Shutai, Scorpion Lands

Ide Bantu hated his assignment. He hated the Scorpion Clan—as far as he was concerned, they were mere scoundrels, causing nothing but problems. To make matters worse, Shutai had an unsavory reputation as a refuge for bandits and rebels. Most of all, he hated the task he was here to perform: for some reason, the Khan wanted regular trade to occur between the Unicorn and Scorpion Clans. Bantu had distinguished himself in his short career, so his competence was not in question. Yet, given his distrust of the Scorpion, one could not help but wonder why Lord Tang personally selected him for this mission.

In spite of these challenges, Bantu had acquitted himself admirably. The head of the region’s magistrates, Shosuro Adeiko, was greatly appreciative of the goods Bantu had to trade, and offered fine prices. The bandit activity in and around Shutai was such that the roaming magistrates always wanted weapons, foodstuffs, and supplies for traveling.

Adeiko had departed early that morning, leaving several samurai and a small force of ashigaru to transfer and oversee the supplies until they could be distributed. Bantu’s servants were packing the remainder of the caravan’s goods for transport. Bantu was in the local inn, planning the journey ahead. His planning was interrupted by a scream from the caravan.

As Bantu rushed to the door, the first scream was cut off, only to be followed by several others. He heard his yojimbo begin to bark out orders, only to also fall silent abruptly. Dreading the worst, Bantu peered outside.

The scene that was beyond anything he had ever seen, approaching the legends of the Blood War between the Moto and Dark Moto. The guards, both Scorpion and Unicorn, were either dead or wounded. Standing over their bodies were several people carrying daggers, most of who were bleeding from the forearms or palms. As Bantu watched, he was horrified to see several guards, obviously dead, begin to move and rise of their own accord.

Bantu ducked back behind cover, gasping for breath as he tried to decide what to do. The only bushi in the village were now dead, Adeiko was several hours away, and Bantu was no warrior. Outside, he could hear the Bloodspeakers issuing commands to their new servants, commanding them to scour all life from the village. If he stayed, he would die as well.

Bantu also noticed that the supplies had yet to be packed; various items had been strewn about as the guards had attempted to fight, and fell in battle. The zombies had picked up many of the weapons, but the food and camping supplies were largely untouched, including dozens of barrels of lamp oil intended to warm the camps of the Khol. An idea formed in Bantu’s mind. It was foolish and risky, and he was not a brave man, but already he could hear the sounds of villagers dying.

Bantu turned, and handed the money pouch to the innkeeper, who huddled in the corner nearby. “Please thank Shosuro Adeiko, she was most gracious. Take this to her, as a gift from the Khan. I would return the favor she granted me.” Seeing the innkeeper hesitate, Bantu added “Leave! Now! Shutai may not last the night, but your family might still survive.”

Not pausing, Bantu seized a torch and left through the back entrance of the inn. A single Bloodspeaker guarded the remains of the caravan, facing away from Bantu. Hopefully, the Bloodspeaker would not notice in time. Bantu raced forward as fast as he could, desperately trying to make it to the oil. Along the way, he set everything that looked flammable alight, hoping that he could start a large enough conflagration that Adeiko or others would see the flames. He was almost to the caravan when the Bloodspeaker spotted him. Shouting a warning to his brethren, the cultist drew his knife across his palm, and Bantu was blinded by pain. The Unicorn staggered to the ground, torch wavering.

Bantu coughed, spitting drops of blood on the ground. Blinking away the tears, he could see the ceramic pots containing the oil, mere feet away. He crawled desperately forward, even as the Bloodspeaker hurried to block his path. He was inches from the pots when a shadow fell over him. Looking up, he saw the Bloodspeaker, knife upraised. The knife came down, and Bantu threw his torch with his last bit of strength.

The Bloodspeaker swore and Bantu said a final prayer to the Fortunes as fire exploded over them both.