Chapter Seventy-One

The rockbuds outside their tent were just starting to unfurl when Kurogane returned.

Sakura shot to her feet as he entered, scattering the pile of papers she'd meticulously laid out while he'd been gone. She'd spent the last two hours copying the runes Fai had taught her over and over, until her transcriptions were nearly indistinguishable from the originals. Before that, she'd spent an hour studying the lists of vocabulary Suyin had helped her write out, and before that she'd practiced her magic, starting with what she'd learned with Yukito and transitioning to the exercises Fai had taught her.

All of it had been a distraction, something to occupy her mind while the only person she knew in this world went off to battle. Even suffocating beneath the weight of so many lessons, however, she'd been unable to push her worries aside entirely, and so Kurogane's return was more than sufficient to disrupt her studies. "You're back!" she cried, then remembered where she was and repeated the same sentiment in Yama's language, the staccato syllables awkward on her tongue.

Kurogane grunted, walking over to his bedroll and dropping a leather sack the size of her head on the floor of the tent. Sakura stared at it, struck with the unsettling notion that there might be an actual severed head inside, then shook off the thought, disturbed at how quickly it had leapt to mind. She looked back to Kurogane, trying to figure out how to ask about the bag's contents, then froze when she saw the bandage wound around his arm.

"You have hurt," she said, lifting one hand toward the wound.

Kurogane looked at her soberly. Then, quite distinctly, he said, "I have been hurt."

She halted, momentarily startled by the admission before she realized that he wasn't confessing to feeling pain, but correcting her grammar. "You have been hurt," she said, nodding to show her understanding. "May I see?"

He shrugged, turning his injured arm slightly toward her as he removed his boots with his free hand. The cloth looked clean enough, but she unwound the bandage anyway to examine it. A shallow tear spanned Kurogane's bicep, as long as two of her smallest fingers from end to end, cleaned and covered with some sort of medicinal paste, judging by the scent. Satisfied, she re-wrapped the bandage, including the bow, though she couldn't imagine what medical purpose it served. Perhaps it was a facet of this world's culture.

Once he'd finished removing the more cumbersome pieces of his armor, Kurogane grabbed the leather sack he'd brought and loosened the drawstrings. "Here," he said, pulling a dagger in a metal sheath from the sack. Uncertainly, Sakura took it, turning it over in her hands. It had a short hilt, but when she slid it out of the sheath, the blade gleamed beneath the faint light of their tent's glowstone lamp.

She met Kurogane's eyes. "Mine?"

"Yours," he confirmed, then spoke a few words she couldn't quite parse. She eyed him quizzically, but rather than clarify, he pulled something else from the bag: a pair of gloves in her size. Thin but durable, they reminded her of the gloves Syaoran wore on archeological digs, as they provided basic protection without sacrificing dexterity. "For archery," Kurogane said.

Sakura slid the gloves on, flexing her fingers. "Thank you."

He looked at her soberly, and for the first time, she sensed that something was bothering him, beyond the inconvenience of his wound. Had something happened on the battlefield? She had difficulty imagining Kurogane being disturbed by combat, given how many people he'd claimed to have killed, but there was a troubled look about him that his usual stoic attitude couldn't conceal. Had something happened between the end of the battle and his return? Obviously he had stopped by the camp's marketplace to pick up the dagger and gloves—could someone have insulted him?

It frustrated her that she had no way to ask. Her lessons with Suyin were proceeding quickly, yet her grasp of the language was still crippled, and any hope for a nuanced conversation was still months away. If only Mokona were here, there would be no language barrier. But then, if Mokona were here, most of their problems would cease to be relevant.

"Hey."

She lifted her head, realizing she'd gotten lost in her musings.

"Go to sleep," Kurogane said gruffly, reaching out to ruffle her hair. "It's late."

Nodding, she picked up the papers she'd scattered about the tent, then climbed into her bedroll. She must have been more exhausted than she'd thought, because she fell asleep within minutes and dreamed of nothing at all.

A bell rang outside their tent. Kurogane ignored it, paging through the maganyan he'd picked up at the market after last night's battle. As much as he was starting to dislike the too-familiar aspects of this world for failing to match up to Nihon, it had been a relief to find that the written language of Yama was as comprehensible as their spoken language. For once, he didn't have to guess at what each speech bubble was supposed to say, or have the kid read it to him.

The ringing came again, more insistent. The princess looked up from the pages of vocabulary she'd been studying, then to him. "Ah, Kurogane-san . . ."

Exhaling softly, he set down the maganyan and opened the tent's entry flap just as their visitor started ringing his bell for the third time. Kurogane snatched it from his hands, holding it out of his reach. "What?"

The man—Kurogane recognized him as one of Captain Meru's soldiers—held out a scroll. "From the master of arms," he said, glancing at the bell Kurogane still held. "He's requested you visit him in the armory at your earliest convenience."

He grimaced. He'd been expecting something like this. You didn't get to destroy two perfectly serviceable swords in one battle without having to answer to the quartermaster. "Right. Here." He returned the bell, much to the messenger's relief, and unfurled the scroll as the man hurried off to deliver his next message. Sure enough, the message was just as he'd said—the master of arms wanted to talk to him. Kurogane tucked the scroll into his belt and poked his head back into the tent. "Stay here. I'll be back soon."

The princess rose to her feet. "Our friends?" she asked, her excitement making her accent more pronounced.

"No," Kurogane said, then winced when she deflated. "I'll ask around while I'm out. If they're here, we'll find them." And if they don't show up soon, we'll need to expand our search. He let the tent flap flutter closed and started down the path leading toward the center of the war camp.

The armory was an octagonal building, located between the marketplace and the command tents, in the most protected section of the camp. Even if Ashura's armies punched through their defenses, there was no way to get to the armory without taking heavy losses. Granted, if they made it that far in the few hours the battles lasted, they'd probably aim for the floating castle instead, but the armory made for a valuable secondary target. Regardless, Yasha-O's commanders ran an organized camp, and Kurogane could appreciate that, even if he had no personal stake in their war.

Built of the same glittering stone that it stood upon, the armory was three times the size of the command tent. Kurogane pushed through a pair of heavy stone doors etched with an image of a crescent moon and stepped into the vast room beyond. Within, a man with a long white beard and eyebrows like fuzzy caterpillars sat behind a stone desk, tallying figures on a sheet of parchment. He didn't raise his head when Kurogane approached, but he did hold up a hand to forestall comment as he finished recording a series of numbers. Kurogane waited, studying the sheet of paper. It looked like an inventory of weapons in need of repair or replacement.

After a few moments, the man set down his calligraphy brush and looked up at Kurogane. "So you're the one who broke two of my swords last night."

Kurogane chose not to answer that. "You the master of arms?"

"Aye, that's me. Handing out weapons for over thirty years now." One pale gray eyebrow arched. "You're taller than I expected. Size fifteen uniform, isn't it? We don't make them much bigger than that." When Kurogane didn't respond, he sighed. "Fine, fine. I can see you don't care for pleasantries. Let's get straight to the reason I called you here. You were a swordsman from where you came from?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Is it common in your country to channel magic through your weapons?"

Kurogane managed to keep the bite out of his voice. Mostly. "What I do isn't magic. It's swordsmanship."

The man eyed him, skepticism etched into his features. "Those swords you destroyed weren't enchanted. How, then, do you explain your ability to channel energy through them to cast ranged attacks?"

"It's a ki attack," he said impatiently. "It's taking the energy within oneself and focusing it through your weapon."

"Your people must have strange standards for what does or does not constitute as magic. None of that now." The old man's eyes flickered to Kurogane's hands, which had bunched up into fists. "Plenty of foreigners just like you in this camp, all of them with different ideas about who can use magic and how. Maybe your people don't consider what you do magic, but this army does. Either way, it's clear enough you need a sword that can handle your techniques. Come." He rose from his desk, joints creaking, and led Kurogane through a doorway. The back of his neck prickled as he stepped across the threshold. He didn't have to be a mage to know this room was warded; he'd passed through similar wards every day back at Shirasagi Castle.

Inside, dozens of swords decorated the walls, each subtly resonant, as if they were in some way aware of their surroundings. They varied widely in shape, some with straight, sleek blades, others curved, like the katanas he was accustomed to. Some looked new, their blades gleaming in the soft light of the glowstone lamps. Others showed noticeable signs of age: broken guards and worn hilts, even a few with chips in the blades.

The old man surveyed him for a moment, then turned to the western wall and pulled a long sword with vines carved into the base of the hilt. "Try this one."

He took the sword in his hand, stepping back so he could swing it. Even before he declared it too light, the quartermaster was shaking his head. "Not that one, I see." He took the sword back and returned it to its place on the wall before selecting another, longer blade. He turned it in his hands for a moment, then, without offering it to Kurogane, returned it to its peg. "Nor that one. Perhaps . . . Ah." The sword he selected this time was nearly as long as Ginryuu, though not so elegantly designed. The hilt was of some dark wood, stained to nearly black, and had little adornment save for the subtle grooves meant to offer a better grip. The guard was similarly plain, curved to provide an extra half-inch of space for his hands.

The blade was keen enough to cut silk without disturbing it.

"Her name is Souhi," the old man said. "She's young yet, but the enchantments I've placed on her will keep her from fracturing as you channel your energy through her."

Kurogane took the blade, testing its balance before falling into a fighting stance and performing a simple kata. She felt right in his hands, as if her hilt had been carved for them, and when her blade cut through the air, it sang.

"As I'd thought," the man said, retrieving a sheath from a nearby cabinet. "And from your expression suppose you're as besotted with her as she is with you."

He hadn't realized until the old man had spoken that he was grinning, but he sobered almost instantly. "How much?"

"Two silver ingots."

Kurogane grimaced. That was ten times what he'd made for fighting with Yasha-O's army last night, and he'd already spent most of that at the market. Even if he participated in every battle for the next month, he wouldn't be able to afford a sword like this.

The old man seemed to guess as much. "You need not pay the whole sum at once. I can deduct a portion of your earnings from each battle until the balance is paid off."

"I don't know how long we'll be staying," Kurogane said, holding the sword out. He hated the thought of parting with a weapon that felt so right in his hands, but he wasn't the sort to make promises he couldn't keep, and the prospect of staying here long enough to pay it off didn't exactly thrill him. Then again, if the others didn't show up soon, he might not have any choice. Without the meat bun to transport him, he had no way to get back home. No way to call the witch, even, if it came to that.

"You need a weapon if you want to fight," the man said. "And I would prefer you not break any more swords, if it can be avoided. Keep it for now—if you cannot pay it off before it's time for you to move on, leave it behind, and we will simply consider it a loan."

Kurogane looked down at Souhi, then back at the old man, thinking. After a long moment, he said, "There's this kid I've taken on as my apprentice."

"You mean the girl you came here with? She hardly seems suited for swordplay."

"Not the girl," he said. "One of our missing companions."

"Ah." The old man nodded. "Describe him to me."

"Young. Fifteen, maybe. About this tall." He held up a hand to indicate the kid's height. "Strong, but kind of wiry. A little ditzy," he added, though he guessed that was part of the memory loss.

"What of his personality?" the old man asked. "If I am going to select an appropriate sword for him, I need to know at least something of who he is."

This question merited a few moments of consideration. "He's determined," Kurogane said, nodding to himself. "He doesn't like being a burden. He's the sort of person to take on tasks beyond his capabilities, so that no one else has to. And he's . . ." Kurogane paused, searching for the right word. "Sincere," he eventually decided. "When he says he's going to do something, he means it." Even as he said the words, he realized something else: the kid would be trying to find them, wherever he was now. Whatever obstacles separated them, Kurogane knew the boy would search for his princess until he found her, even if she was the one who was supposed to be helping him.

"He sounds like a fine student," the man said when the silence stretched too long.

"Yeah," Kurogane said, surprised by the pang he felt, not having the kid around. "He is."

"I will select a sword for him," the old man said, "and set it with enchantments to protect it against shattering. Should you stay long enough to pay off your sword, you may start making payments on his."

"Deal." Kurogane slid Souhi into her sheath, then fastened the sheath to his belt.

"Try not to destroy this one, if you could. Good steel is hard to come by."