Chapter 33
‘Your form is much better,’ Takarro said, weaving backwards and hopping up with his legs drawn in as Ambarro swung his father’s bo in one high sweep and one low sweep. Still not used to the weight and balance of his new staff, the kit’s footing began to sway. Taking note, the Grandmaster smiled lightly. ‘But it could still use some work. Remember, control your aggression, and not the other way around. Don’t give in to the flow of combat, guide it.’
Narrowing his eyes, Ambarro took the momentum of his failed swing and applied it to another as he spun in place, sending the head of the bo rocketing towards Takarro’s temple.
As his grandson began his turn, Takarro closed the gap between them with one long step and pushed the staff away at the centre, then slipped his arm around his neck and pulled back as he brought his right hand around to grip his left bicep.
Ambarro struggled briefly in his chokehold, then slumped in defeat and tapped twice on his shoulder.
‘Never execute full turns and spins when stationary,’ Takarro admonished, releasing him. ‘Especially not when face-to-face with the enemy. A skilled opponent will see the opening and exploit it, no matter how briefly you expose your back.’
‘Got it, Grandpa,’ Ambarro rasped, coughing.
‘I understand that you had a chance to observe the Twinstinger’s handiwork with a practice spear before the attack began. You would do well to implement some of what you saw into your own technique.’
‘But he uses a spear,’ Ambarro protested. ‘And he’s a Thalmor soldier, not a shinobi.’
‘A shinobi does not practice foolish pride. He learns from his enemies,’ Takarro said, growing stern. ‘When Twenty-Second Grandmaster Guren fought the Crowns of Hammerfell in the Tiber Wars, she studied under a Redguard sword-saint until she mastered the art of sword-singing. When she was deployed to Black Marsh, she picked up the old teachings of the Shadowscales when they were still shinobi and became known as the Terror of the Inner Swamps. When she moved on Morrowind, she disguised herself and learned all she could of Dunmeri magic, eventually aiding in the assassination of the Indoril Lord High Councillor. Guren-ri never concerned herself with image or felt that her position as Grandmaster prevented her from being a student at the same time. That is something you would do well to imitate.’
‘Yes, Grandpa,’ Ambarro said, subdued. ‘The Thalmor did lose, though.’
‘What makes you think they were trying to win in the first place?’ Takarro shook his head. ‘There were only two hundred of them, led by a commander who thinks not with his head, but with his heart and groin. The Thalmor did not come here to crush us, Ambarro. This was nothing but a simple test for them. Larethor and his mer were expendable resources – notice how quickly the Emissaries denounced his acts. They do not wish to jeopardise the relations between the Empire and the Dominion yet, and we have His Majesty to thank for that. If not for his presence, they would have likely taken far bolder steps.’
A hint of indignity entered Ambarro’s voice. ‘So this was just a joke to them?’
‘A joke? Far from it. This was a probe. A prelude. We caught the Thalmor off-guard in the Great War, and they would not have it happen again. I am proud to say, however, that they still have next to nothing. The Emissaries were confined in their rooms when the attack took place, and all the elves who witnessed our offensive tactics are dead… well, all save thirteen.’
‘Larethor and his goons,’ Ambarro said, his voice low. ‘They’re going to be a problem, aren’t they?’
‘They know where we are,’ Takarro frowned, troubled. ‘The search teams have found nothing, and neither have Tsukikage’s detection spells, which means that they are already tens of miles away. If it were anyone other than Larethor, I would not rank their chances of survival in the Jeralls highly, but the Twinstinger is known for his resilience.’
‘Well, the Thalmor did declare him a traitor,’ Ambarro said, hopeful.
‘That’s not going to stop them from “recapturing” him and learning all they can in the process. I need to place operatives in the Dominion again, find out how much they know... and now that we’re working with the Empire, I’ll need to coordinate our efforts with the Oculatus and the Legion as well… but I shouldn’t bother you with matters of state.’ The Grandmaster smiled, smoothing his wrinkled brow. ‘You have other things to worry about. Don’t you have an assessment session coming up?’
Ambarro yelped and leapt up, sprinting for the dojo exit. ‘Master Mokko’s going to kill me!’
‘This is our assessment?’ Cika raised an eyebrow as she carefully peeled a collection of seeds from their pods and popped them into a jar. ‘Botany?’
‘The boys have their session first, then us,’ Diia explained, snipping the buds off a bright pink flower. ‘And the poisons we learn to make here could be very useful in the future, Cika-daro.’
‘I wonder why they separated us.’
‘Don’t you know?’ Tenna said. ‘The instructors need to assess muscle mass development and vitality, and to better observe that…’
The kit lowered her voice, her nose reddening. ‘They’re going to go through the session completely naked!’
Diia began handling her snips with much greater speed and force than necessary as she muttered incoherently under her breath and looked away.
‘Really?’ Cika grinned. ‘Aw. Shame we won’t get to sneak a peek.’
‘C-C-Cika-daro, that is m-most improper!’ Diia stammered.
‘Aah, still such a stick-in-the-mud…’
‘Pff, what do you expect? Our Diia-daro only has eyes for Ambarro-to,’ Tenna teased. ‘Well, I don’t blame her. Have you seen his pelt? It’s a perfect midnight black… messy, too. Gives him that bad-boy aura that she-’
Sputtering, Diia sank to the floor, covering her burning ears with her hands.
‘Most girls seem to prefer Urokko-to and Shiyo-to,’ Rinka chimed in, looking up from a mortar of toxic mushroom pulp and setting down her pestle. ‘It’s their crème shade, I’m telling you. It probably helps that Shiyo-to is so fluffy. Do you think he puts something in his fur?’
‘He probably does, it stays upright all the time! By the way, have you heard? Yuuzen-to and Nacadi-jo have been really friendly lately. Someone’s seen them going off on… excursions…’
‘I-I don’t t-think it’s very appropriate to gossip…’ Diia said weakly. By now one could fry an egg on her forehead.
‘Speaking of excursions, though, one of us in Year 182 has gone and done it with a man for sure,’ Tenna said, her voice hushed. ‘And the kit wasn’t even a girl!’
‘I know! Harrow-to of all people... you know he doesn’t have a single strand of hair anywhere other than his head? It’s almost lewd when you think about it. Nothing’s covered at all!’
‘Don’t men and mer grow fine hair on their limbs and chests too?’
‘Not Harrow-to. I hear his arms and legs are as smooth as marble and he doesn’t even shave. Can you imagine what he must have looked like with that Thalmor elf? Just skin sliding over skin…’
Rinka giggled. ‘Cika-daro, you’re so indecent.’
‘Aahhn! N-no, Larethor-do,’ Cika squealed in a passable imitation of Harrow’s voice, fluttering her eyelids. ‘I-if you touch me there…’
‘What an interesting take on his mission,’ Jorra said, looming behind them. ‘I’ll be sure to ask Harrow if that’s how it went.’
Tenna froze, utterly mortified. Diia continued sputtering. Rinka’s mane stood on end as her tail stiffened, and Cika made a noise like a choking walrus as she stopped in the middle of her impression.
The girls turned slowly to face the unamused Po’ Tun.
‘Care to explain?’ Jorra crossed his arms.
‘We… ah… were done with the work you assigned us, Master Jorra,’ Cika quavered. ‘Sorry for breaking discipline and engaging in idle talk.’
All four kits bowed a ninety-degree bow of apology.
Jorra shook his head. ‘Seduction is a delicate task and an important skill to learn if you are ever to become an effective undercover operative, and should not be made fun of so lightly. Do not mistake me – you are not forbidden to talk about bawdy subjects in Tsukikage, and it is only natural to be curious. Even so, we are a village of shinobi, not a tribe of gossipmongers. Keep such discussions private, and be mindful that you do not distract yourselves from training and your missions.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the kits said in unison.
Collecting their results, Jorra stacked them onto a shelf for reagent stocks. It can’t be helped; they’re at the age where they start taking interest in such matters. I suppose I should be thankful that Rendanshu also halts specific endocrine functions. I don’t think I could handle normal teenagers with their hormones in full flow. The thought made him shudder.
Torako and Mokko were overseeing the assessment session, so they had left him to instruct the Year 182 girls in plant and fungi refinement. He had to admit that they were doing well – they had already produced enough poison for a hundred targets.
‘You all seem to be familiar enough with lethal poison. Torako-jo has taught you well. We will begin working on non-lethal agents next,’ Jorra announced to the class. ‘A shinobi will often find hallucinogens and tranquillisers just as, if not more useful than a poison that kills outright.’
And more death is never the answer, he wanted to add. That wasn’t a philosophy that everyone in the village followed, however. There were the Shadeclaws like Bengakhi, who would stop at nothing to achieve his objective, and then there were those like Unaka, who genuinely enjoyed her wetwork and would cut down her foes with a smile on her face. All of them served Tsukikage in their own way. It wasn’t for Jorra to judge their methods.
As such, he kept quiet and simply observed as the kits washed their equipment, slipped on their gloves and began mixing a new batch of solutions.
Titus Mede the Second’s entourage left the village at noon. For his contributions before and during their visit, Lencius was allowed to ride in the Emperor’s carriage – a privilege that he did not take lightly.
Truth be told, however, he was uncomfortable cooped up in the warm compartment. My place is outside, scouting, looking for threats, making the most of my eyes and my bow. And yet he was sitting here sharing mulled wine with His Imperial Majesty himself.
The Emperor was a sharp man. He noted his discomfort immediately.
‘No need to fret, spectre, there’s nothing out there to see,’ he said, raising his goblet. ‘The Shadeclaws have begun casting their magicks. There’s already enough illusions around to shroud the entire length of the Jeralls three times over.’
‘As you say, Your Majesty. Still…’
‘It’s your job to be on edge. I understand.’ Emperor Mede drained his wine. ‘But this is a good vintage. The least you could do is drink.’
‘Of course, Your Majesty,’ Lencius replied, though he would have preferred not to dull his senses.
The Emperor did not let that slip past him. He sighed. ‘You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to.’
Lencius stopped with his goblet to his lips. Was that a command to drink or not to drink?
After a moment, he set the wine down. With some relief, he saw respect in the Emperor’s eyes. Titus Mede did always value honesty over bootlicking.
‘So. The Shadeclaws,’ the Emperor stated. ‘I’ve heard your formal report, but what are your personal thoughts on these Po’ Tun?’
‘Permission to speak freely, Your Majesty?’
‘I have never denied any that right.’
Lencius nodded. ‘Their abilities and talents are invaluable, and I trust them to remain on the side of the Empire – at least for the moment, while we are united against a single foe. However…’ He paused, measuring his words. ‘These are not good people, Your Majesty. Of course, we of the Penitus Oculatus are no saints ourselves, but the shinobi do not possess a single shred of honour. They are bound by precious little rules, and are willing to do the most repulsive, lowly and shameful things in order to succeed. Even if we disregard their unnatural physical abilities, that kind of determination alone makes them dangerous enemies. We should not forget that they came to Tamriel as invaders.’
‘That was almost two thousand years ago,’ the Emperor said.
‘And the Shadeclaws have obviously kept much of their tradition. It would do the Empire well to be wary of them, even as we make use of their skills. Above all else, we must preserve our relationship with Tsukikage.’
‘Worry not, spectre, I am no Uriel Septim. I’m not about to mount an attack on Akavir any time soon,’ Mede chuckled. ‘The shinobi have no reason to distrust us.’
‘As confident as ever, Your Majesty.’ That was not always a good thing – it made protecting him a much more difficult task, for one.
‘What of Tsukikage itself? It’s a beautiful place, is it not?’
Lencius poked his head out of the carriage window. For a brief moment the high walls and moonstone gates of the shinobi village were visible as a silhouette in the snow, then they fizzed, disappearing into thin air. Shadeclaw magic.
‘Yes. Not just beautiful, but elegant as well. Few equal the attention to detail of Akaviri artisans. Yet… under all that meticulous craftsmanship, it’s a hard place. Hard and cold, with form following function, just like the Shadeclaws themselves.’
A sudden wind picked up, blurring their surroundings. Lencius experienced a mild dizziness as the landscape and the horizon vanished, leaving him disoriented. Their guides had finished their illusions. It was time to go.
The Emperor’s carriage jerked and moved forward as the entourage began their long march back to Cyrodiil.
I will not scream.
Aenir took the pincers to the rotting flesh under his cheekbone and slid his knife in.
I will not scream.
The knife cut deep, and another bud of fetid skin and muscle went into the tray by his right. Larethor growled, his teeth clacking and his hands shaking in his restraints.
‘Sir, are you sure you don’t want to use any anaesthetic?’
‘I want to feel every cut,’ the Twinstinger snarled. ‘Keep going.’
They had fled for a whole two weeks on end, not even stopping to relieve themselves. It was the only way they could keep ahead of the shinobi’s speed. There had been no time to dress his wound, and it had festered. It had been a serious one in the first place – the electrified katana had torn through every layer of muscle in his cheek. Left untreated, though, the open flesh had begun to blacken and smell, and now the rot had spread to surrounding areas on his face as well.
The Hornets knew only rudimentary Restoration magic, so they had no choice but to remove all of the infected tissue before beginning their healing. Thus Aenir and his knife. The Twinstinger would have gladly sold Reilanco if it meant having a priest by his side.
The pincers touched bone, and Larethor could not help it. A groan escaped his lips. ‘How much longer?’ Sweat beaded his forehead.
‘At least another hour, sir,’ Aenir said, raising his knife.
Larethor growled again, setting his head back into the makeshift clamp they had set up, each pinch, each snip, each cut feeding the fire that burned in his veins.
The Shadeclaws will suffer for this. I will bring ruin on their village.
And as it always did, his roiling malice condensed in his mind’s eye into the form of a young, slender elven boy, dressed in a single-sleeved, tight-fitting robe and biting demurely on one finger. The boy peered at him through dark eyelashes with silver eyes glassy with lust.
‘Doing such depraved things to me… You’re such a pervert, Larethor-do,’ he breathed in that meek and lamblike voice of his, an instant before a cold sneer of triumph replaced his sweet, loving smile. The katana became a flash of silver wind, but there was still enough time to block the blow, to let it bounce uselessly off the glass armour. Then the lightning. Hissing blue energy surrounding the blade, blasting into the helmet, cracking it along with the skin underneath. After that nothing mattered but the agony.
Aenir cut off an entire half-inch section of his cheek, then dabbed at the wound with a wet cloth. Larethor swallowed his cry of pain, letting it fuel his hate.
You think you know depraved, my porcelain doll? When we next meet, sweetness, I will show you what the word truly means. I will break your arms, then your knees, then force your thighs open and fuck you until you bleed from your little boy cunt. Then I will strangle you, and fuck your corpse some more.
He clenched at the wooden arm rest of his chair so hard it shattered into fragments. Aenir flinched, but to his credit, he kept the knife steady as he worked.
Larethor closed his eyes, recalling the exact route that they took to flee the Po’ Tun village. He allowed himself a small measure of satisfaction. No sign of pursuit.
Now to find a map.
Comments
Also, Twinstinger licking his wounds and feeding his hate. Love that part. I definitely hope he´ll bring hell later.
Also, Twinstinger licking his wounds and feeding his hate. Love that part. I definitely hope he´ll bring hell later.