Age of Darkness (12 page)

***

Yata watched as the Royal Guards escorted
his friend away, not really sure what to do now. This wasn’t part of the plan.
They were supposed to find somewhere to stay, not go off to see the goddamn
king. He sighed when he saw two more random guards come by about a minute
later, moving to the cargo and lifting up several massive boxes. It took two
men to carry each box, indicating that whatever was inside was extremely heavy.
The guards stumbled off with the boxes in the same direction that Keimaro had traveled
only moments earlier.

Not according to the plan—that was how
Keimaro always tended to do things. If he tried to assassinate the king at this
point, he would only get himself killed. Yata hoped that Keimaro wasn’t
actually stupid enough to follow through with such a foolish plan.

Yata went to the back of the wagon and
picked up his bat along with Keimaro’s cloak. He slung the cloak over his
shoulder and shrugged at Gavin. “We’re going to need a room, so I suppose that
we’ll start with that. Buy us a room, and we’ll get started with our plan. It
seems that you’ll be going along with it, seeing as you have no choice anymore.”

“What?” Gavin exclaimed in disbelief. “I
thought that you guys were going to let me go once I got you inside! Are you
honestly going to make me do whatever you terrorists—?”

“We aren’t goddamn terrorists,” Yata
snarled, lashing forward and grabbing Gavin by the shirt. He yanked the soldier
close to him, their faces inches apart. He glared into the warrior’s eyes, which
were filled with fear. His hands squeezed the shirt, and Gavin gulped, beads of
sweat beginning to stream down his forehead. “Remember this: what we are doing
is not for ourselves. It’s so that no one else will have to suffer like Kei and
I have. You freaking understand that? Don’t forget: one false move, and I’ll
bash your skull in. I don’t mind killing you in front of people, either. I’m not
like Kei. I’m much more heartless,” he muttered, shoving Gavin toward the door
of the inn.

The soldier stumbled a few feet and sighed,
understanding that there was no way out of this situation. But, how could he
live with helping terrorists? These guys were obviously up to no good, and the
fact that one of them just went to see the king was even more of a problem.
Hardly anyone ever met the king in person; why was this boy who had just
entered the city getting a chance to do so?

Gavin opened the door and walked inside
with Yata behind him. He scanned the inn and whistled when he saw that it was
filled with lively people. Fast fiddle tunes were playing as people danced on
tables and on the floor. Mugs filled with beer were being passed around as if
people were celebrating. Every corner of the packed room was filled with cheers
and laughter, and Gavin couldn’t help but smile. These were soldiers of Faar, definitely.
Why were they not at the barracks or the mess hall doing their celebrating?

He walked forward and pushed his way
through the crowds of people to the bar. There, he smiled at the owner of the
inn, who wore a brown vest and had a beard of aged gray hair. “May I have a
room for…?” He glanced over his shoulder at Yata, who was looking at the men
around him as if they were all monsters, astonishment printed upon his face. “Well,
I’ll take a room for three days and pay when we leave. A room for three. Sound
good?”

“Yeah,” the innkeeper said with a nod of
his head. He reached to his belt and unhooked a key, handing it to Gavin. He
nodded once more in the direction of the staircase. “Second door on the left
once you reach the hallway.”

“Thanks,” Gavin said and took the key. He
looked at Yata and led him up the wooden stairway to a long hallway. Small
candles were placed everywhere to illuminate the dark area. Night had fallen
during the short exchange with the innkeeper, leaving the rooms darkened. He
inserted the key in the door and felt dismay swarm over him. He was helping
this scum in the pursuit of his goal.

He opened the door to their room and walked
in with a sigh as he saw three beds perfectly aligned on one side with a table
and chairs on the other. A window was open against the darkening sky as the sun
set and vanished over the side of Bassada’s outer wall. The soldier walked over
to the window and gripped the windowsill, watching the sun’s rays streak red
across the sky and disappear. The sound of music and voices had died down once
the door was closed and were muffled behind the thick wooden walls.

“What is your purpose here in Bassada?” Gavin
muttered, glancing over his shoulder at Yata.

“To obtain a chest that was stolen from
Keimaro,” Yata said, closing the door behind him. He tossed his bat onto the
ground and threw Keimaro’s cloak onto one of the beds. The boy leapt upward and
landed heavily on one of the beds, bouncing from its spring. He leaned backward
on the mattress, feeling as if he were on a cloud; it had been so long since he
had slept on a bed this comfortable.

“Is that so … and what else?”

“To assassinate the king.”

Gavin’s eyes widened and his body went
stiff upon hearing such a sentence. That was the highest form of treason.
Simply saying such a thing could result in an execution. His hands balled into
fists; he knew that he couldn’t let these men get away with this. Keimaro had
been the dangerous one in the forest, and the reason he had been successful in
his assault was only because he had the Shokugan and could see through the
darkness. Gavin had the upper hand in this situation, the element of surprise,
and Keimaro wasn’t even here—not to mention the fact that Yata was actually
unarmed and defenseless. This was his chance to stop these assassins!

He grabbed the curtain and threw it at
Yata, the white blanket falling down upon the boy. The soldier bolted across
the room, snatching the bat off of the ground. He lifted it upward into the
air, holding the handle with both hands. “Long live the king!” he yelled, slamming
the bat down onto the surprised Yata, who was covered in the sheets.

Gavin’s eyes widened as the bat jarred his
arms and he heard the clang of metal against metal. Whatever he had hit felt
solid, as if he had just whacked an iron wall. He blinked a few times; had Yata
been wearing armor? Why was there metal there? Even the guard armor wouldn’t
make such a solid sound if hit at full power by a bat.

“Man, you sure are a handful, aren’t you?”
Yata muttered, slowly rising as the blanket slipped off of him.

Gavin stared in disbelief at the
abomination before him. There was no flesh to hit. Yata was completely metal,
his skin gleaming as if he were some type of statue. How was it even possible
for Yata to be moving while in this form? So, he was like Keimaro and had some
type of special power as well.

Gavin grunted as he was kicked backward,
smashing into the tables and chairs. He gasped as the table splintered and he
landed on the ground, his head spinning from the tremendous force of the kick.

The soldier looked at Yata, the outlines of
his vision blurred and turning white as he gasped for air. He was lifted high
above the floor and thrown across the room once more like a ragdoll. He yelped as
he smashed into the wall and fell, his head hitting the mattress as his body
fell into the gap between the beds. He lay in an uncomfortable position and
groaned, trying to recollect what was happening. Then he saw Yata standing
there, tapping his bat against his shoulder.

“So,” Yata said simply, kneeling down so
that his face was close to Gavin’s, who was slumped in between the two beds, “I
can either kill you right now and tell Keimaro about what happened … or we can
cooperate and perhaps you’ll understand why we have to do what we have to do,
got it? I still need you alive, so stop being an idiot and trying to overpower
me,” he muttered, flicking Gavin in the forehead with a sigh. “Stop trying to
fight someone who is above your level.”

He rose and tossed the bat aside once more.
“I don’t like the fact that I have to trust you, but Keimaro decided to let you
tag along with us instead of killing you on the spot. I’m sure he has a
particular reasoning for his choices. Make sure not to make him regret his
choice; otherwise, you’ll end up like every other soldier in that forest,
understand?”

Gavin nodded with a groan as he rolled over.
He climbed up into his bed and placed the pillow over his head. He had been so
easily defeated by Yata; it was almost as if he hadn’t stood a chance against
him. He knew that he still had a lot to see and understand in the open world,
but this was insane! A human that could change his body into metal? If every
soldier in Faar could obtain this power, they would be invincible as an empire!
They would be able to dominate to the edges of the continent with ease. But he
had never heard of anyone obtaining such an exotic ability before.

He glanced at Yata from the corner of his
eye, hidden beneath the pillow. It looked like Yata would want to do the
complete opposite of helping the Faar Empire. What was their goal, revenge? The
soldier let out a sigh of exasperation and closed his eyes in exhaustion.
Either way, if he just stuck with them, he would find out eventually. Depending
on their real goals, he would act accordingly. He only had to wait for the
opportune moment.

***

The city of Bassada was at least a hundred
times bigger than the village Keimaro had grown up in. The people were much livelier
as well. Through many parts of the town that Keimaro saw, happiness was printed
on most of the faces of people who strolled through the streets. But, he also
saw many parts that hinted at a lasting poverty existing in Bassada. They
walked past a particular section of the city scattered with destitute people.
They were wanderers in civilization and seemed to own little or nothing at all.

Keimaro walked through the streets silently
as if going through a ghost town. This was supposedly a shortcut in order to
get to the citadel where the king was currently held, a cut straight through
the slums. The buildings were rundown, and the wood was rotted with mold
growing in the cracks. Some of the buildings looked similar to the small
cottages that Keimaro had seen back in Bakaara, like the one that Yata had
lived in. But even those structures were considered a luxury in this part of
the city.

The people themselves were wearing ragged
clothes that left them looking as if they had just gotten into a fight with a
bear. A single man caught Keimaro’s attention, for his skin was extremely tan
from what looked like long, grueling hours in the sun. Keimaro figured he
probably worked somewhere outside of the city, but what snatched Keimaro’s eye
was the overall emaciated look of this man’s figure. He looked like an undead
zombie that had risen from the dead and was moping around slowly, dragging one leg
behind him. His sunken cheekbones showed how deprived he was of nutrients. His
shirt was ripped as if slashed by a sword, exposing his chest. His ribs were prominent,
evidence of his starvation, and his stomach actually seemed distended as he
breathed heavily, his throat letting out a raspy choke. He was alive, but in
Keimaro’s eyes he was basically dead. In fact, he probably had only a couple of
hours to live without any sort of food.

The Shokugan in his eyes allowed him to see
that there was actually an infection in the man’s throat as well as his
bladder. It seemed that his ankle was twisted, which was why he was dragging it
behind. His stomach was swollen because he was filled with gas, and his body
looked fatigued from prolonged malnutrition because he hadn’t eaten for an
estimated four to five days. The fact that the man kept smacking his lips
together showed a lack of water and possible dehydration as well.

Keimaro stopped suddenly, causing the two
Royal Guards that accompanied him to stop as well. They glanced at him with
confusion printed on their faces, about to ask why he had stopped. The young
boy reached into his pocket, remembering the money that he had looted from the
dead corpses in the forest. He had never really cared much for money. It was
just useless junk, though people placed value on it for some reason. He walked
over to the old starving man, who slowed down, looking at the young boy with
widened eyes. Keimaro pressed a few coins into the man’s rough, bony hand and
nodded lightly in his direction. The boy saw tears beginning to glisten in the
man’s eyes. Keimaro gave the poor man a reassuring smile before turning back to
his escorts without exchanging a single word. They had spoken with their eyes,
and that was enough.

One of the Royal Guards raised an eyebrow
in amusement and chuckled with satisfaction. “You don’t see such chivalry in
the guard anymore, especially from a private. Anyway, what’s your name? The
king will probably want it presented.”

Keimaro blinked a few times as he walked
with the soldiers, listening to the clanking of the cargo behind him as the men
carried the boxes around. His name? There was no way that he could use his real
name—that was, unless he wanted to be captured and executed. “Riku Hikari,” he said
simply, making up a name out of the blue.

“Riku Hikari, huh? Sounds like a foreign
name,” one of the Royal Guards said with a shrug as they took a final turn to an
enormous citadel that towered high into the air. If anything, it looked more
like a church than a fortified building. The only strong part about the
building was probably the door, which was as tall as one of those cottages in
the slums. At least eighty normal guards were positioned outside of the
building, surrounding the entire perimeter of the citadel.

Not bad on security
,
Keimaro thought as he was led straight
through the front door, walking inside. He truly wasn’t surprised that this “citadel”
was actually just a church. The king could meet wherever he wanted. With
this amount of security and protection he wouldn’t have to worry about any
assassins. Any ordinary assassins, at least. But he was concerned with why the
king would decide to meet with a random nobody private who had escorted the
cargo. It all seemed far too fishy. Was this a trap? No, it was impossible that
anyone could know his true identity. He was dead to the world. He no longer
existed.

The inside of the church was huge, the
ceiling rising at least fifty feet. Many wooden benches lined both sides of an aisle,
and the church was lit by thousands of candles that were positioned on the
walls. The colorful stained glass windows on both sides of the church allowed
for only a slight amount of light to pass through, and Keimaro realized the sun
was setting. It was night already? Time was fleeting faster than he thought.

On the far side of the church, Keimaro saw
that the king was sitting upon a massive chair atop a royal red cushion. His
face matched that of the statue in the marketing square. Behind his throne was
a large mosaic of some type of giant beast that looked like a drake. A
dragon. 

The king had a grizzly brown beard that
went down to his chest, a symbol of courageousness, apparently, in the Faar
tradition of kings. He held a small golden scepter in his hand with a gleaming
ruby at its tip. Royal blue robes were pulled over his body along with the
finest white linens underneath. The robes drooped down all the way to his
boots, which were made of the best leather and were probably as comfortable as
walking on clouds. His sapphire blue eyes locked onto Keimaro as the large
doors of the church creaked closed behind him, locking them in an eerie
silence.

Keimaro was escorted to the front of the
church to an altar, where it seemed recent offerings had been made. He looked
down at the table that was before him. There was a half-eaten chicken leg, some
corn, and some green slime that was splattered onto a plate. These were
offerings to their gods? They were more like insults than offerings. He looked
past the king’s throne at the gigantic golden statue of a dragon, which
apparently represented the “gods” that they were worshipping. He blinked,
realizing that he had zoned out for a brief second. Regaining focus, he noticed
that he was in front of the king, the most important person in all of Bassada—and
the man that he despised deeply. He looked on both sides of him and saw that
his escorts had knelt down with their heads bowed and were whispering for
Keimaro to do the same.

The boy hated to bow down before someone
else, but he knew that he would have to do so; otherwise, his cover would be
blown immediately. He couldn’t allow for honor to get in the way of his goals
that he had trained so many years for. He closed his eyes and got down on one
knee, pressing his right fist to his chest, over his heart. He bowed his head
low so that he was looking at his own feet, mirroring the exact posture of the
Royal Guard. “Your majesty, you called for my presence?”

“I called not for anyone’s specific
presence. I merely called for a personal report on your recent escort mission
through the Forbidden Forest on the outskirts of Bassada’s borders,” the king
spoke loudly in a deep voice, showing much authority. He leaned back in his
throne with a sigh, twirling his scepter in his hand as a bored child would
with a stick. “However, I am quite interested in knowing how the escort mission
went. Were you attacked?”

“Yes, my liege.”

“By whom?”

“By creatures that lived within the
Forbidden Forest, my liege,” Keimaro said, not daring to lift up his head to
face the king himself. That would be incredibly disrespectful. “We left Bakaara
with eighteen men and arrived with only three.”

“There were no humans that assaulted the
cargo or attempted to hide in the wagon at all during your journey?” the king
said with a raised eyebrow.

“No, milord.”

“Interesting, do you know why I am asking
these particular questions?”

“No, milord.”

“It is because there is a survivor of the
Hayashi clan actually out there in Bakaara,” the king said with a heavy sigh,
tapping the arm of his chair impatiently. “His name is Keimaro Hayashi, and he
is one of the last surviving members of the Hayashi clan. Intelligence has told
us that he is coming to Bassada for a particular chest that was delivered to us
earlier this week. Do you know what you delivered in the cargo today?”

“No, milord,” Keimaro answered by rote, his
mind distracted.
He’s telling me far too much. Does he already know who I
am? Is this a trap? And how the hell does he know that I’m still alive? I’ve
been in hiding for four years. Who gave him this information?

“You delivered the blueprints to a new
technological discovery,” the king said, standing up from his throne as he
began to pace back and forth, holding his scepter up high. “You see, there are
many different creatures and intelligent humanoid forms that exist in our great
world. This globe has yet to be explored. One of the most well-known masters of
technology would be the gnome…. Are you familiar with this type of creature?”

“Yes, milord.”

“Tell me what you know.”

“Gnomes are small humanoids that live in
peace with another race known as the dwarves. These two races live in perfect
harmony in the mountains of the northern continent. It is said that they live
in an underground city powered by technology invented by the gnomes. What they
lack in physical strength, they make up for with brainpower. They are said to
be eighteen times smarter than the average human. That is all I know, milord,” Keimaro
muttered, a bead of sweat forming on his brow.

“Ah, good. Well, recently, Faar got its
hands on our first ever gnome. We captured it and created blueprints for a new
type of weapon that will forever change the nature of war! There will be no
more bows and arrows, no ranged weaponry that requires a physical nature. Now
there will be only precision with the technology that we have created. A rifle,
a weapon that fires a small, circular projectile at such a high speed that it
is capable of killing or wounding the enemy. All it takes is the pull of a
trigger. That is the rumored weapon that you have delivered to us today.
Because of your incredible contribution to our military and for helping Faar
become a stronger empire, I will give you a chance at prosperity.”

Keimaro blinked a few times, wanting to
raise his head, though he wasn’t exactly sure if he was allowed to yet.
Prosperity? What the hell was this old fart talking about? He didn’t want
prosperity. All he wanted to do was kill the king. And what was this new
weaponry that he was rambling on about? It sounded extremely dangerous. A
weapon that could fire projectiles that fast without any physical action but
pulling a trigger seemed almost too good to be true—and too terrifying for
Keimaro to even imagine. “A chance, milord?”

“Now that I’ve told you all of this, I am
giving you a chance to either live and become a member of the Royal Guard, or
die trying,” the king said with a chuckle, sitting back down in his chair
comfortably. He leaned back, and his lips curved into a wicked smile. “Are you
prepared for what’s in store?”

Keimaro slowly raised his head and looked
up at the king with a sly smile as he pushed himself to his feet, standing
tall. He lowered his head slightly, a dark shadow coming over his face as he
saw and heard the movement of soldiers from the perimeter of the room
converging in on him. “So, milord, is this some type of a test?”

This is exactly what I wanted.

“Yes,” the king said with a chortle of
amusement. “Whether or not you leave this citadel will depend on your skill. I
have been looking for a loyal personal bodyguard for quite some time now. It’s
time to prove yourself.”

Keimaro sensed movement around him as the
soldiers suddenly drew their blades, brandishing swords in the moonlight, their
steel cutting at him from multiple directions. The boy had yet to react when
the weapons were already about to cut through his body. The look on the king’s
face belonged to that of a bored child, yawning drolly. The boy stomped his
foot into the ground, and his sword shot out of its sheath as if the weapon had
sprung to life. The soldiers were still in mid-flow of their attack and watched
in surprise as the boy caught the hilt of the weapon in the air, holding the
blade backward. It was unlike anything they had ever seen before.

Keimaro reacted to the slashes at the last
moment, ducking his head with incredible speed and flexibility. The soldiers’ blades
hacked into open air. His hair came over his face and then lifted as he spun
around in a perfect, fluent motion, his sword slashing across the face of one
of the soldiers as if he had been wielding a dagger. Crimson blood misted into
the air and splattered onto the ground at Keimaro’s feet. The man crumpled to
the floor.