core. Entire lands have been wiped from existence, entire species annihilated… I warn you, Saradomin, that you cannot harm a world for thousands of years without answering for it. Someday, there will be a reckoning for what you, Zamorak, Bandos, Armadyl, and all the others have done."
"Someday, perhaps," Saradomin conceded, turning from the sun god and heading towards the stairway he had used to walk up to the temple. "But not this day, I think. Do give Elidinis my regards, will you?"
The old man descended the stairs from the temple down to the ground. He glanced in the direction of Scabaras, but the insect-like god had vanished without a trace. Off to one of his caves, no doubt. No matter; Saradomin was not sure he was in the mood for another bout of verbal sparring, anyway.
The god of order could have left Tumeken's island straightaway, but there was one last thing he needed. Yawning quietly to himself, Saradomin walked off towards the nearest of the tall sunfruit trees.
Decius did not understand why the higher-ups still wanted patrols to be sent out beyond Mattinse Ridge. The enemy was out there. The rangers had reported that Zamorak's forces were crossing the River Salve. Once they finished crossing the river, they would then march on the Centralian lines. Why did the Warmaster need to know more than that? What use would it be to keep sending out patrols so that he knew the instant the enemy started moving forward?
The men back on the ridge were constantly on watch. Decius doubted even the slowest-minded legionary would be able to miss seeing thousands upon thousands of monsters charging their position. Even if the Warmaster knew when exactly the enemy was going to attack, the Legions would not be any more prepared than they were right now.
But, unfortunately, Decius was not the Warmaster, so patrols continued to be sent out, and Decius was part of the latest one. The young legionary had prayed again and again to Saradomin to make this patrol a very uneventful one, but the God did not seem to be listening to him, today—about an hour into the patrol, bright explosions of light suddenly started flash in the near-distance, just as the misty showers started to intensify into a proper rainstorm.
Viriles, the sergeant who had been placed in command of the patrol by the centurion, ordered his men into formation. "Form up, lads!" the noncommissioned officer barked. "The Legatus is going to want to know what those bloody lights are! Move it!"
Viriles was by far the oldest member of the patrol. He was an evocatus—a man who had re-enlisted in the Legions after completing his initial term of service. Evocati were, by default, higher-ranked than the common soldiers, higher-paid, and exempt from the menial duties such as fortifying the camps, burial detail, digging latrines, etc. etc. He was a stern, no-nonsense man who always got what he wanted. If he wanted to investigate those explosions, then Decius and the others were damn well going to do exactly that.
Decius particularly hated patrols because he always ended up getting sent on them, due to his skills with archery. He hoped one day to join the ranks of the Rangers, but he would have to survive his term of service with the IV Legion before he could do so…and survival was not very likely if he kept on getting stuck on these thrice-damned patrols.
Initially, Decius thought that they were going to have to scour the forest up ahead for signs of what the bright explosions of light had actually been, but the furious conflagrations did not stop. It took Viriles's patrol nearly ten minutes to proceed to the source of the commotion, but it was still happening when they arrived.
The Centralians could not yet see what was causing the noise and lights, but they could tell that it was coming from just over the next rise.
Viriles brought the patrol to a halt. "Dias, take the men and hold this position. If you encounter anything hostile, fall back immediately to Mattinse Ridge. Is that clear?"
"Clear as glass, sir," Dias, the second-oldest member of the patrol—a twenty six-year-old westerner from the Far Reaches—clasped a fist to his heart in a salute to his superior.
While Dias reorganized the formation of the men, Viriles called out to Decius. "Archer-boy! You're with me," the evocatus gestured for Decius to follow him as he set off towards the rise. Muttering quietly under his breath, Decius hefted his scutum shield—which he had been resting on the ground for a few precious moments—and hurried off after his squad leader.
"Slow and steady, son," Viriles murmured to the young legionary as he caught up. "Lucky for us, the rain has made all the dead leaves on the ground sopping wet, so they won't crunch if we step on 'em… But still, keep your wits about you."
The two Centralians made their way to the top of the incline. When they reached the top, they crouched down low and moved up along the clumps of underbrush, never standing all the way up nor moving through exposed patches of ground.
Down at the bottom of the incline, on the other side of the rise, there was a fight happening. Viriles and Decius dropped all the way down to their stomachs as they came within sight of the source of the giant explosions. Decius could see two figures down at the bottom of the rise—one kneeling, another leaning against a tree trunk—though there were a few trees in the way, and the rain made visibility less reliable than it would have been on a sunny day.
The explosions were easy to see, however. Great gouts of flame, geysers of shimmering water, gales of wind so powerful that they were almost visible by themselves…it was as if the elements themselves were fighting each other.
Viriles pointed to a clump of tightly-clustered trees about a third of the way down the rise. It was uncomfortably close to the explosions, but Decius was still not about to argue with his sergeant. Slow and patient as snails, the two Centralians crawled, shimmied, and wormed their way down the slopes until they reached the cluster of trees.
Here, they were able to stand up behind the trees and get a much better look at what was going on.
Decius gazed down towards the raging elements and saw that there were in fact four people down there. The person leaning against the tree, the kneeling man, and two additional people—these last two were the ones fighting each other. The raging elements, the explosions of power that had been visible all the way from Mattinse Ridge…was all a result of these two people. They must have been incredibly powerful mages to create such a ruckus.
Viriles sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as he peered through his spyglass. He lowered the glass and handed it over to Decius, instructing him to observe the fight. "See those two in the middle of the explosions? And the one by the tree? Look closely."
Decius did as instructed, focusing in on the two fighting mages. One of them was a woman and the other appeared to be a child…but every few seconds their forms would flicker, and they would appear as living skeletons, lich-like beings with eyes of burning crimson. He then shifted his gaze over to the man leaning against the tree, and saw that he actually was a living skeleton-creature—he was making no attempt to hide it, like the other two. The kneeling man seemed to be the only one who was Human.
"Mahjarrat," Viriles hissed. "The one in black by the tree, and the two fighting each other, they're definitely Mahjarrat… Never thought I'd live to see one in the flesh, let alone three."
"Why are they fighting each other?" Decius asked.
"No idea," Viriles shrugged. "Get out your bow."
Decius set his scutum down on the ground and pulled the longbow from his back. Technically, he was not supposed to have this weapon, but he was something of an exception. Several months ago, when the IV Legion had taken part in the storming of a captured Menaphite city called Iunu, Decius had found a discarded bow, left behind by the city's defeated Menaphite defenders. With it, he'd managed to take out an entire group of werewolves that was charging at his century…and this act had been witnessed by General Sinclair himself.
Not long after the battle, the Legatus had personally sought Decius out to give him a proper longbow, promising him a chance to apply for the Rangers if he survived his term of service within the IV Legion. It was that very same longbow that Decius held right now. Decius took two arrows and planted them in the ground in front of him—if he needed to use the bow, it would be easier to grab an arrow in front of him, rather than reaching back into his quiver.
As he did this, the two Centralians saw the explosions cease, suddenly. The female and child Mahjarrat had stopped fighting.
Viriles observed this through the spyglass, and saw that the black-robed Mahjarrat, who had been leaning against the tree, seemed to be holding the boy in some kind of telekinetic chokehold. The boy clearly could not breathe, and quickly lost consciousness. "The black-robed one and the female seem to be allied…" the evocatus murmured.
"What about the one who's kneeling?"
"Hard to say…" Viriles had not been watching the kneeling man. He shifted his view over to the man, and quickly saw something very wrong with him. "He's…wounded. Arrow to the chest. Hold on, the female is approaching him…"
Viriles watched the female Mahjarrat—a beautiful woman dressed in robes of red—step over to the bleeding, wounded man while her black-robed companion picked up the unconscious child. She reached down and drew a knife, knelt down in front of the man, and pressed the knife to his throat. She was going to kill this man—they were clearly not friends…which would mean that the dying man was very likely on the Centralians' side of the conflict.
Viriles could not quite explain the feeling that came over him in that moment…but, in that instant as he watched the female Mahjarrat press the knife to the dying man's throat, he knew that he could not allow her to kill him. "Decius, I want that man down there, and I want him alive. Shoot the Mahjarrat."
"Shoot…shoot the Mahjarrat, sir?" Decius could scarcely believe what his sergeant was saying.
"Hit her where it hurts, and she won't come after you—she'll flee," Viriles quickly explained. "These two engaged the man and the child Mahjarrat in a fight, and they're taking the child alive…but they're going to kill the man because they obviously have no need for him. Look at how he's bleeding out; they will not risk their lives to finish a job that is likely already done. Now if I have to tell you to shoot the Mahjarrat female one more time, I will take off your head myself," the sergeant growled, dropping his hand to the hilt of his gladius.
Decius swore to himself once again, taking an arrow from his quiver and nocking his longbow. It was good they were already standing up behind the trees—he would not have been able to shoot a longbow while crouching, due to the weapon's height. He took a deep breath and held it, drawing the bowstring back and aimed carefully, taking the wind and rain into account.
Satisfied that his aim was true, Decius released the arrow, sending it cutting straight through the wind and rain. By the time it struck the female Mahjarrat in the shoulder, he had already grabbed one of the two arrows from the ground in front of him, nocking his bow a second time and reacquiring his aim. He made minute adjustments based on his last shot and released once again.
Unfortunately, the female Mahjarrat had moved at the last second, so the second arrow struck her in the arm, rather than in the torso. Decius could see her sweeping her gaze through the woods, knew he had only one last chance to convince her to give up trying to find him. He nocked the third arrow and swiftly took aim one last time, releasing the arrow.
This arrow almost missed the Mahjarrat completely, but it was close enough. Viriles, who was watching through the spyglass, could see the third shot graze across the side of the female Mahjarrat's neck. As he had hoped, she finally backed away from the kneeling man and vanished in a haze of indigo light. After a moment's hesitation, her black-robed companion followed her example.
"Good shooting, son," Viriles clapped Decius on the back, compacting his spyglass and slotting it back into his belt. "Not everyone can say they scared off a Mahjarrat, eh?" The sergeant then turned around and called for Dias and the rest of the patrol to move up.
The Centralians moved down the other side of the hill, spurred on by their sergeant. "Quickly now, lads! We can't have been the only ones to see or hear those explosions!" Viriles exclaimed.
The kneeling man was no longer kneeling by the time Viriles's patrol reached him; he had fallen onto his back and lost consciousness. The fastest of the soldiers, a burly, dark-skinned man from the Karamja Territories named Syphax, was the first to reach the dying man. He checked for the man's pulse and, upon finding it, said, "He still lives, Viriles!"
Viriles looked down at the unconscious man. There was nothing particularly special about him—he wore a bloodstained black traveler's cloak. His face was lightly lined with advanced middle age. He had a long, straight nose and high cheekbones, which suggested that he hailed from one of Centralia's northern provinces. The lower half of the man's face was covered in closely-trimmed facial hair that seemed to be making the transition from black to gray.
When one of the soldiers reached to pull the arrow out, Viriles stopped him. "Hold there, soldier…pulling it out without a medicus nearby would only cause more damage. We need to get him back to Mattinse Ridge; he could explain why we just saw Mahjarrat fighting each other. Syphax, it's time to put your speed to good use…"
It was early evening by the time Athellenas received reports from General Sinclair about mysterious explosions of elemental energy occurring in the forest, not far from the IV Legion's section of Mattinse Ridge. The Warmaster was inspecting the XIII Legion's defenses, several leagues south of Legio Quarta Mortifers's position, so he was not far away when he received the news. Rather than listen to the messenger's entire story, Athellenas simply thanked and dismissed the man, then headed over to where he had hitched up Onyx and mounted up.
He was going to speak directly with General Sinclair. The Warmaster unhitched Onyx and spurred his steed northward. He rode hard and fast, arriving in the IV Legion's command camp behind Mattinse Ridge within half an hour. He hitched Onyx in the makeshift stables and made his way through the throngs of soldiers, into the command tent. The men standing guard at the tent's entrance moved to block his entry, but quickly backpedaled when they recognized him, offering him harried salutes.
General Sinclair looked up from his table as Athellenas strode into his tent. "Imperator," he saluted the Warmaster. "You got my message."
"I learned about the explosions from your messenger; nothing more," Athellenas replied, removing his helm and cradling it under one arm. "The rest of what your man had to say, I intend to hear straight from you."
"I'm afraid my answers are very limited," the Legatus sighed. He reached under the table and produced a flask of what Athellenas guessed was ale. Sinclar offered the flask to Athellenas, but the Warmaster declined. "A patrol from the Fifth Cohort was sent out earlier today—they were the ones who investigated these explosions. I was debriefed by the leader of this patrol, a sergeant named Caius Viriles. According to the sergeant, he and his men encountered three Mahjarrat—a male, a female, and a child—and an older man. The Mahjarrat child and the female were fighting each other, which was the cause of the explosions."
"Mahjarrat fighting each other?" that was enough to give Athellenas pause. "Zarosian on Zamorackian conflict?"
Sinclair shrugged. "The two adult Mahjarrat subdued the child and attempted to kill the man—fortunately, Viriles's men were able to drive them away before they could do this. The man had taken an arrow to the chest, so our men rushed him back to our lines, where he was taken to one of the field hospitals. Meridius, my Chief Medicus, is personally tending to the man."
"I will take my leave, then, and speak directly to the medicus," Athellenas declared, stepping back toward the tent's entrance flap. He exchanged farewells with the Legatus and ducked out of the tent, back into the evening chill of the outdoors. He cut a path straight through the command camp to the field hospital that had been set up to the west.
It was not hard to find the Chief Medicus's tent. Athellanas already knew Meridius personally—the man had served with the IV Legion throughout the Desert Campaign and the retreat through the Mort Myre Swamp. Athellenas had received more than his fair share of wounds throughout both conflicts, and Meridius had been the one to patch him up.
Meridius was not in his tent, however. One of his assistants informed the Warmaster that the Chief Medicus was actually tending to the man brought back by Viriles's patrol at this very moment, so Athellenas allowed the assistant to lead him to the right hospital tent.
Athellenas spotted Meridius at the washing station, cleansing his hands of blood and other bodily matter. "Medicus," the Warmaster greeted the healer.
"Imperator," Meridius returned the greeting with a salute. "How may I be of service?" When Athellenas asked about the wounded man that had been brought back from the forest by the patrol, Meridius gave a faint wince. "Aye, the man's over on the other side of the tent. I am afraid he is unconscious, however; he will not be answering any of your questions anytime soon…if ever."
"What mean you by that?" the Warmaster asked as the Chief Medicus led him to the man's bed.
"The man was brought to me with an arrow in his chest," Meridius explained. "He had lost so much blood already, I was surprised he was still breathing at all by the time he made it to m hospital. However, with the help of a mage, I was able to remove the arrow, stop the bleeding, and drain his lungs of blood so that he did not drown in his own essence… But his condition is not improving—even now, he remains on Death's doorstep. It was the arrow, you see… The arrow was poisoned. The man's wound may no longer kill him, but the poison will."
"What kind of poison is it?" Athellenas asked. "Is there an antidote?"
All the Chief Medicus could do was shrug. "It is no poison I have ever encountered before, and I cannot cure what I am unfamiliar with. And I have no time to conduct proper research…and even if I did have time, this man would be dead by the time I succeeded—this poison is fast acting. I am sorry…but he will be lucky if he lives to see another morning."
Athellenas looked down at the man in the bed that Meridius had taken him to, and his breath caught in his throat. He could scarcely believe it… Athellenas had never been so naïve as to think that he could come through this war unscathed…but he had never, not for one moment, believed that his oldest friend would meet his death.
"Oh, Jerrod… What have they done to you?"
Akai Hanako smiled as he drew the brush across the parchment in precise, carefully measured strokes. The written form of Kurigana was quite elegant and picturesque, compared to the alphabet of Commonspeak or the Old Language of Centralia. Most foreigners who became fluent in speaking Kurigana would find themselves still quite incapable of accurately recreating its written aspect.
Because of the complexity of their language's written characters, an Ainu would not write something down unless it was worth taking the time to do so. And what the Marshal was writing at this moment was certainly worth what little time he had left.
The older Ainu man took his time, carefully pondering each word he wrote. He sat in front of the parchment for a full hour until he had finished the poem he was working on. It was somewhat abstract, in true Ainu fashion, but still very grounded in reality. It was a summation of the Marshals current feelings—his regret for his shame, his pride in the bravery and honor of those who fought under his command, and his respect for those whom he fought against.
When it was nearly sunset, Akai stepped into the Sun Palace's baths and stripped off his armor and underclothes, stepping into the steaming hot water. He relaxed there for several minutes, breathing in deeply, savoring the feeling of the steam opening his pores. Two female attendants entered the baths behind him, and he stood up, allowing them to bathe him. Normally he would do it himself…but this was something of a special occasion.
When the attendants were finished, Akai stepped out of the baths and patted himself dry with a towel, changing into a pair of white cloth pants. He then held out his arms, allowing the two attendants to clothe him in a soft, white robe. He tied the sash around his waist, tightening the robe so that it would not fall open. He then slipped his feet into simple, leather sandals and drew back his hair, tying it back into the topknot that was worn by all samurai.
The Marshal then proceeded to the great hall of the palace, behind the throne room. The large, rectangular table that took up the center of the room was mostly empty, save for one man. There was only one place at the table that had food set upon it, and standing next to its chair was none other than the Shogun himself. "I brought it out myself," the older man nodded to the meal.
The meal comprised of fried rice and eel, glazed with a sauce that made the surface of the Marshal's tongue simmer. It was his favorite meal, exactly what he had requested. He said nothing to the Shogun, simply exchanging a single nod with his superior. The Shogun was smiling faintly, but it was not a happy smile. His eyes were mournful. Though the two samurai did not speak to each other while the Marshal ate, they did not need to. Much as the Shogun wished it did not have to end this way, he knew that the Marshal had to do his duty.
Akai Hanako took his time, savoring every bite of his meal, until he dropped the last ball of rice into his mouth. He set his chopsticks down, giving an appreciative burp…and then sat in silence, patiently waiting. Within the next half-hour or so, a younger samurai poked his head into the great hall, exchanging a discreet nod with the Shogun before withdrawing.
The Shogun gave a quiet sigh and laid a hand on the Marshal's shoulder. "It is time," he said.
The Marshal stood up and accompanied the Shogun out of the great hall, through the throne room, and into the entrance hall. The imperial guard stood at attention on either side of the hall as the Marshal passed them by. When the Marshal and Shogun reached the palace doors, the imperial guardsmen left their posts and formed up behind the two older warriors, following them outside.
More samurai waited along the Emperor's Stair, and they joined the procession as well when the Marshal walked past. There were nearly a hundred warriors following close behind the Marshal by the time he reached the bottom of the stair, walking toward the open inner city gate. The Marshal could see the large crowd of people gathered in Koganeno Square beyond—samurai, daimyo, soldiers, commoners, shamans; all kinds of Ainu citizens had come to stand witness.
As they moved toward the inner city gate, the Marshal glanced over to the Shogun. "May I ask who you and the Emperor have chosen?" he asked.
"Our choice was Niten Dōraku," the Shogun. "He was reluctant, but he would not refuse his Emperor."
The Marshal nodded, a ghost of a smile flickering about his mouth. "A good choice," he agreed. "He will do well, I think."
The Shogun and the Marshal reached Koganeno Square, passing through the inner city gates. The crowd filled almost all of the square, save for the area in between the fountain and the inner city gates. Standing in front of the statue of Yoakenohoshi was the Sun Emperor, flanked by Niten and the Centralian Praetor.
The people gathered in the square all quieted down into a hushed silence as the Marshal arrived. The Marshal and Shogun both continued on toward the Sun Emperor while the samurai who had accompanied them down the Emperor's Stair dispersed into the crowd of onlookers.
The Marshal stopped in front of the Sun Emperor, handed his monarch the small silver ring, shaped like a dragon swallowing its own tail, that was the symbol of his rank and office. The Sun Emperor accepted the ring, putting it into one of his inner pockets. With that, the Marshal took several steps back and slowly got down onto his knees. The Shogun held out the Marshal's tantō knife, which Akai accepted. The Shogun then stepped around the Marshal at stood behind and to the side of him. He gripped the handle of his katana and unsheathed the blade, holding it ready.
Lord Fernando, who stood to the side of the Sun Emperor, watched as the Marshal pulled the knife from his sheath. The middle-aged samurai commander inspected the blade for several moments before holding it outward and inverting it, so that the point was resting on the left side of his abdomen. The Marshal took one last breath and was expressionless as he plunged the knife into his gut. Lord Fernando's stomach turned as the Marshal adjusted his grip on the blade before bringing it over to the right side of his abdomen, virtually disemboweling himself.
When he finished the cut, the Marshal gave a faint wince and quickly looked up, wanting to spend his final moments staring into the sky, feeling the warmth of the setting sun on his face. As he did this, the Shogun gave a sharp yell and brought his blade slicing down.
The Marshal's head thudded to the ground, his body crumpling soon after. Samurai hurried over to the Marshal's corpse and quickly cleared it away before the bloodstains grew too large to manage.
Lord Fernando kept his expression neutral as he witnessed the affair. When the Marshal had made known his intention to commit public seppuku, the Praetor's initial thoughts had been ones of protest. He was quite aware of the Marshal's ability to lead, and he did not want to lose the man to ritual suicide, of all things… But, Lord Fernando was also aware how far an Ainu would go to protect his honor, and he knew it would have been fruitless to attempt to dissuade the Marshal from his path—doing so would probably have resulted in the samurai leader taking great offense, anyway.
And so, there had been nothing for the Praetor to do but sit back and watch one of the Ainu Empire's best military leaders take his own life. Even after the official cessation of hostilities in the capital, Zamorak's influence continued to be keenly felt. In the end, Fernando was simply glad that none of the other high-ranking commanders in the loyalists' ranks had followed the Marshal's example—Akai Hanako's gesture seemed to be enough to pardon all the rest of the loyalist forces.
After the Marshal's death, life in the capital started returning to the way it was before a civil war had descended upon it. Lord Fernando was given a small room in the Sun Palace to stay in, and he spent most of his time either wandering through the city, or in conversation with the Shogun. The only noteworthy event of those first few days of peace was when the Sun Emperor appointed Niten as the new Emperor's Marshal.
Ten days after the battle, the Silver Arrow arrived in Kātayō Harbor, having received the signal that the battle for Kātayō was over and that it was safe for them to return to port. This allowed Captain Harcourt to load his cannons back onto his ship, which had most of the sailors relieved. Bit by bit, their world was slowly returning to normal.
A week after that, roughly twenty thousand warriors from the northern island of Arokyo arrived at the walls of the capital. It was the army under the command of Kurosawa Ukitei, the fiery-tempered Daimyo of Ushu who had raised his own force to stop the Shogun's attack on the Sun Emperor. The Emperor had sent dispatches to Lord Kurosawa informing him of the current situation, already, which was most likely why Kurosawa sent envoys into the capital rather than greeting them with fire from his siege engines.
After several brief conversations with these envoys, they withdrew from the city, and Kurosawa himself made his entrance, proceeding through the capital to the Sun Palace with four of his best fighters. Lord Fernando got his first look at the man when he reached the top of the Emperor's Stair. His armor was similar to Niten's, only it was a vibrant red as opposed to Niten's maroon. He was tall and very thin, almost graceful; he reminded the Praetor of a rapier—thin in stature, perhaps, but lightning-quick, precise, and very deadly.
Kurosawa sported a thin mustache with ends that hung nearly all the way down to his lower jaw. His eyes were light brown in color, almost amber, and they blazed with an intensity known only to expert craftsman who devoted their lives to their craft and excelled at it. Kurosawa's craft happened to be warfare; and in this day and age, there was plenty of it to be had.
The Daimyo regarded the Centralian Praetor like he would an exotic animal that had been set free from its cage. Lord Fernando waited for Kurosawa and company to pass by before entering the Sun Palace, following the Daimyo of Ushu down the entrance hall and into the throne room. The four bodyguards waited outside the doors, but their lord continued inside.
"Akitsukami," Kurosawa dropped to a knee, bowing in the presence of the Sun Emperor. Lord Fernando slipped into the throne room behind him, standing off to the side to observe.
"You may rise, Kurosawa-dono," the Emperor gestured for the daimyo to stand up. Lord Kurosawa returned to his feet, casting several wary glanced over at the Shogun, who stood behind and to the side of the Sun Emperor's throne. If the Emperor noticed this, he ignored it. "Now would you care to explain why there are twenty thousand warriors camped outside my walls? Do you intend to lay siege to my city?"
"The city was supposed to be under attack when I arrived; it was my intention to break the siege," Kurosawa explained, glancing at the Shogun once again. When he spoke next, he spoke directly to the military commander. "You have attacked the Emperor, and you must answer for it."
The Shogun's expression darkened, but the Sun Emperor quelled him before he could speak. "My soul was tainted by the stain of Zamorak. The man who exiled the Shogun, the man who you came here to defend was not your Emperor. It was only through the Shogun's efforts that my soul was cleansed and I was restored."
Kurosawa hesitated, a slight frown creasing down his forehead. During his march across Oēn, when his scouts had reported the lack of fighting around the capital, the Daimyo of Ushu had scarcely believed their words. Later, when one of the Emperor's advisors met with him on the road, informing him of the battle's conclusion and the rebel victory, the one thing he felt the most was confusion. Nevertheless, he did not stop his march, proceeding all the way to the walls of Kātayō, where the Shogun's forces had camped only half a month earlier.
Now he arrived in the capital to find the rebel and loyalist forces reunited once more, the defeated loyalist leaders still alive, save for the old Marshal, and the Shogun reoccupying his old post as the Sun Emperor's advisor. If anything, the Emperor seemed to approve of the actions of the rebels…and this confused him to no end. While he pondered the Emperor's words, he caught sight of the Centralian standing off to the side of the throne room, silently watching the proceedings.
"Why does a gaijin stand in our presence?" the Ainu warlord asked, hoping for at least one answer he could understand.
"This man is Iulus Fernandos, Praetor of the Centralian Kingdom," the Shogun answered for the Emperor, as he knew the Centralian better than his monarch. "He is the reason why the battle for this city lasted only a single day."
That was enough to make Kurosawa blink. The Daimyo of Ushu did not particularly like Centralians—he'd always thought of them as weaklings who would prefer to stab a man in the back rather than fight him in honorable combat. And while this sentiment was not always without merit…perhaps it was not as resolutely accurate as he previously believed. But this revelation meant that the Shogun's forces had had Centralian assistance…and the Sun Emperor seemed to approve of this, as well, as evidenced by the Centralian Praetor's presence in the palace.
It was almost too much for Kurosawa to take in at once.
"Perhaps you should go and bring your men into the city," the Emperor suggested. "The citizens here will give them quarter, which I believe would be better than having them camp out through the winter. Then return here for the evening meal. The Shogun and myself will do our best to explain everything to you then."
"As you wish, my Emperor," Kurosawa bowed once again and took his leave, but not before eyeing up the Centralian Praetor one last time. But this time, his gaze was a curious one, rather than a hostile one.
"He took it better than I expected him to," the Shogun remarked.
"The man loves war a little too much, perhaps," the Emperor conceded. "But he is not a brute, nor is he disloyal. He will listen to what I have to say."
As requested, Kurosawa arrived at the Sun Palace for the evening meal, along with Takeiji—his aide. Lord Fernando did not pay very much attention as the Shogun and the Emperor explained to Kurosawa everything that had transpired during the brief battle. The Daimyo listened to why the Emperor stated that the rebel cause was just and the loyalists were misguided. And finally, he listened to the Emperor's last declaration—his intention to unite all of the empire's armies under the imperial banner in order to march to the aid of Centralia.
Despite Kurosawa's dislike of Centralians, it had not been hard to convince him to agree with the Ainu going to Centralia's aid. After all, it was pretty much the chance for him to take part in the largest and bloodiest war Gielinor has ever known. He'd been stuck fighting rival daimyo for far too long.
After the evening meal was finished, Kurosawa took his leave once again and returned to his men. Before the Praetor could leave, however, the Emperor asked to meet him in his private chambers in half an hour. The Praetor left the great hall and headed out to the palace entrance, where he found a stone bench and smoked from his pipe to help pass the time.
It was nearly sunset by the time the Praetor made his way to the Emperor's chambers, where he was allowed to enter by the samurai guards. The chambers themselves were empty, for the Emperor was outside on the balcony. The Sun Emperor heard the Praetor enter his chambers and called out to him. Following the sound of the Emperor's voice, Lord Fernando made his way out onto the balcony. The Shogun was also present, as was Niten.
"Thank you for your timely arrival, Praetor," the Sun Emperor nodded to Fernando as the Centralian bowed in respect. He held a steaming cup in his hand and held it up, asking the Praetor, "Would you care for some sake?"
"Thank you, Emperor, but no," the Praetor politely declined. "I have already eaten and drunk my fill at supper. How may I be of service?"
The Sun Emperor stood at the edge of the balcony, leaning on the rail, watching the sun sink into the west. As the Praetor asked his question, he finally turned around, gestured for everyone to take a seat. "As you know, Praetor, I have sent summons all across the empire to the daimyo of the provinces. It will take some time to fully mobilize our armies, but this poses no problem—it would be ill-advised to send a fleet across the Vast Ocean during the winter, anyway. Until the arrival of spring, we will not be going anywhere."
"I understand," the Praetor nodded.
The Emperor pulled over one of the wooden stools near the rail and sat down in front of his three visitors. "As for why I have summoned you here… When I was cleansed by the Itoan shamans, I returned to my senses thinking that it was four years ago. The last thing I remembered was speaking with you, Shogun, about the disturbing dreams I was having… I did not remember anything from the four years I spent as Zamorak's puppet. But over the past two weeks, certain memories have started to return… I go to sleep for the night, but in the morning I wake up with memories that are not mine, fresh in my mind. After a few days, I realized that these are memories from the past four years. I was not completely unaware, you see… Zamorak was present within me, and my consciousness was pushed into a dark corner of my mind…but I was not necessarily helpless.
"You see, whatever part of Zamorak that was in me was privy to all my thoughts, all my memories, my emotions," the Sun Emperor continued to explain, pausing only to take a small sip of his drink. "But it worked both ways. I was able to catch glimpses of the Dark One's own mind, of his plans…and earlier this morning, I remembered something that I had learned from the Dark One himself, concerning a prophecy and a boy blessed by Fate. And if your military leaders are not informed of what I have learned, then disaster will befall your kingdom. You see, your leadership believes they are being invaded from the east…"
End of Act I