There was a tense silence in the throne room where The Lord Kuwagata, his daughter, and his wife, listened to the battle raging outside. Screams of the dying, loud grunts of effort and the occasional slam of the catapult kept all three tense as drawn bow string.

Kuwagata blankly stared at the painting of a stag beetle on his door, which normally would have offered him comfort, but now was little more than a black blob through his desperate tears.

His wife looked at him with barely concealed hatred, while their daughter nervously clutched a short blade to her chest. A short blade she was supposed to use on herself in the event the throne room was breached. Something that seemed more likely by the minute.

“It’s just peasants,” the lady bit at her husband, no longer keeping quiet, “Go take the battle to them.”

The lord Kuwagata did not respond. He was listening to the ebb and flow of violence, imagining his men dying or scoring a victory every time he heard a cheer. He closed his eyes tighter when he heard another projectile flying through the air, then visibly shivered when the rock slammed into the walls.

“Peasants don’t have catapults,” he said shortly, reached for his blade then changed his mind and folded his hands in his lap again.

“Go lead your men,” his wife commanded.

“The captain has it all under control,” Kuwagata said, trying to sound calm but his tone made it clear he did not believe a word he had said.

As a punctuation mark to his lies, another projectile slammed down and Kuwagata sighed deep when he realized the cracking sound was the gate shattering under the violence.

He sighed deep, rose and girded both his swords, heading for the still closed doors.

“You know what must be done,” he said to his wife, then pulled the door open.

One of his men, his body decorated with two dozen arrows, stumbled in and gasped before speaking.

“My lord,” he struggled, “The walls have…”

Kuwagata never learned what had happened to the walls. The man collapsed to his knees, then, as life left him, dropped to the floor.

Kuwagata stepped outside his chambers and opened his mouth to shout, getting little more than a squeak out.

He tried again, now getting the words out, but too quiet for even himself to hear. Finally he managed to gather himself enough to get the words out.

“To me!”

He had meant for it to sound heroic, but all he managed was a loud shrill shriek of despair.

A trio of warriors pulled into the hallway, closing the doors behind him, barely acknowledging their lord.

“Where are the others?” Kuwagata demanded, getting no response. Realization dawned and he scrambled to get back into his throne room.

“We can’t be losing to peasants!” he cried, pleading with the gods more than admonishing his soldiers.

“They’re not pe…” one of the warriors started, then was stopped in the middle of his words when an arrow cut through the door … and his throat.

Kuwagata wasn’t proud of what he did, but he entered his throne room and closed the doors behind him, resigning his last two soldiers to the enemy’s mercies.

He leaned back against the framework, trying to stay on his feet as his legs wobbled and seemed to be ready to give way under him.

He could barely make out his wife through the tears as she approached. He opened his arms, hoping for the comfort in his final hours.

Lady Kuwagata grabbed the hilt of her husband’s sword, drew it and in the same motion, cut him down.

Kuwagata never even registered what happened. He simply collapsed back against the wall.

“Mariko,” the furious woman snapped at her daughter, “We’re cutting our way out of here.”

The nervous girl, clearly her father’s child, was still fidgeting with the sword in her hands, then drew it and prepared to fight her way to the gate.

“Can we…” she started a question, then stared wide-eyed at the men crashing through the paper walls.

They were the last of her father’s warriors, dropping down on the body of their liege lord and followed a moment a later by their killers. Four Giya, clad in the distinct armor of the Dekamu domain, calmly invaded the room, stabbed their victims to make sure they were truly dead, then stepped aside to let their leader in.

Taking off his helmet as he entered, Dekamu looked down with a look of some compassion.

“That’s a shame,” he said, “Here you are, an unwitting pawn in my game and I can’t even explain how I used you.”

He looked around the room, saw only the two women and sheathed his weapon, clearly not considering them a threat.

He sat down on the body of Kuwagata, then frowned to the lady, “I see you’ve robbed me off the joy of killing him. Such a shame. … Aren’t you going to offer your guests something to drink?”

The woman stared in wonder, lowering her sword and gaping at the man that had so brazenly entered her home.

“I can’t abide an ungracious host,” Dekamu said, raised his hand and watched his men cut her down.

Lady Kuwagata dropped down next to her husband and had there been any love between the two there might have been some poetry in how they faced each other.

Mariko meanwhile stared at the men and brought her short sword to her belly. She shivered as she pushed, but she couldn’t find the courage to go through with it.

“Sir?” The warrior that had slain her mother asked, leaving the actual question unspoken.

“Leave her alive,” Dekamu said after a moment of contemplation, “I want a trophy of this victory. That said. Girl, can you write?”

Mariko nodded.

“Good to know,” Dekamu said, “Cut out her tongue and break her fingers. We don’t need her telling the Gunari what happened here.”

The girl paled and brought up her sword again to take her own life, but the Giya were faster. She was disarmed and their lords orders were fulfilled on the spot.

“My lord,” one of the two remaining warriors started, “We need some peasants to execute. The few here will not convince the Gunari there was a revolt.”

Dekamu turned around and ignoring the screaming of Mariko behind him, called for a map to be brought, which he carefully studied before finally making a decision.

“Torch these two villages, round up the peasants and start your business…The children too. If you’re still short then, collect a few Sukeeru from this hamlet.”

“Understood, my Lord.”

“Oh, and you,” he said, getting up from the corpse he had been using as a chair.

“Lord?”

“Mutilate the Kuwagatas. We wouldn’t want to think the Gunari that peasants have any honor. He might start granting them rights.”

“Lord,” the man said and bowed.

Dekamu smiled, satisfied with the day’s work and headed out to inspect the remains of his new castle and planning the story of how his heroic rescue came to late to save the Kuwagatas.