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trained in the use of the sword and already was well known for his skill even though he never wished to use it in battle. He had already decided, although he never told his father, that if he did become Lord he would be a diplomatic Lord.
    Despite his gentle protests, Akira landed here at the front line of the largest campaign the Southern Kingdom had seen in a generation. The Azarians had held the pass now for almost thirty cycles, defending it against the force which was sent against it every year. But Azuma was passionate about retaking the pass. It had been many cycles in the preparation, but the day had come at last.
    Every step they took was bloody, harried by archers and ambushes, but their progress was relentless. The sheer number of troops Akira’s father was pouring into the pass was terrifying, and the Azarians were retreating, step by blood-soaked step. Akira’s father predicted that within the next quarter moon the Azarians would abandon the pass.
    But that was a quarter-moon more to sit through this experience. Akira found that there were parts of battles that were beautiful. The flight of arrows through the air was mesmerizing if one could ignore their intended destination. The order and sound of an army on the march was also thrilling if their steps didn’t end at the steel points of their enemies.
    Akira maintained a brave face. Even at ten his father had well drilled into him the importance of appearance. He mimicked the same stern expression that was his father’s face, and did not allow himself to display any of the emotions that were coursing through his mind. When he and his father were alone, they could talk and speak with refreshing honesty, but if even a servant was nearby the masks fell into place. At ten, Akira couldn’t imagine any other way of living.
    They finished their inspection even though there wasn’t much to inspect. Azuma’s army was always in perfect condition. The real purpose was to be out among the troops, build their morale. Lord Azuma was held in mixed regard by the people. Order ruled the Southern Kingdom, but it was a harsh order which rankled many who saw their lifetimes as a time of peace. They were removed from the fighting at the pass and didn’t realize the full extent of the effort that went into taking and holding the pass and protecting their borders.
    While the civilians had doubts, the army did not. Azuma wasn’t just a Lord, but was one of the top generals in the Three Kingdoms. While he was stern he was also fair and kind to his troops. After every major battle or skirmish he was out among them, spreading an encouraging word here, a compliment there. While the people of the Southern Kingdom may have mixed feelings about their Lord, the troops adored him, and Azuma taught Akira it was the troops who kept any ruler in power. Akira could recite the lesson from memory.
    Arriving back at the tent was a relief. Akira could shut out a small part of the smell of the battlefield. Incense was lit in the tent, and Akira welcomed its pungent scent.
    Akira’s father dismissed everyone, including the servants. He finished preparing the tea that had been started for them and served himself and his son. “How are you, son?”
    Akira never lied to his father, a lesson he had learned at an early age. His father was a hard man, but a man who believed in truth. Akira had always been punished for lying. He had been punished at times for telling the truth as well, but to a much lesser degree. “It’s hard, father.”
    Akira’s father nodded, and Akira was relieved. “It can be, yes. Do you know why we are fighting for this pass?”
    Every day, always a test. Ten cycles and he was already sick of it. But Akira answered, “Because then we control the flow of troops. If we control the pass, we take an important step in defending the Southern Kingdom.”
    Akira’s father leaned in. “Yes, but do you get it ?”
    He didn’t.
    The Lord of the Southern Kingdom leaned back.