Regrets of a Traitor Chapter 1 Lance Screams of fire and echoes of clashing steel woke Lance from his sleep. Sitting up to a dark room the only light streaming in through the window. A lazy orange hue tinted the air, wafts of smoke and embers making their way in. Peering out the windowsill he looked out across the town. Wooden houses spontaneously burst into flames and showers or sparks. Crackling and snapping beams and creaking roofs tolled their deaths. Throughout the dirt ridden streets people ran on hands and knees. In night clothes or no clothes at all. Cuts and bruises marred their faces and some sported long bloody gashes or an arrow still quivering. Processing what he saw Lance ran down the stairs to wake his sister. Their rickety staircase threatening to collapse under his hammering souls. Reaching the kitchen she was already there. Clutching a large butchers knife in a green night gown she trembled like a lone leaf. Seeing her safe Lance grabbed his sword from the wall discarding the sheathe. No words were needed and she followed him into the chaotic night. Bare chested and only in small clothes Lance raced toward the city gates. Looming just ahead like a linear grey mountain they offered safety and reprieve. Screams sounded behind them and the whinnying of horses not far off. 'Come on Celsie!' he shouted as if it would pull the walls closer. Hooves now a not so far off sound quickened his pulse. Not risking a look back and grabbing Celsie's hand he charged all out. Clearing the fringe of the outer town an into open space gave him hope. The gates were within sight not two minutes away. He dared hope they could make it. That Celsie would make it. The sounds of riders urging their mounts on came from behind. The earth shook from iron hooves chasing them down. Praying to the Gods Lance kept running. A sudden whistle and an unexpected breeze above almost made him stop. The sounds of hooves had stilled and no cries heard. Daring to risk a look back Lance saw four riders and horses toppled on the ground. Pinned down by a swarm of arrows. Counting his blessings he urged Celsie on. At the gates they met a line of hard faced men. Armour glistening silver in the moonlight like luminescent beacons in the night. Pikes held at the ready parted like steely curtains. Coming through the armoured maze Lance found himself surrounded by half clothed men and women. Each one sobbing in the arms of the other. Turning to Celsie he couldn't help but cry. 'We made it.' he managed. Gripping her thin frame in his arms and shuddering at the thought of almost losing her. Grasping her long golden hair never wanting to let go again. 'We made it...' ©Samurai2012

Dice with Death Chapter 7 The Crone The bells tolled their mournful song across the flooded graves. The sky wept at the open procession. Six young men and women laid to rest this day. An entire family cut from the seams. The Crone stood before six muddy pits. Each one about to be filled. Six grandchildren laid to rest before her. A darkness spread to her heart at the thought. The last of her line an old maid of seventy four. Mourners shed their tears to out pour the rain. Silver fringed handkerchiefs and silken tissues. A crowd of black fitted her mood. As the priest said his words the icy rain gripped her. Perhaps it was the words of rest that came from his mouth. Or maybe it was the thought she might be next. Shaking such thoughts from her mind she stood in the rain staring as those pits were filled. Three granddaughters and three grandsons side by side. Standing long since the soil had been laid she never felt so alone. A niggling at the back of her mind told her otherwise. A far off rattling sounded. Again closer this time. Like dice being thrown in a gamblers pit. Hard edges hitting the flat surface. Their fortune spilling on display. Her heart stopped for that moment as she saw them materialise from the deluge. A woman of extreme beauty painted white in a shock of lilac. Idly twirling a paper umbrella of cherry blossoms and birds. The oddly dressed man in so many colours. A silly grin fixed in place and juggling silver flashes. The stern man in uniform resting heavily on a silver cane. A worn expression and blood shot eyes. A handsome young man swaggering and owning the rain. A twinkle in his eye too bright for this gloom. A ragged youth followed next. Dirty clothes and filthy face shadowed by a heavy green cloak. A drowned rat pulling himself out the gutter. And last a battle torn man in strange armour. A wickedly curved sword at his side and a hard glint in his eye. As they approached closer from all sides the rattle thundered in her ears. Louder and louder with each footstep. Rooted in place The Crone couldn't move an inch. Squeezing her eyes shut she tried to block the sound. A sudden silence forced her to open her eyes in shock. Before her stood the beautiful woman with odd lips. She bowed gracefully and presented her with a pair of dice. Feeling the smooth bone in her hands The Crone's pulse raced. Twins weapons of gambling in her hand. Absently she thought of the deeds in her pocket. Six inheritances to collect. Throwing the dice across the fresh graves her hopes soared. The moment she had been waiting for. As they tumble across the uneven soil she thought of her spoiled grandchildren. Wasting their youth on petty things. Garnishing their prides and indulging their bodies. Slowing now The Crone held her breath. One chance in twelve for it all to go wrong. Flashes if their stone faces flickered in her mind. Coming to a halt she blocked them out, no pity and no remorse. Only the gamble of youth and death remained. Stilling on the youngest she looked on in awe. A five and a two. Clapping with glee she reached in her pockets and handed the deeds out one by one. Each stranger taking their prize and backing away warily into the incoming fog. The airy white sea washed up against her feet and swirled against her legs. Reaching higher and higher it enveloped her in a towers of clouds. The Crone felt the years melt away. Wrinkles became flat and smooth once more. Blurry eyes saw in pinpoint detail. Wiry hair regained its silky brown texture. Her bosom lifted and her stomach firmed. Stepping out into the grave she was a Crone no longer. Clutching those bone dice in her hands she smiled to herself. Without another thought of her slain kin she disappeared into the fog. ©Samurai2012

Dice with Death Chapter 6 The Samurai Last to go and no dice rolled. The Thief had taken his gambit and won. Now five sets of dice rolled across his mind. Each one a gamble made and a debt paid. Now only The Samurai was left to play. The last stoke to made in this dicey game. The hardwood floor creaked under his mailed boots. Groaning and protesting as his armoured form stalked the hall. Flickering lamps lit his way, cowering their flames under his intense gaze. A glint from his katana as he drew his loyal friend. An extension of his warriors soul. Floorboards announced his arrival and flickering lights his intent. Stood before two solid doors with brazen handles he drew his blade. No honour in hidden blades and secret plans. Japanese steel ate its way through the paper thin wood. Hanging in shock they still stood, a razor thin line slivered along the surface. A swift kick and doors collapsed inward. 'I was wondering when someone would come.' The mans voice came from the armchair facing the door. Suede a deep crimson backed his drawn out figure. Sleep starved eyes looked at him impassively. Cradled in his tired arms hung a shotgun double barrelled and loaded. 'I suppose this is the part I die.' he chuckled an unhinged sound. Lead sprayed across the room striking The Samurai in the chest. Lead worked against steel and punctured flesh. Gasping for breath he managed to stand. Staggering forth with his blade he lunged. Dice rattled in his ear and filled his vision. The incessant sound grating his nerves. Another shot and he was on the floor. His foe underneath him struggling for breath. Splinters rained down from the gaping wound above. Blackened stars in the wooden sky. The Samurai's steel sunk deeper and deeper. Slicing through bone and severing tissue it went. Floorboards ended its journey from flesh to panels. 'And so it ends.' the dead man said in his dying throws. As the pool spread with the mans honourable blood The Samurai stood. Clutching a ruined breastplate and ravaged chest he retreated from this battlefield. The dice had been rolled this night. His sword and the mans gun the die. Limping off to see his gamble through the The Samurai went to collect his prize. Blood money owed and his soul stained. A roll of the dice and his fate was drawn. ©Samurai2012

Dice with Death Chapter 5 The Thief Two had rolled to decide who would go first. The Thief looked on with beady eyes. Quick reflexes and instincts soon told him he was next. The ghostly rattle of dice warned him now that the time had come. Swimming through the river of people he went against the current. A shark in calm waters but unseen. His knife sharp teeth that sliced and tore. A quick cut and handful of silvers and coppers was his reward. Swiftly changing currents with his liberated prize avoiding the detection of their gaze. Leaving no blood in the water he went striking at the fattest fish. Gaudy colours and shimmering trinkets called to his eyes. Beacons of opportunity and a full belly tonight. He came behind a man of fine stature and wealth. Fine black suit and well groomed beard heralded his potential. On his arm drifted a vision in blue silk and golden curls. Blending in he moved closer eying the bulge in his breast and the hidden pouch by her thigh. Passing them as a harmless guppy in their big fish pond he was ignored and dismissed. His small knife at the ready he made his way through the schools of people. His senses spread wide to catch any threats in his net. Feet paced quicker to reach his mark. The dice rattled in his mind. Bony edges hit the wooden surface. Spinning and spinning they landed. Snake eyes. Sharks eyes. A flash and his teeth were away. Two fat purses juggled in his hand. Quickly he swam past the surging currents of men. Avoided the spreading taint of blood in the once calm waters. Floating to the surface for all to see. The man once so tall and proud on the floor. Sticky red blood covered his fine clothes and spattered on his groomed face. His eyes glassed over a silvery sheen tipped with tears. In his arms he cradles his wife. A vision in red and sticky curls. Neat rows of curls once an idillic golden ocean now ruined with her #life's blood. Her pale skin marred by the rivulets of red running from her throat. ©Samurai2012

Dice with Death Chapter 4 The Conman The gamble had been made and for The Conman it was a game he knew well. The Geisha, Juggler and General may have all stumbled their way through but now they would see a master at work. Walking along the soft Persian rugs he smiled and stroked the smooth varnished banister. Dressed in a slim suit of charcoal and frilled with white lace he looked Lord of the manner. Maids and manservants bobbed their heads and muttered pleasantries. He was no Lord though merely a simple man born in London. Amid the filth and corruption he watched his father work himself into an early grave. Then watched his mother do the same. So now he played the Lord, while the Lord was away. Fulfilling his duties to the Lady day and night he lived on silken pillows and silver beds. A few months of pleasure and wealth until it was time to leave. A note on the nightstand and an empty vault. Wives too embarrassed to tell their husbands. And husbands too shamed to tell their wives. This was a different con than before. #life balanced on a knife blade waiting for the dice to fall. 'Oh darling there you are!' she exclaimed. Dressed in frills that drowned out her curves and colours that distracted from her width she stomped up the stairs. Sickly sweet perfume had been abused and white motes of makeup drifted in her wake. 'I have need of a massage. I have just heard the most terrible news!' huffing and puffing her way to their room. She sprawled herself on the bed like a pig rolling in the mud. Slowly she undressed trying to entice his loins. Showing rashes of flesh and chops of meat. The Conman turned gigolo mounted her squealing form. Pressing his soft hands into a flabby shank. Slowly he worked his way up past the belly and came resting on her meaty shoulders. 'What was this terrible new?' he innocently inquired. Through grunts she managed to speak coherently. 'My brother was found murdered yesterday. Found on the side of the road after riding to see an old friend.' she sighed but didn't seem that upset. 'Does that not mean three of your family have reached untimely deaths now?' innocent hands working around her neck. 'Yes. There is only myself and two cousins left. And grandma of course.' her breath starting to catch. 'Not too hard darling.' He worked his hands up an down her neck faster and faster leaning with all his weight. Her face slowly sunk into the pillow. 'Darling! Darl-' She bucked and squealed into the pillow held down by her own weight. Folds of flesh crashed down on her and drove the air out her lungs. The Conman sighed and looked down at his slaughtered pig. Pink flesh now still and squeals silenced. Hopping off the bed he went to the washstand and cleaned her meaty sweat off his hands. Picking up her large parachute of a dress he reached inside and pulled out her key. Dropping it he went to the safe hidden in the wall. A soft click and the jewels were his. Satchels of coins rattled and shone in his eyes. Taking his prize for a wager well played he left this lofty #life. A meagre prize for what awaited the dice in his mind assured him. For now though his time well spent with money well earned. ©Samurai2012