Fires of the Hidden City
Part One

By Rich Wulf

The events in part one of this fiction begin shortly before the Hidden City Rulebook fiction…

Though it was springtime, one would not know it in the Phoenix lands. A light snow had blown down from the mountains, dusting the plains with white. The chill weather spread even as far as Kyuden Isawa. Some looked upon the dark clouds that boiled out of the mountains and whispered that this was an ill omen. Phoenix magic had protected these lands from the Rain of Blood, but many worried that Jigoku's hunger could not be denied. In avoiding one curse, had they only singled themselves out for greater punishment?

The man who currently journeyed north from Kyuden Isawa did not believe such a thing. He had learned early in life that to capitulate to evil did not turn aside its wrath, but only increased it. The shugenja's sharp gaze turned to the jagged mountains, consumed for a moment in memory. His face was neither young nor old; he still bore the confidence of youth but wore too many worried lines around the eyes. The wind howled, throwing back his hood and tearing at his long hair and robes. He smiled and held his hands out to his sides, as if offering an embrace to an old friend.

His title was Master of Air, but Isawa Nakamuro did not truly consider himself such. To truly master Air was not to chain it to your will, but to realize the freedom that it offered, and return that freedom in kind. The wind and storm were his allies, not his minions – they granted him power in return for his respect, his loyalty, and in rare cases his advice.

“Yes, I am afraid too,” he whispered to the swirling gale. “Worry not. Soon we will know what we must do. We must have patience and courage. Together, we cannot fail.”

The wind continued to roar, but suddenly died in the shugenja's vicinity, swirling calmly around him in a placid eye. A gust of air blew Nakamuro's hood back in place and he continued on his way with a smile, veering off the road and following a thin path to a nearby grove. He whispered a prayer to the wind and drew upon its power to enhance his senses beyond mortal ability. Confident that none watched him via either mundane or magical means, he stepped deeper into the grove. This place had been planted decades ago by the legendary shugenja, Kuro. Once, when the Phoenix Clan had been ravaged by war it had served as a place of learning, a symbol of hope. The Elemental Council had since declared the place sacrosanct. Today, the Grove of the Five Masters was a place of solitude.

At the center of a ring of trees, three women sat around a small fire, leaving just room enough for one more. One was old, one was young, and one was somehow both. She had the look of youth but her depthless eyes held an ancient wisdom that even Nakamuro found unnerving. He seated himself in his reserved place.

“Greetings, Nakamuro,” Doji Akiko said, studying him with her usual detached curiosity.

“Now we can begin,” Isawa Taeruko said gruffly, shooting him an impatient glare.

“Begin?” Nakamuro said, looking about the grove in surprise. “Where is Ningen?”

Isawa Ochiai looked at her older brother, pushing her dark hair over one shoulder with a disdainful sigh. “Did you not think it strange that Master Taeruko did not request that we meet in the council chambers?” she replied in a disappointed tone. She leaned forward on one arm and toyed with the fire with her free hand. The flames danced eagerly around her fingers, neither burning her flesh nor scorching her sleeves. “What we discuss is not for Ningen's ears.”

Nakamuro raised an eyebrow, confused. “Is he not one of us?” he asked her.

“No,” Taeruko replied shortly. “Not today.”

Nakamuro turned to the Master of Earth, confusion painted clearly on his features. He opened his mouth to reply, but even as he did so, the truth dawned upon him. The Elemental Council ruled the Phoenix Clan, but they were also the leaders of the Isawa family. Ningen was the only Elemental Master who was not Isawa, and there was only one secret the other Masters kept from him.

“Gisei Toshi,” Nakamuro said in a low voice. “What has happened?”

“Nothing,” Doji Akiko said. “Yet.”

“Hamanari had another vision this morning,” Taeruko continued. “Chieh recognized the gravity in his words, though she did not understand them.” Taeruko produced a scrap of parchment from her obi, reading it in a low, steady voice. “‘Blood seeks blood, that born from the fires of despair. The iron hammer shall shatter the hidden city, and Isawa's children shall burn.'”

“Yashin rests in Gisei Toshi,” Ochiai said. “Yajinden created that Bloodsword.”

“Are we certain that this vision is true?” Nakamuro asked.

“Can we risk that it is not?” Taeruko replied. “Hamanari's warnings of the Rain of Blood saved countless Phoenix from corruption. Why would you disbelieve him?”

“It simply feels wrong,” Nakamuro replied. “I have known Hamanari all my life. Yes, his visions are rarely wrong yet they are also rarely so violent. His vision of Iuchiban's return left him comatose for months, and he is barely lucid even now. Such is not normal for him, and it worries me.”

“But not unusual for seers in general,” Ochiai said. “Uikku and Norikazu were tormented by prophecy.”

“And Iuchiban is a powerful foe,” Akiko said. “His affect on the future may be more profound than anything else Hamanari has sensed before.”

“I am not so sure,” Nakamuro replied. “His visions of the Steel Chrysanthemum and Daigotsu never brought him such pain.”

“Nor were they so accurate,” Ochiai countered.

“Which only makes me more wary,” Nakamuro said. “Why does Hamanari see Iuchiban's plans so clearly, clearly than anything he has seen before, when even the Dragon see nothing?”

“The Dragon cannot see the Bloodspeaker and we can?” Taeruko asked in a bemused voice. “This was unknown to me, Nakamuro, though I suspect your contact with the Dragon has been deeper than my own.”

Nakamuro frowned at Taeruko. “This is not the time to dwell on past feuds, Taeruko,” he said. “The Dragon are no longer our enemy and neither am I.”

“And neither is Hamanari,” Taeruko answered. “He is a Phoenix, as are we. He possesses the gift of prophecy. Such gift often brings madness, that is an unfortunate truth, but if Hamanari would offer us a warning then we would be foolish to ignore it. We cannot deny that Gisei Toshi hides many potent weapons that Iuchiban could turn to his advantage, not the least of which are two Black Scrolls. If he has learned of its existence, then his attack is only a matter of time.”

Nakamuro looked at Taeruko for a long, silent moment. He wished to argue with her, but he could find no fault in her logic. His instincts whispered that something was wrong, but he knew not what. “Very well,” he said, bowing his head to her. “What do you recommend?”

“We must insure that the city's defenses are bolstered,” Akiko said.

“Then I will contact Mirabu at once, order him to marshal our forces,” Nakamuro said, rising. “Perhaps there is still time to contact Kaneka and his legions…”

Nakamuro fell silent, recognizing the grave expressions of his fellow Masters.

Ochiai shook her head slowly. “Do you not see, Nakamuro?” she asked. “Bloodspeaker or no, this attack changes nothing. Gisei Toshi is a secret place, and must remain secret.”

“What if the other clans learned what we hide there?” Taeruko added. “The Crab would destroy the libraries, not realizing the value of the dark knowledge we keep there. The Dragon would go into a frenzy, gathering ancient artifacts to hurl them wastefully into their volcano before their power can be fully understood. We might save Gisei Toshi from Iuchiban today, but another enemy would only appear to claim it tomorrow.”

“Better the Dragon than the Bloodspeakers,” Nakamuro said.

“And you call yourself Isawa?” Ochiai asked, sneering at him.

Nakamuro looked at his sister in shock. She looked away, toward Taeruko. The Master of Earth had also averted her eyes from him. He stood alone, looking in disbelief at the three Masters. The fire crackled as if in disapproval.

“Nakamuro-san,” Akiko said in a soothing voice. “You must understand. The City of Sacrifice conceals a great deal more than simply cursed nemuranai and confiscated scrolls. It is a city from another time, a time before the Empire. The Tribe of Isawa are not the same now as they were then. It is a place that outsiders would not understand. To set foot Gisei Toshi is to be changed by it forever. That is not an option to be taken lightly.”

“With respect, Akiko-sama, such pride has never brought the Phoenix anything but pain,” Nakamuro said. “Even your father knew when to set his pride aside and join forces with others.”

“The gods knelt to my father,” Akiko said primly, “and Shinsei came seeking Isawa's aid, not the other way around.”

“Then it seems I am outvoted,” Nakamuro said morosely, “though I cannot help but wonder whether Ningen's wisdom might have helped some of you see reason.”

“You still believe you are the one who sees reason here?” Ochiai asked.

Yajinden stretched one hand outward, thick fingers spreading on the breeze. He closed his eyes in ecstasy as he felt the power of magic seep through him, spirits of air wailing in terror as they were crushed and chained to his will. He pushed their senses out, forcing them to find what he sought. His breath came in ragged gasps as he worked his magic. He was near exhaustion, an impressive feat for an immortal. His eyes were lined with dark rings, his thick jaw covered in stubble. Yet he would not rest, he could not rest, not when he was so close.

Four swords had been forged long ago, forged of his blood and the souls of fallen heroes. Though this body was not the one he wore then, the blood sang to its master still. He could feel one of the swords calling to him from its prison in the mountains. A strange hope welled within Yajinden's black heart, a hope that of all the Bloodswords that might have survived that it might be the one he loved most. At his command the spirits of air spread out eagerly, harried by shadowy spirits that shrieked in voices only a Bloodspeaker could hear. In time they returned to him, whispered in his ear, carried messages from a child he believed long lost.

A satisfied smile spread across Yajinden's face.

“Yashin,” he whispered.

“What do you see?” said a deep voice, interrupting his concentration.

Yajinden opened one eye. Thin brooding trees were covered with a dusting of new fallen snow. A tiny pond was fed from a bubbling mountain stream. The scene might have been pleasant if not for the hideous figure that rose from the water, shaped from shadows and churning blood. This was an Oracle of Blood, a fragment of Iuchiban animated and controlled the Bloodspeaker himself. Its face was a hideous, malformed thing but its cold shimmering eyes could not be mistaken. It watched Yajinden with infinite patience.

“I sense one of the swords,” Iuchiban said. “It is not alone. There is great power in this city.”

“As I knew there would be,” the Oracle replied.

Yajinden's smile stiffened slightly. “Yes,” he replied. “It is surrounded by powerful protections, but the Phoenix are not as clever as they think. Yashin has seen many wonderful things, and she has told me about them.”

“Yashin,” the Oracle replied. “Was that not the Scorpion Bloodsword? The one that failed us?”

Yajinden did not answer for the briefest instant. “Yes,” he replied.

“Good,” the Oracle answered. “I should like to destroy it when we are finished.”

Yajinden bowed slightly. “I will need troops,” he said. “Even I cannot overcome this city alone.”

“Your army is on its way,” Yajinden said. “Your officers will be souls who fell in the Rain. The Dragon have helped us by thinning their ranks – only the strongest have survived. I have whispered to them in dreams. They seek you now.”

“Will that be enough for an army?” Yajinden replied dubiously.

“No,” the Oracle said, “but they can serve as officers. As for your army? I asked you to meet me in this field for a reason. Look around you.”
Yajinden looked at the Oracle, puzzled, then glanced around the uneven forested terrain. He looked back, still confused.

“Look harder,” the Oracle hissed.

Yajinden caught the meaning of Iuchiban's words, and drew upon his magic again. His senses seeped into the air around him, into the trees, into the earth itself. The kansen soon reported to him eagerly, reporting the wondrous things they had found. Yajinden laughed out loud and clenched his hands into fists. As he did, a skeletal claw tore from the earth at his feet. A yawning skull erupted from the soil beneath a nearby tree. A rotting katana stuck up from the grass, held aloft in a rotting fist. Dozens, soon hundreds of skeletal troops began to emerge from the earth. They staggered into orderly ranks at Yajinden's command.

“How long have these lain here?” Yajinden asked.

“Centuries,” the Oracle replied. “Since the last time we walked free. Search through the Empire hard enough, and you will find many places such as these. And if you need more…” The Oracle looked behind itself, off to the east. “There is a small village, that way. There are a few samurai there, but not enough to stand against you. They yet live, but you can alter that arrangement, I imagine.”

“And what about you, Lord Iuchiban?” Yajinden asked. “Will you join the attack?”

The Oracle looked at Yajinden sharply, eyes flashing with sudden, unpredictable anger. “Do not seek to command me, predict me, or define me lest I remind you of your place,” it said. “You are powerful, servant, but you have earned my distrust. Know only that when the time is right, I shall be there.”

“Of course, my lord,” Yajinden replied. “When you arrive, the walls will be torn asunder and prepared for your arrival. I will not fail you.”

The Oracle seemed to smirk, but it said nothing. Its shape oozed back into the pond, polluting the clean water.

Nakamuro stood upon the high walls of Gisei Toshi, looking out across the mountains with a pensive expression. He had visited the city before, but had never given much thought to how defensible it was. In that regard, compared to the open and peaceful cities of the modern Phoenix, Gisei Toshi was truly a city from another time. The walls were thick and studded with slim windows through which archers or shugenja could rain death on attackers below. The castle was situated at the crest of a hill in the center of a small valley. This gave the castle a high vantage point from the surrounding land but also placed it deep within impassable terrain and hid it from viewers. Magic swirled through the surrounding mountains, wielding fierce storms and a strange, exhausting lethargy against those who approached too closely. The city had remained hidden for centuries for good reason. He only hoped that its defenses were sufficient.

One week had passed since the Master of Air's arrival in the city. The guardians of Gisei Toshi had accepted his warning with solemn gravity. Though he had not told them the full truth of his purpose here, he saw the reality reflected in their eyes. If the Masters had truly intended to save the city, after all, all of them would have come. To send only one was merely to insure that what must be done, would be done.

Nakamuro looked up at the high, icy walls that surrounded the valley. He could feel the power of the storm boiling around the mountains, ready to act at his command. A single lightning bolt, a single call of thunder, and the mountains would echo with fury and Gisei Toshi would be no more.

“Will it come to that?” Shiba Koseki asked him in a soft voice.

Nakamuro looked at the pretty young samurai who had been assigned to guard him upon his arrival. He smiled gently at her. “It will not,” he said. “It must not. We will defend Gisei Toshi against the Bloodspeakers.” He looked back out at the narrow passes, scowling in frustration.

“You still cannot sense them?” she asked.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head as if to clear away an unpleasant sensation. “Neither the Bloodspeaker horde nor the Legionnaires I sensed before are visible to my senses anymore. Perhaps both were claimed by the magic that guards these mountains.” He looked at her and shrugged.

Koseki nodded nervously, smiling shyly at him. Nakamuro quickly looked away, his hand moving unconsciously to the smooth stone netsuke that he wore at his hip, a dragon and phoenix joined in flight.

“I have never seen the lands beyond this valley,” Koseki said in a quiet voice. “I have read much about the other clans, the other samurai that share our Empire, but I have never met them.” She paused again for a long time. “I am told that by keeping this place secret, we protect those people.”

Nakamuro chuckled. “And now you wonder if your sacrifice is worth it?” he asked. “You question the worth of preserving an Empire you will never know and that will never appreciate your sacrifice?”

Koseki blushed deeply. “No,” she said. “That's not what I mean it all. I know my duty. My life for the Phoenix. It's just that sometimes I regret… Sometimes I wonder what my life may have been like outside. That's all.”

Nakamuro smiled at her. “I think that if you had been fortunate enough to be born outside these walls, then Captain Marihito-san would be an unhappy young man.”

She blinked, fell silent, then smirked at Nakamuro. Koseki glanced back down at the courtyard, where Marihito was directing the troops in their morning drills. The captain of the guard seemed to sense her eyes upon her, glanced up in the midst of his commands, and smiled in reply.

“You have love, Koseki,” he said. “You have honor. It doesn't matter where you have lived your life, or what else may happen. You have nothing to regret.” Nakamuro heard a distant buzzing noise from the mountains, and looked in that direction.

“I suppose you are correct, Nakamuro-sama,” Koseki said. “Still, I cannot help but…” Koseki looked in that direction as well.

A dark shape was approaching swiftly. Nakamuro reached for his scrolls, but Koseki was quicker, throwing the Master of Air to the ground just as a shrieking ball of brilliant black fire consumed the top of the wall. The flame was gone as soon quickly as it had come, taking the girl with it and leaving only the acrid smell of burnt flesh. Nakamuro rubbed at his eyes with one hand, fighting to wipe away the black motes that swirled in his vision. Foul smoke curled into his lungs. Chunks of metal, the remnants of Koseki's armor, clattered on the wooden beams around him. He could sense a powerful presence hovering in the air above.

Nakamuro struggled to his feet, the air kami swirling around him in a protective shield. His vision cleared slightly as he stumbled to the edge of the wall, but continued to swim with strange images. For a brief instant he thought he saw Akiko hovering far below him, half sunken into the stone. Her hands were extended toward him, palms slashed and flowing with blood. He shook his head urgently to clear the image and she was gone.

Nakamuro looked up toward the presence he had sensed. A broad-shouldered man stood hovering in midair. White hair hung braided down his back. He wore black robes embroidered with images of cranes rending one another apart in flight. In his hand he held a blacksmith's hammer.

“Yajinden,” Nakamuro whispered.

The hovering man smirked slightly.

“I am the Master of Air,” Nakamuro shouted hoarsely as he drew out a scroll. “Begone from this place!”

“You are master of nothing,” Yajinden replied. “Die.”

Another thunderous blast of black fire hammered into the Master of Air.

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