By Shawn Carman
Edited by Fred Wan
The Moshi provinces, in the Spine of the World Mountains
Moshi Amika, the Lady of the Moshi and one of the Mantis lords, stopped writing for a moment to massage her throbbing hand. She stared at the pile of scrolls that yet waited for her response, and in doing so she abandoned all thought of sleeping that evening. The moon was high in the sky already, but it would be dawn before she could complete the task before her, and she was utterly unwilling to leave it undone for one moment longer.
In the days and weeks since her return from the Crab lands, Amika had engaged in a correspondence with the daimyo of every shugenja family in the Empire, as well as the leaders of many shugenja orders that existed outside the ranks of the Great Clans. The things she had witnessed, the warnings she had heard issued, were such that they must be shared with all who would hear them. She had hoped, perhaps desperately, that someone somewhere in the Empire would have the knowledge needed to comprehend the enormity of it all, but all she had received thus far were more questions, virtually none of which she could answer.
Amika had resolved to discuss the matter until some sense could be made of it. She still remembered the heat that had emanated from the crater, the acrid smell of the smoke that had hung thick in the air. And of course, she remembered the haunting final words of the all-too-human man that had once been Lord Sun, one of the mightiest entities known to exist. She could not rest until she knew what he had meant. If she put it aside, what risks would she be exposing her family to? Her clan to? The whole of Rokugan to?
Amika shook her hand one last time and took the brush up once again. The Iuchi family daimyo had asked a series of very specific, very unusual questions, and she hoped perhaps that he might have some insight that could help her come to a better understanding.
Hands seized Amika’s throat from behind, clenching her so tightly that she suddenly could not draw breath. Several faint squeaking sounds emerged as she struggled, but the hands only tightened. Amika unleashed the only prayer that she could invoke without speaking, and the air kami crackled to life throughout the room. She could feel searing pain in her throat as the lightning coursed over her assailant and into her, but there was no appreciable effect on his grip.
“You traffic in secrets that no mortal should speak of,” a hoarse voice whispered in her ear. “You inspire others to ask questions that should not be spoken. Know this: you are but the first to die.”
The man’s grip tightened even further, and Amika’s vision swam with black and red. Then he wrenched her head violently to the side, and Moshi Amika knew nothing more.
The assassin crept into the corridor beyond Amika’s private chambers. The lanterns there instantly dimmed in response to his presence, their pinprick flames casting virtually no light at all. Daigotsu Harushi moved easily through the shadows, like a fish might slip unnoticed through still waters. His egress from this wretched place, more a temple than a castle, would be unnoticed. During his service to the Spider he had slain many, and never had he been seen. He was the dark dream that came in the night and claimed the lives of the virtuous and the pure. He was death.
“Stop!”
The voice was such an utter surprise that Harushi actually complied, if only out of shock, and turned to see who could have the temerity to speak to him in such a manner. There was a lone samurai at the end of the corridor, a man with a bow, who pointed at him and spoke with the tone of one who was accustomed to being obeyed. “Guests are not allowed on this level. State your name at once!”
Harushi frowned, more annoyed than anything else. Curse the Tsuruchi and their keen eyes! He had faced them before, but none had ever seen him. When this was finished, when Daigotsu’s great work was complete, Harushi would ensure that this man was no longer a threat.
The assassin turned and leaped from the window. The drop was enough to slay a mortal man, but Harushi rolled with the impact without losing speed. He raced along the length of the wall that surrounded the castle. The night was like a lover’s embrace, and he moved unseen against the starlit background. One sentry stood in his path, and never saw him, up until the moment that Harushi struck him, sending him falling to his death. The assassin raced to the end and leapt into the air, hanging for a moment in an indulgent state of harmony with the darkness.
Three searing impacts struck Harushi’s back in rapid succession.
Even as he fell through the air, the assassin twisted to look behind him. Unbelievably, the Tsuruchi was on the wall, reaching for more arrows. The man had survived the drop to the wall and kept pace with him, another act that none had ever performed. The pain from the arrows was considerable, and Harushi could tell that the damage was significant. The wound would take time to heal, and could prevent him from further participation in Daigotsu’s plan.
Harushi disappeared into the treetops. He heard another arrow strike the branches around him, but he was running the moment he struck the ground. He tore the arrows from his body, but he did not discard them.
One day very soon, he would plunge them in the Tsuruchi’s heart.
* * *
The Crane embassy in Toshi Ranbo
It happened so quickly that Doji Nagori did not even realize what was taking place until it was already over. He had been walking through the garden, chatting pleasantly with an ambassador from the Dragon Clan. His wife, Jorihime, was somewhere behind him, her soft, musical voice carrying on the breeze as she spoke to one of the ambassador’s functionaries. He could hear her scheduling some appointment, and made a mental note to compare schedules with her that before they retired for the evening. Nagori had taken advantage in a momentary lull in the conversation to look across at a bevy of blossoms and drink in their rich perfume.
When the men clad in black had erupted from the bushes, Nagori had been taken completely by surprise, and frozen.
The Dragon ambassador died first. His functionary might have preceded him, but in that Nagori could not be certain. All he could know without question is that the Mirumoto had stepped forward, his blades half-drawn, and been cut to pieces before he could even hope to mount a defense. One of the assailants then turned to Nagori and drew back his sword.
Jorihime appeared from nowhere. She was a tiny thing, smaller in that instant than Nagori had ever realized, like a child. She threw herself on the man before Nagori, and the blow meant for him ran her through instead. She did not cry out, but threw herself onto him, dragging them both to the ground with a grunt of irritation.
And then the Doji House Guard had arrived, only seconds after the assailants appeared in the first place.
Nagori knelt beside his wife, his face pale and his expression completely confused. “Jorihime,” he said. “Can you hear me?”
“Of course, husband,” she said through a pinched expression and blood-stained lips. “Am I not… always here… when you need me?”
Nagori looked down at the spreading crimson stain on her kimono. “I don’t… what is happening?”
“I couldn’t… let you go…” she rasped. “Our son… he needs stories to sleep… and you are such a better… storyteller, than I ever will be.”
The enormity of what was happening crashed down on Nagori like the weight of a tsunami shattering on the breakers. “Please do not leave me,” he whispered. “I love you too much.”
She smiled, and trailed two fingers across his lips. “I always… always loved…”
And she was gone.
Nagori gently laid his wife on the ground and rose to sit in a kneeling position. His face was drained of all color, his mouth hung agape, his vision clouded with tears. Tears, and something else. Something completely unfamiliar to the courtier. His hand trailed near the hilt of Kakita’s first blade, the blade of honor that he wore on his hip. He glanced dully around the garden, his eyes settling at last upon the assailant who had killed his wife. The man stood over one dead house guard, and two others had him trapped beneath them. He had no means of escape.
“Leave him!” Nagori screamed. He rose and drew his blade, all the long-forgotten lessons his elder sister had taught him so many years ago returning in a rush. “He is mine. Mine!”
“My lord?” one of the guards asked him, clearly incredulous.
Nagori shoved the guard out of the way and stood across from the assailant, holding his blade ready and ignoring the man’s cruel smirk. “When I tell my son about how his beautiful, honorable mother went to join her ancestors,” Nagori said quietly, “I will end the story with how I cut you open and watched you die in a moonlit garden.”
The two men charged one another.
* * *
The Yasuki provinces
The first and only sound that betrayed the assassin was the whisper of cloth against flesh as he shifted position, lifting a blade to plunge it into Hida Benjiro’s heart. The veteran recognized the sound instantly, and threw himself to the side. The blade pierced the warrior’s tatami mat, stabbing deep into the soil beneath it. The assassin allowed a single hiss of irritation to escape his lips, as quiet as a whisper.
Benjiro was on his feet in an instant. He had gone from a light, fitful sleep to seething rage within the span of a moment, and now he would have blood. “Assassin,” he snarled. “Coming here was a terrible mistake.”
The assassin said nothing, drawing a second blade and leaping. He covered the distance between the two men in less than a heartbeat. The blade’s swing was not wild or chaotic, not guided by desperation or rage, but a flawless, precise strike measured to take the life of a target.
It would not be enough.
Benjiro side-stepped the strike without difficulty, bending away with less than an inch between the assailant’s steel and his flesh. He snapped out with one hand, seizing the man by the shoulder and wrenching it. He felt the man’s bones and sinew twist and snap in his hand even as he came free of the ground and flew across the room, smashing into Benjiro’s low writing desk. “Are you one of the men who killed my brother’s grandfather?” he demanded. “Are you the scum who took Kisada from us?”
The other man did not speak. He rose, slower this time, his left arm hanging uselessly by his side. Still he did not speak. He hefted the blade in his right this time, holding it every so slightly more unwieldy than before. He circled Benjiro, looking for an opening.
Benjiro did not move. He waited. “You are not the one,” he said, his voice above a whisper. “A pathetic creature like you could never have taken the Great Bear. But perhaps you thought to emulate the other, and claim a Crab life of your own.” He sneered. “I am not the man Kisada was, but I will kill you in his honor.”
The assassin lunged, and Benjiro darted forward, inside the man’s swing. He shouldered his would-be-murderer in the chest, staggering him, then ripped the blade from his hand and plunged it into his stomach, twisting it savagely as he did so.
The Crab general savored the moment of his enemy’s death for one brief instant, and it almost cost him his life. There was the tiniest flicker of shadow from the muted lantern’s light. Benjiro saw it from the corner of his eye and dropped to the ground, but not before steel cut deeply into his shoulder.
The pain of the second assassin’s blade fanned the fire of Benjiro’s anger. He lost the world in a haze of red. He bellowed. It was a primal, predatory sound. He lunged for the other man, and caught his wrist. He ripped him from the ground, bringing him up over his head and down like an avalanche on the now broken desk, which shattered under his weight. The sheer force of the impact stunned the assassin for a moment, and he shook his head fiercely as he pushed up from where he lay on his stomach.
Benjiro was over him in a moment. He grabbed both the man’s wrists and forced his arms back. He placed his foot against the back of the man’s head and pulled with all his considerable power.
The sound of the assassin’s bones breaking was like thunder in the tiny tent.
* * *
Shiro Tamori, in the Dragon mountains
Tamori Shaitung grabbed the tetsubo that had been a gift from an old friend among the Crab. It had been placed in her personal quarters years ago and, while well-maintained, it had never been used for its intended purpose. That would change today, for it was closer at hand than her trusted blade.
The first of the assassins was a woman, quick and lithe, but Shaitung was not without a warrior’s prowess herself. Her first, clumsy strike was a feint, and the assassin was adequately deceived. The second strike was faster, more adept, and it shattered the woman’s jaw as well as portions of her skull. She dropped to the ground in a broken heap, and Shaitung turned her attention to the others.
How they could have gained access, she could not imagine, but there would be a reckoning to ensure such would never happen again. Four others were present, and Shaitung wondered idly if she would be able to disable them all. The room was relatively small, a testament to her sparse nature, but now it would work against her. There were few weapons, and she could not easily summon the kami to her defense in such close quarters. “Come on, then,” she said, hefting the weapon in both hands. “Come and let us find out how we all die.”
“Shaitung!” The sound was little more than an inarticulate bellow, and a section of the wall that faced the great empty mountain sky was torn away by an unseen force. And then he was there, his graying hair billowing in the wind, his orange and yellow robes fluttering as if caught in a hurricane. Tamori Nakamuro, Master of Air, lit upon the floor beside his wife. “You dare raise a hand against her!”
The assassins changed their stance at once, and it was evident from their smooth, practiced motions that this had been an outcome they had anticipated. One hurled a flurry of small sharpened discs, shuriken they were called, at them. Nakamuro scattered them with wind, but in the second of his spell’s aftermath, all three of the remaining assailants threw theirs as well. The span of a heartbeat between prayers was too much, and although he scattered most of the remaining ones, a few nicked both husband and wife.
Shaitung hissed in pain. The wound burned, and she had no doubt that they were poisoned. There were few poisons in the Empire whose antidotes could not be found within the walls of Shiro Tamori, however, and if the assassins thought that their victory would be so simple, they would be sorely disappointed.
Nakamuro stepped in front of Shaitung and unleashed a torrent of lightning, casting aside his distaste for the taking of lives in rage over the assault upon his wife. Inexplicably, one of the assassins leaped forward and threw himself in the path of the electricity. His body spasmed violently, burned and torn by the force of it. Then, suddenly, he erupted in a massive fireball that sent a wave of heat and concussive force throughout the room. Nakamuro caught the brunt of it, but Shaitung and the other two assassins were thrown back by it as well.
Shaitung was on her feet at once, standing over Nakamuro. He was burned, badly, and there were numerous terrible wounds as well. “Reagents,” he croaked. “He carried… reagents… set off by my spell…”
“Shut up, old man,” Shaitung said, feeling in vain for the lost tetsubo.
“Run,” he rasped. “Run, I will… hold them as… long as I can…”
“I am not leaving you, you fool,” she said.
“Please…”
“No,” she said, her tone firm. “Never. I will not see a world without you in it, not for one moment of one day.” She took his bloodied hand in her own. “If we must leave…”
Nakamuro nodded wordlessly, his grip tight on hers.
The two assassins rose from the rubble and advanced, weapons at the ready. Shaitung and Nakamuro both prayed, and their would-be-murderers charged when they realized what was happening.
The explosion destroyed Shaitung’s entire level of the castle, and could be seen for miles.
* * *
Beneath Otosan Uchi, the Ruined City
The Dark Lord of the Shadowlands sat and watched wordlessly. For hours, a quartet of Chuda attendants had dutifully transcribed every word that had issued for from Katsu’s mouth. The sinister priest sat in a trance, muttering a constant stream of dialogue that changed radically from one account to the next, sometimes in mid-sentence. It was utter chaos, but the Chuda had been preparing for such a thing for months, and seemed to have some manner of system for knowing when Katsu shifted his viewpoint.
Daigotsu marveled at the beauty of it all. The ritual that Katsu had enacted, the one supplied by Yajinden that Iuchiban had used to communicate with his cultist followers, had been modified to allow him now to see and hear that which took place through the eyes of those who were bound by it. Had the Bloodspeaker been anything more than a madman obsessed with power, he might have recognized the true scope of what a khadi could accomplish. For that matter, he wondered, if the Great Clans could imagine that one benefit of a khadi in their midst would be instantaneous, Empire-wide communication, imperfect though it might be, would they wish one for themselves? Daigotsu imagined that some would. They were ridiculous hypocrites in that manner. He occasionally wondered if he had made a mistake by forsaking such incredible power for himself, but the price was simply too great, and one he would never willingly pay.
Two more Chuda arrived and relieved a pair of the quartet that surrounded Katsu. If the khadi noticed the change, he gave no sign whatsoever. One of the two, the elder among them, approached Daigotsu and bowed very deeply. “I can offer you some initial estimates, if you wish them, my lord.”
“Very much so,” Daigotsu said, his voice slightly hoarse from long hours without speaking. “What can you tell me of our great work?”
“We can confirm forty-seven of your selected targets have been eliminated thus far, my lord. More will doubtless follow. Those slain appear to be primarily low ranking samurai… city and provincial governors, lower-ranking military officers, mid-level bureaucrats and functionaries, that manner of thing.”
“Excellent,” Daigotsu said. Each would be replaced by one of the legion of lesser men and women that the Spider Clan owned in one way or another. Men like Utaku Katiro, who had been the stepping stone the Spider had required to forge an alliance with the Unicorn. Like him, they were individuals who were weak, who needed a strong hand to guide them, and who had previously made deals with the clan in order to foster their own advancement. Now, they would be more powerful and influential than ever, and the Spider would reap the benefits. “What else?”
“A number of family daimyo, as per your instructions,” the Chuda continued. “Initial reports indicate that the Tamori, the Kaiu, the Moshi, the Ikoma…”
“The Ikoma?” Daigotsu said, smiling. “I had not anticipated a great deal of success with the Lion, nor the Crab.”
“Your agents were impersonating ronin from allied organizations,” the Chuda said. “The gambit was successful.”
“Impressive.” Such ingenuity deserved reward. “Survivors?”
“No, my lord,” the Chuda said. “The Lion were quite… thorough, in their retaliation.”
“Ah well,” Daigotsu said. Such pawns could be replaced. Not so easily men such as Ikoma Korin, however. The discord that his gambit would foster throughout the Empire would allow those he controlled, those wrapped in the Spider’s web, to accumulate more and more power, power that would serve his needs. And there were yet other layers to this stratagem. “What of the Scorpion and the Unicorn?”
The Chuda frowned slightly. “Yes… well,” he cleared his throat. “As per your orders, there were no targets among the Unicorn. Among the Scorpion, a handful of completely unimportant functionaries, and a single target of note. Soshi Uidori was successfully assassinated.”
Daigotsu’s smile was broader by the moment, and he folded his hands. He saw the Chuda’s confused expression, and while under different circumstances it would have made him irritable, nothing could spoil his mood. “You fail to see it,” he said flatly.
“I must, my lord,” the man explained.
“The Scorpion will be blamed by some,” Daigotsu said. “The hatred for them is too deeply ingrained in the souls of many clans. If they choose to conceal Uidori’s death by utilizing one of her sisters, then they will appear to have suffered hardly at all, and unlike the Unicorn, they will have no clear defense for this oddity. If they choose to allow her death to become public knowledge, on the other hand, then it will be assumed that they struck at one of their own simply to conceal their own involvement.” He chuckled. “The flames of resentment are so simple to fan.” He paused for a moment. “Speaking of the Scorpion, was there any success with the Emerald Champion?”
“Regrettably, no, my lord. His yojimbo, a Mantis, took the blow meant for him.” The Chuda hesitated. “My lord, may I ask a question regarding this plan?”
“Speak.”
“Why were the Unicorn spared? Because they are our allies?”
Daigotsu laughed again. “No, because they will be our heralds.”
* * *
Shiro Moto, in the Unicorn provinces
The Khan of the Unicorn Clan strode into the primary audience chamber, scanning the room and surveying those within in an instant. His brow furrowed at the obvious chaos that had gripped those within, and he gave them a handful of seconds to steel themselves for proper conduct in their lord’s presence. “Silence,” he said, his voice carrying easily through the room. “I want to know what has happened.”
A young woman stepped forward, her expression troubled but her voice steady and clear. “My lord,” she began, “there have been messages circulating all throughout the Empire for two days now. Messengers clog the roads, and the air is filled with kami scurrying from one shugenja to the next with messages.”
“Messages regarding what?” Moto Chen demanded.
“Assassinations,” she replied. “My lord, all of the clans have been attacked. Daimyo, generals, ambassadors… the list of names appears to be without end.”
Chen grimaced. “How many lost among our own ranks?” he asked at once. “I want an accounting of all my vassals as soon as one can be taken.”
“Such is already underway,” Horiuchi Rikako replied. “However, my lord, something most unusual seems to have taken place.”
“What?”
She frowned and shook her head. “No Unicorn appear to have died thus far.”
Chen stopped where he stood. “What do you mean? None? We alone have been spared?”
“So far there has been very little word from the Scorpion lands,” Rikako said. “We do not know to what extent they may have been attacked. Based on what we do know, however… yes. We alone have been spared.”
Chen’s frown deepened. “We are not in a position to endure the ire of the other clans,” he said. “If they believe we are in some way involved because of this…” he let the thought hang in the air, unfinished. “Who is believed to be responsible?”
“Accusations are flying,” Rikako said. “Some of the targets were of significant importance. Many family daimyo have been killed. Hida Sakamoto of the Seventh Imperial Legion, Asahina Nizomi of the Jade Legion, there are conflicting reports as to whether the Kitsu daimyo or members of the Elemental Council may have fallen,” she shook her head. “Confusion reigns, my lord.”
“Chen-sama!”
The Khan turned to the doorway, where one of his guard captains stood. “My lord,” the man continued. “There is an urgent matter at the front gate.”
Chen was moving at once. “Are we being attacked?”
“No, my Khan,” the guard responded. “There are representatives from the Spider.”
Chen halted in his tracks. “I hardly have time for that now!” he barked. “Tell them…”
The man bowed very deeply. “My lord, I beg of you… you must see this.”
The guard was one of the castle’s most decorated veterans, and had served with Chen during his command of the Junghar. The Khan frowned, and nodded, then followed the man to the front gates.
“Hail Khan, lord of the Unicorn Clan.” The lead Spider, a courtier, bowed very deeply and held it. “I apologize for disturbing you, my lord, but we needed to know if you were yet safe.”
“Safe?” Chen said. “I am safe in my own home, thank you very much.” He glanced at the covered cart that the Spider had with them. “What is the meaning of this intrusion.”
The courtier nodded to a servant, who in turn removed the thick blanket covering the cart. Chen then understood why all his men were giving it a wide berth; the cart was filled with bodies, perhaps a dozen in all. “My lord,” the courtier, Daigotsu Susumu, said, “some within our ranks stumbled upon a conspiracy to assassinate key members of the Unicorn Clan only two nights ago. We moved as quickly as we could to neutralize the threat. I have two dozen more like this in one of our minor holdings just outside the border. I will happily submit to an inspection if you wish to see them.”
“Who are these men?” Chen demanded, pointing at the corpses.
“We cannot know for certain,” Susumu answered. “We only know that there were many of them and that they were highly trained.” He lowered his head. “The cost of defeating them was… significant.”
Chen paused. “How many men did you lose in combating these few dozen?”
“Nearly one hundred,” Susumu said mournfully. “Fine men, one and all. Devoted to the Empire above all else. They rest with their ancestors now, doubtless pleased in the knowledge that their deaths may have spared lives within our clan’s only allies, the Unicorn.”
The Khan turned to Rikako. “Could this be why we have suffered so little while others have taken far greater losses?”
Rikako shook her head. “I cannot say, my Khan. It seems that a small number of highly trained assassins such as these could inflict significant damage, but I do not know if it would be on a scale comparable to the other clans.”
Susumu gestured for one of the peasants standing nearby to step forward. The man did, keeping his eyes on the ground and his head lowered. “Show them,” the Spider insisted. The man nodded mutely and stepped to the cart. He lifted the arm of one of the dead men, and pulled away the loose-fitting gi the man wore. He gestured to a mark beneath the man’s arm, just below his armpit, and held a torch in close for the others to see. “You can see this mark, which I feel identifies the attackers.”
Chen squinted in the dim light, then sneered. “Loyalty,” he spat. “Scorpion assassins.”
“We can not know that for certain,” Susumu said cautiously. “I find it rather incriminating, however.” He paused for a moment, as if considering something further. “Lord Khan,” he resumed, his voice quieter, “I fear I have more news for you. I am reluctant to burden you with it, but honor demands that I pass this on.” He held out a scroll. “We found this among the assassins.”
Chen took the scroll and examined the wax seal briefly before breaking it. He opened the scroll and read it quickly, his face darkening. He then seemed to read it again, more carefully, before handing it to Rikako. “Ide Tang,” he said, “are you present?”
“Of course, my lord,” the diplomat staid, stepping forward from the crowd. “I am here for whatever you require.”
“Your aid has ever been appreciated,” Chen said. “Tell me, old friend… do you know a man named Shinjo Nakaga?”
Tang frowned. “I believe I may have met him before, my lord. The name sounds somewhat familiar.”
“So this letter, written to Nakaga, by you, would be unfamiliar to you?”
Tang looked utterly bewildered. “My lord, I do not know what you…”
“What fools you must think we are,” Chen said, his voice a low hiss. “To write something like this. So blatant. So dismissive.”
“What are you talking about, my lord?”
“I have seen this cipher before,” Chen said. “Have you forgotten the years I spent in disgrace traveling the Empire? Do you not recall the tales of how I crawled through the seedy underbelly of Rokugan in search of my prey? I know this cipher.”
“If that document seems to incriminate me,” Tang said, “then surely you must realize it is a forgery! Can you not see how these men would benefit?” He pointed at the Spider. “This is a deception!”
“There is a deception,” Chen said. “And it is over.”
The crowd around the cart had grown completely silent. Only the crackling of torches and the distant cries of insects could be heard in the late summer night. “This is preposterous, my lord!” Tang almost shrieked. “I am loyal to the Unicorn Clan!”
“You are a Scorpion imposter,” Chen said. “As is Shinjo Nakaga.”
“No!” Tang shouted.
“Traitor,” Chen hissed under his breath.
“No, my Khan!” Tang insisted. “Never!”
Susumu casually reached into his kimono, as if perhaps for another scroll, then suddenly withdrew a small knife and hurled it at the Ide family daimyo. In his confusion, in his distress, the man’s instincts took over, and he deftly plucked the knife from the air inches before it plunged into his throat. There was the sound of many blades being drawn in those silent seconds immediately following.
“Susumu,” Chen said.
“Yes, lord Khan?”
“You and your clan have done the Unicorn a great service this day. You have spared the lives of our leaders, and exposed a serpent dwelling in our bedchamber. Know that the Unicorn will reward you handsomely for this.”
Susumu bowed. “We need no material rewards, my lord,” he said. “We wish only to be recognized for what we have accomplished, and nothing more.”
“By the Fortunes, you shall have that, I give you my word,” Chen said. He pointed at Tang. “Seize that fool. And issue an order for the arrest of Shinjo Nakaga immediately.” He turned to one of the other guards. “I need rope.”
The guard bowed. “At once!” and left at a run.
Chen shouted after him. “And four horses.”
*
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