Beside and below the few Karus still standing.
Darkness blurred at the edge of his vision when he reached the first step to the throne. Using the last of his strength, Saemon pulled himself to the second. Then the third.
He collapsed at the very top, and rolled onto his back. Blood leaked beneath his weak body as he stared at the ceiling.
"Sacred Triad," he murmured with the last of his breath. "you have taken my blood, my life, and all my days. In this last moment, I give you my soul. But spare Isao . . . save his life . . .."
Darkness overtook him; he could no longer see.
He could still discern the faint sounds of battle in the back of his mind.
"Kill them all," Azuma yelled from far away, as if through water. "The Empire is ours!"
The blackness beckoned yet again, and Saemon entered a place where there was no pain and no fear.
Isao
Isao nearly tripped over his own feet in in his haste to keep up with the General, who attempted to surpass him into the darkness.
Here and there, water dripped down the walls. The musty scent of the earth was so thick, Isao nearly gagged.
Nothing good will come of this night, Isao worried as he picked his way through the pitch black.
The secret door in the pantry wall had led them into a space so narrow that Khalem and Isao had to turn sideways to fit their wide shoulders through. They scooted along, rats their only companions.
An eternity passed before a distant sound caught Isao’s ear. He paused.
That was no rat. That was . . . screaming. He gulped. His people…They were dying outside.
The musty path now grew wide enough that the two men could move along side by side. Cool air poured in from a slit in the wall a hairsbreadth away.
“Where are we?” Isao whispered.
“Near the courtyard. The door over there leads toward the north wall. We will sneak out from there.”
“Shouldn’t we wait it out here? No one will look for us here.”
“They will eventually,” Khalem disagreed, his tone allowing no protest. “Standing water gains no ground. We move.”
When it sounded as if there was a brief lull in the fracas outside, Khalem pushed against the door, opening it a sliver. Fresh air poured in, and Isao breathed in deeply.
“Come,” Khalem urged. “Be swift.”
They slipped out into the night, Khalem immediately darting off to the right. He concealed himself behind a large tree with a knotty trunk. Isao did the same, his mouth and throat dry.
Isao peered over the edge of a branch in time to see a brief flash of emerald armor.
Ameya.
Only a few torches lit up the interior of the courtyard, but the light was enough to reveal that the Ameyas were slaughtering the Hiwan soldiers.
Isao held in a gasp.
The Ameya clan was attacking them! Traitors! It had only been hours since he’d sat across from them in the dining hall and celebrated his new life with them. They had looked him in the face while knowing they would be trying to kill his people later that same night.
With great effort, Isao reigned in his rage. He would think on it later, once he was in a safe place. Isao opened his mouth to ask Khalem a question, but quickly snapped it shut.
No. The sound of his voice might alert others to their presence.
Isao remained silent and watched, as best he could, the slaughter.
Why did the noble Hiwan soldiers seem so . . . disoriented? he wondered. They staggered, swinging their weapons as clumsily as children would, and they kept falling over themselves in their haste.
Pain took hold of his heart.
These were not his soldiers. His people were proud warriors who trained hard.
And now they were being slaughtered.
“This way,” Khalem muttered, grabbing Isao by the upper arm.
The general dragged Isao deep into the shadows near the high wall that ringed the courtyard. Trees and bushes dotted the landscape here.
The two of them dodged from one bush to the next, taking cover as soon as they could find it. A branch snagged Isao in the face, and another one poked at his back, but he ignored the discomfort, silently and stoically following Khalem’s lead.
A flash of light caught Isao’s eyes, and as he peered through the branches of a flowering bush, he spied tongues of yellow fire licking high toward the sky.
Another flash of light came from the left. Then from the right.
“The courtyard,” Isao whispered. “They’re setting it on fire.”
As orange flames licked at the rooftops of homes nearby, even more people screamed, no doubt trapped and dying.
“Horses,” Khalem whispered. “We need horses. We’ll never get far enough on foot. They outnumber us too much.”
“Yes. The stables.”
“We’ll borrow a few. If we can get horses, we’ll find freedom.”
Isao swallowed his fears as he began crawling on his hands and knees behind Khalem through some thick undergrowth. While the Ameya soldiers focused on setting fire to anything they could pour oil on or touch a torch to – Hiwan soldiers included – the two of them snuck around the courtyard until they found an opening in the wall.
Motioning for Isao to stay where he was, Khalem advanced a few steps, waited while he assessed the danger. Impatiently, he waved him forward. “Run!” he whispered urgently. “Now!”
Isao dashed swiftly through the doorway and into the streets. Khalem was right at his side, and not a step behind despite his more advanced years.
At one point Khalem nudged Isao to the right, where they hid in an abandoned rug seller’s store. As shouts rang out in the distance, Khalem’s eyes narrowed on the flames off in the distance that were threatening to consume the very city.
“Isao, let’s go to the stables nearest to the outer wall.”
“The ones by the slave auction?”
“Yes. We go there. They won’t have bothered it yet, you think?”
“I agree, it’s our safest bet. Not too far away, and poor enough to not have drawn attention of the intruders yet.”
Sprinting out of the store, and being careful to avoid the pockets of fire springing up here and there, Khalem and Isao made their way through the streets. Khalem scanned the darkness constantly, convinced some Ameyas would leap out at any moment and attack them.
Finally the two men spotted the stables.
“There, Khalem! We’re upon it. There’s hope after all.”
But now a chorus of high-pitched shrieks was filling the air.
Terrified horses.
“It’s on fire,” the general observed.
“But not consumed! If we hurry, we may have a chance!”
“Go,” Khalem ordered. “We must hurry.”
After ensuring the coast was clear, they rushed over to the stables.
A pile of something blocked the entrance to the doorway. Isao skidded to a stop just a few paces away, instinctively recoiling in disgust. An overweight man with a bulbous nose lay dead and sprawled on the ground, arms strewn wide. A bruise trailed down his face, beginning on his forehead, where his skull had been indented by something heavy. Buried half beneath him was a young boy, and on top of both lay a gutted horse, its innards still steaming.
“No mercy is shown,” Isao hissed. “The Ameyas are slaughtering anything and everything. Vile fiends!”
Khalem said nothing, just leapt over the heap of bodies. Isao maneuvered inside as well, only to recoil. Thick plumes of black smoke filled the air. He put an arm to his face. Flames were licking at the stables’ far wall, reaching all the way up to the ceiling.
“Khalem! It’s going to fall apart!”
“Horses! We need horses!” Khalem called back from somewhere in the smoke. “There might be time.”
The screams of the horses made Isao’s hair stand on end, but he steeled himself to follow Khalem into the smoke. A female voice emerged from somewhere to his right and stopped him in his tracks.
“Stupid piece of – “
He cocked his head to the side. Someone else was in here?
“Break, you damn boards, break! I have to get out of here!”