Standard disclaimers apply. All BG characters belong to Bioware except for Irse and Okami who sprang fully-grown and stocked with kaffa from the author's regulatory audit-weary mind. As this is an AU BG, an inordinate number of events will not be following the in-game story.

(Because I couldn't reply via the Reviews section)

To Nimloth of Thay: Yay! A fellow Saiyuki and BG fan! What a small realm this is! On a random note, I once played Icewind Dale 2 with the Ikkou, plus Hazel and Gato. Good times, good times. I agree, Yoshimo is awesome! We gots a soft spot for confident and competent characters hehe. It was a choice between having Okami come from either Wa (based on the Tokugawa Shogunate Era) or Kozakura (based on the Sengoku Period), and so it was the latter - but not because we want to drop a random Samurai Kings reference *coughs*.

To Aiavan: Yes, this part for now is pre-Iron Crisis ;) Perhaps we could give Gorion a bit of a break this time and not let him go wandering around in The Lion's Way after dark. ;)

Many thanks to all readers and reviewers. Not much happening yet as this chapter is to deal with some chief issues, thus, I humbly beg your patience. Things should get lighter in the next. ^^

"The way of the warrior is resolute acceptance of death." – Miyamoto Musashi, The Book of Five Rings.

THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE

Book One : From the Earth | Chapter 3 : A Shadow of Valleys

It was there again, that familiar flash of steel above her head. But this time, new details made themselves known to her, things that had escaped her awareness then. Woody smoke that hung heavy in the air from the burning wagons, a woman wailing somewhere in the distance, and the dampness of the grass against the back of her neck. Even the blood from the bandit's sword, blood already drawn from her, falling in drops upon her face and leaving trails across her cheeks.

The same fear was still there, accompanied by the dryness in her throat, the breath tight in her chest, and the pounding in her ears. But this time, she waited with an expectant knowing. The blade piercing through the tatty jerkin, his hands reaching down to pull her up from the earth, the search in the woods for the children, the distraught faces. Grief, anger, doubt over the choice made, bleakness over not knowing where to go to next. All concluding with relief and hope, the early sunlight upon the road, its dust like gold beside the shadows cast by her feet.

A veil was lifted from her eyes and she was brought back to the waking world and into the shelter of the smithy. No light peeked beneath the blanket at the door; dawn was still hours away. The lamps had been put out but the elf could see faintly in the darkness.

Irse turned over to her side and pondered the dream. It felt different from the ones she usually had at home. It was as if she was there once more at the night of the attack, experiencing everything all over again even though she already knew what would happen.

But she did have a dream similar to this, weeks ago. Inwardly she groaned at the memory. It had been the catalyst, the final straw. Why won't Gorion give her answers. No, now was not the time to be distracted. The elf sighed and shook herself all over, both to brush off the stiffness and the more recent yet unhappy memories. Her eyes wandered around in the smithy, taking in what she could see in the absence of light – the forge black and cold, the tools neatly lined against the rack, the anvil like the hulking form of a slumbering beast, her teacher resting on his back.

Even in sleep he was quiet and still. Were it not for the slow rising and falling of his chest, he could easily be mistaken for a corpse. Never snoring, not even a murmur from a dream or a moan from a nightmare. Irse speculated. Perhaps his home had given him nothing but peaceful memories. In other words – most likely a dull, humdrum, boring life in some quiet backwoods. No wonder he left his homeland to seek his fortune in Faerun.

Perhaps they were not so different then, the elf supposed as she pulled the blanket over herself and waited for the morning.

The afternoon had advanced to the final hours before sunset. They stopped by the side of the road and walked further until they reached a clearing amidst a sparse copse of trees.

"Let me see to your wounds again while there is yet light," Okami said.

First, her hands. She held them out for him and he carefully freed them of the bandages, one after the other. As the dressings fell away, he took her hands and held them up for closer scrutiny. His eyes lit up in surprise. Though the surrounding areas and edges of the lacerations were still inflamed, the cuts themselves had closed altogether.

"I feared I had been negligent in allowing you to work with the hammer so soon, that it might hinder your recovery. But it appears they are healing much faster than I expected even when it should require many days for a wound of this type to reach this state. I am not familiar with the constitution of elves, but is this the way with your people?"

"Not sure, Teacher. I've had my share of nasty falls and scrapes but as far as I can remember, I just shrug it off and I'd be up and running again."

Her hands continued to rest upon his as he stared at them still. Much like fortune tellers who looked into one's palm and predicted the future – whether one would marry and have ten children, or die an old maid. Not that she had anyone look into hers before for the same reason; as a child, often it was merely to check if she had pilfered anything from the kitchens or was hiding another crumpled note with a crudely scribbled insulting likeness of Master Ulraunt or any of his lackeys.

"Are you reading my future?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"No, but another's past. A sad tale from a long time ago," he said as he picked up the discarded bandages beside them. He moved back and settled in a sitting kneel before her as he gathered and rolled the length of the dressings.

"Can I hear it?" she blurted eagerly. But she paused, then added, "If you don't mind telling." It just occurred to her that Okami hadn't really shared anything about himself since they began traveling together, and that might have been for good reason.

But her teacher responded with an indulgent smile. "Of course, though it is not about myself, but of a man I met in my youth." He breathed in deeply as he recounted. "Many years past, I fought alongside a soldier by the name of Tatsuhito. One day as we were preparing to engage the enemy, I noticed a prominent scar upon his hand nearly identical to yours."

Irse raised her brow in surprise. So her teacher used to be a soldier? Yet his manners seemed to dictate otherwise. The elf briefly imagined the blacksmith in gleaming helmet and polished armor instead of his shabby loose trousers and his short tattered open-front robe that he wrapped around himself and held together with a sash. Then she realized she had no idea how Kozakuran soldiers dressed like anyway.

"I inquired as to how he obtained his scar, and he confessed it was the mark of a blood oath."

The young elf's eyes widened with interest. A blood oath. That sounded like it involved villainous wizards and warlocks. "What's a blood oath? Is it evil magic?" she asked, her voice an excited whisper.

"There is no magic, arcane nor divine, involved in one; only an intent to commit oneself to a bond with another. Often it is done to establish alliances or to swear an oath to perform a duty to another person."

Her curiosity was piqued. "If it's not magic, then what do they do in it?"

"There are no written rules, only what one's heart dictates and bids him say. Customarily, they swear their oaths followed by bloodletting. The rite is concluded by the mingling of blood, through clasping of hands if they had cut their palms, or letting blood from their forearms fall into a cup of wine which they drink together. This is to signify that the same blood now flows in their veins, the union of both brotherhood and purpose."

"Drinking blood!" she exclaimed with a shiver. "What happens if you break your vow?"

"No law or curse binds them to their pledge but I know not of any who have turned their back on it. You do not make the oath of blood to someone you do not honor or respect, nor for a cause you are not willing to give your life to. It is not uncommon to hear of those taking their own lives due to betrayal or failure. Truth be told, this ritual originated from tribes beyond our shores. Somehow, it had found its way to our lands and I am not surprised that the warriors among us would take to this practice."

The elf leaned back, amazed that there were people who would do such a thing to themselves. "And your friend? Did he tell you why he did that?

"Herein is the sadness of his tale. Tatsuhito had a bosom friend, Ueda, a fellow soldier and minor noble whose home lay at the edge of the borders under our protection. The enemy, in a show of defiance, raided his village and subjugated its inhabitants to their rule. While the peasants immediately swore fealty to their new master in fear for their lives, Ueda's family remained steadfast. As punishment, his entire household were abused and publicly executed - his elderly parents, wife and children. Even the lowest of the servants and the livestock were not spared. Their bodies were tossed like refuse outside the gates of their own house, under strict orders to remain unburied for a month to serve as a warning to others."

Irse gasped in disbelief at the brutality. "And the army marched in, saved the village and punished the enemy, right?"

Okami shook his head. "It was only a minor loss to our lord and his allies, the small territory and insignificant populace unworthy of resources better spent elsewhere. Denied of justice and maddened by grief, Ueda secretly deserted his post to return to his home and avenge his family. But alone and unaided, he was caught, tortured in the same manner they suffered, and made to die of his wounds slowly as he lay among the corpses of the slain."

Irse's heart sank. This certainly didn't play out like the epic tales of revenge she had read from the books that her tutor, Brother Karan, would sneak out of the library for her. In those stories, the wronged heroes always succeeded, survived, and were rewarded - hailed as a savior by the oppressed little folk or married to a beautiful princess and ruled a kingdom until a peaceful death in old age.

Her teacher folded the bandages as he resumed his tale. "Tatsuhito, assigned to another division, returned to learn of his friend's death. Though Ueda no longer lived to hear his vow, he performed the blood oath upon himself, swearing he would not rest until the murderers are all dead. But unlike his friend, Tatsuhito was a prudent and patient man. After a skirmish, he feigned grave injuries and was granted a lengthy reprieve. He traveled to the village, disguised as a landless peasant seeking employ. For months, he lived as a servant to the traitors and his friend's murderers, learning all what he could of them. One by one, he killed those involved whether by poison, a blade to the back, or a contrived accident. To kill by stealth was beyond the question of his principles, so great was his love for his friend that he was willing to do anything no matter how seemingly dishonorable for a warrior."

"Did he ever succeed in getting them all while he was there?" Irse leaned forward, hoping in her heart that there could be a happy ending to the tale.

"All but the captain who ordered the executions and two of his attendants who participated in the tortures; they had been recalled to the main army of their lord. It was in that chance encounter where Tatsuhito and I met that he completed his vengeance. In the midst of the fighting, he charged and broke through enemy lines, seeking those three men. I found him after the battle, his path littered with the unfortunates who dared to stand in his way, and him surrounded by the bodies of his quarries. All of them slain by his hand yet he himself already breathing his last."

"So he did it. But he still died," she said with disappointment.

"Yes, such a path rarely ends well for all. But there was peace upon his face as he expired, knowing he had fulfilled his vow to his dearest friend. His sword I eventually returned to his family in Chozawa, their grief great at the loss of a son but their pride immeasurable over his fidelity to his oath and friend."

Irse slumped and rested against her pack, her own spirit heavy at the unhappy conclusion. Even with retribution attained, justice still felt hollow. No recompense, even for Tatsuhito's family who lost him to the vendetta. For what good was pride then – can it laugh with the voice of the departed, or put its arms around the loved ones left behind? Nonetheless, the elf let out a sigh of relief. Thankfully though, no wars ever happened in the Sword Coast, and Candlekeep will always be safe for everyone who lived there.

The sound of her teacher briskly rubbing and slapping his hands together jolted the elf from her musings. "Now, how did I allow you to listen with only one ear? We must remove the bandages so that this tragic tale may come out of the other lest it rob you of sleep tonight," he offered cheerily.

Irse grinned at his words. And so her ear was next. She felt the gauze slowly unwinding around her head until the hot stuffiness was gone and a slight breeze gently touched at the once covered skin. Pleased, the elf combed a hand through the coppery locks that had fallen to the side of her head to gather them away from the ear and feel more of the cool afternoon air.

Her finger brushed against the ear – or what was left of it, her hand pulling away in shock. She stared at him anxiously. Her teacher didn't answer. Instead, he raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.

"You are still able to hear that with your left ear?"

Irse scowled. "Of course, I can."

"Then it matters not what the outside appears to the world, so long as the inside functions as it should," he dismissed.

Her hand quickly shot up to the side of her head to feel again. The upper tip was still there but a portion of the outer ear's side was gone. On the night of the attack, it had swelled to nearly twice its size and she had hoped it was still whole and merely pierced through. The first couple of nights afterwards, it throbbed with pain and nearly robbed her of sleep. The elf had thought that would be the worst of it. That it suddenly stopped hurting like some miracle gave her hope that it would be well again. Now she discovered she had been wrong.

In panic she turned away and scrambled for her pack. "A mirror," she muttered, upset. Surely, she must have thought to bring one with her. Yet for all her planning, she had forgotten to throw one into her bag. "Well, it's not so bad, is it?" the elf finally said in defeat.

"Not as misshapen as those I have seen in the aftermath of battle or a duel. Others have had theirs severed entirely," Okami said with the nonchalance of one who had seen every conceivable injury.

The elf exhaled in half-hearted agreement as she fingered at the ragged edge of her ear. That a child would live, the man who had done this to her was dead, and that she was still alive were things to be grateful for; others hadn't been so fortunate.

"Tell me plainly how you got those wounds," Okami said.

Irse looked up at him and frowned. Didn't he know already? "I got them when I caught the sword with my bare hands. Stupid of me to think I could – no, I wasn't thinking at all. And the ear, well, I tried to move my head away, clearly it was coming straight for my face. He was sitting on me, otherwise I could've rolled away. But why are you asking me?"

"Without knowing, you demonstrated a vital principle in combat," he said, his eyes grave. "The way of the warrior is the resolute acceptance of death - that is the word of the masters drilled upon us from our youth. And yet it is the very same creed that would keep you alive in the worst of the fighting, when both weapon and aid have failed."

Irse blinked, confused. "What has that got to do with me? How will not being afraid to die be what that keeps me alive? That doesn't make sense at all!"

"You are fortunate to have been blessed with the instinct. Yet think for a moment if you had been given the choice but not wanted to mar your hands or perchance lose a finger in the process. You would have hesitated to sacrifice your hands and surely you would have joined the others in the pyre."

"Are you saying I should be reckless? Not care if I lose everything?"

"Do not confuse resolve with rashness. When you have accepted the prospect of death then you will be undistracted by preoccupation with self-preservation. Only then you may draw unhindered from the deepest reserves of your strength and focus. Think upon that each time you look at your hands and when you finally see yourself in the mirror. You may find it difficult to understand now but one day you will, though I pray to the gods that you would never have to," he said as he got up, bandages in hand.

Not far from where they made their camp, Okami dug a small hole in which he tossed the used dressings and covered them with the disturbed earth. Meanwhile, Irse busied herself with gathering wood for the fire. Every now and then, she would look down at her hands or rub her left ear and thought grimly. What else would she have to sacrifice?

Slowly, the fire came to life as Irse fed it with more dried leaves. Its crisp cackle joined the low buzzing of crickets and the occasional shrill cry of a bird roosting above them. The blacksmith returned from a quick patrol of their surroundings, his wordless calm telling her that nothing was amiss and they could settle there for the night.

Her teacher peered into the sack of provisions that had been generously provided by their previous hosts. "Now, if you are agreeable, let us finally have our supper," he said.

"Great!" Irse cheered excitedly, suddenly revived. "You know, all that talk of blood made me hungry!"

Okami shot her a strange look.

"I mean, blood, like blood pudding and meat stew and…" she attempted to explain, astonished at her own outburst.

"It is too late to set a trap with the evening already upon us. We are having the vegetables that Mistress Sarra provided but the cured meat and seasonings we must ration until we reach another place with a market. Hence, tonight we will boil them without salt," he pronounced dryly as he pulled out a small kettle.

The elf groaned and wondered what her other ear would taste like.

"It's... a sword?" Irse asked, uncertainly, as she examined the piece of wood that Okami had handed to her. As long as her arm, one end carved to a pointy tip, the whole length cut to resemble the broad sides of the blade, the other end notched to indicate where the hilt should be.

"Yes, a bokken, a practice sword - or the best I could prepare in such short notice."

She gripped the stick with both hands and tried to swing it just like the way she remembered seeing the Watchers do during their practice drills.

"Ow!" the elf exclaimed and glanced at her palm. A splinter and no wonder; the entire surface had only been hurriedly sheared and yet to be sanded down.

Okami coughed as he held out his own wooden sword. "A thousand apologies. I am a blacksmith, not a woodcarver."

Her cheeks puffed as she stifled a snicker. At least that was one thing he is not that she could scratch from her list. What else could he be, after all?

Their lessons began that morning as they walked the road. Okami wasted no time as he explained the rudiments to his eager student. "The difference between the standard double-edged longsword in common use in Faerun and the single-edged katana of Kara-Tur which I carry is not only in appearance, but also in how they are wielded. However, the basic stance and guards are quite similar in form and principle."

Her teacher paused in his steps and stood before her, knees slightly bent, feet apart but with right foot forward and left foot behind and slightly pointing outwards. He raised his bokken in front of him, tip pointing up. "For instance, what is known as the short guard for the longsword is also the chudan no kamae of the katana."

He lowered the stick. "The fool's guard, also the gedan no kamae." He raised the practice sword above his head. "The guard of the hawk, also the jodan no kamae." The bokken lowered but pointing behind. "The long tail guard, also the waki no kamae." He raised the stick once again, this time at eye level and the tip pointing forward. "And the ox guard, also the kasumi no kamae. Each stance has its purpose in defense and striking." At the mention of the Kozakuran names, he slightly changed the way he gripped his practice sword to indicate how the guard position would appear when one wielded a katana instead.

"Why do I tell you this? Had you been born in my homeland as a man and in a noble family, you would have been instructed in the sword arts from the moment your hands could hold and your feet could stand. Your clan, a patron of an illustrious school and you trained in a single fighting technique, the purpose of your duels merely to prove that your school's sword style is the finest. In Kozakura where warriors battle in much the same manner, such a way is effective."

Okami waved his bokken, pointing at the horizon and at the road before them. "But here in Faerun where people from across the realms converge, such narrowness of knowledge could be your undoing. Hence, I wish for you to understand not only the movements, but more so the principle that governs most of what you must do and what you may expect from an enemy."

The elf nodded in acceptance yet deep down, a sprout of insecurity remained.

"What is the matter?" her teacher asked, evidently reading her thoughts on her face.

"I don't know if I could truly learn something as complicated," she said timidly. Memories of impatient monks who had attempted to educate her in the finer points of civilization such as poetry, languages and history, had impressed that doubt upon her mind. Only Brother Karan, ten years her senior yet of gentle disposition and possessing an unending store of patience, had been able to get her and Imoen to sit still long enough to learn their letters and sums. A jar of sweets sitting at his table might have been instrumental as well.

"I know that all this is too much to take in at the moment. You do not have the benefit of years of rote learning that you could have had as a child. But you are of sound mind and age now, thus, you must make up for it with the study and understanding of the principles before the application itself. But fear not," he said reassuringly. "All I ask from you are an open mind, eyes, and ears. Let them lead, and your hands will follow."

Irse nodded again, this time with a bit more confidence. As they walked, Okami drilled her in the guard positions. He would call out a name, and she would show it to him as best as she could recall. Occasionally they would stop in their tracks and the blacksmith would correct her mistakes while demonstrating his own form.

"Now, what do you observe from all of the guard positions I've shown you?" he asked.

The elf furrowed her brow as she tried to remember. "Your feet, Teacher. They remain the same, one behind the other. But why? Why not stand with them together, or lined-up like the way the guards of Candlekeep do?" she questioned him as she positioned her own feet in the manner she described.

Okami rubbed his chin. "A good point. Perhaps it is because this might happen," he said as he suddenly lunged at her, stick raised in a level thrust.

With a startled cry Irse stepped backwards, but her foot could only go so far before she completely lost balance and fell on her rear. The elf winced in pain but got up as quickly as she could, dusting her trousers and her hands. "Unfair! You caught me by surprise!" she protested.

"And you expect enemies to announce themselves before they attack? Please point me to the direction of where such may be found. Their courtesy would be greatly appreciated," Okami sniffed.

"Well, the monks always said I'm a rude wingless imp!" Irse shouted as she launched herself at her teacher without warning, wooden sword raised above her head. But as she brought it down upon him, Okami spun sideways out of her reach. Her momentum carried her forward past him, and she felt the wood tap at her back. A bit of a stumble, and she stopped to turn around and face him. But she wasn't done yet.

Once more, the elf charged at him but her teacher effortlessly sidestepped again from her attack. They kept at it for a while – Irse frustratedly swinging her bokken in any direction she could muster yet Okami always remaining out of reach.

An old man on a horse-driven cart passed them by, going northward. "C'mon, my good man! Give the lass a chance, let her catch you once!" he laughed as he cracked at the reins and whistled at them.

Irse stopped to glare at the cart as it pulled away. From behind her, Okami's wooden stick landed on the top of her head, gently yet firm enough for a lesson. She yelped at the blow as her head jerked down and her shoulders scrunched in.

"What was that for?" she griped as she rubbed at the sore spot.

"Do not be distracted by onlookers," he scolded sharply. "Of all reasons to be defeated in a duel, it is the most embarrassing one."

"Aigh, sorry!" Irse replied sheepishly. "But what was that you were doing, anyway? I couldn't hit you at all no matter how much I try."

"Tenkan, a method to evade an attack. It can be done while standing normally but still requires you to move quickly into the proper stance where your rear foot leads to pull you out of the enemy's path," Okami explained.

"With improper posture, you are unbalanced, limited in your actions, and you position yourself to meet the enemy's force head-on. Your stance is what is the root to the tree – it should keep you stable and grounded," he said as he tapped at his leg. "But to be like water, allowing you to be fluid, quick, and adaptable in your movement whether in attack or defense," he followed as he rotated gracefully to one side as if evading an imaginary opponent, simultaneously swinging his own practice sword at where the enemy's neck would be.

The elf inhaled deeply, then gripped her practice sword as she tried to mirror the correct stance.

"Please show me, Teacher," she entreated humbly, suddenly feeling a quiet wave of excitement when he responded with a gratified smile.

There was much to absorb, much to comprehend, but surely there was enough of the road and the journey ahead to let her learn and finally understand.

"We are grateful that you would let us ride with you the rest of the way," Okami thanked the farmer, sitting at the front of the cart beside the old man.

"You're both lucky ya caught up with me an' old Kicker. I reckon' the girl's all winded from chasin' at you so hard!" the farmer jested as he turned his head to wink at Irse sitting at the back of the cart. The elf shot him a grin that looked more like an angry grimace. The farmer merely chuckled.

Fortune had beamed upon them that day. Not far from where master and student had been practicing, the old farmer himself had stopped to nap, feed his horse, and nap some more. By the time the pair had come upon him, the old man had awoken, forgotten that he had already fed his horse, and had decided to shove another armful of hay at the beast which didn't mind the second meal. Her teacher had inquired if the old farmer needed assistance of any kind, a conversation which quickly evolved to the latter offering to take them wherever they may be going as long as it was heading north.

They traveled over gently rolling hills, past sprawling farmlands. The two men exchanged pleasantries, weather maxims, opinions about root crops. The uninteresting conversation, combined with the heat of the morning sun climbing to its zenith, lulled Irse into a light sleep. Boredom and weariness finally allowed her to doze off despite the rickety cart wobbling its way upon the bumpy road.

She was roused by a hand upon the top of her head.

"We are here," Okami called out.

The elf kneaded the corner of her eyes with her knuckles before pulling herself up. She pushed in between the two men; her mouth open in awe as they crossed an immense bridge. Stone posts and archways towered above them, the boulevard a wide network of innumerable bricks bordered by parapets near the height of a man. Beneath the structure, the River Chionthar flowed through, its mighty blue currents drawing the boats, smaller rafts, and floating scrubs onwards to the Sea of Swords to the west. Beyond the bridge, massive gray walls rose from the riverbank, an endless curtain of stone spanning both directions as far as her eyes could see. They were finally welcomed by a colossal gate, high and wide enough for a giant as the elf imagined. The portcullis was raised, its pointed iron grills like the teeth of a great monster while throngs of travelers fed themselves into the huge stone maw which gave her a peek into another world.

"Is this…?" she gasped as she looked up at her teacher.

Okami nodded at her. "Yes, it is," he said quietly.

They were finally here.

Baldur's Gate.