The Wind People's food was ill-suited to their stomachs. They ate millet and other such grains as if they were mere peasant farmers yet also the flesh of cattle, sheep and swine as if they were men of great wealth. It was an unpleasant combination. Even their vegetables were disagreeable. Of course, Akasame and his men had been surviving on the flesh of their own before then, so they could hardly complain. It is said that when a man eats the flesh and drinks the blood of another man, he is cursed to crave it until he ceases to be a man and becomes a monster. Would that be true of them? There were times when Akasame would watch a pig or sheep roasted whole on a spit and imagine one of his gaunt, weakened warriors who became the food for those who remained with the strength to survive. He would often wonder, would a woman's flesh taste sweeter, or a child's?

Perhaps it was because today would be a day for battle that Akasame thirsted for blood. Rowland meant to take the capital and was using every ally at his disposal to do so. Akasame and his men were smuggled into the city the previous night and were to enter the castle once the way was made open to them.

Though there were some foreigners to be found in the capital, none were quite so far removed as Hijima. Akasame and his men had to remain hidden until it was time for them to move out. He had them up at first light and so they waited until a man approached them. He came to them with purpose, not simply stumbling upon them by accident. He had to be a man of the Alliance.

Akasame raised his fist as a sign for his men to follow. They were given shapeless cloaks to hide their appearance. Had anyone seen their faces or their arms before this, they would have surely remembered and likely raised the alarm. They moved in twos and threes with some distance placed between them to look less obviously like an army on the march.

They were made to wait longer still as they got closer to the gate, but as promised, the gate soon fell into the Alliance's hands and they were free to enter. Once he passed through the gate, Akasame cast off his cloak and the rest of his men did likewise. Now where was his foe?

It was the leader of a small group of men of Zephyr, but not the ones Akasame was there to kill. They were followers of the son of the King of the West, who had raised the banner of rebellion against his father. Their true allegiance was marked by the orange bands about their arms. It was a pity they were not the enemy, but they would lead him there, so it was not a total waste.

Akasame misliked the presumption of this man to treat with him like any other. If this were the warlord's own domain, even as an emissary his life would be forfeit for such a slight. However, the demands of necessity meant he must bear insults like this, for the time being at least.

Though Akasame much preferred the sword to the bow or polearm, he nevertheless took his bow to loose arrows on any promising targets along the way. So long as they were not marked by some orange token, they were the enemy and could be killed with impunity. Several of Akasame's archers joined in, much to the annoyance of their guide.

The man of Zephyr muttered something that Akasame did not hear over the din around them, no doubt something else that would cost him his head under different circumstances.

They continued on to a building already being defended by some fifty or sixty of the man of Zephyr's comrades.

Akasame handed his bow to an attendant and drew his sword. The blade seemed to quiver in his hand in anticipation. Or was it his hand that shook for eagerness to shed blood man-to-man, so close that he smell it, taste it?

Only because it would go ill for them if the two sides broke out into fighting amongst themselves did Akasame restrain himself from driving his blade into the neck of the man of Zephyr. Instead he gave him a warning, the first and the last.

Leveling his sword at the man of Zephyr, Akasame growled, "One more impudent word from you and it will take more than a scrap of cloth to save you from my wrath."

The man of Zephyr faced off against Akasame. He had his pride too, of course, but he was not so foolhardy to return the challenge when outnumbered three-to-one in middle of a battle with another enemy.

His fellow men of Zephyr adjusted their formation from three lines of twenty to six lines of ten and marched off after his lead. Once they were gone, Akasame raised his sword and made a wide, sweeping stroke, the only direction needed for his men to take up a crescent formation in front of the armory.

His men roared in assent. It had been too long since they last tasted battle. They were as thirsty for blood as he was. It was not long until men of Zephyr without the protection of the orange cloth came. They were about eighty in number, most of them completely unarmed. That was of course why they came.

A leader among them, arrayed much as the man of Zephyr who guided Akasame to the armory, stepped forth and said, "In the name of his lordship the Duke, stand aside."

Akasame held up his sword so that there could be no mistaking his intent, and replied, "You must decide, men of Zephyr: fight or flee, but I will not move to the left nor to the right. I may step forward to cut you down, though."

The leader of the men of Zephyr drew his sword and leveled it at Akasame.

Did he think he could intimidate the bringer of the red rain? Even a common man would not be shaken by the sight of this rabble, poorly armed and outnumbered. Still, even if it were born of foolishness, Akasame would give the man's courage its due.

Rather than accepting the challenge like a man and a true warrior, the man of Zephyr balked, "Coward! You would challenge unarmed men?"

It was shameful to charge cowardice to cover your own cowardice. It would seem Akasame had misjudged the man.

The man of Zephyr scowled at Akasame, then raised his sword and shouted, "Shields to the front! Spear formation! Break through!"

The few who were armed, no more than twenty, stepped forward with shields held up and spears at the ready. The lot of them formed a wedge and charged forward with a cry of "For Zephyr!"

About half of the archers actually succeeded in felling their targets. The men of Zephyr did not let the dead and wounded slow their charge or disrupt their formation. Akasame had to admit being impressed by their discipline, but it would not incline him to mercy.

Next it was the work of spears. It was not the custom in Hijima to carry shields in battle, so the well-armed men at the front were able to force their way into Akasame's formation. Though this was their goal, it would also be their undoing. Akasame's formation turned inward, surrounding the men of Zephyr, and the slaughter began in earnest.

Though most of the men of Zephyr were unarmed, they nevertheless fought savagely with their bare hands if that was all they had. Some even succeeded in wresting away spears from Akasame's men. Akasame was glad that they were putting up a fight. There would have been no sport in it otherwise.

Akasame wasted no time charging right into the fray. He wanted the leader for himself. He was well insulated in the center of the formation, but it was a simple matter of carving meat. After getting through the first line, the men were all but defenseless. Three went down easily, but after he drew his sword out of the third, a man grabbed his swordarm. Akasame punched him in the face, but he refused to let go, so he punched the man two more times in quick succession, breaking his nose. While the man was busy holding his injured face, Akasame ran his sword through his belly.

When he saw his target, Akasame bellowed, "Defend yourself!"

The man of Zephyr turned and raised his sword to block Akasame's forceful downward stroke, but he could not hold back Akasame's blade and the edge cut into his shoulder. He cried out in pain and fell down on one knee. Akasame twisted his blade loose and went for the killing stroke. Disappointingly, it was not a clean stroke, the blade stopping halfway into the man"s neck. Either there was not enough force behind the stroke or his blade was in need of sharpening. The man"s head would not serve as a trophy if it took two strokes to sever, so Akasame left the body where it fell. He was not a man of much rank, but he would have served. No matter.

It was a foregone conclusion that the men of Zephyr would be slaughtered. Most fought with courage, to their credit, barbarians though they were, but as the tide turned inexorably against them, several tried to flee. The cowards did not get far before they were felled with an arrow in the back, as they deserved.

When the last man of Zephyr fell, Akasame took a moment to survey the damage. Nearly twenty of his own were dead with as many wounded. Were all these men of Zephyr properly equipped, they would have made for a good fight. Perhaps even barbarians could be worthy adversaries.

Akasame breathed in the rich smell of blood and death. Nowhere but the battlefield was so fragrant. This was hardly a true battlefield, so all it could do was whet the warlord"s appetite rather than sate it.

There were supposed to be some six hundred fighting men in the city. Akasame would be disappointed if they would not give him at least a hundred more.