Noyan Targutai studied the map spread across his field table. Red stones marked conquered villages. Black stones showed resistance strongholds. Too many black stones for his liking.
A commotion outside his tent drew his attention. Voices in Mongolian—his scouts reporting success.
"Bring them."
The tent flap opened. Two of his men dragged in a prisoner, unconscious and fevered. Japanese. Samurai, by the look of his scarred chest and calloused sword hand. The man's breathing came shallow and quick.
"Found him in the caves, sir." Scout Captain Jebe wiped sweat from his brow. "Delirious. Kept talking about children."
Targutai circled the unconscious samurai. Interesting. The chest scarring followed a pattern—three parallel lines. Ritual marking. This one had been disgraced by his own people.
"Any others?"
"Yes, sir." Jebe gestured toward the camp's center. "The other one we brought in yesterday. Still won't break."
Targutai left his tent. Afternoon heat pressed down like a physical weight, carrying the stench of horses and unwashed men. Two hundred soldiers moved through their routines—weapon maintenance, food preparation, patrol assignments. Efficient. Professional. Bored.
The prisoner post stood in the camp's heart. A deliberate choice. Let every man see what happened to enemies.
Jin Sakai hung from leather bindings, arms stretched overhead. Blood crusted his split lips. Bruises painted his ribs purple and yellow. Three days of interrogation had broken skin but not spirit.
"Lord Sakai." Targutai stopped within conversation distance. "Still dreaming of rescue?"
Jin raised his head. His eyes held defiance despite the damage. "Still dreaming of conquest?"
"No need to dream. I take what I want." Targutai gestured at the camp around them. "Your island provides excellent hunting. Good water. Strong horses."
"Stolen horses."
"Won horses. In war, possession determines ownership." Targutai studied Jin's face for signs of breaking. Found none. Admirable. "Your people fight well. When they fight."
Jin said nothing.
"Most run. Hide behind walls. Pray to dead gods." Targutai began walking a slow circle around the post. "But some resist. Two types of resistance, I've observed."
He stopped directly in front of Jin.
"One type fights honorably. Challenges my men to single combat. Dies beautifully. Achieves nothing."
Jin's jaw muscles tightened.
"The other type..." Targutai smiled. "The other type kills sentries in darkness. Poisons water supplies. Burns our food stores." He leaned closer. "Which type are you, Lord Sakai?"
"I am samurai."
"That tells me nothing. Samurai can be honorable fools or practical killers." Targutai heard his men dragging the fevered prisoner across the camp. "Like my new guest."
The scarred samurai came conscious as they tied him to a second post. His eyes opened, focused with difficulty on his surroundings. When he saw Jin, something shifted in his expression.
"Lord Sakai."
"Stranger." Jin's voice carried caution.
Targutai watched the exchange with professional interest. They knew each other. Good. Shared connections made interrogation easier.
"Two samurai," he announced loud enough for nearby soldiers to hear. "One who hides, one who hunts. Both served the same dead cause."
The scarred one—Katsuo, his delirium had revealed that name—lifted his head with effort. "And you are?"
"Noyan Targutai. Commander of this expedition." He gestured at his troops. "Their fate. Your fate. Depends on wisdom."
Katsuo looked around the camp. Counted soldiers, noted weapon placements, assessed escape routes. Targutai recognized the calculation. This one thought like a military mind.
"You want something."
"I want many things. Peace for my men. Supply lines that don't burn nightly. Villages that submit without forcing me to kill everyone inside."
"And?"
Targutai smiled. "I want guides who know how your people think. Where they hide. How they fight." He gestured between the two prisoners. "Fortunately, I have volunteers."
Jin's bindings creaked as he struggled. "We'll never—"
"Serve?" Targutai finished. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Men change when circumstances change."
He signaled to Jebe. The captain brought a leather pouch, opened it to reveal iron implements. Branding tools, thumb screws, cutting blades. Standard equipment for extracting cooperation.
"Lord Sakai values honor above life. Admirable. Also foolish." Targutai selected a thin blade, held it where both prisoners could see. "But perhaps he values his companion's life above his own honor?"
Katsuo laughed. The sound held genuine humor despite their situation. "You think we're friends?"
"Are you?"
"We tried to kill each other this morning." Katsuo met Jin's eyes. "Might still, given the chance."
Targutai set down the blade. Interesting. Hate between prisoners often proved more useful than love. Hate could be redirected.
"Why?"
"Philosophical differences," Jin said carefully.
"He believes mercy makes him strong," Katsuo added. "I know it makes him weak."
Targutai walked between the posts. Two samurai with opposite approaches to warfare. Both captured, both bleeding, both talking instead of dying in silence.
Men revealed themselves under pressure. Honor and pragmatism, side by side.
"Demonstrate," he ordered.
His soldiers stepped back. Targutai drew his curved sword, cut the ropes binding both prisoners. They fell to hands and knees, circulation returning in painful waves.
"Fight," Targutai commanded. "Winner lives. Loser feeds the crows."
Jin pushed himself upright. His legs trembled from hours of hanging. Katsuo rolled his shoulders, working blood back into numb arms.
Neither moved toward the other.
"Interesting." Targutai sheathed his blade. "Mutual hatred, but no immediate violence. Either you're both broken, or you're both thinking."
"We're thinking," Katsuo said.
"About what?"
"About how you're not as clever as you believe." Jin struggled to his feet. "If we were enemies, you wouldn't need to force us to fight."
Targutai's eyebrows rose. Perception under pressure. Valuable quality in subordinates.
"And if we were allies," Katsuo added, gaining his feet with obvious effort, "you wouldn't trust us with weapons."
"So we're what?"
"Useful." Jin and Katsuo spoke simultaneously. Their eyes met, held. Understanding passed between them like current through water.
Targutai laughed. The sound echoed across the camp, drew his soldiers' attention. "Very good. You see the trap before stepping in it." He gestured to his men. "Rebind them. Separately."
As ropes circled their wrists again, Targutai leaned close enough that only they could hear.
"Two samurai. One who hides, one who hunts. Both will serve, or both will die." He straightened, studied their faces. "But service has many forms. And death... death is permanent."
The ropes tightened. Jin and Katsuo were dragged to opposite sides of the camp, close enough to see each other but too far for conversation.
Targutai returned to his tent. The map waited with its red and black stones. Soon, he thought, there would be gray stones too. Stones representing the complicated loyalty of broken men who served not from conviction but from necessity.
Outside, the sun tracked west toward evening. Two prisoners sat in dust and contemplated the threads of fate that had bound them together.
The first threads of an unwanted alliance.