The free hand(actual version)

The Beginning

The Free Hand

Intro

The eastern empire. Sandwiched between the inhospitable western forest, and the vast sea, it is nonetheless the most powerful empire known to man. Founded by the great philosopher Sun-Kzu, in the old age, it was a beacon of light and hope to the right and the just. No man would go hungry, and no man would be alone. It was a time of peace, and prosperity. When Sun-Kzu peacefully passed away in his old age, his son, Sun-kzu II was proclaimed emperor of the land, and a great palace was built in the empire’s capital, Goldenpath, to celebrate his ascension to the throne. Sun-Kzu II used his father’s cremated ashes to form a magic sceptre, which not only granted the wielder eternal protection form natural diseases and harms, but also controlled immense power. Again the Empire prospered. However, it was no longer a time of peace. Great ships bearing many warriors had landed on the eastern shore, and these warriors pushed deep into the heart of the empire. Moving quickly, the Emperor formed the imperial army and fought back against these barbarian warriors, he himself fighting on the front line, conjuring great spells of destruction with his sceptre. The barbarians stood no chance against the power of an Emperor, and were pushed back to their boats. But, tragedy struck, for in the last final battle against the barbarians, a stray arrow struck the emperor through the heart. The barbarians were destroyed, but only at the cost of a god-emperor. Sun-Kzu the second was given a hero’s burial and his eldest son of four rose to the rule. Sun-kzu III was a different man indeed to his predecessors, timid and frail. In order to prevent another invasion by the barbarians, he built a great tower far out into the reaches of the vast sea, naming it Emperor’s will, and stationed within it a new rank of warriors he had formed, the Saviours. The saviours were an elite within the imperial army, trained from birth to follow orders, and honed into deadly fighting machines. However, it was not long before the Emperor’s younger brother took advantage of his brother’s timidity, and seized power for himself. In a great act of evil, he locked his brother away inside Emperor’s will, and tore his two other brothers asunder, and performed a spirit-spell upon them. A spirit-spell is the cruellest of all magics; it condemns the victim’s soul to serve the caster, without the ability to rest in the afterlife. The youngest brother, Sun-Slay, cast off his identity, dressing in an ancient suit of armour, in the image of a black lion. His tyrannical reign began. He introduced slavery, and commissioned a series of industrial towns, which worked slaves to death building weapons for the rapidly increasing numbers of the saviours, which he had taken over control. He banished his brother’s spirits to the northern caves, and ordered the construction of the most deplorable and sickening project ever witnessed by humankind, ‘Hangman’s forest’. ‘Hangman’s forest’ was Sun-Slay’s way of dealing with the numerous unfortunates that had been caught perpetrating petty crimes by the imperial army. It was a forest comprised entirely of gallows. No matter the crime or the circumstances, a criminal was strung up in the forest, and his body left to rot. ‘Hangman’s forest’ led to discontent, as well as disease from the rotting bodies spread by rats and other base creatures. Those who were infected were driven mad, and made their way to the forest, drawn by some mysterious power. The diseased was nicknamed ‘the scourge’ and it began to spread.
Finally, a small group of rebels overthrew the industrial town of Arha, re-naming it the ‘Pillar’, because it was a pillar of freedom, a pillar of light in the darkness. The rebels, the ‘Free hand’ gained support over the Empire, and bloody riots were commonplace. Furious, the emperor mobilised the saviours, who were now his personal body guard, and, along with the Imperial army, began to put down the riots. But, force of arms cannot overcome the will of the people, and no matter how many ‘traitors’ Sun-Slay added to the Hangman’s forest, the free hand still grew strong.

Power corrupts. Ultimate power corrupts ultimately. But even when an ultimate power is corrupted, there is still hope. For as long as there are people who are willing to fight against the odds, to preserve what is good and right, then all is not lost.





The fall of freedom
Blood was to be spilled.
The peasant women gathered up her two sons, clutching them tightly to her breasts. Bundling them in rags, she started to pack a loaf and some dried rice into a small bag, fumbling a few times in her desperation to be away. Suddenly, she heard a deep, resonating rumbling. She paused, passing a hand over her parched lips, as if it would somehow take away the painful stiffness, caused from months of desperate thirst. The noise grew louder. She fled outside, and hurried up the small hill in the centre of the small village she called home. Her eyes scanned the land. The sky was clouded, and light was still poor in the early hours of the morning, but she still saw what she had only seen before in nightmares. Something huge was moving toward them from the horizon, stretching for as far as the eye could see. It was as if the hills themselves were advancing. She stood as a rock, her eyes fixed upon the distance. Then, the first ray of the dawn cut through the distant mist. The woman staggered back, and began to scream.
Flags fluttered in the distance. Light gleamed off polished metal. The Empire’s cavalry was coming. The sound of their charging hooves thundered across the plain, making the ground tremor.
The woman sounded the alarm.

The cavalry was nearing. Mirotoshi Nihura, Captain of the guard, looked around at the pitiful force he had mustered to defend the village. There were not more than a hundred men, and half of them had been pressed into service. All the able-bodied men in the village were gathered here. Heroes to the last.
Mirotoshi signalled for them to assemble in front of the village. The woman-folk had fled with the children. There was nothing he could do but buy them a few precious seconds with which to reach the river. To reach freedom. His death was certain.
Mirotoshi glanced at the trees. The cherry blossoms were falling, spiralling down onto the dew-moistened armour on the back of his men. He strode out in front of them, well aware of the charging cavalry behind him. The sound of the thousands upon thousands of hoof beats on the earth was deafening.
‘Men of honour!’ he cried out, above the noise. The cavalry was not more than a few hundred feet away. ‘I assure you, death here is certain. But every one of us shall do so fighting. Fight not for yourself. Fight not for your home. Fight for your loved ones. Fight to give them the chance of life.’
He glanced over his shoulder, at the mass of charging cavalry behind him.
‘There shall be a time when corruption and evil rule the empire. But as long as there are people, people like us, who are willing to fight against the odds, to preserve what is good and right, then all is not lost.’
He looked at his men, and gave a faint ghost of a smile. The cavalry was nearly upon them.
‘Fight for hope.’
With that he turned, and rushed into the horde.





The peasant women ran, with her two babes clutched to her breast. The cavalry were gaining on them. Twigs whipped her face, and she frequently stumbled, but she knew that the forest was the best place to slow the horses. She burst into a clearing, and saw dark shadows of the horses of the emperor around her. She carried on running, but suddenly a horse slammed into the side of her. She fell, releasing one of her children. It fell into the undergrowth. The horse, a huge black stallion, slammed its hooves down onto her and lowered its face to hers, pulling back its lips to reveal a mouth of file-sharpened teeth. Shreds of meat hung from them. The stench was appalling. She turned her head to the side. Suddenly, a lance thudded into the ground, barely inches from her face. The armoured solider on the back of the horse dismounted. He reached up to his face, and undid the straps on his helmet, a black lion mask. Lifting it off, he revealed a heavily scared face. He drew his blood-stained sword.
‘You have been found guilty of harbouring resentment against our most glorious Emperor, may his reign last eternity.’ The mouth spoke, but there was no compassion in the voice, no feeling. Just a cold, ruthless tone. ‘This crime is punishable by death. You and your people shall be wiped out.’
A wind began to stir, whipping up leaves and twigs from the forest floor. It rose and became stronger, making the leaves whirl around the glade, whistling as it did so.
The soldier’s sword fell.
The blade cut through both woman and babe.


Later that day, the last remaining imperial soldiers were checking the forest. One, a simple, poor foot solider, heard a small noise coming from the undergrowth. He investigated, and found a small baby, wrapped in rags, crying softly. This soldier knew the rules, but he could not bring himself to murder a babe. He himself had a small girl, and he would rather die than see harm come to her. Instead, he would take him back to the Imperial city, and enlist him as an Imperial soldier. Gathering the child up in his arms, he set off home.









Chapter 1

The early morning klaxon blared through the dark, damp recesses of the young recruits sleeping quarters, deep in the base of Emperor’s will, causing the beetles and the vermin that had been resting there to scurry away. Silver 13 slowly drifted awake. Another day. As a recruit, the most menial and laborious tasks were assigned to him, cleaning out the guard room, dressing the elders for the daily combat practice, and polishing the various knives and halberds that lay rusting in the under-armoury. All these and more were common practice in the life of a trainee Saviour. Although he had lived here since he could remember, and was far more advanced than any of the other recruits in combat skills and endurance training, he hated the place. He hated the absence of light, he hated the constant noise of liquid, as rivulets of water ran down the cold stone walls and fell to the floor, and he hated the constant friction between the members of the Saviours. The Saviour’s were spilt up into several different houses, each with their designated colour, Silver, Gold, Red, and Black. Each house competed with the other three, and the most dominant house would control the lower levels of Emperor’s will. Alliances were being formed and broken incessantly, and there were ambushes and kidnappings occurring every day. These ranged from the heated debates and organised combat between the elders of each house, to the brutal maulings and lynchings of the more expendable recruits. You had to be strong to survive. Weakness would be weeded out and destroyed. It was constant faction fighting and only the best would proceed to the purification ritual to continue on to the middle levels, where the proper training would begin.
Silver 13 walked silently through the dark passage ways, until he reached the silver chamber, where he would be given his daily instructions. The rest of the recruits had assembled, neatly lining up, facing toward their leader, Silver 1. Silver 13 stepped into line.
A cold wind whistled through the main door as a robed figure wearing a silver mask strode into the chamber. This man was the Silver guard, and he instructed the silver recruits. Quietly, he walked further into the chamber, and passed a piece of parchment into the hand of Silver 1. He then left, as quietly and as secretively as he had came. Silver 1 glanced at the parchment. ‘We are to ambush Gold house.’ he instructed.
There was not a scrap of compassion in his voice. ‘We are to maim or kill as many as we can. They will be training today with their guard. The twenty Red house recruits shall join us. It will be twenty against forty. We cannot lose. Red house are waiting for us on the edge of Gold’s territory. We must attack quickly.’
Without saying a word, the recruits drew their only possession, a barbed, eight inch long ceremonial knife. They turned and silently ran.

Silver 13 could see the Gold recruits training. The two ambushing houses had set up in a disused sewer pipe, and were waiting for the most opportune moment to strike. Silver 13 knew exactly why this attack was being carried out. The gold guard was the most skilled fighter in the lower levels, and would soon return to the upper levels as a fully-fledged saviour. The other guards must want to cripple his reputation, and a mass loss of his recruits would do just that. He could see the Gold guard walking around, nodding approvingly, his eyes glinting out dangerously from behind his mask, his black robes flowing around him as if they were part of him. This was a formidable leader.
Suddenly Red 1 gave the signal to attack. Screaming, the recruits leapt out of their hiding place. As one, the Gold recruits turned and unsheathed their knives with a deadly hiss, but to no avail. The attacking force was already upon them. Bloody fighting ensued. With a roar on his lips, Silver 13 slashed and hacked with deadly accuracy, felling two recruits and maiming a third, slashing across his face and kicking him to the ground. The ambushers were quickly overwhelming the Gold recruits. Silver 13 looked around, but he could no longer see any viable targets. Bodies lay on the floor, dying or dead. There were not more than a couple of Gold recruits left, desperately fighting off their attackers. Suddenly, the violence stopped. The recruits stared in horror as the Golden guard joined the fray. Wielding a giant golden halberd, he fought with silent ferocity, forcing the recruits back, killing all those who turned to run. He beat off those who surrounded him, then slowly glanced around for another target. Only Silver 13 was near him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he began walking toward him, crouching in an offensive stance. Silver 13 gave a slight smile, and struck the knife-fighter’s stance, knife downwards in the hand, ready to stab, and stood cool and ready. The Golden guard cocked his head quizzically, expecting this recruit to run. But Silver 13 just stood there, his hair flapping in the sudden breeze that had began to blow, a ghost of a smile upon his face. The Golden guard struck, a wicked blow aimed to decapitate this insolent recruit. But, Silver 13 ducked under the blow, slipping into his opponents guard, striking with a savage fury at the chest. The blade crashed into armour, concealed beneath the robe. Startled, Silver 13 rolled away, avoiding another blow. But the guard lashed out again, striking with his foot, catching him on the temple and knocking him to the floor. He drove down with his weapon, but Silver 13 managed to divert the blow with his blade. The halberd clattered beside as the guard let it fall to the ground, and drew a knife that was concealed within his robe. He thrust it at the recruits face, and scored a massive slice down the left side of his face. He clasped the recruit’s throat, and began to squeeze. Silver 13 glanced up at the Guard, felt the searing pain of the wound, and felt the blood running down his face. Suddenly, a rage took him over. He grabbed his knife, and stabbed it into the Guards arm. The Guard recoiled, and Silver 13 leapt up, stabbing and slashing at the cowering guard. Suddenly, a blow found its mark, and the Guard fell to the floor. Silver 13 went to finish him, but a kick threw him backwards. The guard slowly climbed to his feet, and recovered his blade, bleeding badly from the arm and chest. He turned to Silver 13, and they both knew that the guard would easily triumph in another close-quarter fight. Silver 13 stood, weary and weak. Then the guard struck again, leaping at the recruit. But, Silver 13 was no longer there. The guard stood confused, and slowly a new pain washed over him. He put a hand up to his neck, and felt the recruit’s knife protruding from his jugular. His life-blood was staining his robe red. The life faded from the guard’s eyes as he fell backwards.