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So, here we are, back and ready for another chapter. I owe huge thanks to dragonwrangler for all her help, encouragement and bouncing forth and back of ideas. *hugs* You are great.
This chapter presented some troubles concerning the POV from which I wanted to tell the last battle. It was impossible to do it from one, so I decided for something like a shared or common memory. I hope it’s not too complicated.
For easier identification of the pilots mentioned in this chapter and the chapters before, I include a list of names, call signs and ships markings.
Akinari - Call sign: Eagle – Marking of ship: Culpa Patris
Chicano – Call sign: Mockingbird – Marking of ship: There’s no hope for the damned – that’s our hope,
Paidráigin – Call sign: Condor – Marking of ship: Culpa et Gloria
Shichiroji – Call sign: Katana – Marking of ship: Always with you
Conaire – Call sign: Jay – Marking of ship: Mort certa, hora incerta
Valandhir – Call sign: Hawk – Marking of ship: Fate is a hunter
Title: Shadows of the past
By: Falconsheart
Chapter 4: Warriors of the final hours
Age: NC-15 for violence
Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. The Characters, except for Akinari and his comrades, belong to the Anime Samurai 7. This story is a non-commercial work of fiction based on the anime/manga Samurai 7. Original copyright of Samurai 7 belongs to Akira Kurosawa, Shinobu Hashimoto, Hideo Oguni, MICO, GDH, GONZO. Absolutely no monetary gain has been made with this work.
Warriors of the final hours
The combat deepens—on, ye brave!
Who rush to glory and the grave; (…)
Oh! few shall part where many meet,
The snow shall be your winding sheet,
And every turf beneath your feet
Shall mark the soldiers' cemetry.
(Thomas Campbell: On the battle of Hohenlinden)
“How is Heihachi doing?” Kanbei’s question was spoken exactly as loud as need be that Shichiroji would understand him. Night was coming to the devastated landscape around them but Heihachi’s work and Kikuchjio’s loud chatter left hardly an silence to the night. Cold wind swept across the barren landscape making the place even more inhabitable than it already was.
“He’s doing fine,” Shichroji replied. “Although I’d prefer to have a Firebat, or a Sparrowhawk, for that attack run. This old crate is never going to be as reliable or as fast.” For a moment he thought he’d see a light, flickering up in the desert and vanish again. But Kanbei did not react the slightest, so he had probably seen nothing.
“This was not what I had asked,” Kanbei did not raise his voice, nor did his face show any irritation. “As long as the attack ship gets flying again, we have what we need.”
Shichiroji suppressed a sigh. “Let’s hope so.” In his heart he did not trust this pile of junk, that held so much fascination for Heihachi. Nor did he trust his own abilities to fly it. Involuntarily his artificial hand clenched to a fist. The last time he had been piloting a fighter, he had still two hands, two real hands, and he had never even thought of testing whether his new hand was sensitive enough for this. Perhaps he had never expected to pilot an airborne fighter again. When his eyes wandered back to the attack ship he still could hear that murderous shriek of metal as his fighter had crashed, the blast of heat, the burning of fire and the pain that erupted in his right arm.
“Something is worrying you,” Kanbei observed calmly. Again a small spark of light flashed up somewhere out there for a moment and vanished. Kanbei sat unmoving, eyes fixed on Shichiroji, without even blinking.
For the split of a second Shichroji was tempted to speak about the fear that was nagging at him. The memories that were dancing in his mind every time he saw the old attack ship. That painful shriek he still heard only moments before the ground had soared towards him. “I just wish I had a wingman for this run. One who is flying a Sparrowhawk, preferably,” he eventually said, expressing something that came close enough to the truth.
“One that is flown by Akinari, preferably?” Kanbei’s question was spoken in low tones, before he went on: “You’ll get us to the capital as well.”
The trust he still heard in Kanbei’s words touched Shichiroji deeply. Shoving aside his own doubts he admitted: “I am worried about Akinari. Yukina said she had heard nothing about him by the time we left. She had her doubts, that he ever was sold to someone in the village. I’m asking myself where he might be now. Sometimes I am asking myself if he came here, just to perish in a conflict that was never his. He was a friend.”
Kanbei shook his head. “He was trouble, and won’t perish easily.” Again a spark of light flickered in the desert, and vanished as fast as it had come.
Shichroji arched an eyebrow. “Trouble? He was much but never trouble.” He said a little more defensive. “He might not have gotten along well with…”
A gesture of Kanbei cut him short. “I didn’t mean that. He was trouble, it was written all over him. There was something in him, a storm, destruction, trouble, call it whatever comes to your mind, that he had very well bottled up inside himself. But it was already there, waiting to get out.”
For moments a smile lit up in Shichroji’s eyes, “He had this rebellious streak inside him,” he admitted after some moments. “But he kept in check, he was too disciplined for everything else, except it would flare up for moments. Then you’d never know what he’d do next.” His eyes wandered up to the stars again. “I wonder where he is tonight.”
***
The cell was nothing to impress Akinari especially, a barren room of round shape without anything inside. Lying on his back on the metal floor he asked himself, whether his captors thought this to be something like harsh treatment. If so, they had no idea how to things right. This place was still convenient enough, clean, silent and dark. Three things Akinari had come to value as luxuries rarely to be had. But then, he had enough experience with cells. The list of his crimes, which had earned him this frequent stints in various prisons, had begun by being born. Raising his hand he could see it by the faint silver shine in the darkness. Pale ones, Arydhel – tainted or half-breeds were the words that usually were used to describe his kind. While the last one, was grossly incorrect when it came to him, he was to at least three quarters out of Eldyrene heritage. Like others of his kind he had grown up below the mountains, in the mines. Rebellious by nature he had never even tried to fit into the rows of backbreaking labour that was meted out to them. Which had earned him his first time in prison by the time he turned fourteen. The rough treatment there had not been exactly cruelty, just the attempt to make him see reason, to beat the insubordinate behaviour out of him. Not that it had helped much, two years later he had ended up in the next prison. The head of that place too had tried to make him change his ways, because he was young. Yet the only result had been him running into some imprisoned Arydhel-warriors and breaking fence with them. Akinari smiled in the darkness, his time in the underground army had earned him frequent imprisonment, interrogation and death sentences. It had taken the attacks of the raiders, shaking the Empire to its very core, that had caused a somewhat uneasy alliance between the Arydhel and their former enemies. What Ukyo did here was grossly amateurish and stupid to boot. Even the interrogation was. Were the boy not such a pitiful clone it might be worth while to teach him some things. Shaking his head, Akinari turned to the side, something that was impossible without a fresh set of pain echoing up in his body, and tried to sleep. Perhaps it was this place, perhaps it was the memories that had haunted him for days, or just his slightly tired condition that the dreams came back to him.
“I wish you would see reason, this is going to be your very last chance!” the voice of the red-faced man betrayed a state of anger and desperation that could hardly by topped by anything else. He had never met the Archduke of Can’dahar in person before, and he would have been an impressive figure had he been not be short of dying from the heat. He was tall, broad shouldered and very muscular, his black hair was cropped short, but still was dripping from sweat.
Up till now, Akinari had been a bystander, lingering at some distance, keeping one eye on the conversation, the other one at the guards, leaving Viridián deal with his father at his own terms and in his own time. Much as he despised the man, that he had taken the trouble to locate his son in the scattered prisoner camps spoke somewhat in his favour. His anger was right now radiating like the rays of the merciless sun. Sweat was running down his reddened face and he shook his fist as he would like to strike out at his son. In a distant way Akinari was proud, that Viridián wasn’t subdued in the slightest way. But how could he? Throughout these last two years he had faced dangers unimaginable to him and learned to conquer the fears his rather soft growing up had burdened him with. He wasn’t going to back down from a father who was likely to provide the camp commander with a medical emergency if he wasn’t cooling down soon. “I can’t, and you know this,” he simply stated.
Moments like this made Akinari truly proud. He had fought most of his comrades about the question of Viridián’s joining their ranks. And had proved himself, every time. Nevertheless it was time to act, before Viridián’s noble father would get into another angry speech and fall over from heart failure. The conditions in the prison camps were rough, not that Akinari cared much, he had grown up under worse conditions as they could inflict on him here. Leaving the barrack, where he had been leaning he walked over to them both. While approaching them, the difference between father and son struck him as remarkable. True, Viridian had the same dark hair, dark eyes and tanned skin, that marked his pure heritage, but he had nothing of his father’s imposing stature or rough ways. There was a gentleness about him, that masked the valorous warrior he truly was. “He’s right, Viridián,” Akinari said softly. “if your family can get you out of here, than you should take up the offer. They’ll have us executed soon enough.” The camp commander, a veteran of at lest 120 years constant warfare, who knew most of his detainees from former stints in captivity, had remarked only that morning: ‘This times it will be the gallows, make no mistake.’
The red faced man arched an eyebrow. “Much as I hate it to concur with Arydhel-scum, but at least you found yourself a commander who talks sense..” Viridián’s father was eying Akinari suspiciously. He had heard of him, but then, who had not heard of him, by now? Akinari was well aware of the reputation he had made since earning his blood-name.
Viridián turned to Akinari, an irritated look in his beautiful black eyes. “How can you think, I’d leave you now? That’s what Paidráigin and Chicano believed I’d do as soon as there was trouble.”
“If I tell them, I send you away, they’ll keep their yapping mouth’s shut,” Akinari meant what he said, every letter of it. “they stopped doubting you a long time ago. And if this is the chance for you to live, to get out of here, than you should go.” Akinari could not prevent some worries to sneak up in his voice. No much how strong or tough Viridián had become, the adverse conditions here wore him down. He had not the iron-hard condition of his comrades who had only survived from earliest childhood by the virtue of being tough.
Viridiáns slender hand slipped above Akinari’s, his fingers gently followed the line of a criss-cross scar that reminded them of their very first encounter. “You would truly wish me to leave?” he asked, his voice not much more than a whisper.
These words easily penetrated the armour of Akinari’s soul and hit home, of all people Viridián was the only one who could reach him thus, could touch him that deeply. Perhaps because his gentleness had reached beyond the bloody armour that steeled his soul finding a part of Akinari that hardly anyone ever had seen. Within those two short years Akinari had changed more than he would admit to himself, Viridián had found a side in him, a part of humanity he had forgotten about before he had been ten. Gently he took Viridiáns hand, lifting it up, placing a tender kiss inside the palm. “If this is what keeps you alive, ever.”
“Oh…. I can’t watch this,” the angered voice of Viridiáns father interrupted them. “Could you just order him to come with me, and leave the rest of the show be? That the heir of Can’dahar should become involved with your kind is somewhat disgusting.”
Akinari let his temper not get the better of him. From the perspective of the Duke of Can’dahar this was a catastrophe, no doubt. A bungled kidnapping that ended with his own son, joining the rebellious pale warriors. “Contrary to your people, we have learned in a war of many generations, that there are things that can’t be ordered or forced. Things a man must decide on his own,” he replied, before turning to Viridián. “Go, and go fast, before they change their mind.”
Viridián’s hand closed around Akinari’s, as he pressed it to his heart. “I can’t,” he said. “for my heart, my soul are not mine any more. A rogue warrior of the Arydhel stole them and carried them with him to the icy mountains. I’d rather stay and be executed than surviving on this conditions.”
Waking was painful, Akinari had to force his eyes open. He was lying on the barren floor of the cell, in the darkness. Had there been a part of his body that did not he’d known by now. Not that he really felt this kind of pain. Physical pain was hardly something to be feared, a mere inconvenience. What made him shaking, was the pain emitted by the dream, he had just escaped. Akinari did not dare to close his eyes, but in the darkness around him, he still could see Viridiáns face. The memory nearly made him shake. For moments he just curled together on the hard floor, letting the pain wash over him, but a silent voice inside his head reminded him: ”This was the third time in as many months. You are beginning to slip. Come to grips. Your mission is far from over.”
Slowly Akinari sat up, he still did not fight the pain inside him. He would never fight it, it was a part of him, belonged to him in a sense few others would understand. A dozen times he took a deep breath and let go again. It helped a little, helped him to relax, to come back from the dark echos of the dream, that called him to a sleep that would know no awakening. The rational part of his mind told him, that what happened was just natural. He had lasted for nearly ten years, it would be full ten when the winter came, and the statistics were not longer in his favour. If they had ever been. The less rational part of him knew that he just had been alone for too long. The less persons to care about the less reasons to life at all. “Get it together, Akinari. No cause to complain, you heard that Kanbei was alive some days ago. And by the bad mood of the jailers he escaped them. Something good came out of this at last.” But these thought were hardly able to distract him from the warmth that still emanated from that dream. Kneeling down in his usual meditation pose he forced himself to conjure up other memories from the depth of his mind.
***
Kanbei had left the camp silently. No one noticed his leaving especially, he had seen to that. Around them was nothing, but barren, devastated land, stretching into the darkness. Outside the camp the stood silently for a moment, recalling the sparks he had seen. Three had there been, in different places and only very short. He knew rather well what had caused them, and just remembered where they had been. The first had been eastward, near the high dune, the second more north, and the third directly north of them. So it had to be north of them. While he strode out into the darkness, Kanbei recalled the region north of them, they had crossed this day. There had been few distinct landmarks but few really deep dens between the burned hills of this blasted land.
It did not take much time to locate the camp, after more than four years, he knew Ito’s habits well enough to find his camp in the deepest darkness. Nevertheless Kanbei approached cautiously and against the wind, lest Ryu might smell him in advance. He found the camp where he had guessed it would be, hidden between to devastated hillsides. A huge shadow darkened the eastern side of the lair, a shadow, or more precise: a huge scaled back, glistening faintly in the moonlight. The silver and white scales had reflected the moonlight while the giant lizard had been running across the nightly desert. Ryu was asleep, this was for certain, his head rested not far from the small fire Ito had built. Not that the rock dragon really needed a fire, it was a more companionable habit, as Ito often talked to him. Beside the rock dragons scaly back, in front of the fire, sat Ito cross-legged. Beside him, on a blanket rested a small arsenal of weapons, more than half of them weapons Kanbei would not have touched for causes of honour. Still it had always fascinated him to watch the precise, yet casual way, Ito handled them. Involuntarily he had stopped in the shadows, watching Ito, who was just loading a dozen small darts into the mechanisms of his right bracer. “You don’t need to stand there in the shadows, Kanbei,” he said without looking up at once.
Tossing the bracer aside onto the blanket he rose as Kanbei approached the fire. Clad completely in black, as it was his habit, he seemed to melt into the night around them. “I did not expect to see you here,” he said without moving any further.
Kanbei realised the distance Ito kept, and accepted it readily. “I could say the same. When I realised that a rock dragon was hunting in the desert, there was only one possibility left – you were following us.”
Ito sat down again, still seeing to it that a five steps distance remained between them. He had drawn an invisible line between them, perhaps a line to sever things that had been. “I did not follow you, Kanbei,” his voice was still casual. “Believe me, when I told you I had seen Shichroji at the Firefly Inn, I knew what the consequences were to be. Yet that you’d get the whole city into a ruckus like none other since the old emperor died, was hardly to be expected.” He looked up again, the fire painting small lights into his green eyes. “But trying to assassinate the Amanushi – Kanbei, you must have gone mad. You are no assassin.”
“Contrary to you,” Kanbei observed. He had sat down too, perhaps it had become too much of a habit. How many nights had they sat like thus, on a fire, hidden from prying eyes? More than he cared to count. Ironic as it might be, but Ito had still kept his word and found Shichroji.
“Right you are. If you wanted the Amanushi dead, you could have asked. You know I’d done it.” Turning the bracer he applied two small throwing knives on the underside slings of them.
Kanbei sighed, he knew this to be true. One word from him and Ito would have gone after the Amanushi, applying his whole murderous arsenal to the kill. “I already asked one favour from you.” Perhaps this one favour had been one too many already.
A strange look rose in Ito’s eyes, perhaps it was only the light of the fire, perhaps it was anger or hurt, Kanbei couldn’t tell. “You never asked anything from me,” Ito pointed out, carefully keeping his voice level. “If I ever did something for you – and I doubt it can be called this – I did it because I wanted to.” Like always, he could feel or tell, that Kanbei was uncomfortable with the subject, and changed it immediately. “That blonde warrior – the son of the ambassador – I think he’s rather serious about killing you. Could hark back to his father.”
“Leave Kyuzo alone,” Kanbei said a little more sharp. “He’s nothing to worry about for you.”
Ito laughed his silent, humourless laughter. “Did I ever venture into one of your quarrels of honour?”
He never had, Kanbei knew. Ito had respected his honour, and not even commented on the frequent troubles, skirmishes and hazards it got them into. “Why are you here?” he eventually asked. “If you are not following us, what brings you here?”
Ito smiled, a smile that was a mask. “Ukyo pretty much rounded up what is left of his breed, and there are some people – former warlords, merchants and others, that pay a nice sum for their death. Put Ukyo’s head into the bargain and some of the offers get outright generous.”
“So this is all there is? Another bounty you intend to collect?” Kanbei asked. There was no accusation in his words. He had known for four and half years that Ito was a shadow-warrior, an assassin for hire. He had even guessed it when Ito had freed him.
Ito gave a low snort. “What do you think there is? That I whish for a better acquaintance with Shichroji? Or that I came to protect you? Shimada Kanbei doesn’t need a guardian angel.” He abruptly rose, taking his gear up. “I’ll get moving soon, Ryu will bring me to the Capital,” his eyes hung at Kanbei for a moment. “Whatever you intend to do, whatever may come – the spirits may shelter and protect you.” Without giving Kanbei any chance for an answer, he mounted the rock dragon, that had come awake and they vanished fast into the night.
Kanbei heard a noise coming uphill. He saw a familiar figure shape out of the darkness. It was Shichiroji. The blonde samurai stopped as he saw the fire. “I… I apologise. I should have known you wanted to be alone,” he said.
“No, I just wanted a little more silence,” Kanbei replied.
Shichiroji nodded. “I understand. Kikuchjio and Komachi are hardly what I’d call silent. They… they don’t know yet.”
Kanbei heard the words Shichiroji did not speak. Their comrades did not know that death awaited them the next morning. They had never waited for the dawn to rise, the dawn of dead, knowing there was no escape. Kanbei gestured Shichroji to sit down by the small fire. He wished he could ask Shichroji to stay behind, not to risk his life that next morning. And yet he knew this would only offend Shichroji. Alienate them even further. “Roji, I…”
A shake of the head stopped his words. “You don’t need to say anything, Kanbei.” Shichiroji said gently. “I know. We won’t last through that day tomorrow. We are taking on worse an army than last time.”
Suddenly Kanbei found himself shivering. Shichiroji would follow him another time into the arms of certain death. You’re not worth this, he’d deserve so much more. “I wish there was more hope,” Kanbei had not intended to say this loud.
“There never was much hope,” Shichroji replied in a hush. “Yet we fought on.” Their eyes met, and they saw the same memory there, the same day, five years ago.
”It is as bad as the rumours have it, then?” Akinari stood leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed in front of his chest. The posture created an illusion of calm, that covered whatever he might feel else. By now he must have heard the rumours, rumours of doom, of betrayal, and of money that was offered to everyone who turned.
Kanbei nodded tiredly. Silent affirming all those rumours and even more. “Worse even. Hasegawa and Mashairo both turned, three others joined them. Practically we have only left whatever forces we have gathered here.”
“And their fleet is bound to attack, I take it?” Akinari’s eyes narrowed. “It will be quite a battle.” Still he was calm as ice, no anger or disbelieve became visible on that cold exterior.
“Not for you,” Kanbei said sternly. “Your people kept the compact, more than this, your ship is still here, it can take you out of here. It is not necessary that you die alongside us.”
“I will accept your words in the spirit they were given, and thank you for them,” Akinari replied diplomatically. “Unfortunately you have no say in that matter.”
Kanbei’s eyebrows shot up. “You chose a very inappropriate time to become a rogue yourself,” there was steel in his voice now. He might find himself betrayed by most of their allies, but he would not take any rebellion from his subordinates.
Akinari seemed not much taken aback. “neither have I,” he fulfilled the sentence he had begun. “Rimrunner ran into a Raker and another capital ship while getting here and got hammered. Both stabilisers were fried, the port thrusters suffered heavy damage and the AG-core… well, never mind the details. Facts are that she can’t take all of us home. They have to reduce weight massively to get her off ground at all not speaking of making a dash for our home. Best count she can take half us, a quarter is more likely, all while leaving loads of equipment behind. We already talked this through, and decided who’s going to stay. Most of us opted for staying and fighting. Some few will make a run from here. But you can count on having fifty of us up in the air.”
“Is there no chance to get Rimrunner into shape again?” Shichroji, who had been silent up till now, asked. It seemed that fate had just decided to deal out another blow on them, depriving Akinari and his comrades of the only way home, forcing them to stand through that fight to the bitter end.
Akinari shrugged. “No, she needs a new AG-core and new stabilisers, none of it at hand here and it’s hardly a repait that can be done groundside. And even if she was in better shape, it wouldn’t matter. We have talked about this, ever since Er-hong fortress fell, and many of us would have stayed anyway.”
***
It was already late afternoon when Shichiroji reached the outer bastions. In the height of the war it had been a hustle and bustle of fighters, mechanics and other people running around. Now only a full wing of Sparrowhawks and some Firebats were standing there, between the cylindrical containers that were unloaded from Rimrunner. He heard Paidráigin speaking to another of the pilots, who went by the name of Joacim. “Get them out of here soon, and then act along the usual lines, scatter, hiding, creating a net of depots. You know how, you did it before. Chicano takes the other half.”
Steps behind him, made Shichroji turn before he could ask Paidráigin what this was about. He saw Akinari who had come over. Judging by the tool in his hand he had been working on his Sparrowhawk again. “Still making repairs?” Shichiroji asked, he was here for the same reason. But it seemed to him the Sparrowhawks needed more maintenance than in the beginning.
Akinari nodded. “Nothing major, just the exhaust port again. The atmosphere tends to wear them down, they weren’t constructed for this. By now we all got the knack of fixing it fast.” He hesitated for a moment, before he went on. “Your Firebat is in bad shape, that raiden scorched it rather rough. If you’d like… there are some free Sparrowhawks, you could take for the battle tomorrow.”
Shichroji knew what was behind those words. The Sparrowhawks were a construction from Akinari’s homeland. He had been gunner for Akinari in some fights, and had even learned to pilot one of the swift deadly craft. But that Akinari offered him to fly one into that last battle, meant more than simple words. In a way his troop had come to see Shichroji as one of their own. “I’ll gladly take one of them,” he replied.
They had been walking across the warm landing field. Akinari pointed at one of the black fighters. “That’s the one. It’s in prime shape, we worked on it only few days ago and fixed it like new.”
Studying the red marks on the fighters hull, a triple arrow and a defiant ‘There’s no hope for the damned – that’s our hope,’ marked the bow. “That would be Chicano’s fighter.” He observed. “He is leaving then?”
Akinaris reaction was a strange mix of nod and shaking his head. “He doesn’t leave onboard Rimrunner but he isn’t staying for the battle. He does not hold with fighting hopeless last battles much.”
Again Shichiroji found himself reminded, that Akinari and his fellow pilots did not view defeat the samurai way. “What would you, your people do, in such a situation?” he asked in low tones.
“What we always did, when we lost again: scatter, vanish and go to ground. Leave the enemy believe in his victory and return some years later to annoy him once more.”
Shichiroji studied the fighter for another moment silently, trying to hide his thoughts behind this. “Do you regret it?” he suddenly asked.
Akinari leaned back against his own machine, who’s bow was marked by an equally red ‘Culpa patris’. “Do I regret it? Coming here? Certainly not. Fighting this war? Why should I regret it? Having got to know you and your samurai-brethern? I’d count it an honour. No, Shichiroji, I have nothing to regret here, and were I asked to do it all over again, I would.” His eyes narrowed, scanning Shichiroji. “Why is it, that in the last days, we always ask about regrets?”
Shichiroji did not answer directly, instead his hand wandered along the red paint. “Is there a chance to change this?” he asked.
“it’s just simple red paint, so that should be easy.” Akinari replied. “What do you want to have there?”
Shichroji thought about it for a moment. He did not claim to understand what some of the inscriptions on the fighters meant to their pilots. But he understood why they were doing it. “Always with you,” he said in the end. This was all he had to say in the end. No regrets certainly.
“The Captain is over there,” Chicano’s voice interrupted their conversation. Shichiroji turned and saw the Captain of Rimrunner approaching. The man was short of build, and darkhaired, rather the opposite to the pilots. He and Akinari looked at each other, like men who would rather fight single combat instead of having conversation. “I came over to have a last check over your dead list,” the Captain of Rimrunner began speaking. “It would make the paperwork much easier if you were to sign it, Arceas.”
Akinari came close to jerk at this name, but marshalled himself to keep up a passive mien. Alliance or no Alliance, no one could say that one of their sides felt well in their particular roles. Not that the Captain would actually understand. To them Akinari had been born with the name Arceas and to Arceas he would answer and no further nonsense. “Of course,” he answered coolly. “You have been introduced to Shichiroji-sama?”
“Save the niceties for you burial. Here’s the list, let’s get done with it and keep it civil.” The Captains scowl betrayed his angered temper.
Shichroji managed to sneak a look at the list, Akinari was reading. He could not speak their language, but read parts of it quite well. It was a deadlist starting by Arceas, Captain of the silver, and ended by Paidráigin. Akinari nodded quietly and then signed the list. “Can there be anything else done for you, Captain?” he asked politely.
The man was silent for a moment, studying Akinari. “Well, then – I’ll say this for you: You took the decent way out, by removing yourself from the picture. The Archduke… ahem… appreciates that your presence won’t be an inconvenience any longer. He asked me to give you this,” he extracted a small item from his pouch.
Akinari’s hands came close to shaking as he recognised the item. It was the small figure of an eagle, carved from red jade, dangling from a worn leather band. He swallowed hard, attempting to say something. But the Captain cut him short: “Make no mistake. As far as the Duke is concerned you never existed, and his son’s memory…. It won’t be besmirched by the mention of you. This –“ his eyes pointed towards the eagle, “is just acknowledging the fact, that you are decent enough…”
“…to remove myself from the picture.” Akinari’s voice was cold by now. “Well then, I hope the Archduke gets over it some time, before he dies.” He turned on his heel, walking towards the other pilots.
***
Akinari had hoped for some calm later in the night. By nightfall the fortress had become silent, like a veil of serenity falling on what was left of the defenders. He had heard the reports of Chicano and Joacim, and while now walking alone on one of the outer ramparts, he still contemplated the options they had. Kanbei’s plan was clearly brilliant and would cost the enemy more than the enemy would ever imagine. Akinari did not fear death, he did not fear to die, but the thought of losing those friends he had found here, to a useless battle, was something that he could hardly bear.
He came to a halt, realising he wasn’t alone any more. Kanbei and Shichiroji had come up here too, standing close to the outer bastion. Akinari turned to vanish discreetly and leave them alone, yet a short gesture of Kanbei pointed him to come over. He obliged, joining them on the outermost bastion of silent Jimada fortress. “Is there anything, that can still be done, General?”
Kanbei waved the question off. He and Shichiroji exchanged a strange glance. “There is a question we have, Akinari,” he said, speaking with the same utter calm, he always did. “It is said that your people know the secret of the soulbond and that you can teach it or help two persons to bond with each other.”
Akinari’s eyes flew wide. “The answer is: yes, on all accounts. But you hardly can be thinking of bonding in the wake of this battle.” He tried to puzzle out what Shimada Kanbei had been just saying. The man wasn’t easy to read, perhaps he had meant something different.
A calm nod, was his answer. “We do. We’d want you to teach us to soulbond, before going into that last battle.”
All at once Akinari realised the way, Kanbei and Shichiroji stood. They held themselves very close to each other, even out here in the semi-open. Their eyes had frequently met during their conversation, a closeness and silent understanding radiated from them. Nevertheless Akinari slowly shook his head. “I can’t, Kanbei-sama. Shichiroji-san, I am sorry. But I can’t teach you, nor help you to bond. It would go against all the bond stands for.”
Shichiroji’s eyes widened. “Why?” he asked. Kanbei’s eyes seemed to pierce Akinari. “An explanation would be appropriate.”
“The soul bond is…,” Akinari was searching for words, trying to remain composed, but this time he failed, the words broke out of him, before he could stop them. “The soul-bond is a celebration of life, it is the confirmation of the greatest gift, that exists in this world: the gift of the heart. You, Kanbei, do you intend to die tomorrow? To take your life, should you not fall? Know this – sharing the soul bond means that you are past this possibility for ever. Because this is the basis of the bond: the utmost gratitude for every day given to you, the gratitude for the chance to love. You can’t kill yourself, because this mean mutilating the soul of your partner, and even if your partner is dead: in living on you prove yourself worthy of his love, of being loved at all. Whatever life vents down on you, whatever you are to face, that one gift – the gift of the heart – will carry you through it. And those who can’t understand this, should not even think of bonding each other. It would be – vanity.”
In years to come Akinari would regret having flared up that much, with them. At that moment he had a hard time to restrain himself from an even worse outbreak of temper. The way both samurai were often flirting with death, flaunting their readiness to die, woke in him the whish to strike out at them. With an Herculean effort he willed down that violent urge. “Perhaps, if you still live long enough, you’ll come to understand what the gift of the heart means.”
***
It was already past midnight when they heard the first raiden. The howl of the flying group was a sound echoing in the wind, mingling with the eternal mourning of the gusty winds, sometimes becoming indistinct, then returning tenfold. And there were more following the first one, and ships were coming in their wake, their howling travelled with the wind, drawing closer and closer. Shichiroji jumped to his feet as he heard them. The attack was beginning! Without a moment’s hesitation he left the small room where they had slept and hasted down the stairs. In running he put on the thin pilot’s gloves. A burning pain erupted from the back of his right hand. He did not mind it, not even think about the beautiful if dark flower, that adorned his hand there.
Hs fighter stood ready, he jumped it, diagnostics were already flashing along the screens, the drive was warmed up and ready to go. “Birds of prey, this is eagle. We have a fleet of Capital ships inbound from east/northeast, they are supported by raiden coming from three sides,” he heard Akinari, speaking to his pilots. “so it’s encirclement. Perhaps we can break it, look out for your samurai, look out for your comrades. Who makes it out knows where to go.”
Shichiroji brought the fighter up, slowly circling the upper battlement, he saw Kanbei already waiting. It took some skill to get parallel to the walls and allow a partner to jump on, yet he had done it hundrets of times before. The other fighters had done the same, and off they went, the battle awaited them.
***
The raiden ended in a cloud of exploding gas, debris scarred the passing ships, while the fire of a dozen main canons incarnated what remained of friend and foe all the same. Shichiroji vaped another pair of raiden, ignoring the damage his fighter was taking. There was no way to avoid this. The skies were burning, scorching everything it touched. Forcing the machine up in a tight spin, he reached the burning battleship. Chasing along the damaged hull his eyes were searching for a well known figure. He did not see anyone on the dying battleship. An explosion shook the ship, flames erupted from the bowels of steel, lighting the air around them. Ignoring the danger of staying too close to an explosion Shichroji turned for another fly-by. His caught a tiny movement on the upper tower of the ship. It had broken down, coming close to touching another Raker. Kanbei was running along that fragile bridge, already on his way to attack the next ship. Shichiroji kicked the thrusters, bringing up the Sparrowhawk. Kanbei was in the line of fire of half a dozen crimson spiders. But not for long! Using up what missiles he had Shichroji turned the spiders into another cloud of burning debris within two attack runs. He hardly had to think about it, speed, attack vector, enemy movement and fire lines were dancing in his mind like a jigsaw jumping into place every given moment. Sometimes he seemed to see their movements before they actually did move. Speeding alongside the Raker, he saw Kanbei jump onto the Sparrowhawk’s outer wing. The Raker was in flames. Kanbei seemed as cold and calm as he had been when the battle began hours ago. “Jay what are you waiting for?!” he heard Akinari’s voice on OpChan. “Take the others and RUN. I can’t break through to you. So go! Run!” So they had managed to break the encirclement at one of the weak ends.
Kanbei had no need of the com chatter, to understand what was happening. “Bring us to their command center, the Moon if the dragon.” He ordered
Shichiroji obeyed at once, even as a cold coil rose in his stomach. The Moon of the dragon was a flying fortress, the very last their enemies had left. Every one of these gigantic ships had taken dozens of pilots down, before finally succumbing. It would be their last run, and he knew it. A fitting target, the last of the dragonships. A hailstorm of fire and missiles was greeting them as they approached the ship. Kanbei had taken front position, reflecting the heavy blasts coming at them. He was whirlwind of movement right now, his blade sending one blast after the other back to their enemies. Shichrioji kept the fighter carefully balanced as he carved them a path through hordes of enemies, ships were flying by, raiden got shredded and spiders burned in reflected blastshots. The Moon of the dragon rose like a black mountain before them. A giant of steel, ore and glass, a shadow before the sun. Shichroji brought down the fighter, dancing only short above the surface. He saw Kanbei jumping down, landing between a legion of groundbound raiden, that flew to pieces within moments as Kanbei reached them. Shichiroji turned for another attack run, to support Kanbei, too late did he see the turning gun turret, a spray of fire hit the Sparrowhawk, shredding the fighter. A hot, merciless pain erupted in Shichiroji’s shoulder as the ground came spiralling towards him.
***
“Eagle, Katana was hit, is crashing on the southern ridge, I’m going after him.” Hawk’s voice was hardly to understand of the static. Akinari turned his fighter, just to see a fiery trace in the sky, that told him of Shichroji’s fate. It would hardly be of any use to go after a fighter, that broke apart midair, yet he replied. “Affirmative, Hawk, take care of him and good luck.”
While he left this to his comrade he checked the readings of the battle. Shichiroji had surely left Kanbei on one of the ships. If anything could be done for his fallen friend, it was getting Kanbei off the ship he was just attacking. The trace of Shichiroji’s fighter left only one conclusion: the command centre. Akinari sighed, this samurai had to go down with a big bang, or not at all.
The attack run was murderous, Akinari drove his fighter through a heavy formation of raiden, spiders and a Raker. He did not care that he was running the drive on overload. It had never been intended to go at such a speed inside the atmosphere, but it would hold for another hour, of this he was sure. Cutting the energy of emergency systems and life support, he got enough power for the systems. The first explosions rose on the hull of the dragonbattleship, Kanbei must have done well. Akinari had hardly ever seen a dragonship going down that fast. Racing alongside he found Kanbei standing near the starboard thrusters. The samurai must have recognised that this wasn’t Shichroji’s fighter, before he even entered up, but he did not hesitate for a second. “What about Shichiroji?” he asked, while they ran from the exploding battleship.
“He crashed,” Akinari replied, suppressing the pain he felt.
Kanbei’s eyes flickered for a moment, the only movement betraying the pain he must feel. “Bring me to their flying fortress.”
The order was issued calmly but Akinari understood what it said. If it was crazy to attack a battle dragon it was suicide going after a fortress. The enemy had only brought one, for there was no necessity for another. Yet he did as he was asked, using whatever speed the tormented main drive could still offer. He knew they would burn soon, but perhaps it was time to strike the match, light the pyre and put the legend of the phoenix to the final testing. A shriek of warning rang through the cockpit. Akinari did not react. “Kanbei, jump as soon as you can, I can’t go much further.” The samurai nodded and did exactly that. Moments later the Sparrowhawk’s drive caught fire and Akinari saw the ground spiralling towards him.
***
Kanbei landed on the outer hull of the flying fortress. From the corner of his eye he saw Akinari’s fighter go down in a ball of fire. He had no time to look or regret the pilots blazing fall, he had to act, and act swiftly. Running across the shaking ground of the ship, he dodged shots aimed at him, avoiding the glowing winds of the exhaust ports, he made his way to fortress lower portside. Thick bulges were running through the reddish metal, marked by stark ugly scorchmarks. Some fighters had already found their death here. Ignoring the blasts that hit ground left and right of him, he drove his katana deep into the read metal, cutting all the way down. The bulgy coolant pipes, broke with a shriek, releasing green cooling gas into the air. Kanbei retreated from the point, knowing the gas to be poisonous. Speeding up the fortress’s hull again, he realised late that the gun’s had ceased firing. All of sudden the fortress had gone silent. A lone figure awaited him on the highest point of the port hull. He was tall, a little taller than Kanbei perhaps, clad in a fine armour of silver scales, his face hidden by a silver helmet adorned with a midnight black raven. The triangular visor of polished obsidian hid his eyes. He did not move or advance, he just stood there, ready, the katana in his left hand. Kanbei silently drew his sword too.
They stood opposite of each other, unmoving. Forgotten was the revolting fortress below their feet, uncared about is the slippery unsafe ground or the shaking surroundings. Both hold their blades at the ready, their mind already in attack of the other. A silent duel, that excludes space and time. Then Kanbei moves, leaping into attack and time begins to exist once more. Their blades clashed, as Kanbei’s katana was caught in a precise parry. His opponent broke his sword free, and unleashed a fierce double attack on Kanbei. The elder samurai parried the first strike, misdirecting the second one only slightly, using the movement for his own attack. The tip of his blade sliced along his opponents arm, leaving a bloody trace, only seconds later he found himself again under a ferocious whirlwind of strikes coming down on him.
He was just one but he made Kanbei more trouble than a dozen enemies of his kind at once. He seemed to be able to foretell any attack and every parry. His attacks came very well planed, all too often making use of one of Kanbei’s weaknesses, which he all seemed to know. Kanbei fought as concentrated as possible. But for a long time, he could not see any weakness in his opponent. Any attack of him was easily parried. His opponent was neither a raiden or mecha-samurai who never got the knack on reading a samurai’s tactic, nor was he the usual thug who would misinterpret most of what a samurai did. He was an avid reader when it came to samurai as Kanbei was soon to find out. Their fight drew long and longer, Kanbei lost track of time, he did not realise the explosions on the main thrusters, only the shaking grounds made him aware of that.
The fortress began braking apart right below their feet. In near unison they sprinted towards the starboard fuselage and jump off the ship towards a Raker that is passing them by. Exhausted as Kanbei is, his jump is a little shorter than his opponents, he closely hits the rim of the Raker’s port vent. His opponent turns, just for a second, gripping Kanbei’s left wrist, aiding him to find a safe stand onboard the Raker. Next moment he’s in distance again, ready to fight. Kanbei nodded curtly, acknowledging the honourable action of his opponent. And again they turned to face each other. His opponent became more aggressive by now, speeding the fight up to a mad, exhausting rush. Kanbei knew the principle behind this. “Force your rhythm on your opponent, then break the rhythm and break the opponent along that way.” And Kanbei was not going to let this happen. He suddenly leapt forward in attack, his enemies parry came not as easily as before, but at the next strike he had already recovered and parried with the usual superiority. His next attack came, Kanbei evaded it with a fast turn, the blade sliced his armour of his upper left arm and left a trace there, nothing serious. He retreated a step, blocking the next attack of his opponent. For moments their blades were blocking each other with an horrific pressure. Kanbei felt his arm muscles clench under this pressure and understood what his opponent now was up to. He tried to break Kanbei’s blade, or his own! Kanbei let his muscles relax, allowing the blade to be thrust to the side, diving down fast and attacking from below. He ran into a good parry. “This won’t work.” It was the first time his opponent spoke, he had a deep bronze voice, that betrayed no exhaustion or tiredness. His next attack made Kanbei stumble and fall, he managed to roll to the side and jump on his feet again, before his opponent could make use of it. The dark katana missed him barely. Kanbei parried the next hailstorm of attacks, giving up some space, by retreating some steps. When an especially hard hit, ripped apart his cover, Kanbei led a surprise attack against his opponent’s sword hand. He gave all strength to this blow. The swift reactions of his enemy, mad him miss the sword hand but hitting the blade with full strength. Both blades were vibrating under the murderous strain, then Kanbei felt the pressure strengthen, as his opponent used the blade-lock as a lever. Kanbei felt his katana thrown from his hand, it flew spinning out of his reach, piercing the exhaust vent of the Raker.
A strange calm settle on Kanbei. He had lost. He had known this moment was to come from the very beginning. He had lost to a worthy opponent. He stood calmly, proud and erect, awaiting the death blow. His opponent raised his right hand and with a deft grip removed his raven-adorned helm. A face, by at least ten years younger than Kanbei, emerged from beneath it. Fine chiselled features, that could be called noble, framed by sweat-damp dark hair. Their eyes met and within the split of a second Kanbei understood that his opponent intended to take him alive.
***
Akinari had managed to get his burning Sparrowhawk grounded before it exploded. It had not been exactly easy, but not impossible either. The explosion of the Sparrowhawk was but the smaller one to the deadly rain of fire and debris that hailed down from the main fortress. Hidden below the remains of a crimson spider Akinari saw the lower half of the fortress break and crash down to the ground. The ground shook, fires stormed across the land, scorching everything in his wake. Akinari’s eyes were still fixed on the skies. The fortress was gone, a fiery cloud marked her fleeting grave. A low pain rose in his throat as he realised that he was looking at Kanbei’s grave as well. Shichroji gone, Kanbei fallen, so many others perished in that battle. He closed his eyes, imagining the dark skies of a calm night before his inner eye. “May the Lords who reign beyond see you valour, accept your sacrifice and shelter your souls in their hand. Sha’graile protect you in the darkness that lies ahead.” For reasons he could not name he had spoken the prayer not in his native tongue, but the language that had been the tongue of his friends.
It was not an easy thing for Akinari to leave the scorched fields as soon as the worst fires had ceased. Yet he knew he could not stay. Having said a prayer for the fallen friends, the only thing left was moving on. It took no genius to see, that this land, were once Jimada fortress had stood, would be a desert for many years to come. Heading eastward, he asked himself whether his comrades had made it out of the battle and if their plan had worked out. Only time could tell. East lay some high mountains. Someone had mentioned mines there, a perfect place of hiding.
Neither Kanbei nor Shichiroji spoke a word, when they rose and walked back to the fighter that awaited them. Dawn was already lighting up the eastern horizon. What lay ahead was nothing but what had been five years ago. The circle was closing. Wordlessly they boarded the ancient attack ship.
In his cell aboard the Capital Akinari woke from his meditations. Something had changed, he could not tell what. But there was something, that just had begun moving and things were moving along. Rising from his kneeling position, he decided for a spot close to the entrance. Leaning against the wall, he listened to the ships noises. He was ready, for whatever may come.
This chapter presented some troubles concerning the POV from which I wanted to tell the last battle. It was impossible to do it from one, so I decided for something like a shared or common memory. I hope it’s not too complicated.
For easier identification of the pilots mentioned in this chapter and the chapters before, I include a list of names, call signs and ships markings.
Akinari - Call sign: Eagle – Marking of ship: Culpa Patris
Chicano – Call sign: Mockingbird – Marking of ship: There’s no hope for the damned – that’s our hope,
Paidráigin – Call sign: Condor – Marking of ship: Culpa et Gloria
Shichiroji – Call sign: Katana – Marking of ship: Always with you
Conaire – Call sign: Jay – Marking of ship: Mort certa, hora incerta
Valandhir – Call sign: Hawk – Marking of ship: Fate is a hunter
Title: Shadows of the past
By: Falconsheart
Chapter 4: Warriors of the final hours
Age: NC-15 for violence
Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. The Characters, except for Akinari and his comrades, belong to the Anime Samurai 7. This story is a non-commercial work of fiction based on the anime/manga Samurai 7. Original copyright of Samurai 7 belongs to Akira Kurosawa, Shinobu Hashimoto, Hideo Oguni, MICO, GDH, GONZO. Absolutely no monetary gain has been made with this work.
Warriors of the final hours
The combat deepens—on, ye brave!
Who rush to glory and the grave; (…)
Oh! few shall part where many meet,
The snow shall be your winding sheet,
And every turf beneath your feet
Shall mark the soldiers' cemetry.
(Thomas Campbell: On the battle of Hohenlinden)
“How is Heihachi doing?” Kanbei’s question was spoken exactly as loud as need be that Shichiroji would understand him. Night was coming to the devastated landscape around them but Heihachi’s work and Kikuchjio’s loud chatter left hardly an silence to the night. Cold wind swept across the barren landscape making the place even more inhabitable than it already was.
“He’s doing fine,” Shichroji replied. “Although I’d prefer to have a Firebat, or a Sparrowhawk, for that attack run. This old crate is never going to be as reliable or as fast.” For a moment he thought he’d see a light, flickering up in the desert and vanish again. But Kanbei did not react the slightest, so he had probably seen nothing.
“This was not what I had asked,” Kanbei did not raise his voice, nor did his face show any irritation. “As long as the attack ship gets flying again, we have what we need.”
Shichiroji suppressed a sigh. “Let’s hope so.” In his heart he did not trust this pile of junk, that held so much fascination for Heihachi. Nor did he trust his own abilities to fly it. Involuntarily his artificial hand clenched to a fist. The last time he had been piloting a fighter, he had still two hands, two real hands, and he had never even thought of testing whether his new hand was sensitive enough for this. Perhaps he had never expected to pilot an airborne fighter again. When his eyes wandered back to the attack ship he still could hear that murderous shriek of metal as his fighter had crashed, the blast of heat, the burning of fire and the pain that erupted in his right arm.
“Something is worrying you,” Kanbei observed calmly. Again a small spark of light flashed up somewhere out there for a moment and vanished. Kanbei sat unmoving, eyes fixed on Shichiroji, without even blinking.
For the split of a second Shichroji was tempted to speak about the fear that was nagging at him. The memories that were dancing in his mind every time he saw the old attack ship. That painful shriek he still heard only moments before the ground had soared towards him. “I just wish I had a wingman for this run. One who is flying a Sparrowhawk, preferably,” he eventually said, expressing something that came close enough to the truth.
“One that is flown by Akinari, preferably?” Kanbei’s question was spoken in low tones, before he went on: “You’ll get us to the capital as well.”
The trust he still heard in Kanbei’s words touched Shichiroji deeply. Shoving aside his own doubts he admitted: “I am worried about Akinari. Yukina said she had heard nothing about him by the time we left. She had her doubts, that he ever was sold to someone in the village. I’m asking myself where he might be now. Sometimes I am asking myself if he came here, just to perish in a conflict that was never his. He was a friend.”
Kanbei shook his head. “He was trouble, and won’t perish easily.” Again a spark of light flickered in the desert, and vanished as fast as it had come.
Shichroji arched an eyebrow. “Trouble? He was much but never trouble.” He said a little more defensive. “He might not have gotten along well with…”
A gesture of Kanbei cut him short. “I didn’t mean that. He was trouble, it was written all over him. There was something in him, a storm, destruction, trouble, call it whatever comes to your mind, that he had very well bottled up inside himself. But it was already there, waiting to get out.”
For moments a smile lit up in Shichroji’s eyes, “He had this rebellious streak inside him,” he admitted after some moments. “But he kept in check, he was too disciplined for everything else, except it would flare up for moments. Then you’d never know what he’d do next.” His eyes wandered up to the stars again. “I wonder where he is tonight.”
***
The cell was nothing to impress Akinari especially, a barren room of round shape without anything inside. Lying on his back on the metal floor he asked himself, whether his captors thought this to be something like harsh treatment. If so, they had no idea how to things right. This place was still convenient enough, clean, silent and dark. Three things Akinari had come to value as luxuries rarely to be had. But then, he had enough experience with cells. The list of his crimes, which had earned him this frequent stints in various prisons, had begun by being born. Raising his hand he could see it by the faint silver shine in the darkness. Pale ones, Arydhel – tainted or half-breeds were the words that usually were used to describe his kind. While the last one, was grossly incorrect when it came to him, he was to at least three quarters out of Eldyrene heritage. Like others of his kind he had grown up below the mountains, in the mines. Rebellious by nature he had never even tried to fit into the rows of backbreaking labour that was meted out to them. Which had earned him his first time in prison by the time he turned fourteen. The rough treatment there had not been exactly cruelty, just the attempt to make him see reason, to beat the insubordinate behaviour out of him. Not that it had helped much, two years later he had ended up in the next prison. The head of that place too had tried to make him change his ways, because he was young. Yet the only result had been him running into some imprisoned Arydhel-warriors and breaking fence with them. Akinari smiled in the darkness, his time in the underground army had earned him frequent imprisonment, interrogation and death sentences. It had taken the attacks of the raiders, shaking the Empire to its very core, that had caused a somewhat uneasy alliance between the Arydhel and their former enemies. What Ukyo did here was grossly amateurish and stupid to boot. Even the interrogation was. Were the boy not such a pitiful clone it might be worth while to teach him some things. Shaking his head, Akinari turned to the side, something that was impossible without a fresh set of pain echoing up in his body, and tried to sleep. Perhaps it was this place, perhaps it was the memories that had haunted him for days, or just his slightly tired condition that the dreams came back to him.
“I wish you would see reason, this is going to be your very last chance!” the voice of the red-faced man betrayed a state of anger and desperation that could hardly by topped by anything else. He had never met the Archduke of Can’dahar in person before, and he would have been an impressive figure had he been not be short of dying from the heat. He was tall, broad shouldered and very muscular, his black hair was cropped short, but still was dripping from sweat.
Up till now, Akinari had been a bystander, lingering at some distance, keeping one eye on the conversation, the other one at the guards, leaving Viridián deal with his father at his own terms and in his own time. Much as he despised the man, that he had taken the trouble to locate his son in the scattered prisoner camps spoke somewhat in his favour. His anger was right now radiating like the rays of the merciless sun. Sweat was running down his reddened face and he shook his fist as he would like to strike out at his son. In a distant way Akinari was proud, that Viridián wasn’t subdued in the slightest way. But how could he? Throughout these last two years he had faced dangers unimaginable to him and learned to conquer the fears his rather soft growing up had burdened him with. He wasn’t going to back down from a father who was likely to provide the camp commander with a medical emergency if he wasn’t cooling down soon. “I can’t, and you know this,” he simply stated.
Moments like this made Akinari truly proud. He had fought most of his comrades about the question of Viridián’s joining their ranks. And had proved himself, every time. Nevertheless it was time to act, before Viridián’s noble father would get into another angry speech and fall over from heart failure. The conditions in the prison camps were rough, not that Akinari cared much, he had grown up under worse conditions as they could inflict on him here. Leaving the barrack, where he had been leaning he walked over to them both. While approaching them, the difference between father and son struck him as remarkable. True, Viridian had the same dark hair, dark eyes and tanned skin, that marked his pure heritage, but he had nothing of his father’s imposing stature or rough ways. There was a gentleness about him, that masked the valorous warrior he truly was. “He’s right, Viridián,” Akinari said softly. “if your family can get you out of here, than you should take up the offer. They’ll have us executed soon enough.” The camp commander, a veteran of at lest 120 years constant warfare, who knew most of his detainees from former stints in captivity, had remarked only that morning: ‘This times it will be the gallows, make no mistake.’
The red faced man arched an eyebrow. “Much as I hate it to concur with Arydhel-scum, but at least you found yourself a commander who talks sense..” Viridián’s father was eying Akinari suspiciously. He had heard of him, but then, who had not heard of him, by now? Akinari was well aware of the reputation he had made since earning his blood-name.
Viridián turned to Akinari, an irritated look in his beautiful black eyes. “How can you think, I’d leave you now? That’s what Paidráigin and Chicano believed I’d do as soon as there was trouble.”
“If I tell them, I send you away, they’ll keep their yapping mouth’s shut,” Akinari meant what he said, every letter of it. “they stopped doubting you a long time ago. And if this is the chance for you to live, to get out of here, than you should go.” Akinari could not prevent some worries to sneak up in his voice. No much how strong or tough Viridián had become, the adverse conditions here wore him down. He had not the iron-hard condition of his comrades who had only survived from earliest childhood by the virtue of being tough.
Viridiáns slender hand slipped above Akinari’s, his fingers gently followed the line of a criss-cross scar that reminded them of their very first encounter. “You would truly wish me to leave?” he asked, his voice not much more than a whisper.
These words easily penetrated the armour of Akinari’s soul and hit home, of all people Viridián was the only one who could reach him thus, could touch him that deeply. Perhaps because his gentleness had reached beyond the bloody armour that steeled his soul finding a part of Akinari that hardly anyone ever had seen. Within those two short years Akinari had changed more than he would admit to himself, Viridián had found a side in him, a part of humanity he had forgotten about before he had been ten. Gently he took Viridiáns hand, lifting it up, placing a tender kiss inside the palm. “If this is what keeps you alive, ever.”
“Oh…. I can’t watch this,” the angered voice of Viridiáns father interrupted them. “Could you just order him to come with me, and leave the rest of the show be? That the heir of Can’dahar should become involved with your kind is somewhat disgusting.”
Akinari let his temper not get the better of him. From the perspective of the Duke of Can’dahar this was a catastrophe, no doubt. A bungled kidnapping that ended with his own son, joining the rebellious pale warriors. “Contrary to your people, we have learned in a war of many generations, that there are things that can’t be ordered or forced. Things a man must decide on his own,” he replied, before turning to Viridián. “Go, and go fast, before they change their mind.”
Viridián’s hand closed around Akinari’s, as he pressed it to his heart. “I can’t,” he said. “for my heart, my soul are not mine any more. A rogue warrior of the Arydhel stole them and carried them with him to the icy mountains. I’d rather stay and be executed than surviving on this conditions.”
Waking was painful, Akinari had to force his eyes open. He was lying on the barren floor of the cell, in the darkness. Had there been a part of his body that did not he’d known by now. Not that he really felt this kind of pain. Physical pain was hardly something to be feared, a mere inconvenience. What made him shaking, was the pain emitted by the dream, he had just escaped. Akinari did not dare to close his eyes, but in the darkness around him, he still could see Viridiáns face. The memory nearly made him shake. For moments he just curled together on the hard floor, letting the pain wash over him, but a silent voice inside his head reminded him: ”This was the third time in as many months. You are beginning to slip. Come to grips. Your mission is far from over.”
Slowly Akinari sat up, he still did not fight the pain inside him. He would never fight it, it was a part of him, belonged to him in a sense few others would understand. A dozen times he took a deep breath and let go again. It helped a little, helped him to relax, to come back from the dark echos of the dream, that called him to a sleep that would know no awakening. The rational part of his mind told him, that what happened was just natural. He had lasted for nearly ten years, it would be full ten when the winter came, and the statistics were not longer in his favour. If they had ever been. The less rational part of him knew that he just had been alone for too long. The less persons to care about the less reasons to life at all. “Get it together, Akinari. No cause to complain, you heard that Kanbei was alive some days ago. And by the bad mood of the jailers he escaped them. Something good came out of this at last.” But these thought were hardly able to distract him from the warmth that still emanated from that dream. Kneeling down in his usual meditation pose he forced himself to conjure up other memories from the depth of his mind.
***
Kanbei had left the camp silently. No one noticed his leaving especially, he had seen to that. Around them was nothing, but barren, devastated land, stretching into the darkness. Outside the camp the stood silently for a moment, recalling the sparks he had seen. Three had there been, in different places and only very short. He knew rather well what had caused them, and just remembered where they had been. The first had been eastward, near the high dune, the second more north, and the third directly north of them. So it had to be north of them. While he strode out into the darkness, Kanbei recalled the region north of them, they had crossed this day. There had been few distinct landmarks but few really deep dens between the burned hills of this blasted land.
It did not take much time to locate the camp, after more than four years, he knew Ito’s habits well enough to find his camp in the deepest darkness. Nevertheless Kanbei approached cautiously and against the wind, lest Ryu might smell him in advance. He found the camp where he had guessed it would be, hidden between to devastated hillsides. A huge shadow darkened the eastern side of the lair, a shadow, or more precise: a huge scaled back, glistening faintly in the moonlight. The silver and white scales had reflected the moonlight while the giant lizard had been running across the nightly desert. Ryu was asleep, this was for certain, his head rested not far from the small fire Ito had built. Not that the rock dragon really needed a fire, it was a more companionable habit, as Ito often talked to him. Beside the rock dragons scaly back, in front of the fire, sat Ito cross-legged. Beside him, on a blanket rested a small arsenal of weapons, more than half of them weapons Kanbei would not have touched for causes of honour. Still it had always fascinated him to watch the precise, yet casual way, Ito handled them. Involuntarily he had stopped in the shadows, watching Ito, who was just loading a dozen small darts into the mechanisms of his right bracer. “You don’t need to stand there in the shadows, Kanbei,” he said without looking up at once.
Tossing the bracer aside onto the blanket he rose as Kanbei approached the fire. Clad completely in black, as it was his habit, he seemed to melt into the night around them. “I did not expect to see you here,” he said without moving any further.
Kanbei realised the distance Ito kept, and accepted it readily. “I could say the same. When I realised that a rock dragon was hunting in the desert, there was only one possibility left – you were following us.”
Ito sat down again, still seeing to it that a five steps distance remained between them. He had drawn an invisible line between them, perhaps a line to sever things that had been. “I did not follow you, Kanbei,” his voice was still casual. “Believe me, when I told you I had seen Shichroji at the Firefly Inn, I knew what the consequences were to be. Yet that you’d get the whole city into a ruckus like none other since the old emperor died, was hardly to be expected.” He looked up again, the fire painting small lights into his green eyes. “But trying to assassinate the Amanushi – Kanbei, you must have gone mad. You are no assassin.”
“Contrary to you,” Kanbei observed. He had sat down too, perhaps it had become too much of a habit. How many nights had they sat like thus, on a fire, hidden from prying eyes? More than he cared to count. Ironic as it might be, but Ito had still kept his word and found Shichroji.
“Right you are. If you wanted the Amanushi dead, you could have asked. You know I’d done it.” Turning the bracer he applied two small throwing knives on the underside slings of them.
Kanbei sighed, he knew this to be true. One word from him and Ito would have gone after the Amanushi, applying his whole murderous arsenal to the kill. “I already asked one favour from you.” Perhaps this one favour had been one too many already.
A strange look rose in Ito’s eyes, perhaps it was only the light of the fire, perhaps it was anger or hurt, Kanbei couldn’t tell. “You never asked anything from me,” Ito pointed out, carefully keeping his voice level. “If I ever did something for you – and I doubt it can be called this – I did it because I wanted to.” Like always, he could feel or tell, that Kanbei was uncomfortable with the subject, and changed it immediately. “That blonde warrior – the son of the ambassador – I think he’s rather serious about killing you. Could hark back to his father.”
“Leave Kyuzo alone,” Kanbei said a little more sharp. “He’s nothing to worry about for you.”
Ito laughed his silent, humourless laughter. “Did I ever venture into one of your quarrels of honour?”
He never had, Kanbei knew. Ito had respected his honour, and not even commented on the frequent troubles, skirmishes and hazards it got them into. “Why are you here?” he eventually asked. “If you are not following us, what brings you here?”
Ito smiled, a smile that was a mask. “Ukyo pretty much rounded up what is left of his breed, and there are some people – former warlords, merchants and others, that pay a nice sum for their death. Put Ukyo’s head into the bargain and some of the offers get outright generous.”
“So this is all there is? Another bounty you intend to collect?” Kanbei asked. There was no accusation in his words. He had known for four and half years that Ito was a shadow-warrior, an assassin for hire. He had even guessed it when Ito had freed him.
Ito gave a low snort. “What do you think there is? That I whish for a better acquaintance with Shichroji? Or that I came to protect you? Shimada Kanbei doesn’t need a guardian angel.” He abruptly rose, taking his gear up. “I’ll get moving soon, Ryu will bring me to the Capital,” his eyes hung at Kanbei for a moment. “Whatever you intend to do, whatever may come – the spirits may shelter and protect you.” Without giving Kanbei any chance for an answer, he mounted the rock dragon, that had come awake and they vanished fast into the night.
Kanbei heard a noise coming uphill. He saw a familiar figure shape out of the darkness. It was Shichiroji. The blonde samurai stopped as he saw the fire. “I… I apologise. I should have known you wanted to be alone,” he said.
“No, I just wanted a little more silence,” Kanbei replied.
Shichiroji nodded. “I understand. Kikuchjio and Komachi are hardly what I’d call silent. They… they don’t know yet.”
Kanbei heard the words Shichiroji did not speak. Their comrades did not know that death awaited them the next morning. They had never waited for the dawn to rise, the dawn of dead, knowing there was no escape. Kanbei gestured Shichroji to sit down by the small fire. He wished he could ask Shichroji to stay behind, not to risk his life that next morning. And yet he knew this would only offend Shichroji. Alienate them even further. “Roji, I…”
A shake of the head stopped his words. “You don’t need to say anything, Kanbei.” Shichiroji said gently. “I know. We won’t last through that day tomorrow. We are taking on worse an army than last time.”
Suddenly Kanbei found himself shivering. Shichiroji would follow him another time into the arms of certain death. You’re not worth this, he’d deserve so much more. “I wish there was more hope,” Kanbei had not intended to say this loud.
“There never was much hope,” Shichroji replied in a hush. “Yet we fought on.” Their eyes met, and they saw the same memory there, the same day, five years ago.
”It is as bad as the rumours have it, then?” Akinari stood leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed in front of his chest. The posture created an illusion of calm, that covered whatever he might feel else. By now he must have heard the rumours, rumours of doom, of betrayal, and of money that was offered to everyone who turned.
Kanbei nodded tiredly. Silent affirming all those rumours and even more. “Worse even. Hasegawa and Mashairo both turned, three others joined them. Practically we have only left whatever forces we have gathered here.”
“And their fleet is bound to attack, I take it?” Akinari’s eyes narrowed. “It will be quite a battle.” Still he was calm as ice, no anger or disbelieve became visible on that cold exterior.
“Not for you,” Kanbei said sternly. “Your people kept the compact, more than this, your ship is still here, it can take you out of here. It is not necessary that you die alongside us.”
“I will accept your words in the spirit they were given, and thank you for them,” Akinari replied diplomatically. “Unfortunately you have no say in that matter.”
Kanbei’s eyebrows shot up. “You chose a very inappropriate time to become a rogue yourself,” there was steel in his voice now. He might find himself betrayed by most of their allies, but he would not take any rebellion from his subordinates.
Akinari seemed not much taken aback. “neither have I,” he fulfilled the sentence he had begun. “Rimrunner ran into a Raker and another capital ship while getting here and got hammered. Both stabilisers were fried, the port thrusters suffered heavy damage and the AG-core… well, never mind the details. Facts are that she can’t take all of us home. They have to reduce weight massively to get her off ground at all not speaking of making a dash for our home. Best count she can take half us, a quarter is more likely, all while leaving loads of equipment behind. We already talked this through, and decided who’s going to stay. Most of us opted for staying and fighting. Some few will make a run from here. But you can count on having fifty of us up in the air.”
“Is there no chance to get Rimrunner into shape again?” Shichroji, who had been silent up till now, asked. It seemed that fate had just decided to deal out another blow on them, depriving Akinari and his comrades of the only way home, forcing them to stand through that fight to the bitter end.
Akinari shrugged. “No, she needs a new AG-core and new stabilisers, none of it at hand here and it’s hardly a repait that can be done groundside. And even if she was in better shape, it wouldn’t matter. We have talked about this, ever since Er-hong fortress fell, and many of us would have stayed anyway.”
***
It was already late afternoon when Shichiroji reached the outer bastions. In the height of the war it had been a hustle and bustle of fighters, mechanics and other people running around. Now only a full wing of Sparrowhawks and some Firebats were standing there, between the cylindrical containers that were unloaded from Rimrunner. He heard Paidráigin speaking to another of the pilots, who went by the name of Joacim. “Get them out of here soon, and then act along the usual lines, scatter, hiding, creating a net of depots. You know how, you did it before. Chicano takes the other half.”
Steps behind him, made Shichroji turn before he could ask Paidráigin what this was about. He saw Akinari who had come over. Judging by the tool in his hand he had been working on his Sparrowhawk again. “Still making repairs?” Shichiroji asked, he was here for the same reason. But it seemed to him the Sparrowhawks needed more maintenance than in the beginning.
Akinari nodded. “Nothing major, just the exhaust port again. The atmosphere tends to wear them down, they weren’t constructed for this. By now we all got the knack of fixing it fast.” He hesitated for a moment, before he went on. “Your Firebat is in bad shape, that raiden scorched it rather rough. If you’d like… there are some free Sparrowhawks, you could take for the battle tomorrow.”
Shichroji knew what was behind those words. The Sparrowhawks were a construction from Akinari’s homeland. He had been gunner for Akinari in some fights, and had even learned to pilot one of the swift deadly craft. But that Akinari offered him to fly one into that last battle, meant more than simple words. In a way his troop had come to see Shichroji as one of their own. “I’ll gladly take one of them,” he replied.
They had been walking across the warm landing field. Akinari pointed at one of the black fighters. “That’s the one. It’s in prime shape, we worked on it only few days ago and fixed it like new.”
Studying the red marks on the fighters hull, a triple arrow and a defiant ‘There’s no hope for the damned – that’s our hope,’ marked the bow. “That would be Chicano’s fighter.” He observed. “He is leaving then?”
Akinaris reaction was a strange mix of nod and shaking his head. “He doesn’t leave onboard Rimrunner but he isn’t staying for the battle. He does not hold with fighting hopeless last battles much.”
Again Shichiroji found himself reminded, that Akinari and his fellow pilots did not view defeat the samurai way. “What would you, your people do, in such a situation?” he asked in low tones.
“What we always did, when we lost again: scatter, vanish and go to ground. Leave the enemy believe in his victory and return some years later to annoy him once more.”
Shichiroji studied the fighter for another moment silently, trying to hide his thoughts behind this. “Do you regret it?” he suddenly asked.
Akinari leaned back against his own machine, who’s bow was marked by an equally red ‘Culpa patris’. “Do I regret it? Coming here? Certainly not. Fighting this war? Why should I regret it? Having got to know you and your samurai-brethern? I’d count it an honour. No, Shichiroji, I have nothing to regret here, and were I asked to do it all over again, I would.” His eyes narrowed, scanning Shichiroji. “Why is it, that in the last days, we always ask about regrets?”
Shichiroji did not answer directly, instead his hand wandered along the red paint. “Is there a chance to change this?” he asked.
“it’s just simple red paint, so that should be easy.” Akinari replied. “What do you want to have there?”
Shichroji thought about it for a moment. He did not claim to understand what some of the inscriptions on the fighters meant to their pilots. But he understood why they were doing it. “Always with you,” he said in the end. This was all he had to say in the end. No regrets certainly.
“The Captain is over there,” Chicano’s voice interrupted their conversation. Shichiroji turned and saw the Captain of Rimrunner approaching. The man was short of build, and darkhaired, rather the opposite to the pilots. He and Akinari looked at each other, like men who would rather fight single combat instead of having conversation. “I came over to have a last check over your dead list,” the Captain of Rimrunner began speaking. “It would make the paperwork much easier if you were to sign it, Arceas.”
Akinari came close to jerk at this name, but marshalled himself to keep up a passive mien. Alliance or no Alliance, no one could say that one of their sides felt well in their particular roles. Not that the Captain would actually understand. To them Akinari had been born with the name Arceas and to Arceas he would answer and no further nonsense. “Of course,” he answered coolly. “You have been introduced to Shichiroji-sama?”
“Save the niceties for you burial. Here’s the list, let’s get done with it and keep it civil.” The Captains scowl betrayed his angered temper.
Shichroji managed to sneak a look at the list, Akinari was reading. He could not speak their language, but read parts of it quite well. It was a deadlist starting by Arceas, Captain of the silver, and ended by Paidráigin. Akinari nodded quietly and then signed the list. “Can there be anything else done for you, Captain?” he asked politely.
The man was silent for a moment, studying Akinari. “Well, then – I’ll say this for you: You took the decent way out, by removing yourself from the picture. The Archduke… ahem… appreciates that your presence won’t be an inconvenience any longer. He asked me to give you this,” he extracted a small item from his pouch.
Akinari’s hands came close to shaking as he recognised the item. It was the small figure of an eagle, carved from red jade, dangling from a worn leather band. He swallowed hard, attempting to say something. But the Captain cut him short: “Make no mistake. As far as the Duke is concerned you never existed, and his son’s memory…. It won’t be besmirched by the mention of you. This –“ his eyes pointed towards the eagle, “is just acknowledging the fact, that you are decent enough…”
“…to remove myself from the picture.” Akinari’s voice was cold by now. “Well then, I hope the Archduke gets over it some time, before he dies.” He turned on his heel, walking towards the other pilots.
***
Akinari had hoped for some calm later in the night. By nightfall the fortress had become silent, like a veil of serenity falling on what was left of the defenders. He had heard the reports of Chicano and Joacim, and while now walking alone on one of the outer ramparts, he still contemplated the options they had. Kanbei’s plan was clearly brilliant and would cost the enemy more than the enemy would ever imagine. Akinari did not fear death, he did not fear to die, but the thought of losing those friends he had found here, to a useless battle, was something that he could hardly bear.
He came to a halt, realising he wasn’t alone any more. Kanbei and Shichiroji had come up here too, standing close to the outer bastion. Akinari turned to vanish discreetly and leave them alone, yet a short gesture of Kanbei pointed him to come over. He obliged, joining them on the outermost bastion of silent Jimada fortress. “Is there anything, that can still be done, General?”
Kanbei waved the question off. He and Shichiroji exchanged a strange glance. “There is a question we have, Akinari,” he said, speaking with the same utter calm, he always did. “It is said that your people know the secret of the soulbond and that you can teach it or help two persons to bond with each other.”
Akinari’s eyes flew wide. “The answer is: yes, on all accounts. But you hardly can be thinking of bonding in the wake of this battle.” He tried to puzzle out what Shimada Kanbei had been just saying. The man wasn’t easy to read, perhaps he had meant something different.
A calm nod, was his answer. “We do. We’d want you to teach us to soulbond, before going into that last battle.”
All at once Akinari realised the way, Kanbei and Shichiroji stood. They held themselves very close to each other, even out here in the semi-open. Their eyes had frequently met during their conversation, a closeness and silent understanding radiated from them. Nevertheless Akinari slowly shook his head. “I can’t, Kanbei-sama. Shichiroji-san, I am sorry. But I can’t teach you, nor help you to bond. It would go against all the bond stands for.”
Shichiroji’s eyes widened. “Why?” he asked. Kanbei’s eyes seemed to pierce Akinari. “An explanation would be appropriate.”
“The soul bond is…,” Akinari was searching for words, trying to remain composed, but this time he failed, the words broke out of him, before he could stop them. “The soul-bond is a celebration of life, it is the confirmation of the greatest gift, that exists in this world: the gift of the heart. You, Kanbei, do you intend to die tomorrow? To take your life, should you not fall? Know this – sharing the soul bond means that you are past this possibility for ever. Because this is the basis of the bond: the utmost gratitude for every day given to you, the gratitude for the chance to love. You can’t kill yourself, because this mean mutilating the soul of your partner, and even if your partner is dead: in living on you prove yourself worthy of his love, of being loved at all. Whatever life vents down on you, whatever you are to face, that one gift – the gift of the heart – will carry you through it. And those who can’t understand this, should not even think of bonding each other. It would be – vanity.”
In years to come Akinari would regret having flared up that much, with them. At that moment he had a hard time to restrain himself from an even worse outbreak of temper. The way both samurai were often flirting with death, flaunting their readiness to die, woke in him the whish to strike out at them. With an Herculean effort he willed down that violent urge. “Perhaps, if you still live long enough, you’ll come to understand what the gift of the heart means.”
***
It was already past midnight when they heard the first raiden. The howl of the flying group was a sound echoing in the wind, mingling with the eternal mourning of the gusty winds, sometimes becoming indistinct, then returning tenfold. And there were more following the first one, and ships were coming in their wake, their howling travelled with the wind, drawing closer and closer. Shichiroji jumped to his feet as he heard them. The attack was beginning! Without a moment’s hesitation he left the small room where they had slept and hasted down the stairs. In running he put on the thin pilot’s gloves. A burning pain erupted from the back of his right hand. He did not mind it, not even think about the beautiful if dark flower, that adorned his hand there.
Hs fighter stood ready, he jumped it, diagnostics were already flashing along the screens, the drive was warmed up and ready to go. “Birds of prey, this is eagle. We have a fleet of Capital ships inbound from east/northeast, they are supported by raiden coming from three sides,” he heard Akinari, speaking to his pilots. “so it’s encirclement. Perhaps we can break it, look out for your samurai, look out for your comrades. Who makes it out knows where to go.”
Shichiroji brought the fighter up, slowly circling the upper battlement, he saw Kanbei already waiting. It took some skill to get parallel to the walls and allow a partner to jump on, yet he had done it hundrets of times before. The other fighters had done the same, and off they went, the battle awaited them.
***
The raiden ended in a cloud of exploding gas, debris scarred the passing ships, while the fire of a dozen main canons incarnated what remained of friend and foe all the same. Shichiroji vaped another pair of raiden, ignoring the damage his fighter was taking. There was no way to avoid this. The skies were burning, scorching everything it touched. Forcing the machine up in a tight spin, he reached the burning battleship. Chasing along the damaged hull his eyes were searching for a well known figure. He did not see anyone on the dying battleship. An explosion shook the ship, flames erupted from the bowels of steel, lighting the air around them. Ignoring the danger of staying too close to an explosion Shichroji turned for another fly-by. His caught a tiny movement on the upper tower of the ship. It had broken down, coming close to touching another Raker. Kanbei was running along that fragile bridge, already on his way to attack the next ship. Shichiroji kicked the thrusters, bringing up the Sparrowhawk. Kanbei was in the line of fire of half a dozen crimson spiders. But not for long! Using up what missiles he had Shichroji turned the spiders into another cloud of burning debris within two attack runs. He hardly had to think about it, speed, attack vector, enemy movement and fire lines were dancing in his mind like a jigsaw jumping into place every given moment. Sometimes he seemed to see their movements before they actually did move. Speeding alongside the Raker, he saw Kanbei jump onto the Sparrowhawk’s outer wing. The Raker was in flames. Kanbei seemed as cold and calm as he had been when the battle began hours ago. “Jay what are you waiting for?!” he heard Akinari’s voice on OpChan. “Take the others and RUN. I can’t break through to you. So go! Run!” So they had managed to break the encirclement at one of the weak ends.
Kanbei had no need of the com chatter, to understand what was happening. “Bring us to their command center, the Moon if the dragon.” He ordered
Shichiroji obeyed at once, even as a cold coil rose in his stomach. The Moon of the dragon was a flying fortress, the very last their enemies had left. Every one of these gigantic ships had taken dozens of pilots down, before finally succumbing. It would be their last run, and he knew it. A fitting target, the last of the dragonships. A hailstorm of fire and missiles was greeting them as they approached the ship. Kanbei had taken front position, reflecting the heavy blasts coming at them. He was whirlwind of movement right now, his blade sending one blast after the other back to their enemies. Shichrioji kept the fighter carefully balanced as he carved them a path through hordes of enemies, ships were flying by, raiden got shredded and spiders burned in reflected blastshots. The Moon of the dragon rose like a black mountain before them. A giant of steel, ore and glass, a shadow before the sun. Shichroji brought down the fighter, dancing only short above the surface. He saw Kanbei jumping down, landing between a legion of groundbound raiden, that flew to pieces within moments as Kanbei reached them. Shichiroji turned for another attack run, to support Kanbei, too late did he see the turning gun turret, a spray of fire hit the Sparrowhawk, shredding the fighter. A hot, merciless pain erupted in Shichiroji’s shoulder as the ground came spiralling towards him.
***
“Eagle, Katana was hit, is crashing on the southern ridge, I’m going after him.” Hawk’s voice was hardly to understand of the static. Akinari turned his fighter, just to see a fiery trace in the sky, that told him of Shichroji’s fate. It would hardly be of any use to go after a fighter, that broke apart midair, yet he replied. “Affirmative, Hawk, take care of him and good luck.”
While he left this to his comrade he checked the readings of the battle. Shichiroji had surely left Kanbei on one of the ships. If anything could be done for his fallen friend, it was getting Kanbei off the ship he was just attacking. The trace of Shichiroji’s fighter left only one conclusion: the command centre. Akinari sighed, this samurai had to go down with a big bang, or not at all.
The attack run was murderous, Akinari drove his fighter through a heavy formation of raiden, spiders and a Raker. He did not care that he was running the drive on overload. It had never been intended to go at such a speed inside the atmosphere, but it would hold for another hour, of this he was sure. Cutting the energy of emergency systems and life support, he got enough power for the systems. The first explosions rose on the hull of the dragonbattleship, Kanbei must have done well. Akinari had hardly ever seen a dragonship going down that fast. Racing alongside he found Kanbei standing near the starboard thrusters. The samurai must have recognised that this wasn’t Shichroji’s fighter, before he even entered up, but he did not hesitate for a second. “What about Shichiroji?” he asked, while they ran from the exploding battleship.
“He crashed,” Akinari replied, suppressing the pain he felt.
Kanbei’s eyes flickered for a moment, the only movement betraying the pain he must feel. “Bring me to their flying fortress.”
The order was issued calmly but Akinari understood what it said. If it was crazy to attack a battle dragon it was suicide going after a fortress. The enemy had only brought one, for there was no necessity for another. Yet he did as he was asked, using whatever speed the tormented main drive could still offer. He knew they would burn soon, but perhaps it was time to strike the match, light the pyre and put the legend of the phoenix to the final testing. A shriek of warning rang through the cockpit. Akinari did not react. “Kanbei, jump as soon as you can, I can’t go much further.” The samurai nodded and did exactly that. Moments later the Sparrowhawk’s drive caught fire and Akinari saw the ground spiralling towards him.
***
Kanbei landed on the outer hull of the flying fortress. From the corner of his eye he saw Akinari’s fighter go down in a ball of fire. He had no time to look or regret the pilots blazing fall, he had to act, and act swiftly. Running across the shaking ground of the ship, he dodged shots aimed at him, avoiding the glowing winds of the exhaust ports, he made his way to fortress lower portside. Thick bulges were running through the reddish metal, marked by stark ugly scorchmarks. Some fighters had already found their death here. Ignoring the blasts that hit ground left and right of him, he drove his katana deep into the read metal, cutting all the way down. The bulgy coolant pipes, broke with a shriek, releasing green cooling gas into the air. Kanbei retreated from the point, knowing the gas to be poisonous. Speeding up the fortress’s hull again, he realised late that the gun’s had ceased firing. All of sudden the fortress had gone silent. A lone figure awaited him on the highest point of the port hull. He was tall, a little taller than Kanbei perhaps, clad in a fine armour of silver scales, his face hidden by a silver helmet adorned with a midnight black raven. The triangular visor of polished obsidian hid his eyes. He did not move or advance, he just stood there, ready, the katana in his left hand. Kanbei silently drew his sword too.
They stood opposite of each other, unmoving. Forgotten was the revolting fortress below their feet, uncared about is the slippery unsafe ground or the shaking surroundings. Both hold their blades at the ready, their mind already in attack of the other. A silent duel, that excludes space and time. Then Kanbei moves, leaping into attack and time begins to exist once more. Their blades clashed, as Kanbei’s katana was caught in a precise parry. His opponent broke his sword free, and unleashed a fierce double attack on Kanbei. The elder samurai parried the first strike, misdirecting the second one only slightly, using the movement for his own attack. The tip of his blade sliced along his opponents arm, leaving a bloody trace, only seconds later he found himself again under a ferocious whirlwind of strikes coming down on him.
He was just one but he made Kanbei more trouble than a dozen enemies of his kind at once. He seemed to be able to foretell any attack and every parry. His attacks came very well planed, all too often making use of one of Kanbei’s weaknesses, which he all seemed to know. Kanbei fought as concentrated as possible. But for a long time, he could not see any weakness in his opponent. Any attack of him was easily parried. His opponent was neither a raiden or mecha-samurai who never got the knack on reading a samurai’s tactic, nor was he the usual thug who would misinterpret most of what a samurai did. He was an avid reader when it came to samurai as Kanbei was soon to find out. Their fight drew long and longer, Kanbei lost track of time, he did not realise the explosions on the main thrusters, only the shaking grounds made him aware of that.
The fortress began braking apart right below their feet. In near unison they sprinted towards the starboard fuselage and jump off the ship towards a Raker that is passing them by. Exhausted as Kanbei is, his jump is a little shorter than his opponents, he closely hits the rim of the Raker’s port vent. His opponent turns, just for a second, gripping Kanbei’s left wrist, aiding him to find a safe stand onboard the Raker. Next moment he’s in distance again, ready to fight. Kanbei nodded curtly, acknowledging the honourable action of his opponent. And again they turned to face each other. His opponent became more aggressive by now, speeding the fight up to a mad, exhausting rush. Kanbei knew the principle behind this. “Force your rhythm on your opponent, then break the rhythm and break the opponent along that way.” And Kanbei was not going to let this happen. He suddenly leapt forward in attack, his enemies parry came not as easily as before, but at the next strike he had already recovered and parried with the usual superiority. His next attack came, Kanbei evaded it with a fast turn, the blade sliced his armour of his upper left arm and left a trace there, nothing serious. He retreated a step, blocking the next attack of his opponent. For moments their blades were blocking each other with an horrific pressure. Kanbei felt his arm muscles clench under this pressure and understood what his opponent now was up to. He tried to break Kanbei’s blade, or his own! Kanbei let his muscles relax, allowing the blade to be thrust to the side, diving down fast and attacking from below. He ran into a good parry. “This won’t work.” It was the first time his opponent spoke, he had a deep bronze voice, that betrayed no exhaustion or tiredness. His next attack made Kanbei stumble and fall, he managed to roll to the side and jump on his feet again, before his opponent could make use of it. The dark katana missed him barely. Kanbei parried the next hailstorm of attacks, giving up some space, by retreating some steps. When an especially hard hit, ripped apart his cover, Kanbei led a surprise attack against his opponent’s sword hand. He gave all strength to this blow. The swift reactions of his enemy, mad him miss the sword hand but hitting the blade with full strength. Both blades were vibrating under the murderous strain, then Kanbei felt the pressure strengthen, as his opponent used the blade-lock as a lever. Kanbei felt his katana thrown from his hand, it flew spinning out of his reach, piercing the exhaust vent of the Raker.
A strange calm settle on Kanbei. He had lost. He had known this moment was to come from the very beginning. He had lost to a worthy opponent. He stood calmly, proud and erect, awaiting the death blow. His opponent raised his right hand and with a deft grip removed his raven-adorned helm. A face, by at least ten years younger than Kanbei, emerged from beneath it. Fine chiselled features, that could be called noble, framed by sweat-damp dark hair. Their eyes met and within the split of a second Kanbei understood that his opponent intended to take him alive.
***
Akinari had managed to get his burning Sparrowhawk grounded before it exploded. It had not been exactly easy, but not impossible either. The explosion of the Sparrowhawk was but the smaller one to the deadly rain of fire and debris that hailed down from the main fortress. Hidden below the remains of a crimson spider Akinari saw the lower half of the fortress break and crash down to the ground. The ground shook, fires stormed across the land, scorching everything in his wake. Akinari’s eyes were still fixed on the skies. The fortress was gone, a fiery cloud marked her fleeting grave. A low pain rose in his throat as he realised that he was looking at Kanbei’s grave as well. Shichroji gone, Kanbei fallen, so many others perished in that battle. He closed his eyes, imagining the dark skies of a calm night before his inner eye. “May the Lords who reign beyond see you valour, accept your sacrifice and shelter your souls in their hand. Sha’graile protect you in the darkness that lies ahead.” For reasons he could not name he had spoken the prayer not in his native tongue, but the language that had been the tongue of his friends.
It was not an easy thing for Akinari to leave the scorched fields as soon as the worst fires had ceased. Yet he knew he could not stay. Having said a prayer for the fallen friends, the only thing left was moving on. It took no genius to see, that this land, were once Jimada fortress had stood, would be a desert for many years to come. Heading eastward, he asked himself whether his comrades had made it out of the battle and if their plan had worked out. Only time could tell. East lay some high mountains. Someone had mentioned mines there, a perfect place of hiding.
Neither Kanbei nor Shichiroji spoke a word, when they rose and walked back to the fighter that awaited them. Dawn was already lighting up the eastern horizon. What lay ahead was nothing but what had been five years ago. The circle was closing. Wordlessly they boarded the ancient attack ship.
In his cell aboard the Capital Akinari woke from his meditations. Something had changed, he could not tell what. But there was something, that just had begun moving and things were moving along. Rising from his kneeling position, he decided for a spot close to the entrance. Leaning against the wall, he listened to the ships noises. He was ready, for whatever may come.
