They walked for the rest of the morning, then stopped for a short lunch break before continuing on until late in the afternoon. The road mostly followed the shore line, but still remained tucked into the cover of the woods. Yipachai wondered if whoever had first made the path had intentionally cut through the trees, or if those slow but inevitable limbs had grown over the paltry work of Sentients. In case of the former, it seemed like a lot more work than simply walking along the forest’s edge.

  Yipachai did his best to avoid talking to, looking at, or thinking about Karu. The Banqilun youth clearly wasn’t interested in being his friend, and had displayed nothing but contempt for Yipachai since they’d met.

  That was fine, he supposed.

  Since sighting the ship, Yipachai hadn’t been much in the mood for making friends anyway. He tried to remain polite and gracious when Takamoto offered him a fist-sized clump of rice, neatly wrapped in paper, but his smile felt forced. He tried to recover an air of reverence when he spotted sea mhonglun dancing in the waves near a spot where the path veered closer to the shore, but his heart refused to be stirred.

  It was difficult to focus on anything when his mind was consumed with the immense task he had set for himself. He had to make it to Amigawa and become a master of the sword. Then he could hunt down those bandits and make them pay for all the wrong they’d done.

  He tried not to think about the fact that it would probably be years before he was ready to leave the city and begin his quest.

  He spotted Pingou every so often, flying overhead with his neck pulled back into a long, sinuous line. But he left the heron be. Yipachai didn’t feel like talking. And he doubted Pingou minded the silence.

  Finally, when the sun was already only a couple of handbreadths from the horizon ahead of them, the woods thinned. And there, maybe another half hour’s walk ahead of them, was the city of Amigawa, walled and radiant in the late afternoon light. A river that Yipachai didn’t know the name of—smaller than the Shi that flowed through the Hongshu forest—cut northward between the city’s western edge and a sprawling forest beyond, before eventually dumping into the bay.

  Yipachai stopped and stared at the mass of wood and stone that blanketed the grassy lowlands on the near side of the river. Amigawa city had to be as large as Hanaburi, if not larger. A few small settlements dotted the countryside outside those massive walls, as well as what looked to be herds of buffalo tended by small groups of Banqilun.

  “Almost there,” Takamoto said, patting his own buffalo on the neck.

  Yipachai hardly blinked the whole rest of the walk, moving as if in a trance until the long shadows of those great walls finally shaded his face.

  Built of some type of pale stone, they were easily three times Yipachai’s height. It might’ve been less impressive to a Banqilun, but Yipachai was positively stunned.

  The gate they made for stood open, with hulking doors of wood banded with iron. A pair of guards were stationed on each side of the door, eyeing every traveler that went in or out. They wore little armor that Yipachai could see—just official-looking uniforms of deep purple—but they gripped thick Lan Banti war staffs, easily as tall as the guards themselves, and had shortswords scabbarded at their hips.

  Surprisingly, Yipachai caught glimpses of skyguards soaring overhead. The thought of Banqilun practicing Lan Kuanghi and bonding with birds was a jarring one, but no one around him seemed to be as astonished as he was.

  He sensed Pingou flying around the north side of the city, making for the area where the river met the sea, just as they came under the watchful eyes of the guards at the gate. One of them narrowed his eyes at Yipachai, but neither he nor any of the other guards made trouble for their group.

  It took an impressive number of steps before they passed all the way under the outer wall. Then, they were through, and Yipachai had to blink while his eyes adjusted to the sudden light.

  He immediately felt like a child again.

  Everything in the city felt huge. A metropolis full of Banqilun, and built for Banqilun. For each level of the houses and buildings, they could have fit two levels of Hetanzou homes. The heights of the buildings were accentuated by the sharply-angled roofs, and by the fact that most of them seemed to be built on stone pillars, with plenty of space for a Banqilun man to stand underneath.

  It was like a city built for people who lived in the sky.

  To Yipachai’s satisfaction, Karu looked nearly as dumbfounded as he was, though the other youth tried to hide it.

  “Welcome to Amigawa city,” Takamoto said with a contented sigh.

  Yipachai still didn’t know where to focus his attention. Everywhere he looked was a new sight, underscored by the sounds of hundreds of people. The din was lower than what he remembered from his few trips to Hanaburi. And the city smelled…cleaner, he thought. The whole place smelled of incense, and a quick scan of the roadside told him its source.

  On nearly every corner, a shrine to the mhonglun had been erected. Some were larger than others. Some were built on tall pedestals, while others were tucked into little nooks carved into the corners of the buildings’ pillars. Almost all of them had lanterns and incense burning, offerings meant to attract flame mhonglun.

  A sudden sense of embarrassment gripped Yipachai’s heart. It seemed the Banqilun were more devout in honoring the mhonglun than most of the Hetanzou he knew. Even the monastery hadn’t been decorated with so many shrines.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Are you coming, kid?” Karu’s voice snapped Yipachai back to the present.

  Karu, Takamoto, and the cart were already several paces ahead of him. Yipachai jogged to catch up, dodging around long Banqilun legs.

  “Where are we going now?”

  “To the school of Heavenly Flame,” Karu said sharply. “I have to enroll before sunset.”

  Takamoto turned to look over his shoulder, his mouth drawn into a straight line. Eventually, the older man nodded. “It’s as good a place to start as any. We might as well get started delivering these blades while we still have some light left.”

  Takamoto led them down a southward road, with Karu nearly on his heels, bouncing excitedly. Yipachai gave them some space, instead sticking close to the rear of the cart. His eyes flicked between the two Banqilun and…everything else.

  That sense of being too small hit him again, coupled with a new, but familiar feeling—that of the outsider. Yipachai had always felt that when interacting with the other acolytes at the monastery, but here that sense was increased tenfold.

  He did not belong here, in Amigawa. He hadn’t yet seen a single other foreigner—not even a Montililun trader. So he simply hunched his shoulders, trying not to think about the stares people gave him as he passed, trying not to reach to his sword hilt for comfort. Would the people find that threatening? Or worse, amusing?

  Don’t think about it.

  Near the center of the city, a grander building loomed even higher than the rest of the buildings. A walled fortress, made up of several roofs of varying sizes, the curves on the corners of the eaves less pronounced than the ones he usually saw back in the Het Kingdom.

  The king’s house? Some special temple? Yipachai wanted to ask, but decided the question was probably best saved for later. He was tired of Karu looking at him like he was an idiot.

  “Why did you choose the School of Heavenly Flame?” Yipachai asked instead, making up the ground until he strode next to the other youth. Those Banqilun legs were obnoxiously difficult to keep up with.

  Surprisingly, Karu didn’t snap back with a snide remark. “Because it’s the greatest school in Amigawa, which means it’s the greatest school in all of Lun. They’ve won the dueling championships for the last six years in a row.”

  A good start. Karu was actually smiling. Or at least not scowling.

  “Perhaps I should enroll there, too,” Yipachai said, trying to keep his voice nonchalant.

  He caught Takamoto shaking his head ahead of them, but the older Banqilun said nothing.

  Karu laughed. But it wasn’t the friendly type. “A scawny Het kid like you? You could only dream of getting into the School of Heavenly Flame. They only take on the most promising students.”

  “That’s enough, Karu.” Takamoto’s voice was low, almost a growl.

  Yipachai barely heard it. He’d had enough of Karu’s insults. “Then what makes you think you’ll be accepted?”

  Karu whirled around, setting his shoulders square with Yipachai and looming over him. “Because I can already swing a sword hard enough to chop you in half.”

  Yipachai couldn’t stop himself. “Then I’m sure they’ll let you go in and chop their firewood. You’ll be the best they’ve ever had.”

  Karu’s eyes flashed dangerously. “And I’ll get in because my uncle studied there, and he was one of the youngest students to reach blademaster in the last century.”

  Stumbling backwards a step, Yipachai looked to Takamoto, who had stopped just ahead of them when the argument had started. The older Banqilun let out a long sigh and shook his head again, setting his topknot bobbing.

  “That was a long time ago,” Takamoto said. “And it is no longer important. Now both of you keep quiet, or I won’t be helping either of you get into any school.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” Karu said, snapping his attention back to the road in front of them and backing away from Yipachai.

  Yipachai worked his jaw, his blood still pounding in his ears. But he did as the older man commanded.

  He could hardly believe it. Takamoto, a blademaster? But he never carried a sword. And he always seemed so disapproving of the dueling schools.

  It seemed Takamoto was more than the simple villager Yipachai had thought he was.

  They continued on to the south, their progress impeded by the crowds of Amigawans hurrying home for the evening, many of whom carried sacks of ingredients from the markets.

  Eventually, the crowds thinned, and the space between buildings increased. The paving stones and the shrines on the street corners grew more elaborate until they at last arrived at the School of Heavenly Flame.

  Surrounded by what would have been a low wall for a Banqilun, but with the roofs of several buildings sticking out up above it, it reminded Yipachai of something familiar.

  “It looks like the monasteries back in Hanaburi,” he said quietly, to no one in particular.

  “That’s because it is a monastery,” Takamoto said. “Or at least it used to be. Dueling was once as much an act of piety as it was a way to settle disputes. But now, the balance has shifted in favor of the sport.”

  Takamoto clicked his tongue at the buffalo and continued on towards the open gate on the north side of the wall.

  Two young Banqilun stood on either side of the gate. Each of them wore loose, red robes that reminded Yipachai again of the acolyte attire he had worn at the monastery. They all had the characteristic topknot, though their beards were of varying lengths.

  The guards stepped forward as Yipachai and the others approached, hands on the swords they wore on their hips and stern looks on their faces.

  “Have you brought Master Tankaya’s blade already, Master Takamoto?” one of them asked. He had a puffy scar on the back of his right hand.

  “Indeed I have,” Takamoto said as he began sorting through the packages in the back of the cart and reading the names on the labels to himself.

  “Then who are these two?” a different guard asked, his eyebrows thick and drawn down tight.

  Takamoto found the package he was looking for and produced it. “This,” he nodded towards Karu, “is my nephew, Karu Mankoro. And this young Hetanzou here is my friend Yipachai.”

  The grumpy-looking guard looked them over—first Karu, then Yipachai. Yipachai tried to hold himself a little taller. “And what’s their business here?”

  “Karu, here, would like to enroll.”

  The guard nodded. “Of course he does. And the Hetanzou?”

  Every eye—Takamoto’s, Karu’s, and the guards’—turned to Yipachai.

  “Erm, I want to enroll, too.”

  Karu whipped his head around to glare at Yipachai, just as the guard’s eyes widened. Takamoto just sighed, a sound that Yipachai was beginning to grow tired of.

  “Impossible,” the guard with the scar on his hand said. “You wouldn’t last a minute in a duel against a Banqilun.” He squinted at Yipachai as if trying to discern any hidden strength he might’ve missed on his first once-over. “Or against anyone else, most likely.”

  The other guard turned back to Takamoto. “If your nephew is serious about enrolling, you and he can come back in to meet with the masters—and you can deliver that blade to Master Tankaya. But he stays outside.” He jerked a thumb at Yipachai.

  Takamoto gave Yipachai a sad look, a small, sympathetic smile on his face.

  “I—I’ll stay here with the cart, then,” Yipachai said. It was an effort to keep the quiver out of his voice. He already felt warmth in his cheeks. “It’s fine, really.”

  “Well, if you’re sure,” Takamoto said, “then I suppose I’ll be back shortly. Come on, Karu.” He and Karu followed one of the guards in.

  Yipachai sighed and sat down on the edge of the cart, trying not to let his embarrassment show. It was just like it always was. Other people went where they wanted to, leaving him alone.

  Outside.