Red engulfed the horizon in a howling wave, a soaking crimson sheet of unbroken color. Pulsing, thudding in his ears like an earthquake, it stretched from one side of the skyline to the other, shrouding everything behind its power. He couldn’t seem to remember anything before it was there, nor could he bring himself to imagine what might happen if it vanished. There was no fighting it, there was no questioning it. There was only the mind-numbing presence of it.
Somewhere, someone was screaming.
Eventually, the throbbing in his skull abated somewhat — from all-pervading to merely overpowering. He could see colors and textures in the red now. A plane of some sort, broken by what seemed to be hills in the distance. Great heaping piles of something on the plane, rupturing the symmetry of what should have been perfectly flat. Some of the piles appeared to be moving, but he couldn’t make out any details. Above it all stood a great glowing orb, the clawing berserk eye of what could have been the sun.
Yes. Someone was definitely screaming.
The ocean rolled again, and then all he could see was the red, feeling it pound through him like surf. He clenched his eyes shut and rode the wave as far as he could, waiting until it finally began to abate again and thought could sink through. When he opened his eyes, it had retreated further. The graphic abstracts had taken sharper form, to the point at which he could make out where he was. The hills in the distance could now be seen clearly, the sun in the sky was now truly identified as such. The red ocean was in full retreat now, dropping like the tide to reveal more and more before him. It came in bits and pieces, one at a time so as not to overwhelm him and bring the red crashing back over everything.
No-dachi. There was a no-dachi in his hand, stained a deep crimson that would not fade with the retreating ocean. No, stained was not the right word. Glutted was a better word. Glutted and dripping all the way up to his elbow.
Smoke. There was smoke in the sky. Not pink as he had originally thought but a deep rich black, the smoke of something burning. The sun shone angrily through the smoke, disturbed that such wispy darkness had the impudence to blot out its sky.
Bodies. He was surrounded by bodies. Some of them still moved, most did not. Many of them had odd silver and blue armaments that he thought he should remember somehow. Others near him had different decorations, these done in rose and black. They somehow filled him with a dread in a way that the silver-and-blue corpses hadn’t. But one or the other, they were everywhere, scattered as far as the eye could see.
Now things came faster, the red wave almost gone. The world was coming into focus, the colors crisp and vibrant like the First Day. Thoughts began to be connected, forming ideas, giving him a clearer grasp of the situation. The movement he had detected earlier was the buzzards, coming down to feast on the bodies of the dead. None of the corpses moved and he was certain that no one else was left standing. A battle. This was the site of a battle, one which was thoroughly over. Did his side win or lose? Did it matter? Not really. He was still on his feet. That meant he was still alive, which meant that his side had won. Maybe. Winning was good — he thought. Victory was such a curious thing if it came without anybody else to celebrate it with. Which beggared the question, who was "anybody else?" And for that matter, who was the foe that "anybody else" had defeated? These thoughts occurred with frightening lucidity as the redness in his sight collapsed altogether, leaving him for the first time with a full picture of what had happened.
Gradually, after several more moments, Hida Amoro was able to stop screaming.
The Crab camp buzzed with celebration, fireworks and drunken revelers dancing with equal ferocity. Planted in the heart of newly captured land, its denizens had no reservations about letting their guard down. The defending Crane forces had been crushed, their small army routed and scattered to the four winds. The first step towards taking the Emerald Throne had been made. And while there were other campaigns in the future — other foes to crush as these had been — they could wait. For tonight, the victors would enjoy the spoils.
Amoro’s tent was the only silent one, its empty gloom smothering the spillover from the nearby party. Its master knelt within, staring at the battle map hung ever-so delicately at the far side of his bed roll. He had bathed and changed, the blood scrubbed from his hands by softly smiling servant girls. His no-dachi sat sheathed beside him and its blade shone like the purest sea. Every trace of scarlet had been meticulously removed. Amoro did not notice it. Nor did he notice the map, or the serving girls, or the water they had cleaned his body with. They all fell away behind the memory of IT.
The few people who saw him in full-fledged combat and lived to tell of it assumed that his rage defined who he was. They thought he loved the haze of it, the blood-red wave that washed over his body every time he set foot on the field. "He’s a berserker," they would say. "Berserkers live for the fight and the rage that engulfs them when the sounds of steel ring in their ears." More the fools they. The truth was, Amoro never remembered what he did while under the influence of his rage. The Ocean obscured everything, leaving him with no idea what he had done or why.
No, it was the coming down that he loved, the slow inexorable return to sanity after all had fallen before him. The sights, the sounds, the sensations that slipped into his body one by one as his blood cooled… it was like seeing the Earth made new every time it happened. Like being reborn — watching everything around him in a different and exhilarating light. To experience that, to feel the slow trickle of sensations become a rush... what was the mere touch of a woman, or cleansing of the body, compared to that? How could those dullards outside expect him to celebrate when the true fruits of victory had come and gone?
Only when the army moved on would he be happy. Because then he would get to do it again.
His huge muscles flexed in anticipation; his dark eyes flashed with pleasure. The barest hints of a smile crossed his lips, one which would have sent those serving girls scurrying in fear had they seen it. Yes, to do it again... to be reborn on the field as he was today...
His daydreaming was brought to an abrupt halt by the sound of someone approaching. Grasping his no-dachi, he shifted his feet into a crouch.
"Disturb me at your peril, little man!" he bellowed, shattering the silence like a cannon shell.
"The battle is over, Amoro. Or have you forgotten?" The soft voice was measured and controlled. "I desire permission to enter the great lord’s tent. Preferably without being eviscerated."
"Yori." Amoro sighed, calming somewhat. "I thought you were a drunk come here to disturb me."
"Indeed. Most would wonder why you had not joined the party. A few of the more foolish might even seek you out. But I have something different in mind. Something beneficial to both you and our army. May I enter?"
Amoro grunted the affirmative, shifting his legs and sheathing his blade. Whatever Kuni Yori might be, he was never a pest. Nor did he leave the safety of his tent without good reason.
The shugenja stepped inside reverently, almost gingerly. The soft folds of his velvet robe rustled silently about his slippered feet, the odd painted symbol on his face standing in stark contrast to its darkness. The twin ends of his mustache waggled silently around his sardonic mouth — a tight-lipped grin that never seemed as mirthful as it should. He bowed in not-quite-mocking reverence to Amoro, then turned to face the battle map, leaving his back to the berserker.
"I held correspondence with your uncle today. He sends his regards and expresses his satisfaction at the progress of our campaign here."
Amoro’s face twisted into a sneer. "I am honored that the Great Bear sees fit to bestow such praise. A pity he couldn’t participate himself."
Yori continued placidly studying the marks on the map. "Do think this is the only front we are fighting on? Hida Kisada has far more on his mind than the slaughter of hapless Cranes. There is an upstart ronin moving on Beiden Pass. The Mantis have been harrying the construction of our fleet. The scope of his ambition stretches the length and width of Rokugan. You would do well to remember that the next time you speak to the Bear."
Amoro’s muscles flexed, his hands clenched in frustration.
"I’ll take it under advisement."
"Good. I should also tell you that, while happy with your progress, your uncle has expressed some... concern for your performance on the battlefield."
Amoro could feel the blood rise behind his face.
"And pray tell, what exactly was wrong with my performance on the battlefield?!"
Yori turned around slowly to face the berserker for the first time.
"Do you have any idea what happened today?"
"Certainly! We won. The Crane were crushed."
"Yes, we won, thanks in no small part to you. You killed over four hundred Crane bushi by your own hand, Amoro. Four hundred. That’s a feat even the Great Bear cannot match."
"So what is the problem?"
"The problem is the one hundred and thirty Crab troops you killed as well."
Amoro paused slightly. "Crab?"
"Hasn’t anyone spoken to you to this yet? Your entire command was destroyed, Amoro. The majority of which by your own hand. You cut them down in the middle of the battle. It seems as if any target will do for you once you get started."
Amoro considered the fact for a moment. "This doesn’t concern me. The Crane are dead; I inflicted over twice as many casualties as they did. In a war of attrition, that is considered victory."
"For pity’s sake, Amoro, you killed three messenger boys who tried to tell you that the battle was over. Ten-year-old boys! You were hacking at corpses for three hours before you finally calmed down enough to be led away."
"IRRELEVANT!!!" His bellow had returned. "Victory is all that matters!!! If my command comes between my foes and I, then I will destroy it! If you come between my foes and I, then I will destroy you! When the battle is joined..." the memories came rushing back to him. "...then nothing else matters to me!" The veins on his neck thudded beneath his taut muscles.
Yori bore the outburst without so much as a twitch. His sardonic smile softened somewhat as he pulled his hands into the depths of his cloak.
"I know, Amoro, I know. Your uncle knows, too; that is why he is concerned. And the troops out there, they know. This is the third time your command has been destroyed. No one will serve under you any more."
"Send me out alone. Send me by myself. I don’t care."
"We can’t send you out alone, Amoro. Even you would be cut down in a heartbeat."
"So what, then?" His blood was cooling somewhat. "I must keep fighting, shugenja. I must. It is all that keeps me alive."
Yori’s hands returned from his cloak in a flash, holding a strange black scroll between them. It seemed different than the other scrolls in his library; its leather was smooth and almost oily the way it shone in the light. The shugenja’s hands seemed to shake ever so slightly in contact with it. He wasn’t sure, but Amoro could later swear that the scroll pulsed slightly — almost as if it were alive.
"What is that?"
"That, my dear Hida, is the answer to our difficulties. It was given to me by a quiet ally who wishes the Crab to emerge triumphant. I have been studying it for some time, and I believe I have sufficient strength to wield its magic."
Amoro licked his lips, hiding the nervousness which had suddenly fallen over him.
"And how is it going to help my... predicament?"
Yori’s eyes twinkled with glee. "It’s going to give you the troops you need."
The battlefield was silent now, populated solely by the ghosts of the dead. The buzzards had departed with the coming of night, and even the insects were silent, as if somehow aware of what was going to happen. The ground could not be seen for the bodies that littered it.
Amoro and Yori moved slowly through the charnel, their way lit by a single torch in Amoro’s hands. The berserker cursed as he picked his way over the corpses of the fallen.
"What are we doing out here, shugenja?"
"As I said before: procuring your troops. I gave orders that the dead not be removed from where they fell, and your performance this afternoon has kept even the most foolhardy away."
"And how is... this," he spat, kicking at a frozen hand, "going to help us?"
"Patience, my lord, patience. For magic such as this, the proper locale is a necessity."
They moved on, the torchlight throwing eerie shadows off of broken armor and shards of bone. The shugenja stepped gingerly through the bodies, careful not to disrupt any of the unburied dead. Amoro was less careful; his boots trampled all before them.
At last they came to a clearing of sorts, an area where the corpses had been moved away to reveal the blood-soaked ground. A circle had been sketched around the perimeter with what appeared to be powdered chalk, and a series of strange figures had been dug into the blackened earth around it.
"Stop," Yori commanded, quietly. Amoro obeyed.
"We are now at the center of the battlefield, the place where the furies have spiraled within themselves. It is here where we will draw upon the power we need. Step into the circle, Amoro, and for both our sakes, do not disrupt anything."
Amoro gazed quizzically at the shugenja, but did as he said, making a comically large step over the chalk and into the circle. Yori followed him, the pulsing black scroll still in his hands. As he did so, the torch in Amoro’s hand sputtered and went out. The berserker tensed his muscles, but made no move to react. He could feel the redness creeping in, a salve against his increasing nervousness. But he did not let it overwhelm him.
From behind him, he heard Yori’s voice.
"This circle is composed of the bones of your ancestors, Amoro. The Hida family has battled the Shadowlands since time immemorial, and I have spent more years that I care to remember in search of the secrets they kept. Their power will give you the strength you need to lead you new troops."
Amoro turned around slowly to face the shugenja. Yori smiled that tight smile of his, and held the scroll up before his eyes. The eerie pulsing of its ebony skin was plain, even here in the blackest night. With shaking hands, Yori grasped the seal, his sardonic grin vanishing.
"Don’t move, Hida Amoro. Don’t so much as twitch."
A ghastly scream rang out, a sound so hideous and yet so utterly human that Amoro could not help but utter a cry of his own. The scroll flew open almost of its own volition, and the night was lit with an unholy green glow. Amoro could see figures emblazoned on the skin — figures whose meaning he could not comprehend but whose very form threatened madness to whoever read them. He could feel the Wave rising again, closer this time.
Yori began to chant, a high piercing voice utterly unlike the shugenja’s ordinary composed tones. The words washed through Amoro without comprehension, filling him with an irrational desire to flee at all costs. The Wave was threatening to overwhelm him.
As the chanting continued, the black figures on the ground also began to shine a ghastly green. The scroll was now pulsing in regular rhythm, its surface seeming almost to breathe. As the screaming became louder, seeping tendrils crept slowly away from it and up the shuddering body of the wizard. Yori seemed oblivious to their presence; he had thrown his head back and was shouting the incantation to the stars above. The words formed a blasphemous mockery of their celestial symmetry. His eyes rolled up to the whites, and a trickle of blood escaped his left ear.
Without warning, the tendrils shot out from Yori’s body, passing over the circle in a pulsing blast that matched the beating of the scroll. Three miles away, a Crab sentry noticed the tendrils’ appearance. He marked their steady, rolling pace on the battlefield, noted the way they ducked and flew across the landscape, then calmly walked into his sergeant’s tent and tore the man’s throat out with his teeth. Four of his fellow sentries also saw the blasts; they were found the next day: naked, huddled in a twisted hollow some two leagues distant, and gibbering like infants. A water buffalo confiscated by the Crab army promptly gave birth to a mewling nightmare, a twisted thing with fanged teeth that chewed its way out of its mother’s womb and staggered madly into the night. No one was aware that the beast had been pregnant.
Amoro stood aghast as he watched the scroll work its twisted magic around him. Somehow, he was able to keep his fear in check; in the eye of the hurricane he could maintain his sanity and ignore the terrifying ramifications of what he saw. The chanting grew louder and louder, and yet, he felt he could bear it, even enjoy it if he had to. The pulsing of the scroll had matched the beating of the redness behind his skull.
Slowly, the bodies of the dead began to shudder.
As each wave passed over them, their forms seemed to fill with unholy life. The corpses of Crane and Crab soldier alike rose from their resting places, grasping their bloodied weapons and adjusting their shattered armor. Twisted hands pressed against the earth as ruptured muscles began to work again. Low-pitched moans filled the air, fighting through lungs flooded with blood. They shambled upward, the slaughtered soldiers, clawing at the air and lurching drunkenly to their feet.
The chanting slowed in its intensity, the blasts of sickly green decreased. The screaming was not quite so overpowering, and Amoro could sense the mad-dog panic in his soul begin to retreat. Then, with a quietness that belied the horrors it had spawned, the ceremony was over.
Amoro fumbled with his tinder to relight the torch. As it sputtered to life, he could see Kuni Yori slowly climb to his feet. The shugenja was wrapped almost entirely in his cloak now, his body shuddering uncontrollably. The black scroll was nowhere to be seen. The berserker leaned over in an attempt to help him to his feet.
"Yori..."
"Don’t touch me!" the shugenja hissed, his body wracked by further spasms. His face was hidden beneath the folds of his hood, but Amoro could see flecks of blood trickling within the darkness there.
"I... will be... fine, Amoro," his words were forced but even. "The spell... takes a toll. But that does not matter now. Behold your new army."
He gestured and Amoro looked away from the shugenja for the first time.
Bushi and samurai with wounds too grievous for mortal man to bear stood in silence, looking towards the two with blank expressions. Their gaunt faces and twisted visages held no emotion, their eyes and mouths blasted sockets containing the blackness of countless eons behind them.
"These troops are yours, my lord, to do with as you see fit. They cannot be harmed by mortal weaponry, so your... outbursts will not affect them."
Yori extended a twisted hand towards his companion. He held a strange medallion, bone white, with an odd but disturbing sigil on it.
"This is the fusion of your ancestor’s bones. With it, you will have the power to command and control them. As long as it touches your skin, they will obey your orders unquestioningly."
As Amoro reached out for the talisman, a sharp shock ran through the base of his spine. It felt oddly light in his palm, and the sigil warmed his skin with an unnatural heat.
"They will follow me, then?"
"As long as you hold the medallion, they are yours to command. But there is more." The shuddering returned to Yori’s body, but his voice held firm. "The magic which animates them is powerful, more powerful than any I have yet worked. And it will continue to function, long after this night. Any foes you fell with that trinket in your possession will be reborn, as these have. Any and all, Amoro."
His body was consumed by a series of spasms seemingly out of control. He looked up again to Amoro’s face, his pale visage caked with drying blood.
"Each battle you win will bring more of them to you banner. Each victory will swell your ranks. With them behind you, Hida Amoro, you will be invincible."
Amoro smiled at the magician’s words sunk in. "Yes... I will be invincible." He looked at his new command and placed the medallion around his neck. "And with them behind me, I can fight forever."
The night echoed with Yori’s insane cackles.
The red wave abated, once again leaving his vision to fend for itself. The details flitted in, one by one, granting him a new birth of the world to revel in. He was on a different battlefield now, a different plain where different soldiers had fought and died. His weapons were still soaked, the smoke still blotted out the sky. His detached howls still shattered the silence. But this time, he wasn’t the only man still alive.
Or, more precisely, he wasn’t the only man who still moved.
They were all around him, a shambling mass of human inhumanity that mocked the icy hand of death. The festering wounds that criss-crossed their bodies were joined by fresh ones, horrid gashes that bled maggots and stank of slaughterhouses. Their rusty weapons were covered in the enemy’s blood; a few stood without armaments, their nails and teeth just as stained. A few subdued Cranes struggled against their mass, and as he watched, he saw his command dispatch them with gruesome efficiency. His scream lowered to a moderate tone and he grinned hideously, his mouth hanging open. Yes. These were just the troops for him.
The zombies around him looked particularly mangled, and he couldn’t help wondering if all of their damage had been inflicted by the enemy. Curiously, almost casually, he swung his no-dachi at the nearest: a Crab sergeant with a ghastly hole in his belly. The creature’s arm came off with a wet tearing sound, flopping to the ground in a convulsive jerk. Its owner stared blank-eyed at the sight, then looked up at the berserker. It made no move to strike at its erstwhile attacker. Hida’s grin widened. No fear of a mutiny here.
A shivering hand grasped his boot and he looked down, distracted from his wonderful new discovery. Emerging from the pile of bodies was a grievously wounded Crane soldier. He gazed up at the berserker with a pale bloodied countenance.
"P-please, Lord," the soldier begged. "P-please, spare me. Don’t t-t-turn m-me over to t-th-them…"
Amoro’s face burst with joy as he reversed his blade. "Gladly," he snickered, plunging the no-dachi into the doomed man’s shoulder. The soldier shuddered once, a look of catatonic shock on his face, then lay still.
Amoro yanked his sword from the corpse, and stepped back to further survey his command. They shuffled about unevenly, looking somehow lost without enemies to prey upon. To his reborn eyes, they were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
"My soldiers, we are done here today." His shout was hoarse with effort. "Remain where you are, and tomorrow, we will march to battle again."
A bloom of unnatural heat arose from Amoro’s chest, and he could feel the medallion against his skin. It pulse beat a quick tattoo in time with his heart, and he could sense its dark magic coursing through him. As one, the zombies stopped, their uneven stumbles vanishing in a ripple. They stood stock still, their forms unbroken by action, by movement, by breath.
A twitching at Amoro’s feet caught the berserker off guard. With breathtaking speed, he leapt back, spinning his sword above his head and preparing for an assault. He needn’t have been concerned. As he stood there, the bodies of his fallen foes disentangled themselves from each other, rising with a creak of bones to stand at attention. Their eyes were glazed now, their shivering life replaced by a hollow emptiness in the core of their breasts. At their forefront was the Crane soldier, fresh blood still oozing from the puncture in his shoulder. The thrumming against his chest continued as the slack-jawed undead stared, waiting for him to command them again.
"Welcome to the banner of the Crab, my friends." It was all he could do to keep from laughing.
The troops were waiting for him when he returned in the morning, their ranks unchanged since the night before. The newly dead intermingled with the older "veterans," forming uneven regiments of approximately ten apiece. They marched forward behind their leader, moving parallel to, yet some distance away from, the main Crab army. It wouldn’t do to have Amoro’s new playmates in close proximity to living troops. Shortly after noon, they engaged the Crane again, and again, Amoro emerged victorious. As the days stretched into weeks, his command swelled, and the battles became an unending rush. Each new conflict brought him more bodies, which were warped into new troops by the power of that terrible ceremony. They would attack slowly, but with unrelenting pressure, in sharp contrast to their commander, who was always lost in the Wave. Crab and Crane bodies were mixed liberally amongst them, but the armor they wore had little impact against the soldiers they faced. All of them saw the promise in their waxen countenance, and no one would willingly face the berserker’s new command. Some things were far worse than death. The word spread, and soon, there was no one in the opposing army who could bring themselves to face him.
Another celebration claimed the Crab armies, another victory had been achieved. The Crane were in full retreat now, their fortresses burning, their soldiers scattered. Once again, Hida Amoro sat alone in his tent, and this time, there was no fear that some besotted soldier would stagger in to disturb him. The porcelain masked guards outside — selected personally from his retinue — gave an aura that even the most foolish did not dare cross.
Amoro paced up and down, his hands clenching and unclenching. He had not seen action for almost three days, and he was growing restless. Word had recently come from his uncle: the ronin Toturi was preparing a fearsome response to the Crab army near Beiden Pass. Amoro was to proceed there and give the dog a taste of the Crab’s true power.
Which was fine with Amoro. Except that Beiden Pass was almost four days ride from here, which meant more time would be wasted in anticipation. A full week without combat… the merest thought filled him with frustration. It was all he could do to maintain composure. So he sulked in his tent and tried to hold the Wave in check.
There were some consolations, of course. The Crane were obviously no match for him, and the thrill of watching their own troops turned against them was getting old. Toturi was supposed to be quite wily. For an honorless dog, he knew much about the ways of warfare, and could put up stiff resistance if given the chance. The thought of a new challenge was enough to keep his gnawing boredom in check.
And he didn’t expect his troops to complain.
A soft rustle at the tent door interrupted his musings. The zombies shambled forward to block the entrance, shielding their master from the black cloaked form before them. A quiet voice called out.
"Berserker. I would speak with you."
Amoro sat up, his face beaming. "Yori! Let him in, let him in." The guards shuffled back at his command.
Yori entered the tent slowly, his hands tucked inside his robe. His face looked thinner, more haggard than when Amoro had seen him last. Crow’s feet were now visible in the cracks of his eyes — eyes which hadn’t lost their maddening light. His skin was dry and cracked, his cheeks sunk hollow to reveal the bones beneath them. Only his smile remained intact — quiet, yet sardonic, a link to the man he once was. Amoro seemed unaffected by the change.
"It is good to see you, my friend. I haven’t had the opportunity to thank you for my new command."
"Yes... thank me." The shugenja bowed slightly, then fixed his eyes on Amoro with an unwavering gaze. "Actually, I came here to discuss just such a situation with you."
Amoro started. "What do you mean?"
"I have studied the scroll I used to create your... command, and I have become aware of certain impurities within the spell.
"Will these impurities affect my troops?"
"I don’t know. But I want to make sure before you march off to face Toturi."
Amoro’s smile turned into a laugh.
"You want to make sure?! You sound like an old woman, Yori. Whining over ‘maybes’ and ‘could bes.’"
Yori didn’t move. "Old women do not wield the magicks I do, Amoro. Come out with me, and allow me to rebalance the spell before you leave in the morning."
"I think not, shugenja. I have no desire to skulk through the night to soothe your petty fears."
"Desire is irrelevant, Amoro. You will come with me if you wish to maintain your command."
All of a sudden, the Wave was there. "You would presume to give orders to me?! " he held the medallion up for the mage to see. "I have no qualms about this power, and no compunctions about using it. Now get out of my tent, or I will use my gift on the giver!"
Yori’s smile twisted ever-so-slightly. "Is that a threat, Hida Amoro?"
"Call it what you will. I will not be dragged away from my bed on some whim by you."
"It is not a whim, Amoro. Far from it. Did you think that this power was free? Did you think it would come without a price? We are toying with the blackest magicks of the soul, berserker. You cannot expect to wield it like some spoiled brat with his father's katana."
"WHY NOT?!" Amoro struggled to maintain his composure. "There is nothing WRONG with my troops! This power is firm. I control it unquestioningly. The only flaws are the ones you have allowed you imagination to create!" He drew his no-dachi in a flash. "Now get out of my tent before I slaughter you where you stand!"
Yori stood unmoving, his smile unchanged.
"Very well. If you feel that strongly about it. Perhaps it is... excessive worrying."
Turning slowly on his heel, Yori walked out of the tent.
Beiden Pass. Amoro stood before a column of his troops as he surveyed the mountain ravine. It didn’t look like much, certainly not from here. But the small crevasse between the peaks of the Sekitsui Mountains held the key to the fate of the Empire. It was the only accessible path for five hundred miles, forming a gate between the western and eastern halves of Rokugan. Anyone who wished to become Emperor would need to control it.
And now he was less than two leagues away. He could see the smoke from the Crab army, ringing the mountaintop like a crown. It was all Amoro could do to keep from charging the mountains now. He had marched for three days straight, pushing himself without sleep, in order to reach the Pass in time for this. His cousin Sukune was up there somewhere, preparing to stop Toturi’s march. And he wasn’t about to let it all pass by without him.
Evidence of early skirmishing became evident as he continued forward. The huts and mills along the road stood abandoned, their occupants long since fled to safer ground. More than a few were destroyed, mounds of rubble or blackened timbers rather than buildings. The brush alongside the road had been trampled by many feet, the leaves and branches stained with the occasional red. The signs of mayhem grew as he continued onward, filling his soul with anticipation. A week was far too long to wait.
It was another two hours before he first spotted the soldiers. They were moving toward him on the road, their armor glinting in the noonday sun. At first, he assumed they were a Crab contingent, coming to escort him to Sukune. But as he drew closer and the sigils on their banner became clearer, the green-gold markings belied their true allegiance. Dragons.
He slowed carefully, holding up his hand to signal his troops behind him. Something was quite wrong here. There should be no enemy soldiers on this side of the Pass, and he hadn’t expected any resistance before he met up with Sukune. Any Dragon Clan troops stationed under Toturi would have to march through the Pass to be here, and he knew that that was not possible this early. That these soldiers marched in plain sight down a Crab-controlled road was doubly confounding. They simply should not be here.
He waited until they were about five hundred yards from him, then called his train to a halt. The Ocean tugged at the corners of his mind, but he was unwilling to release it just yet. He did not wish to spend precious energy on a skirmish.
As he stood there, a pair of men detached themselves from the Dragon body and marched towards him, their arms raised in a gesture of parlay. The tall one rode on a dappled brown horse, his armor bearing the blue and white of the Crane Clan The other one was on foot, his bald head and bare chest criss-crossed with tattoos. Amoro tensed. Legends of the Dragon ise zumi — tattooed men — and the mysterious powers they wielded abounded when he was a child. He wasn’t about to let one approach him unchallenged.
He stepped forward to meet them at the mid-point, holding his own hands up to match theirs. It would do to hear them out at least before he slaughtered them; Sukune would want to know how they got through the lines. Amoro smiled casually as he approached them, a crude attempt to put them at ease.
"You are a long way from home, Dragons. Would you mind explaining your presence here on rightful Crab lands?"
The voice of the mounted Crane was harsh and unyielding as he glanced towards the berserker’s army.
"The great Hida Amoro in the flesh. I have heard tales from my kinsmen of you and your undead legion. You’ve quite a reputation, berserker."
"And this is why you are trespassing? To praise my military prowess? I think not. How did your get through Sukune’s lines, my pretties? The pass is secured and there is no other route."
The Crane’s eyes never registered his questions.
"My name is Doji Kuwanan. My general Toturi has sent me here to ask you to withdraw."
It was all Amoro could do to keep from smiling.
"Withdraw? Ah, since you put is so properly, what can an honorable man do but obey your humble request?" The glee vanished from his eyes. "You are in my way, little Crane. Move, before I add your stinking carcass to my ranks."
"I assure you, berserker, your men do not frighten us. Do you think we’d go through the trouble of intercepting you without preparing for them?"
"Perhaps you didn’t hear me. You are trespassing on Crab lands. You are behind enemy lines, cut off from support. You will remove yourselves from the field of battle or I will destroy you as I have destroyed your kinsmen."
Kuwanan’s face was impassive.
"If it were up to me, berserker, I would kill you where you stand for the abominations you have unleashed. But Toturi orders me to give you an opportunity to withdraw and so I shall. Go back the way you came, berserker. I will not make the request again."
"To hell with your request, Crane, and to hell with your honorless cur of a general!" Amoro spat.
"Very well," he turned and spurred his horse back to the Dragon lines. Amoro drew his sword and prepared to order his men forward, intending to cut the mounted samurai down. He was so focused on the Crane, that he did not pay attention to the ise zumi, who had yet to move. In a single, fluid motion, the hairless man stepped in front of the Crab. An enigmatic smile played on his lips, and the ink etchings of his skin danced as if alive. He drew in a quick breath, then looked Amoro straight in the eye.
A gout of strange mist surrounded the berserker, blown as if by bellows from the ise zumi’s mouth. Amoro coughed and sputtered, the cloud filling his pores. He shook his head to clear his eyes, only to find the tattooed man retreating back to the Dragon lines. The Wave loomed large.
"I’ll have your heart for that, shugenja!!! Your heart on a plate!!!"
With those words, the tension between the two forces was shattered. Amoro barely had time to lift his sword before the Dragon were upon him. They crossed the distance with remarkable speed and had all but reached him before he had the presence of mind to order his troops forward. The zombie legion lurched forward as one, impacting the faster Dragon soldiers in lumbering waves. Amoro’s muscles tensed waiting for his opponents to find him. He closed his eyes as his fury threatened to burst...
...and nothing happened. The Wave was there, clouding the edges of his vision. It simply refused to sink him beneath its surface, leaving him lucid and aware as the battle engaged around him. He turned this way and that, looking for the ise zumi’s form.
"What did you do? What did you do to me, you coward?!"
An answer was not forthcoming. A pair of Dragon bushi had broken from the crowd and closed on his with fury in their eyes. Combat instincts kicked in, and he whirled the no-dachi almost without thinking. The soldiers fell beneath him instantly, their bodies falling into a heap before him. He tensed and waited for another attack, but it felt odd, somehow. Weakening. He was as a boy in a dojo, going through the moves, but not feeling them. The taunting red Wave still refused to take him.
More troops broke through, soldiers intermingling at will. Amoro’s legions fought with mindless abandon, dragging down bushi after bushi to join their ranks. But the Dragon seemed unconcerned with the fate of their brethren. They battled on with a fierce efficiency, applying a very specific tactic towards their opponents. They lopped heads off. They separated hands from arms. They shattered knees just above the shin. All of it seemed designed not to stop Amoro’s rotting legion, but to slow them down. But for what, the berserker could not tell.
Another soldier charged at him, and he was forced to defend himself again. Frustration set in, a feeling he had never encountered before. What was wrong? How could the Wave refuse to embrace him?
To his left, a group of zombies overwhelmed a Dragon cadre, impaling the men on their rusted weapons. A trio of bushi leapt into the knot, their blades flashing, then drew back. The zombies turned and tried to follow, but their twisted limbs bent and broke beneath the well-placed wounds. Amoro snarled in frustration as he watched his troops crawl after their intended victims like infants. How could they do this?!
A sudden flash up ahead caught his attention. Through the surge of soldiers, he saw the ise zumi who had cast this spell upon him. No, check that, he saw several ise zumi, their shirtless forms striking against the bloodied armor of their fellow combatants. They had formed a picket line some half a league up the road, and as Amoro watched, they spewed a gout of yellow flame from their lips. It was like fireworks, a blaze of heat and light that ignited the ground before them. The zombies approaching them were engulfed in the inferno, their skin and bones crackling beneath the intense flames. The ise zumi drew back and breathed again, the raging cloud fueling the growing fire. The zombies within were unable to continue. The magic that sustained them could not deal with the sheer destruction of their physical forms. As muscles burned and tendons ruptured, they fell to their knees, their rotting forms forming an obscene funeral pyre.
This was a problem Amoro could not afford to ignore. A thrumming seized his chest, and he reached over to grasp the bone amulet in his hand. Its pounding seemed to heighten as he yanked it from his chain and held it above his head.
"Push them away, my soldiers!!!" he screamed, the taunting Wave lending power to his voice. "Push them towards their honorless shugenjas so that all may perish together!"
As one, the zombies moved to follow their master’s command. They shifted their attacks into a focused line, and began driving their opponents back towards the flames. The Dragon seemed unsurprised, and fell back towards the tattooed men. The undead soldiers, now peppered with recent Dragon kills, could not keep up with them, their shattered limbs unable to move effectively. As they reached the flames, the Dragons leapt over them, their speed and agility remarkable to watch. Amoro could feel the frustration building again.
"Take them! Take them all!"
As they hit the wall of undead flesh, the ise zumi held their ground. Fire licked out from their blackened teeth in ever-growing bursts, expanding the inferno before them with each breath. Amoro’s troops could not see the danger they were in, did not react to the overwhelming heat of the flames. They stagger into the bonfire one by one, consumed like wicker baskets as they did so.
Amoro clasped the talisman tighter, feeling its power surge up his arm. The only hope was to power their way through.
"Forward, you dogs! I said FORWARD!!! I will not have these tricksters defeat the mightiest force in Rokugan!"
The zombies understood nothing of their master’s urgency. shambling forward with the same speed and pace they always did. Wave after wave fell into the engulfing flame of the ise zumi, their faces oblivious to the destruction of their ranks.
"Faster, animals! Faster! FASTER!!! FASTER!!! PUSH THROUGH THEM!!! YOU MUST!!!"
The pounding in his skull had grown to mammoth proportions, but his lucidity remained intact. The Wave steadfastly refused to abate. His frustration, coupled with the mindless destruction of his soldiers, sent Amoro to the brink of madness. He howled like a feral animal as the ise zumi moved further forward, his screams echoing across the valley.
And all of a sudden, the tide turned. The explosions were gone, the fires burning but no longer fueled. He saw the fire-breathing men slump visibly, then back away from the rotting bonfire like tired old women. They were assisted by the regular troops, who fell back as well. He could see Kuwanan on his horse from here, signaling the men into full-fledged retreat. As fast as it had begun, the battle seemed over. Amoro’s howl turned into a cackle as he saw them falling back, knowing that they could be pursued.
"We have them! Now we have them!!"
The zombies turned away from the fire, their simple minds finally comprehending the threat it represented. They moved in time with each other, shuffling slowly back toward where their master stood waiting.
A trickle of bone dust slipped from his clenched hand. It was then that he realized that the talisman was no longer pulsing.
He opened his fingers to see the shattered remnants of the amulet sift through.
The faces of the zombies never twitched as they closed slowly towards him.
A clawed hand settled on his shoulder and he spun without thinking. The zombie behind him did not slow in its assault as its head tumbled from its shoulders. Amoro launched a mighty kick and it went spinning away, only to be replaced by another. They were all around him now.
"No..." he whispered quietly. "No, that isn’t right..."
He dodged quickly, attempting to weave his way through them to some sort of freedom. They blocked every turn. He hacked at grasping limbs and crumbling weapons, seeing them fall away only to be replaced by more.
"You can’t do this! YOU CAN’T!!!!! I AM YOUR MASTER!!! YOU WILL OBEY ME!!!"
The faces of the troops remain unchanging as they reached for him. His blows became more desperate. He hardly noticed the shards of the talisman as they fell to the ground beneath his feet.
Realization hit him like a splash of cold water and an eerie calm settled in his chest. He spun his sword in slow arcs as they closed in around him.
"So be it, then."
As he faced his command for the last time, the Wave finally broke free of the Dragon’s magic. It surged behind his eyes, filling his soul with its overwhelming power and reducing his vision to a blood-red haze.
This time, he knew he would drown in it.
