“Where are you going?” Mamoru asked, his deep voice almost unnervingly loud in the morning stillness outside the dormitory.

  Yipachai turned around at the bottom of the stairs, yawning. He’d thought he’d been quiet enough not to wake anyone as he’d padded outside and shut the door behind him. At least it was Mamoru, and not Mikio.

  “I’m going to go for a walk in the city, since it seems we have the day off.” Indeed, Yipachai had been nearly as surprised this morning as he had been the last time he’d woken and found everyone else sound asleep.

  Mamoru cracked a yawn of his own, eliciting a sound like tree branches creaking in the breeze. “Sure, but where in the city are you going? If you’re hunting bandits again, I’m not letting you go alone.”

  “Shh! Keep your voice down!” Yipachai scurried up the stairs of the dormitory’s porch to silence the Banqilun, but soon found Mamoru towering over him even more than usual. It was astonishing the difference two steps could make. “Do you want everyone else to know what we’re doing? What if they call the masters, or the city watch?”

  Mamoru rolled his eyes. “Then they’d probably be able to deal with the issue of this murdering pirate better than we can.” He paused, then grinned. “But you said we, so that means I’m going with you. Now, where are we headed?”

  Amigawa city was less crowded that day than it had been on Hanzonami. While it still seemed like an awful lot of Sentients in one place, at least Yipachai wasn’t bumping into people every few steps. No, today felt better. Like he could breathe.

  When he looked up, he could see the sky, unobstructed by towering Banqilun. And in that sky, he could see the mhonglun. Wind and sea mhonglun skimming and gliding through the air, their songs jovial and complementary, but never the same. Even the occasional flame mhonglun sparked into being up there, singing a brighter melody, but those tended to burn out more quickly.

  It was tempting to merely stop and stare, to watch the mhonglun, to watch the people, to see the way the currents of traffic flowed. The young boy that still lived inside of Yipachai was still amazed by his new home, and the people he now resided among. Even the warm sunshine and the salty sea breeze seemed to conspire against him. As if they were trying to lull him into inaction.

  As if they wanted him to forget his mission.

  Yipachai—and now, Mamoru—hadn’t come to the northern side of Amigawa, just a stone’s throw away from the guarded gateway to the docks, to waste the morning away. Last time they’d been here, Mangsut had been there, too, which meant the docks were the most likely place he’d find clues as to the bandit’s whereabouts.

  Yipachai stopped and lingered near a flat-topped shrine. A brass bowl filled with water had been placed on its center and surrounded by white flowers that had already begun to shrivel. Next to that sorry-looking offering, a samao fruit had been cut in half, with both pieces exposing their golden inner flesh to the sky.

  But it wasn’t worship that had led Yipachai to that particular street corner. And though feigning acts of piety nearly turned his stomach, it was the best place for him to loiter inconspicuously while he studied the security around the gate itself.

  Four Banqilun guards with tall l’anti staffs stood watch—two on either side of the gate. Above them, sentries at guard towers positioned at regular intervals would also be able to see anyone who tried trespassing. And above those, Yipachai spied two skyguards—soldiers bonded with some type of bird—soaring in lazy circles above the docks.

  That meant bonding with Pingou and flying over in a discrete location probably wouldn’t work. He’d thought about just taking the long way around and coming in the way ships did, but from the little he could see, there were even more guards out on the docks themselves, so anywhere he landed, he was likely to be seen.

  “What did you say I needed to be able to go out on the docks again?” Yipachai asked.

  “A writ of passage,” Mamoru said. The Banqilun seemed mostly at ease, though he did keep casting nervous glances in the direction of the guards.

  Yipachai reminded himself that they hadn’t actually done anything wrong. “And where would we get one of those?”

  Mamoru shrugged. “Do I look like a sailor to you? There’s probably a dockmaster or a clerk that writes them all out. But I bet you have to pay for them or have a ship or something.”

  Yipachai stared at one half of the samao fruit, beads of juice glistening on its surface, and wracked his brain for some other way out onto the docks.

  “What if we just pretended that we forgot something on one of the ships?” he asked. “We could tell the guards we just need to go back and get it real quick.”

  Mamoru narrowed a flat look at him. “Are you serious?”

  Something about his tone made Yipachai bristle. “It could work!”

  “And what are you going to say when they ask you which ship you’re going to?”

  Yipachai hesitated. Then sighed. “Do you have any better ideas?”

  Mamoru shrugged.

  “Let’s go then,” Yipachai said, shaking his head. “Maybe we’ll find somewhere else that would be easier to sneak—”

  He grunted as a broad-chested Banqilun man caught him in the shoulder with an elbow as he passed. The man continued on without so much as a word of apology.

  “Hey, watch where you’re going!” Mamoru called, starting after the man, but Yipachai gripped his wrist.

  “Wait, look at this. He dropped something.”

  A small, folded piece of paper had floated to the ground by Yipachai’s feet when the man had collided with him. Yipachai stooped to pick it up, and found it had writing on the inside.

  I can get you what you need. Follow me.

  Yipachai hurriedly showed Mamoru the note’s contents, then scanned the crowd for the man who had hit him. “Can you see him?” he asked Mamoru.

  “Over there! Follow me.”

  Yipachai stuck close to Mamoru’s heels as they followed the man several blocks eastward, to an area of the city where the crowds were thin, at least at this hour. Most of the buildings looked to be inns and taverns, which meant most of their clientele were likely either out working elsewhere, or resting on the upper floors and attempting to sleep off the tahashi from the night before.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  The man turned right, into an alley between one tavern with a sign that read The Leaky Jug and another named The Banti Barrel.

  Mamoru paused and turned to Yipachai. “Are you sure this is a good idea? He could be trying to rob us.”

  Yipachai hadn’t thought of that. But if the man had wanted to harm them, then why the note? It had seemed undoubtedly specific.

  “Do you have any money for him to steal?”

  “Just a little. It was supposed to be for lunch.”

  “Then if he robs us, you won’t have lost much, right?” Yipachai asked. He hoped the man noticed they’d stopped following and hadn’t continued on so that they wouldn’t be able to find him again.

  “I’m not sure that’s the way we should be thinking about it.” Mamoru sighed. “I should’ve brought my wand. Or at least my fudeshi. I don’t know how you keep pulling me into situations like this.”

  Yipachai smirked, and found it helped settle his own nerves. “Well, you know me. Just some dumb Het kid that isn’t used to the culture. Now are you coming?”

  Mamoru shook his head slightly, but held out a hand for Yipachai to lead the way. “I’m letting you get knifed first, if that’s what it comes to.”

  Yipachai ignored him, then turned into the alley at last. Mamoru followed, muttering a string of curses under his breath.

  The man was indeed waiting for them, standing with his arms crossed over his burly chest. He had the typical Banqilun coloring, along with the usual topknot and beard. His clothing wasn’t fine, and looked worn around the edges, but two small golden earrings pierced his left ear. Those, and the way the man held himself, told Yipachai he was likely more than the simple day-laborer he appeared to be.

  Yipachai held out the note, his hand trembling slightly. “You said you can get us what we need?”

  “Aye, sure can,” the man said. His voice was slightly higher than Yipachai had expected, if only because Mamoru’s voice was so low. “I can get you a writ of passage that’d fool ol’ Father Silence himself.”

  Yipachai hadn’t heard that name in a long time. Most of the monks at the monastery had chosen to use more respectful terms when referring to what the legends referred to as the Creator of the world. Apparently, the Creator had died or moved on, and no longer spoke in the minds of Sentients—nothing but silence for who knew how long. Hence the nickname.

  “So you’d make a fake one?” Yipachai asked.

  “It’d be as good as real. The harbormaster himself would think he’d signed it if he laid eyes on it.”

  “And how do we know you can really make such a good counterfeit?” Mamoru asked, stepping forward and squaring his shoulders with the other man’s.

  For the thousandth time since he’d arrived in Amigawa, Yipachai wished he wasn’t so small.

  The man grinned, revealing surprisingly white teeth. “I’ll let you see for yourselves before you buy. Nothing up front.”

  Yipachai’s heart sank at the word buy. Of course the man would demand payment. “How much?”

  “A measly twenty gold pieces. King’s standard. Surely that’s nothing to a couple of dueling school lads like yourselves?”

  Yipachai turned to Mamoru, who gave him a hard stare and a discrete shake of his head.

  “We’ll take it,” Yipachai said quickly. “But we’ll have to come back later.”

  The man simply nodded, as if he’d expected that answer. “Very well. Whenever you’re looking for me again, just visit the The Leaky Jug over there and tell the barmaid you’re expecting a letter from the blacksmith. I can have one ready for you in an hour.”

  “Deal.” Yipachai refused to look at Mamoru. He could feel his friend fuming beside him. “We’ll be in touch.”

  “Until we meet again, little Hetanzou.” The man’s smile seemed predatory.

  Yipachai backed out of the alley, refusing to put his back to the strange man, while Mamoru stomped along beside him.

  They’d barely made it back to the wider street when Mamoru cuffed him on the back of the head, making Yipachai’s ears ring.

  “What was that for?”

  “Are you really so dense?” Mamoru asked, anger radiating off of him in hot waves.

  “What do you mean?” Yipachai’s own temper started rising.

  “You just made a deal with a man who’s likely a criminal without even thinking twice about it.”

  Yipachai threw his hands up. “And what else was I supposed to do? You think we’re going to get a writ of passage somewhere else?”

  Mamoru’s eyes were like burning coals. “I don’t know—maybe go ask the harbormaster how to get one legally before throwing your lot in with some lowlife stranger in an alley?”

  A growl rose in the back of Yipachai’s throat, but it turned into a frustrated sigh. He couldn’t be angry at Mamoru for speaking sense. He let his arms flop back to his sides. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean either way, getting that paper is going to cost money, and I don’t have any.”

  “Well, don’t you have a trade? Perhaps you could find a master willing to take you on as an apprentice on the days we don’t have training.”

  Yipachai shook his head. “I was training to be a monk, remember? Besides that, all I did was help out at Harato’s forge for a couple of weeks. Mostly just chopping wood and the like.”

  Mamoru’s eyebrows rose nearly to the top of his head. “Did you just say Harato? As in, Harato Tsukama, the master bladesmith?”

  Yipachai nodded. “Yeah, he’s the one. I met him after I…escaped from Mangsut, and he helped me get back on my feet. He’s a very generous man.”

  “You know Harato Tsukama and worked in his forge. Unbelievable.”

  “It’s true!” Yipachai said. “He made a sword for me and gave me a note to prove it.”

  Mamoru’s jaw nearly hit the stone street. “That blade you always take out to fawn over? You’re telling me that blade was made by Harato Tsukama?”

  “Why would I lie about it?”

  “This changes everything,” Mamoru said with a disbelieving shake of his head. “If the others knew that you were friends with Harato Tsukama—that he made you a sword—they’d leave you alone in an instant. Not to mention that it solves our little problem here.”

  Yipachai supposed that might not be such a bad trade. If showing off the sword Harato had made for him could put a stop to the teasing, it might be worth it. But still…

  “What do you mean, it will solve our problem?”

  “I mean you could sell it for a fortune, of course! You could get a writ of passage and still have coin leftover to buy ten swords from the lesser-known bladesmiths. Some of them are even good enough quality for a Het—”

  “A what?” Yipachai asked, narrowing his eyes.

  Mamoru coughed. “For a beginner, I mean.”

  Yipachai shook his head slowly, choosing to ignore Mamoru’s downright horrible attempt to cover up what he’d been about to say. “Not a chance. I won’t even consider it.”

  “But you could be rich!”

  Yipachai set his mouth in a firm line. “We’ll have to find another way. Harato took me in when I was lost and alone in the wilderness. And he made that sword for me. I can’t just sell it like it means nothing.”

  Mamoru sighed, shaking his head ever so slightly as he stroked at his beard. “I can’t say I don’t respect you for it, but you should still tell the others.”

  “We’ll see.”

  They passed the shrine where they’d stopped earlier. The guards still stood watch, just as the towers above were still manned and skyguards still patrolled the skies. The Amigawans really did seem to have a good view of every stone and every board on either side of the city wall.

  Yipachai and Mamoru continued on to the west, back toward the School of the West Wind, passing through Amigawa’s gate and crossing over the river bridge. Yipachai still hadn’t asked about the river’s name, but at this point he hardly cared. Asking now would probably only serve to make him look like more of an idiot.

  They rounded a curve in the forest road, and the school was just coming into view when Mamoru spoke up again.

  “There is one other way you could earn some coin, but it might take awhile.”

  “And what’s that?” Yipachai asked, his curiosity piqued.

  “Dueling. Specifically the championships later this year. It might be more of a delay than you were hoping for, but if you’re able to make the cut for the team duel—and if the West Wind does well—you’d be entitled to a portion of the earnings.”

  “There’s prize money?”

  Mamoru looked at him like he’d just grown a second head. “You think we do this just for the fun of it? Half of the sport is the pursuit of riches. For both the combatants and the spectators.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let me put it this way. We,” Mamoru gestured from himself to Yipachai, “fight in duels and earn prize money when we win—a lot of it. And they,” he pointed outwards, to an imaginary crowd, “either get rich or go broke based on who they bet on. Understand?”

  Yipachai nodded, but his mind was already far away. If what Mamoru said was true, then the championships were his best shot at being able to afford a writ of passage. It would take him awhile, sure, but if he was going to go hunting Mangsut, he needed more time for training anyway.

  For the rest of the walk back to their dormitory, Yipachai’s steps felt a little lighter. He wouldn’t have to split his focus. Not much, anyway. On days off, he could still scout the city for more signs of the bandits, but otherwise his goals were all aligned.

  Train.

  Grow skilled.

  Win the tournament.

  Then, he’d be able to use his money to find those flaming bandits and run them all through.

  The Rising Blade.

  The Rising Blade is set in the wider world of The Mhong Chronicles, my main series. Here in the New Year, my writing commitments for that series have increased, and that story will be taking the lion's share of my writing time.