Savage Divinity

On the dawn of their fourth day in Nan Ping, Rustram stood tall with his feet touching at the heels and perpendicular to one another. Kissing the hilt of his rapier for good luck, he pointed the tip down and away from his skilled opponent. “I am the weapon,” he whispered, willing himself to accept his words, “and the weapon is Death.” The moment he signalled he was ready, his opponent struck first, taciturn as always. Her saber flashed through the air and it took all his strength to parry her casual opening blow, emphasizing the vast discrepancy between them. “No matter,” he told himself as he fell back before her furious assault, blocking, dodging, and parrying all the while. “Killing is easier than surviving. Such is life, but I am Death.”

Knowing he couldn’t meet her head on, Rustram retreated before her flurry of attacks and picked his moment carefully. Sensing more than seeing an opportunity, he tapped his blade against hers and stepped aside, feigning resistance to make her over-commit. Twirling about as she rushed past, he whipped his rapier in a circle and aimed a strike at the back of her neck. Reacting faster than he expected, she tucked her head and rolled away, causing him to cut through empty air but earning him the upper hand. Landing in a low crouch, she spun about and lashed out, aiming to scythe through his left ankle. Confident his attack would land first, he took a single step back to minimize the damage even as his rapier lanced out, aimed right between her eyes in a killing thrust. Abandoning her attack, her saber turned his attack aside just enough for her to tilt her head and avoid certain death, though his blade still ground against her prominent cheekbones.

This was it, his first victory at hand. Heart pounding and blood burning, he pressed his advantage with a downward smash, the world slowing as he took in every detail for posterity’s sake. Still locked in a crouch, she caught the blow with her saber’s edge. Extending one long, shapely leg out to the side, her body flowed like water as she shifted her weight and righted herself. Their blades grinding against one another with a shriek of metal, she drew her weapon towards herself as his rapier slid down into the dirt, still propelled by the momentum of his powerful blow. Once free of its weight, she whipped her saber about for a killing slash and in the blink of an eye, its dulled edge rested lightly against his neck, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat.

That was the closest he’d ever come to winning and his dumb brain ruined it all. After tricking his opponent into over-committing, he tricked himself into making the same mistake. Stupid, stupid, stupid...

Showing no pride or pleasure from her victory, Li Song withdrew her saber and stepped back, giving him time to reflect on his actions before starting again. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves and silence his self-recriminations, Rustram closed his eyes and took his stance once more. Feet perpendicular. Heels touching. Hilt against lips. There was no shame in losing to Li Song, not even Dastan could consistently defeat her, but in their last exchange, Rustram didn’t lose to her. He’d lost to himself. The rapier is not a heavy weapon for clubbing and bashing, it is a delicate, elegant weapon and his movements must match it. The tip of his sword was resting against her face, he should have left it there and circled to his left and kept her off balance. A simple movement and victory would have been his.

“The sword is my arrow,” he muttered, “and my body the bow, delivering swift Death in a lethal eruption of power.” These small catechisms had become something of a habit, a short invocation to set his mind right before battle. Balance came easily as breathing now, his muscles brimming with power and ready to unleash upon his opponent. Lowering his weapon once more, he signalled his readiness and lunged.

A half-hour later, Rustram stood hunched over and drenched in sweat, gasping for air and without a single victory to call his own. His opponent looked none the worse for wear, without a single hair out of place. Her straight-edged bangs sat perfectly above her brow and framed her lovely face, her exotic green eyes dull and lifeless like always. Standing at full height, she gave him a warrior’s salute and almost-but-not-quite looked him in the eyes before she left, the most encouragement he’d ever gotten from the beautiful warrior. Choking out his thanks as she walked away, he turned his attention to his slacking subordinates, working hard to appear like they were hard at work. “Silva,” he barked, causing the lazy shirker to bolt to attention, abandoning his pretense of Demonstrating the Forms. “Front and centre.” Ignoring the muffled groan, Rustram sparred with the most lethargic member of the boss’s retinue, intent on whipping the man into fighting shape.

It had nothing to do with Rustram’s personal frustration, nothing at all.

By the Mother, he needed a woman. Not even for sex, just someone to talk to and laugh with, maybe while taking a stroll down the beach...

The boss was too kind and generous to his people, gifting Spiritual Weapons to every one of the original cripples. Of the eight remaining survivors, only Ravil had enough talent to merit the investment and just barely at that, but Rustram’s pleas had fallen on deaf ears. “The mark of an expert chef,” the boss asserted, “is not if they can use the best ingredients to cook a delicious meal. No, what sets them apart is their ability to create a delicious meal using even the most common ingredients. You are my chef, and if you say your ingredients are lacking, then you’ll just have to work harder to compensate.”

If asked for his opinion, Rustram would’ve called it all hogwash and armed only the best with Spiritual Weapons, but the boss never asked. It’d be a miracle if Silva, Viyan, and Birca all reached Captain-level strength even with their wondrous combination weapons. Bulat showed promise but he’d never be an expert duellist or celebrated warrior, too fond of dirty tricks and low-brow schemes to ever fight fair. Pran and Saluk were powerful but lacking in guile or cunning. Even Rustram could run circles around them, though admittedly it’d be much more difficult to avoid their massive two-handed hammers on a crowded and chaotic battlefield.

Luckily, Lady Sumila’s miracle weapons made up for most of these shortcomings. Capable of launching metal pellets over three-hundred meters away with enough force to pierce through five centimetres of solid iron, the boss called them ‘the great equalizers’. Ravil could reach ranges of four-hundred meters, but his accuracy suffered greatly at such extreme distances. Rustram would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of these new wonder weapons, but his skin wasn’t thick enough to ask for a second Spiritual Weapon. Even though they’d discovered a treasure trove of Spiritual Hearts on Yo Ling’s island, the boss’s retinue held an abundance of warriors more deserving than Rustram. Former bandits though they might be, they were a formidable band of thugs and brutes, not to mention the elite members of Dastan’s former retinue or the seemingly endless numbers of accomplished and talented Khishigs of the Bekhai still lacking a Spiritual Weapon.

Then there were the newest members of the boss’s retinue, the former miners from Yo Ling’s island. Giving Silva a reprieve after a half hour of intense sparring, Rustram caught his breath before finding Lang Yi to practise with. With the monkey-brothers Argat and Jochi offering advice from the side, the lean former slave presented quite the challenge, a straightforward assailant who compensated for his inexperience with untempered aggression. Favouring the spear like his two instructors, Lang Yi kept Rustram at bay using only three basic attacks: stab, sweep, or strike. Even knowing his limited patterns of attack wasn’t of much help as Rustram struggled to slip past the longer range of his opponent. Still, it was good practice for footwork and while Lang Yi and his companions lacked a single Spiritual Weapon to call their own, their base strength would soon match, if not surpass, the average member of the boss’s retinue.

Truly, the Mother did not treat her children equally, but such was life.

After four full hours of morning practice, Rustram ate a quick breakfast before his daily ten o’clock meeting with Dastan and the boss. While a horde of bunnies scampered about the boss’s yurt, Rustram cut straight to the heart of the matter, knowing the boss had a penchant for getting easily distracted. “We’re on our last day of supplies,” he said, stomach flopping with worry, “and we’ve yet to receive our first purchased shipment. I’ve visited twice but all they give me is weak excuses and empty reassurances.”

“So bothersome,” the boss replied with a heavy sigh. “I guess playing nice is out of the question. Once we’re through here, ready the retinue for a trip into the city. We’ll pay these merchants a visit and rattle our spears.”

Burning with shame at having to bother the boss with such a trivial matter, Rustram swallowed his pride and pressed on. “While you’re there, I’ll need help negotiating a better deal. Although they’re obligated to sell us food, there’s nothing forcing them to sell us good food. I could only secure contracts for hay, rice, and dried fish. At the very least, we need proper grains for the warhorses or they’ll wither away and never recover. Fresh meat or vegetables wouldn’t hurt either, though I’d settle for preserved and pickled.”

“Got it.” Patting Rustram on the arm, the boss smiled. “Don’t worry. This wasn’t a failure, Fung and BoShui are also having problems buying food. These Central merchants have their nose-hairs in a twist because their young experts ain’t worth shit. We’ll sort things out and get some real food, but give the men an extra half-silver a week to supplement their meals at street-side vendors.” Before Rustram could warn him about the repercussions, the boss added, “Spread the word: Anyone found drunk or responsible for starting trouble will be shovelling turtle shit with a spoon for the rest of their career.”

“Yes boss.” Although he preferred a hands off approach, the boss was a quick study and rarely made the same mistake twice. The rest of Rustram’s report went quickly and they moved on to Dastan, who stood to one side with a basket of scrolls, this one emptier than usual. “Small harvest today boss,” Dastan said with a smirk. “And not yours either. I’ve got three challenges here, all for Major Alsantset. Word is, Vichear and Gerel were challenged too, so we’re in for a show.”

“Ha! If they think my sister is an easier target then they’re in for a rude awakening, much less Vichy and Gerel.” Grinning from ear to ear, the boss gathered his rabbits and sauntered out to give his sister the good news. Despite her stunning beauty, Major Alsantset’s cold smile sent a shiver down Rustram’s spine, her eyes burning with enthusiasm and promising violence upon those poor fools who dared to challenge her.

Unlike the boss’s previous trips into the city, this time they set out in full force. Mounted on roosequins or warhorses, the boss brought everyone aside from Jorani’s squad, who were left behind to mind the camp. Lacking their own mounts, the Ping Yao Protectorate followed behind on foot, somehow looking mangy and destitute despite the same Khishig gear everyone else had. Even their Spiritual Weapons seemed shoddy and utilitarian, though few could compare with Lady Sumila’s or Divine Blacksmith Husolt’s glorious works of art. With Ravil riding ahead to clear the way, they advanced in force through Nan Ping’s winding streets, disrupting traffic and raising a ruckus wherever they went.

Lumbering in their wake, the Divine Turtle scurried along to keep up and squeaked in vehement protest whenever the boss wandered too far ahead. The world at large believed the boss looked after the Divine Turtle, but in Rustram’s eyes, those roles were reversed. While he didn’t understand why the Divine Turtle was so attached to the boss and concerned for his safety, Rustram wasn’t surprised by her presence. The boss was the Mother’s favoured son, so why wouldn’t She dispatch a Guardian to keep him safe?

No, what surprised Rustram was the Divine Turtle’s deliberate care and consideration for her surroundings, so at odds with her fearsome appearance. Instead of mindlessly stomping through all obstacles, she would stop and wait while people wheeled their carts away or shifted their wagons aside. Most nobles he knew could learn a thing or two about manners from the Divine Turtle and her actions won her the praise of commoner and aristocrats alike, though those displaced by her bulk were less than adoring. More than once the boss ordered Rustram to physically accost an unwilling noble’s guards and bully them aside with their Imperial-given Authority. “Do you know who I am?” the boss would say, holding his head up high as he looked down at the enraged nobles. “The Divine Turtle has business to attend to, who are you to stand in her way?”

He could tell the boss was enjoying himself a bit too much, but Rustram wasn’t worried. With the Legate’s backing, they had nothing to fear from these puffed-up painted Central nobles. Falling Rain’s star was on a meteoric rise and it wouldn’t be long before the whole Empire knew him as a dragon among men.

The first merchant house they arrived at was instantly thrown into chaos. Sneering at the gate guards quivering in their boots, the boss snarled, “Inform your masters Falling Rain has arrived to claim what is owed.”

Whether it was the gargantuan Divine Turtle, the boss himself, his armed retinue, or his ferocious-looking yet harmless pets sitting in their wagon, the guards all scrambled to obey. In their haste, they even forgot to leave someone behind to hold the gate. Sighing in satisfaction, Rustram sat a little taller atop his quin. When he’d first visited a few days ago with Chey, they’d waited almost a full hour before a representative deigned to meet with them, whose first words had been to inquire if Rustram had enough coin to make this deal worthwhile.

This time, a representative scurried out, though not the one Rustram dealt with. A portly, older gentleman, his hastily painted-face and crooked jewelled headdress marked him as a man of importance, possibly even the head of the company himself, but the boss paid him no mind. Without even dismounting, the boss tossed the written contract to the gentleman and said, “The terms within, fulfill them. Now.”

No need to threaten violence. Even with the Legate’s Decree to keep the peace, everyone knew Falling Rain had secured Imperial favour, not to mention Divine.

Head bobbing like a chicken pecking grains, the gentleman stammered his assurances while unfurling the contract. Cheeks going red with rage, he ran back inside bellowing orders and returned shortly thereafter, dragging the representative Rustram had met with, a gaunt, hollow-cheeked young man. “I apologize for the delay Divine Attendant, but my man here overcharged you for the shipment by double and marked the order as twice as large in my own ledgers. He intended to sell the excess food and pocket the extra coin for himself, hence why we were unable to fill the order before today. He is yours to do with as you please.”

A fine story, but Rustram would eat his boots if the owner wasn’t in on it, and the boss was equally perceptive. “Why should I dirty my hands dealing with your mess? Handle it yourself, away from the eyes of children. More importantly, you say you’re prepared to deliver twice the amount? I’ll take whatever you have on hand now, deliver the rest as soon as possible. Rustram, Ravil, Bulat, take some soldiers and help this kind sir load our wagons.”

Stifling a chuckle, Rustram committed the gentleman’s look of consternation to memory as the boss led his family and the Divine Turtle down the street. This was the boss’s style, domineering and refusing to give face as he handled business in the streets for all to see. Unfortunately, Rustram’s amusement was short-lived as he considered his actions. He’d used this first deal to gauge the local market, which means if he paid double the market price here, then he did the same at the other merchant houses. Burning with shame, he set his people to task checking each sack of rice for weevils before personally weighing them, glaring at the merchant and his doomed representative all the while.

By the time he finished and they arrived at the next merchant house a half-hour later, their supplies were ready and waiting, already loaded into wagons sitting in the streets. After a cursory inspection, they moved on to the next house, with each merchant company either providing double what Rustram had contracted them for, or accepting half the payment promised. Meanwhile, the boss was inundated with messengers bearing invitations from the larger merchant houses, places Rustram had been too afraid to approach. Economic giants like the Ru and Yo families had heard of the boss’s plight and were offering to procure whatever the boss needed for his retinue. This was the power of fame and reputation, and proud as he was to be a part of it, Rustram spirits were low and with good reason.

As Falling Rain’s second in command, he’d failed completely.

“Don’t worry so much,” the boss said, clapping Rustram on the back. “I expected to suffer setbacks here in Nan Ping, and things are only going so well because of the Divine Turtle. You did good, I figured we’d need to ask Akanai or Yuzhen for help.” Blind to his own accomplishments as always, the boss failed to mention his twenty eight duels fought in the first two days. Now with Situ Jia Zian, Han BoShui, and Tong Da Fung attracting all of Central’s hatred, few still had the courage to continue challenging the boss. “Anyways, let’s visit one more merchant house, then we can break for lunch. Who’s our next target?”

Appreciating the boss’s attempt to cheer him up, Rustram unfurled the next contract. “Next up is the Canston Trading Group, just two streets-”

Grabbing him by the collar, the boss’s eyes went wide with anger as he hissed, “You signed a deal with the Canston Trading Group?”

Taken aback by the boss’s palpable fury, Rustram recoiled in fear. What happened to the cheerful, good-natured young hero who’d just been offering encouragement? He’d never laid hands on his people, not in anger and not like this. Worried he'd be beaten to a pulp, Rustram babbled out an explanation. “Yes boss, for several shipments of grains, cause everyone else I visited said they were out of stock and it’d be weeks before more arrived, but it’d be too late by then so I had no choice but to buy it from them, and they said they’d need a day before shipping us the grains because their wagons were being used, but I guess it was a mistake to trust them because when I went back, they gave me a run around and -”

Thankfully, Major Alsantset came to his rescue, approaching the boss from the other side and holding him back. “Little Rain, let go. He didn’t know.”

Visibly trembling in anger, the boss let go of Rustram’s collar and closed his eyes, struggling for calm and Balance. After a long minute spent in silence, the boss opened his eyes and said, “Sorry about that. It’s... nothing. Forget about it. Come, let’s go pay a visit to the Canston. Trading. Group.”

Releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, Rustram nodded and led the way. This time, he’d made a huge mistake, even though he could argue it wasn’t his fault, since he’d never heard of the Canston Trading Group before arriving in Nan Ping. Whatever, on the bright side, maybe this time the boss would finally find someone else to take Rustram's place. Being second in command to Falling Rain was both physically and mentally exhausting.

It was high time Rustram took a break. Maybe he’d finally have time to find a wife.

Chapter Meme