No chains or ropes bound Daidoji Takihiro, but he could not move. The Ashalan’s commands still shackled his mind, binding him upon the wooden table as the strange gaijin did his work. The curved crystal needle traced its path across Takihiro’s flesh. Pain seared through his body. He felt a cold energy burning his soul, wearing away at his very being. As the needle carved its patterns upon his body, sinister magic wove itself into his mind. The Ashalan looked down impassively as he worked. The pale man’s face was painted in dark, twisting patterns similar to those he now drew upon the Daidoji.

“I am impressed by thine willpower, Takihiro,” Rashol said in a gentle voice. The Ashalan looked at him with detached curiosity. “Not many could endure the binding without screaming.”

Takihiro glared into the Ashalan’s eyes. “I will not be bound, gaijin,” he whispered hoarsely.

The Ashalan’s dark eyes showed no reaction. “Thou art already bound,” he said. “Do ye not see?” He took the Crane’s right wrist and turned his arm palm upward, displaying the crane tattooed upon his inner forearm. “Ye bear the symbols of another master. These symbols bear no magic – but they are not without power. Thine brothers and sisters stand beside ye even now, Daidoji Takihiro. Ye draw strength from them. I respect thine strength, but it is an obstacle to me. Ye must serve.”

The needle bit into Takihiro’s flesh once more. The Crane gritted his teeth in agony. “Why are you doing this?” Takihiro hissed. “Why do you help Atsuki? The Scorpion said the Ashalan were heroes!”

The needled paused, and for an instant a look of regret flickered in Rashol’s eyes. “Heroes,” he said bitterly. “And what is a hero, Daidoji? Ye cannot imagine the enemy we stand against. Ye cannot comprehend the battles mine people have fought. A true hero does not waste life foolishly in personal combat – such sacrifice is the role of pawns. My misguided brothers, the ones who aided your Scorpion, did not comprehend this. A hero survives, watches, and prepares. A hero learns from his enemy and outlasts him – and our enemy has survived for a very long time. Atsuki understands the true meaning of patience. As a former Scorpion Champion, he understands much of our enemy. By combining our knowledge, we might yet command that enemy.”

“The Naga?” Takihiro asked.

The Ashalan looked mildly surprised. “No,” he said. “Not the Naga, though they stand against us as well. The Naga believe that they battle the Foul, but all that they have ever done has only served to increase its power. The Naga must be purged from this earth so that they cease to strengthen our enemy – but they are not the true threat.”

“The Foul?” Takihiro asked. “Isn’t that what the Naga called the Lying Darkness?”

The Ashalan nodded. “Our true enemy.”

“The Darkness was destroyed by the heroes of Rokugan,” Takihiro replied.

The Ashalan looked into Takihiro’s eyes. “Consider the fly, a mere insect in thine eyes. A fly lives but a single day. When he sees the sun set, the fly believes it is gone forever – and for the fly this is truth. Yet it is not truth, is it?” The Ashalan sighed deeply. “So it is with the Darkness. It cannot die, though it can be fought with weapons of purest crystal,” he turned spun the crystal needle nimbly between its fingers, “and it can be contained with the power of names. Though gone now, its roots remain buried deep within the souls of the Akodo. If we act swiftly, it can be controlled. We shall revive and command the Darkness as we did when we created this world.”

“This world was created by the gods,” Takihiro snapped.

“And you look upon one now,” Rashol said with a soft laugh. “There are those among my people who question what we do here, but they will be proven wrong. It makes no difference whether one mortal rules Rokugan or another. You are insignificant.”

“Fu Leng thought much the same thing,” Takihiro replied, hissing through the pain.

“To explain these things to one such as thee is a waste,” Rashol said sadly. “Better that ye merely serve. Thine understanding will bring thee no comfort in any case, and ye can offer no wisdom in return that I might value.”

“That’s not true,” Takihiro said.

“Oh?” the Ashalan asked with a small smile. “What wisdom dost thou offer?”

“That you made a mistake in not killing me,” Takihiro said. “That was the wisest thing you could have done.”

Rashol chuckled and continued his work. “Thine wisdom is worthless, human,” he said. “You merely wish not to be bound, but that, too, shall pass.”

The pain increased, tearing a path through Takihiro’s soul. He could sense his will weakening, the will of the Ashalan becoming his own. The magic that bound him to the table had already ceased his ability to resist, but Takihiro knew that was a temporary thing. When Rashol finished his work, the marks upon his body would make him a puppet to the immortal gaijin. He saw the patterns in his mind now, looping around his thoughts, attempting to herd and bind them. Takihiro closed his eyes and focused on the tattoos painted upon his wrists, the twin cranes that all Daidoji wore. He concentrated upon them, praying to his ancestors, calling upon all the strength they had to offer to fight the Ashalan’s will for as long as he could.

“Thine resistance only assures me that I was wise to keep thee alive,” Rashol said. “Thou shalt serve as a fine thrall.”

Takihiro scowled. Rashol looked away sharply, his attention drawn by a noise in the hallway. With an annoyed expression, the Ashalan rose and moved to the door, sliding it open a crack to peer beyond. A loud crack and flash of light erupted in reply. The acrid smell of chemical smoke filled the room. The Ashalan staggered backwards, covering his eyes with one hand.

Esteban Cornejo leapt through the smoke, clubbing the immortal across the chin with a wooden table leg. Rashol grunted in pain but shrugged the blow aside, seizing Esteban by the throat. Takihiro felt the strength return to his limbs as the Ashalan’s concentration was broken. The pain gave him energy, and he leapt at the immortal from behind. Takihiro clasped one thick hand over the pale man’s face and drove a fist into his kidneys repeatedly. The Ashalan crumpled to his knees.

“Don’t let him speak!” Esteban cried from where he had fallen on the floor.

Takihiro only nodded grimly, snatching up Esteban’s club from where it had fallen. He kept one hand over the Ashalan’s mouth. The immortal sorcerer’s eyes widened in terror, pleading for mercy.

“How useless is my wisdom now, Rashol?” he asked.

The club fell, and fell again. It fell another time, and the Ashalan collapsed limp and unmoving upon the floor. Esteban’s hand clasped Takihiro’s wrist, and it was only then that the Crane realized that he was savagely beating the unmoving man.

“Takihiro, he is dead,” Esteban said fearfully. “We are free.”

Takihiro took a deep breath and nodded. He looked down at his arms, at the half-finished tattoos that now covered his body. He wondered what magic the Ashalan had worked upon him before Esteban had rescued him.

“Some immortal he proved to be,” Esteban said, grimacing at the mangled corpse in disgust.

“How did you escape, Esteban?” Takihiro asked. “What was that explosion?” “Just a simple flash bomb,” Cornejo replied. “All that I could make with the materials I could find in this place.”

The Crane studied the man carefully. “Facing an Ashalan alone was foolish,” Takihiro said. “Having freed yourself, you should have fled without me.” Esteban shrugged helplessly. “Calixto always taught me that a man who risks his life can only lose his life,” he said. “A man who lives in fear is already dead.”

Takihiro laughed despite the pain that still burned his limbs. “Well said, gaijin,” he said. “Now let us be gone from this place.”

Kaneka halted his steed at the crest of the valley, looking down at the tall tower with a thoughtful expression. From this distance, it looked like such an insignificant thing. There were no guards, no defenses. Only the shimmer of crystal mounted on its walls suggested that there was anything unusual about it. Orumash moved beside the Shogun. Even resting upon his coils, the massive jakla’s head was almost level with Kaneka’s shoulder.

“The Akasha whispers that the one you seek is likely to be hiding here,” Orumash said. “The Ashalan use magic unlike that practiced by the Rokugani people. Its stench is unmistakable to us, and it is particularly active here. Though they have built many towers upon these plains, my people believe it is here that you will find Bayushi Atsuki.”

“It seems lightly defended,” Shiba Danjuro said.

“I assure, you, Phoenix, you did not bring your army all this way without purpose,” Orumash hissed. “The Ashalan are always prepared for attack. A stronghold such as this will be strongly warded by their magic. They are masters of turning the universe to their whim. They have many minions, living and unliving, even if you cannot see them now.”

“He’s right,” Shono said. The Unicorn’s crystalline left eye radiated a faint green glow. “There’s a great deal of power in this place.”

“What sort of foes can we expect to face?” Kaneka asked.

“Servitors forged from the raw stuff of the elements, earth, ice, and fire,” Orumash said. “Human slaves, their will bound by Ashalan tattoos. You must show them no mercy, Kaneka. Ashalan domination cannot be undone. Death would be kindness. No prisoners must remain.”

“If they surrender, I will not murder innocents,” Kaneka retorted.

“Let that be on your head, Shogun,” the Naga replied mildly.

“Look, Shogun!” one of the scouts called out.

In the valley below, the ground began to heave and shift. Humanoid figures formed of pure stone pulled themselves from the valley floor, standing at attention in a ring around the tower. The tower doors opened and soldiers in exotic armor marched out, wielding staves capped on both ends with curving blades. In mere moments, an army had assembled in the valley, waiting patiently.

“They wait for us,” Kaneka said.

“How is that possible?” Shono asked. “We’ve avoided the roads, taken only our swiftest units and covered our trail. How would Atsuki even know we are here?”

Orumash looked at the Unicorn and his slit eyes shone golden. “The only reason we found this place is because my brothers and sisters can sense the Ashalan’s magic. Did you not consider that the Ashalan can sense mine as well?”

Shono swore loudly.

Kaneka held out a restraining hand. “No, Shono,” he said. “This is as it should be.”

Shono looked at Kaneka in surprise.

The Shogun’s face darkened. “Bayushi Atsuki has conspired to destroy the Imperial City,” the Shogun said. “He has plotted to usurp the reign of the dynasty my father founded. He has allied himself with outsiders. He seeks to command the power of the Lying Darkness. The Akodo family – whose name I once bore – were charged by Lady Moon to keep the Darkness in check. I may be Akodo no more, but I will not fail in that duty. Atsuki would wrap shadow about himself. Let us destroy him in the light.”

Shono’s weathered face broke into a small smile. “Hai, Shogun,” he said.

“Danjuro, take Orumash and consult our shugenja,” Kaneka commanded. “If anything can be done to weaken those stone guardians or counter whatever other magic the Ashalan would unleash, then do so.”

“Hai, Shogun,” Danjuro said, saluting sharply.

“Shono,” Kaneka said. “You and your troops are with me. We will take the fight to the traitor.”

“You know that the battle will not end here, Shogun,” Shono said cautiously. “Atsuki’s allies still bear a great deal of influence in the courts.”

“Cut off the head and the body dies,” Kaneka replied. “Many of Atsuki’s allies have no knowledge that they serve him, let alone any inkling of his larger plan. They may yet be of use.”

“To whom?” Shono asked.

Kaneka leveled his gaze upon Shono and smiled slightly. The Shogun reached behind him, drawing out a long pole bound in silk from the back of his saddle. He offered it to Shono, who carefully unrolled it and affixed it to the back of the Shogun’s armor. The wind rushed over the Plains Above Evil, catching the silken cloth and letting it snap open on the wind. It bore the crude symbol of a black wolf, over a single line of characters.

“For the Empire.”

Tani and Kikaze watched from their small camp in the lee of a rocky outcropping. For two days they had hidden here, making no fire to reveal their presence on the cold plains. They had been scouting the Ashalan tower, waiting for any sign of weakness, any opportunity to attack. When the armies of elemental guardians and Ashalan slaves emerged from the tower, Tani immediately reached for her bow. Kikaze shook his head at her quietly.

“No, Tani,” he said. “They are not for us. Why send so many to deal with only two? If the Ashalan knew we were here and wished to remove us, they would not need an army.”

“Then what is happening?” she asked.

Kikaze’s blue eyes narrowed as he looked on the nearby ridge. He quietly pointed at the horsemen now gathering in the distance, bearing the banners of the Legions.

“What does the Shogun have to do with this?” Tani asked softly.

Kikaze only shook his head quietly and drew his bow, stringing an arrow and aiming it at Kaneka. It was a long shot, but Kikaze was a skilled archer. A single shot, and he could strike the Shogun from his steed and repay all the hatred and violence that he had offered the Crane so long ago.

“If he is our enemy, one of us must return to tell Lord Kurohito what has happened, Tani,” Kikaze said. “If I must kill the Shogun, one of us must not escape so they will cease pursuing.”

“I will stay,” she said.

“You will run,” he hissed at her. “Now!”

“For the Empire!” the cry rolled across the plains and soldiers began to spill over the ridge on foot and on horseback, charging toward the tower’s defenders. Kaneka rode at their head.

Tani looked at her lord, relieved that the Shogun had proven not to be an enemy, but Kikaze waited a long moment before lowering his bow. His look of disappointment was so brief Tani was uncertain that she had truly seen it.

“Should we offer the Shogun our aid, Kikaze-sama?” she asked.

“No,” Kikaze replied. “Whatever reason he has come here, surely he would be as suspicious of our arrival as we were of his. If he is to defeat the Ashalan army we must not distract him.”

“Will we do nothing?” she asked.

“No,” Kikaze said. “We must do something.”

The sounds of countless hooves churning the earth echoed outside the tower. Desperate cries of fury and pain surrounded them. The resounding clash of steel on steel drew closer.

“A battle?” Esteban whispered as he helped Takihiro limp down the hall. The Ashalan’s torture had drained the Crane’s strength, but they pushed on with grim resolve.

“A distraction,” Takihiro replied. “Good fortune for us. We may yet escape this place. Can you make more explosives?”

“No,” Esteban replied confidently. He had been scouring every corner of the tower since they escaped for more reagents he might use, but had found nothing of promise beyond a few torches and the bottles of Ashalan ink, which did not appear to be flammable. “If we could find a kitchen or a stable, I could make more. Until then I have nothing.”

The Crane only nodded.

“All the guards must be outside, fighting the invaders,” Esteban said, peering carefully around the corner.

“Mindless Ashalan slaves,” Takihiro said, cursing under his breath. “Ronin and peasants no doubt. People that would not be missed. No wonder Atsuki hid his position here so well. His henchmen cannot disobey or escape. I wonder if Rodrigo was one of them?”

“No,” hissed a voice from behind them. “Rodrigo was no man’s slave.”

Esteban and Takihiro turned quickly. The tall figure of Alhundro Cornejo appeared from nothing behind them. His face was a featureless mask of flesh, as it had been before. “My brother wished to help me. Unlike the rest of you, he did not abandon me.”

“I want to help you too, Alhundro,” Esteban said fearfully. Alhundro’s fingers lengthened into shiny black claws. “I want you to remember the man you were.”

“The uncle you abandoned?” Alhundro demanded. “I was left alone in a land far from home. None of you remembered. None of you cared. Only Rodrigo. Even when the Darkness came for me, he did not forget. He did not let me forget. Something always remained of Alhundro Cornejo. I survived where the other spawn were lost.”

“No,” Esteban said. “I think Takihiro is right. The Ashalan were controlling Rodrigo, and that’s how Atsuki found you. That’s why Rodrigo so willingly killed himself when we discovered his hideout. The Ashalan had no more use for him.”

“To the Ashalan, your brother was nothing but an insect,” Takihiro said, his voice a low growl. “If that deluded slave was your brother at all.”

There was a blur of darkness then Cornejo was between them. He struck Takihiro solidly across the face, hurling the Crane against the stone wall. He then turned to face Esteban again, leaving rippling images in his wake, after images of movements that might have been. A vision of Alhundro’s face appeared on his flesh, twisted in pain, and vanished again.

“Do not listen to the Crane!” Alhundro hissed. “He lies. Atsuki has told me the truth. We will kill the Emperor and help him place his Gozoku upon the throne while he rules from the shadows. We will awaken the seeds of darkness within the Akodo family and chain them to his command. Atsuki needs us, Esteban. He sent me for you, so that you could bathe Toshi Ranbo in fire again.”

“Atsuki is not your friend, Alhundro, he controls you,” Esteban said, not flinching as the shadowy figure loomed over him, swelling and reducing in size by the moment. “Doesn’t he?”

Alhundro’s wraithlike body shivered. His claws curled into fists. “What does it matter?” he hissed. “I have ever been a man whose life was without meaning, with no family or home or purpose. Atsuki offers me all these things! What does it matter to me who sits upon the throne of a land that spat upon me? Why should I care about a family that forgot me?” Alhundro lunged forward, seizing Esteban’s head with both hands. “Perhaps Atsuki does not need you as much as he believes.”

“If we forgot you, why would I cross the oceans to find you, uncle?” Esteban asked, not flinching as the obsidian claws dug into the sides of his face.

The shadows surrounding Alhundro Cornejo faded. Then he was human again, his face the face of an old man tormented by decades of pain. He cradled Esteban’s face in his hands. A brief look of pain creased his features, then relief.

“Say goodbye to Grandfather for me, Esteban,” Alhundro Cornejo whispered, blood spilling from between his lips.

Then he fell upon the cold stone, the Ashalan’s crystal tattoo needle protruding from the back of his neck. Takihiro twisted the weapon before wrenching it free and tucking it back into the obi.

“Let us be gone from here,” Takihiro said, not meeting Esteban’s eyes.

Esteban looked down at Alhundro’s dead body a final time, nodded sadly, and helped the Crane limp away through the tower’s halls.

All in all, it was an impressive display of power on the part of those who called themselves Rokugan’s heroes. The Shogun was brilliant, his soldiers taking advantage of every tactical weakness the Ashalan slaves and guardians presented. If the Shogun took any note of the stray Daidoji arrows that occasionally flew from cover to strike down the Ashalan who controlled the troops, he gave no indication. He fought as heroes do, striking down all who opposed him and rallying his troops with cries of honor and glory.

Though the end had come sooner than expected, it was predictable all the same. The Ashalan were truly unprepared to face the Shogun. With Kaneka’s troops bolstered by Isawa shugenja and Orumash’s Naga magic, even the Ashalan’s impressive powers faltered. Arrogant to the last, the Ashalan refused to be taken prisoner by lesser beings. As the last Ashalan died, their elemental guardians crumbled into nothing. Their slaves stood listless and bewildered, unable to recall what had occurred before the Ashalan had come to command them. That was no coincidence, of course. The less survivors that knew what truly transpired here, the better.

Kaneka’s final duel against Bayushi Atsuki was the most impressive part of all. The Scorpion stood, bold and defiant, cursing the Emperor’s name like a villain from an old melodrama. It was an impressive performance, even if the outcome was inevitable. Atsuki fell to Kaneka’s blade. The traitor was laid low, and the heroes of Rokugan rejoiced. The Daidoji and their gaijin ally escaped the field unseen, but that was not the most interesting part. The interesting part was a single Ashalan slave who broke away from the rest when the guards were otherwise occupied. He mounted a swift horse hidden in the ravine nearby and rode to the east.

Or would have, had the horse not collapsed underneath him the moment he kicked it into a gallop. The man swore as he crawled off the dying steed. Peering beneath the saddle, he found a small sac of contact venom worked between the wood and flesh. It was an old saboteur’s trick, a poison that would not act until the steed moved quickly enough to work it through its system. It was meant to keep the steed alive until the enemy attempted to escape. The animal wailed in pain, as it would for the next several hours until its heart finally stilled. It was no way to die.

“Who did this?” the man demanded, glaring about him as he drew his katana in one hand. “I know you must be here, ready to gloat over your small victory!”

Bayushi Sunetra stepped from the shadows, arms folded across her slim chest. “I thought I killed you once before, but you used Ashalan magic to disguise a duplicate to die in your place,” she said. “For a man who spent centuries planning his conquest of the Empire, I would have expected you not to use the same trick twice. I didn’t expect you to try it again, but Hojyn gave me something to find you in case you did.”

“Your criticism is well received, Sunetra-chan,” Bayushi Atsuki hissed, lowering his blade slightly and smirking at her. He lunged at her with his blade, but she dove out of the way, retreating several steps back. He circled her carefully. She did not draw her weapon. “In my defense,” he continued, “I was pressed for time; this escape was admittedly not of the quality to which I am accustomed. I had not expected to dispose of the Ashalan so soon. In any case, I will be gone from here long before the Naga sees through my illusion. I have a wealth of allies remaining; this changes nothing.”

“Why are you so certain you’ll escape me?” Sunetra asked.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” he asked. He feinted at her again, and she withdrew. “I am the more experienced warrior. You’ve already forsaken the element of surprise to no purpose. I could kill you whenever I wished. I think you know that. That is why you retreat instead of fighting me.” Atsuki smiled confidently.

“I’m not here to fight you,” she said. “I’m only showed myself so that you would know who killed you.” Sunetra held out one hand, displaying a second burst venom sac in the palm of her silken glove. “Tell me, traitor. Did you not find your reins a bit slick?”

Atsuki lunged at her again, but this time he felt his knees shake. His heart fluttered in his chest. His vision swam. A cold sweat broke upon his forehead. The sword tumbled from his hands; he no longer had the strength to wield it.

He fell to his knees, shaking uncontrollably.

“Back to the Realm of Slaughter,” he said with a bitter laugh. “I have died before, Sunetra. Have your world of fools and traitors. I am done with it.”

“No,” she said. “You’re not.”

She seized him by his collar, pushing him back against a twisted stump. She drew a long, curved dagger from her belt.

“One of the Traitor’s Grove daggers,” he hissed, recognizing it at once. “You cannot do this, Sunetra! A Scorpion’s soul cannot be bound outside the grove!”

“You are no Scorpion,” she said.

She plunged the blade through his chest and into the wood. Atsuki’s body shook with spasms as his soul was drawn inexorably into the tree behind him.

“You were a fool to try to kill me, Atsuki,” Sunetra hissed.

He glared up at her defiantly. “Foolish girl,” he hissed. “Why would I kill you? I won our civil war in every way that mattered. The assassins were not sent by me.” A wicked smile crossed Bayushi Atsuki’s face as his soul was claimed by the withered tree.

Sunetra stood for a long time, staring at the dead traitor’s face, searching for any sign of a lie but finding none. The man was a skilled actor, perhaps the most skilled that had ever lived. Could what he said have been the truth? With a final, bitter sigh she drew the dagger from his body and fled into the darkness before the Shogun’s troops discovered her.