They still had one blade left to deliver.

  After moping around the inn for the rest of they day while Takamoto had gone out to buy supplies, and after a good night’s sleep, Yipachai was feeling a little better. Wallowing in self-pity was only good for about a day before he started to feel the itch to get out and move again.

  And so he accompanied Takamoto westward, towards the edge of the city. A new morning, and a new chance to prove his worth to one of the dueling schools.

  “The School of the West Wind is the largest of the dueling schools here in Amigawa,” the Banqilun said, easing his way around a group of slow moving Amigawans who had managed to take up more than half of the busy road.

  “If it’s so big, then why don’t they ever win the dueling championships?” Yipachai asked. He had been tasked with carrying the final blade with them, since they had left the cart—laden with supplies for Takamoto’s village and for Harato—back at the inn.

  Takamoto pursed his lips, as if he were choosing his words carefully. “They have the most students, but because of how they tend to fare in the tournaments, the most…promising students tend not to enroll there.”

  “Which causes them to not do so well in the tournaments,” Yipachai finished. “So then, they have the most students because they just accept everyone who asks?”

  Takamoto shrugged. “They’re still a highly respected dueling school…outside of Amigawa.”

  “So you think they might take a chance on a Het kid?”

  “I suppose we’ll find out.”

  They continued on through the western gate out of the city, the side that had been built up against the river—Yipachai still hadn’t asked its name. The road continued over a wide, arcing bridge that spanned the fast-moving water, then disappeared into the dense trees of the Lucong Forest.

  Pingou soared past them as they crested the wooden bridge, and Yipachai smiled. It was good to see the heron again, flying overhead with three wind mhonglun floating happily in the wake of his passing. He hadn’t seen much of the bird since they’d entered the city—hadn’t seen him at all, in fact. Just the occasional brushing of minds.

  Yipachai reached out to initiate a bond. Good morning, Pingou. Have you had your fill this morning?

  Enough for this morning, yes. But I will need more prey soon. Why do you go to the forest?

  The abrupt question made Yipachai hesitate. How would he explain their reasons for going in a way that Pingou would understand? How much context would a bird need?

  We go to give a gift to a friend of Harato’s and Takamoto’s.

  And then you will return to the city? I must say, it is not a comfortable place to roost.

  I’m not sure, Yipachai said. I think—I hope to stay in the forest for quite some time after today.

  That would be preferable, Pingou said, then flew on ahead, eventually angling his wings and soaring down in a lazy arc to land in the shallows on the edge of the river.

  Yipachai hadn’t yet dared to ask what Pingou would do once he found a place to learn the sword. The heron had said he would accompany Yipachai, but hadn’t said for how long.

  Perhaps it was best to just continue on as he was. He would miss Pingou if and when the bird left, but if Yipachai found himself living out here in the forest once again, Pingou might decide to stick around, too.

  And so he put thoughts of Pingou out of his mind and trudged on after Takamoto. Not long after they came under the shade of Lucong’s trees, Yipachai began to feel a sense of…rightness about the direction he was headed.

  The trees here reminded him of his home in Hongshu, with their great verdant leaves brimming with life. Even the mhonglun seemed familiar. Here in a forest near both a river and the sea, he saw both kinds of them, their Sentient-shaped bodies made up swirling masses of water. Indeed, it took a trained eye to tell the river mhonglun from the sea mhonglun, and Yipachai was suddenly thankful that his had been trained to such an extent.

  It didn’t take long before they came upon a familiar sight—a low stone wall surrounding what turned out to be a rather large section of the forest. The buildings of the School of the West Wind were shorter than those of the schools of Heavenly Flame and Breaking Waves. Most of these seemed to have only one level, though they were, of course, built on top of wooden stilts.

  The other stark difference between the School of the West Wind and the others was there were no guards standing watch outside the wall. In fact, there didn’t seem to be very many people around at all, for all of Takamoto’s talk about it being the largest dueling school.

  Yipachai peered up at his friend. “Is there a holiday today? Or is it normal for it to be so…different from the other schools?”

  Takamoto, who looked only slightly less surprised than Yipachai felt, nodded. “Aye. The West Wind is certainly less conventional than Heavenly Flame and Breaking Waves. But though they don’t tend to fare so well in the dueling championships, its’s still a far better education than you’d get outside of Amigawa.”

  Yipachai made a show of looking up at the surrounding trees. “But we are outside of Amigawa.”

  Takamoto gave a snorting laugh. “You know what I mean. Now remember what we practiced.” The Banqilun strode purposefully through the gate, beckoning for Yipachai to follow.

  Yipachai immediately saw why the others considered the School of the West Wind to be inferior to the other schools in Amigawa. Not only were the buildings shorter, but they lacked the elaborate stoneworks and carvings of those at Heavenly Flame or Breaking Waves. Where there were signs of ornamentation, it seemed to be covered, crusted, or overgrown by years of mildew, dirt, and vegetation.

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  But despite all of those obvious eyesores, Yipachai again felt that sense of rightness when he passed through the gate. The grounds were expansive, and the architecture was different, but somehow, the School of the West Wind called to him. It didn’t think of itself more highly than it needed to—it was unassuming, just like the monastery back in Hongshu.

  “I haven’t been back here in ages,” Takamoto said, looking around at the mostly-empty grounds. A few small clusters of what looked to be apprentices in simple gray robes gathered just outside some of the buildings. “It’s nicer than it used to be.”

  Yipachai swallowed a cough, turning it into an awkward, spluttering sound. He couldn’t imagine this place looking so much worse that this was considered an improvement.

  “Oh, really?” he said, refusing to look Takamoto in the eye.

  The Banqilun spun in a slow circle as they reached the center of the spacious courtyard. “Hello? Is anyone here we might speak with?”

  Just as Takamoto finished, a disciple that couldn’t have been much older than Yipachai stepped out of a long, rectangular building a short distance away. He looked in their direction just in time for the older man to wave him down.

  The young Banqilun shuffled hesitantly over to them, the fabric of his gray robe swishing as he moved. He bobbed a quick bow to Takamoto, then stood silently, a question on his face.

  “Excuse me, young man. Do you know where we might find master Hirowa?”

  The disciple cocked his head to one side, eyebrows rising. Then, he shrugged and hurried along on his original path.

  Yipachai stared. That kid hadn’t bothered to bow before leaving. And while a few weeks in Amigawa hadn’t turned him into an expert on Banqilun culture, he was certain behavior like that was considered rude. Not to mention that he hadn’t even responded to Takamoto’s question.

  The older Banqilun grumbled to himself, and from what Yipachai could hear, he was thinking much the same thing.

  “Master Takamoto?” A voice called from behind them.

  Yipachai followed the sound, and turned to see two Banqilun men approaching, one young and well-built, the other old and wiry, with a wavy green beard that hung nearly to his waist.

  “Indeed,” Takamoto said, bowing slightly.

  “Rurou Hirowa?” the young man gestured to himself. “I ordered a blade from Master Harato several weeks ago. I think we spoke briefly.”

  “Aye, I remember you. Me and my friend Yipachai here have come to deliver it.”

  Yipachai took his cue. He stepped carefully to Rurou’s side and knelt, palms up to proffer the—

  “Now, now, no need for that,” the old Banqilun said. “It’s just me and Rurou here.”

  Yipachai stopped himself, blade half-raised. He turned to Takamoto for guidance, but his friend only gestured with a shake of his hand. Just go along with it, that gesture seemed to say.

  He stood up carefully, in an attempt to maintain some semblance of poise. Yipachai needed these men to believe he was fit to study.

  He offered the sword to Rurou, who grasped the scabbard with a gleam in his eyes. Before Yipachai could blink, the young master had drawn his blade and began an elaborate form.

  Yipachai took a step back, and could do nothing but stare. Rurou was good. His movements were fluid like those of the masters from the School of the Breaking Waves, but where theirs had always seemed careful and measured, Rurou moved with freedom, dancing between smooth cuts and rapid, powerful slashes without hesitation.

  Power and precision, fluidity and wildness. Like the wind.

  “Do you want to spar with him, young Hetanzou?” The old man’s voice broke through Yipachai’s stupor.

  Yipachai choked, spluttering on his own saliva. “Me? With him? No, I could I never—I mean, I don’t know even know how to… It wouldn’t…”

  “But you have such a fine blade there. From old Harato, if I’m not mistaken, yes?”

  Yipachai nodded, unable to speak. If he sparred with a master like Rurou, his head would likely be gone before Yipachai could even draw his sword.

  “Well,” the old man said, stroking his beard the same way Harato did, “it’s a shame to have such a fine blade and not know how to use it, now isn’t it?”

  This was his chance. It was as if the old man was waiting for him to ask.

  Yipachai dropped to his knees again, palms upward, “I, Yipachai of—”

  The old man held up a hand. “No, no. No need for that nonsense. You’re not a Banqilun, so no use pretending like you are. If you want to study the sword here, we’ll teach you. Just go find one of the clerks in that building with the little fire mhonglun shrine over there and pay the enrollment fee. Tell them old Unjo sent you.”

  Yipachai leapt to his feet. Too fast. He tried to disguise his excitement as he bowed to the old man—Unjo, was it?— and thanked him.

  Unjo nodded and waved him on. “Off you go, then.”

  It was a struggle for Yipachai not to break into a run. He had a vague sense of Takamoto trailing behind him as he climbed up the stairs into the building Unjo had indicated.

  Inside, the clerks’ building was dim and dusty, lit only by several windows high up on the wooden walls. The scent of ink and old paper hit Yipachai’s nose, reminding him of the library back at the monastery. To him, it wasn’t a pleasant smell.

  The clerks themselves were few in number—two men and one woman working at separate desks, writing efficiently in various tomes and ledgers. None of them looked up as Yipachai—and a few moments later, Takamoto—entered.

  “Excuse me,” Yipachai said, hating how small his voice sounded. The high, Banqilun-made ceilings and stacks of books and pages absorbed most of the sound. “Master Unjo said I should come ask for help here.”

  The female clerk at last looked up at him. Her face was thin, and she kept her mossy green hair tied back. Even sitting, she was taller than Yipachai was. She drummed her fingers on her desk.

  “Unju sent us a Hetanzou, did he?”

  Yipachai nodded.

  “Well, get on with it, then.”

  He whipped his head around to Takamoto. Get on with what? What more was he supposed to do? Takamoto nodded intently and gave a discrete wave of his hand.

  “The request,” Takamoto whispered.

  “Oh, right!” Yipachai was already kneeling before he realized he had spoken aloud. He felt warmth rise to his ears, but it was too late to do anything about it. He lifted his hands, palms up, and bowed his head. “I, Yipachai of Hongshu, do request to study the art of the sword at the School of the West Wind, if it so pleases the masters.”

  He waited silently, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it was caught in his throat.

  “Well, you’ve done it, now there’s only the entrance fee,” the Banqilun woman said, sounding completely unaffected by the magnitude of the moment. She made a note in her ledger, then paused and looked up and waited for a moment. “One hundred copper pieces, please.”

  Yipachai’s heart dropped back down to his stomach. He’d never held so much money in his life. “I…”

  A clinking sound came from behind him, and he turned to see Takamoto hand a small purse to the clerk. Where had that come from?

  Takamoto stepped back as the clerk began counting the coins, a satisfied smile on his face.

  Yipachai could only gape at him.

  “What?” Yipachai said, when he finally found his voice again. “How?”

  “Harato said to consider it your wages for helping him at the smithy,” Takamoto said, still grinning.

  Yipachai stared, dumbfounded.

  “It’s all here,” the clerk said as she tucked the last coin back into the purse. “You are officially enrolled at the School of the West Wind. Congratulations.”

  She hardly sounded as if she meant it.

  “I will see if we can find some robes that will fit you. Novice dormitories are on the east side of the courtyard. Breakfast after sunrise meditation.”

  Yipachai barely heard her as he bobbed a bow and exited the building. He had done it. He was a blade disciple at one of the top dueling schools in all of Lun. And Harato had paid his entrance fee, knowing Yipachai hadn’t a copper to his name.

  “Next time you see Harato…” he said to Takamoto as the midday sun hit his face. He couldn’t keep himself from beaming this time.

  “Yes?” Takamoto asked.

  “Tell him I made it.”