Tales of Fiction: The Osaka Retrieval

Prologue

This is a story unlike most.  Yet, this is a story like any other.  It is a story of stories. 

Every fictional tale ever written is, in itself, an entire universe.  These separate Realms are connected by the Foundation, existing outside the common laws of space and time, and policed by a Guild of Authors.  These Authors venture into these narratives to protect them from external tampering and preserve the integrity of their plot.  They are unseen heroes protecting all that exists. 

And these?  These are their stories.  These are…

Tales of Fiction:

The Osaka Retrieval

________________________________________

“I hate this plan,” Author Daxton Wreaths said to Author Ernest Hemingway as they strolled down the dirt path in not more than their underwear in the dead of night.  “This is a bad idea.”

In many respects, Daxton’s life with the Guild was much better before the Horror Conspiracy’s uprising.  Despite his overwhelming grief, he had a kindred spirit in his mentor, Ernest Hemingway.  Before all of the suspicion and fear, there was only the next mission.

The moonlight filtered down through the sparse clouds to illuminate their route to a castle near Osaka.  The date in which they had entered this Realm put them only a few months away from a siege of that very stronghold in the spring of 1615.  With the tensions building therein, it was not a particularly ideal time to approach it, let alone to do so half naked.  Despite this, they were grateful for the unseasonably warm evening.

However, the Archivists had learned a shield generator had dislodged from a spacecraft passing through a black hole in a neighboring Fictional Realm.  Despite astronomical chances, it was ejected into this reality and landed within the confines of the castle.  Needless to say, it was something that had to be retrieved before it could cause more damage to this plot.  Regardless of obvious dangers, the mission had been deemed safe enough for Author Hemingway to take his rookie on another training run.

“Calm yourself, Daxton,” Hemingway assured him, not breaking his gaze from the torch lit wall surrounding the fortress ahead.  He was certain they had been spotted by now.  It was only a matter of time.  “You’re a strapping fellow.  There’s no reason to be embarrassed.”

“That wasn’t my point.  This is ill advised.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“I’d be better if I had pants.  Maybe a grenade or two.”

“You rely too much on your explosives.  Besides, our current state has made us more of a curiosity than a threat.  It’s the only reason they’ve let us get this close.”

“I still don’t like all of this sneaking around.  We could have been on our way back with the generator by now if had been more direct.”

“That would have been a fool’s approach and you know it.  Our primary goal within any Realm is to minimize the damage done to the plotline.  That requires stealth.  Causing a ruckus is more harmful than you realize.”

“I’m sure there’s a better way than this.”

Hemingway chuckled.  “Maybe so.  Did you read the mission briefing?”  Daxton’s red faced silence answered for him.  “I didn’t think so.  If you had, you would’ve known the samurai has already learned how to activate the device.  We would never get near it before they cut us down.  Therefore, we are using subterfuge.  In battle, as in literature, there is power in subtly.” 

Hemingway glanced over at Daxton, who was sullen over his words.  They had only been partnered together for a couple months and he had quickly learned there was something deeply troubled about Daxton Wreaths.  The man seemed to almost crave violence as if it were some sort of drug.  Brash and unyielding to the protocol when it got in the way of completing his mission, Daxton often recklessly caused more damage than the invading Fictionals. 

He had considered reporting Daxton’s infractions to the High Authors for disciplinary review.  Some people just weren’t cut out to be Authors.  Daxton’s unhealthy preoccupation with suicide was more than enough testament to his unfitness for field work. 

Then, on their third mission, Daxton selflessly dove off a cliff to save the life of a child that had tumbled over the edge during a scuffle with a rather ungainly collection of pirates.  Not only did he catch the boy, he was swift enough to extend his Timbre swords into the rock face to slow their descent. In some strange manner, Daxton’s constant preparedness to die had galvanized into a noble fearlessness like he had never known.  Despite his rough edges, some people, it seemed, were destined to do this job.

“Just remember,” Hemingway added, “when they decide to show themselves, let me do the talking.  We don’t need you antagonizing them.”

In the blink of an eye, they found themselves surrounded.  Where they came from was as mysterious as their sudden arrival.  The five men seemed to emerge in an instant from the shadows of the night.  Dressed from head to toe in black garments, only their fierce eyes were visible through narrow slits in their masks.  As one, they drew their swords. 

“Damn!  Ninjas!” Daxton remarked, already on guard.

“Relax, my friend,” Hemingway spoke calmly before Daxton could unleash his weapons.  They didn’t need to give themselves away too soon.  “I’ll handle this.”

“You are not welcome here,” the lead ninja spoke firmly.  The Authors’ watches would have translated the Japanese into something they could understand.  Unfortunately, they had to leave them behind with the rest of their equipment for their ruse to work.  “Turn back now and you will be allowed to live.”

“That is most gracious of you,” Hemingway responded in Japanese with a slight bow.  Daxton was surprised.  He didn’t even know the man knew the language.  “Sadly, we have fallen victim to bandits.  They have taken everything we have.”  He gestured to their nakedness for emphasis.  “We humbly request any assistance you can offer.”

“Your plight is none of our concern.”  The ninja pointed back the way they had come.  “Go now.”

“It’s not working, is it?” Daxton whispered.  He couldn’t understand what was being said but he could read body language as easily as words on a page.  This tactic was doomed from the beginning.

Hemingway ignored his partner.  “Please, all we ask is for some clothing.  Surely, the lord of the castle—” He stopped talking the instant the katana was pressed against his throat.

“You dare speak for Lord Yukimura, fool?”

“No!”

“We can take them,” Daxton muttered, flexing his fingers.  “Five ninjas.  No problem.”  He spoke as if he were trying to convince himself of his own words.  Hemingway shot him a stern glare but made no effort to turn his head for fear of losing it.

“Your friend speaks in nonsense.”  The warrior locked eyes with Daxton, who glared back unflinchingly.  “What are you plotting?”

“Nothing, sir,” Hemingway replied with as much conviction as he could muster with the blade cutting into his jugular.  If their information from the Archives was correct, and it usually was, the lead ninja’s name was Sarutobi Sasuke.  As the commander of his Ten Braves, he was unquestionably proficient with that sword.  “He is merely anxious.  It has been a difficult journey.”

“You are lying.  He has the gaze of a soldier and you have the tongue of a spy!”

“You don’t understand.  We are unarmed.  We don’t want any trouble.”

“Enough!” Daxton shouted as he sprang into action.  His patience had evaporated.  Now it was time to try things his way.  He pulled Hemingway back with one hand while he deflected the deadly sword with the other.  The ninjas were surprised, but only for a moment.

“Damn it, Daxton!” Hemingway shouted in English as he hit the ground.  There were immediately two swords upon him.  The other three descended upon Daxton.  “How many times have I told you?”

“I know!  I know!” Daxton replied, giving Sasuke a quick jab.  “Don’t piss off the ninjas!”

“Imposters!” exclaimed Sasuke as he stumbled back, cupping his nose.  “Kill them both!”

Daxton didn’t need a translator to understand that order.  The first ninja came at him with his katana extended for a fatal blow.  The sub-dimensional pocket at Daxton’s right wrist flashed open, unleashing his dual bladed Timbre sword.  The unsuspecting ninja’s attack was deflected with ease.  Daxton spun around, letting momentum carry his assailant forward, and struck him just below the ear with his elbow.  He fell to the ground stunned.

“What sorcery is this?” the other questioned.  He hesitated too long.  Daxton went on the offensive.

“Oh, what the hell,” Hemingway sighed as the two men guarding him were distracted.  He delivered a right hook that floored the one on his left.  The other thrust his blade.  Hemingway twisted, allowing the blade to slide harmlessly passed.  Gripping the dark warrior by the wrist, Hemingway gained the proper leverage to strike at his elbow, effectively breaking it.  The katana slipped from the ninjas grasp as he stifled an agonized scream.

“Ow!” Daxton cried as a trio of shuriken struck him in the arm.  Sasuke was throwing all sorts of nasty things from the sidelines.  Daxton, still locked in battle with one of the subordinates, was too busy to deflect them all.  The horrible little stars hurt twice as much as he tore them from his flesh.  “Son of a bitch!”

They came at Daxton two at a time, now.  He unleashed his second sword and was just barely able to hold them back.  They were surprisingly fast.  However, once he started bleeding, Daxton began to enjoy himself.  With each new cut and bruise, he fought only harder. 

“Stop this!” Hemingway pleaded with the masked man attempting to run him through.  “This is a misunderstanding!”

“Silence, coward!” the subordinate ninja retorted.  He lunged at the Author.  “Your fate has been sealed!” 

“Hardly.”  Hemingway finally released his weapons and deflected the strike easily.  He spun one of his swords around and hit the ninja with the hilt.  His limp body dropped to the ground.  Hemingway immediately began to search his pockets for anything useful.

Even with two swords, Daxton was just barely able to hold his own.  He was aided by a surujin, the Japanese version of a bola, entangling the legs of one of his foes.  Daxton gave him a swift kick across the jaw as he fell and gave a grateful nod to Hemingway, who was already circling around to meet Sasuke.

“Your skills are impressive, pale devil,” Sasuke commended Hemingway, shifting into a fighting stance.  His katana shimmered in the moonlight.

“Stop this, Sasuke,” Hemingway requested, getting into a defensive stance of his own.  “We have no reason to fight.  My friend’s insolence will be dealt with, I assure you.”

“How do you know my name?”

“You and your Braves are legendary where I’m from.  Please, let me explain.”

“Silence!  No more talk!  Come.  Test your magic on me!”  Sasuke leaped.  Hemingway was prepared for the attack, but not for the speed at which it came.  He narrowly avoided being run through and having his head removed in a matter of seconds.  He was far better than the others.  There was no question why he led.

“Stop throwing things at me!” Daxton shouted at the remaining subordinate.  He deflected more of shuriken yet still ended up with two of them embedded in his chest.  While he was distracted by their removal, his foe rushed in, keeping low.

Daxton was nearly caught off guard, but not quite.  He dropped the Timbre sword in his left hand and opened the sub-dimensional pocket at his wrist.  Instead of recalling his falling weapon, he let the incoming blade of his assailant’s katana enter.  Once he nearly reached the hilt, he closed the portal and cut away the hardened Japanese steel as easily as a razor through tissue paper.

The flabbergasted ninja stared in awe at his broken blade.  The severed tip still glowed in brilliant orange from its contact with the event horizon.  It was as if it had been stabbed into the heart of a blacksmith’s furnace and melted away.

“What are you?” the ninja gasped.

“Sorry, Kato,” Daxton responded.  He let the stolen blade drop to the ground.  “I don’t speak Japanese.”  A swift punch to the stunned ninja’s face was enough to incapacitate him.  All that was left was Sasuke, who was trying to cut Hemingway to ribbons.  Daxton took an idea from his mentor’s playbook and began to rummage through his defeated opponent’s pockets.  “Now it’s my turn to throw crap.”

Hemingway was having difficulty keeping the master ninja at bay.  His speed was incredible.  It was as if Hemingway were battling against a ghost.  Sasuke barely stayed in anyone spot for more than a few seconds before leaping or rolling to strike again.

“Stand still!” Hemingway snapped, slashing at nothing but air.

“I have him!” Daxton called out.  He waved for Hemingway to step aside as he prepared to toss in one of the flash bombs he’d confiscated.  Sasuke spun around, dragging his blade through the dusty soil.  With a flick of the wrist, he launched a cloud of dirt at Daxton’s eyes, effectively blinding him.  Daxton stumbled back and let the frustrated curses fly.

Hemingway had taken the opportunity to move in from behind, but Sasuke had already twisted to block.  Their weapons sparked as they struck each other.  Sasuke knocked Hemingway off balance and struck him twice in the chest before he hit the ground.  Hemingway stayed down, gasping for breath.

“Impressive.”  Sasuke swept away the Author’s swords until they were out of reach.  “I’ve encountered few who have offered such a challenge.” His back exploded in a burst of light.  Sasuke stumbled forward under the shock.

Daxton barked a laugh.  “I don’t have to see you to hit you, grasshopper!”

Hemingway swept his leg to trip the distracted warrior.  Sasuke fell to the rocky soil and Hemingway brought a stone down upon the ninja’s head before he could regain his composure.  He hated to end the fight so brutally.  Every second they wasted brought this Realm closer to chaos.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Daxton said, rubbing the dirt from his eyes.  “I mean, considering they were ninjas and all, it could’ve gone a lot worse.”  Hemingway walked up to Daxton and delivered a left hook across his jaw.  Daxton was immediately floored.  “What the hell was that for?”

“Don’t you ever pull another stunt like that again!” Hemingway roared.  Daxton had never heard him so furious.  “It’s one thing to risk your own life in some foolhardy assault, but don’t you dare play games with mine!  I have no desire to be killed in the line of duty because of you!”

“I—”

“I’m not finished!  Because of you the Masters of Continuity are going to have an even greater mess to clean up.  Memories will need erased.  Many of them will need medical attention before things can be set right again.  Not every mission requires brute force.”

“Ernest, I’m sorry,” Daxton picked himself up.  Every dirt-matted cut already burned.  Now his jaw throbbed.  “But they were never going to let us pass no matter how many words were said.”

Hemingway sighed.  “Maybe so.  But there is still value in the attempt, Daxton.  We’re Authors, damn it.  Before all others, we’ve no greater weapon than our words.”

“So, now what?”

“We take their clothes and tie them up.”

“Kinky.”

“For our disguises, smart ass.”

Entry into the compound surrounding the castle was far easier than they expected.  Once dressed in their stolen clothes, they simply walked through the front gate.  This, of course, made them all the more anxious.  When things seemed too easy to be true, in fiction, they often were.  Nevertheless, they weren’t going to dismiss the opportunity to get as close to the shield generator as they could.

They strolled confidently down the tree lined path as hundreds of the samurai’s soldiers went about their duties around them.  The surest way to get caught was to appear as if they didn’t belong.  They made it into the castle without incident.  Still, they were always on the lookout for the attack they knew was in their future.

“How are we going to find this thing?” Daxton whispered once he was sure they were out of earshot of the servants moving about the glimmering, ornately decorated corridors.  “This place is huge.  It’ll take us hours to search it and I doubt we have that kind of time.”

“We’ll start at the center.  The samurai, Sanada Yukimura, has learned the device’s chief function.  If he plans to activate it to protect the castle, he will keep it there.”

The upper levels proved disappointing.  As they moved downward, however, there was a noticeable increase in security.  More than ninjas, there were dozens of soldiers lining the halls with the occasional armored samurai on patrol.  They were getting close, if not to the device, to Lord Yukimura.  Keeping their wits about them, they pressed onward into the most fortified areas of the castle.

The central room of the bottom level was barred shut behind a sturdy wooden door.  Guarding that door was a pair of rather surly samurai in full body armor, complete with fearsome masks.  They were armed with a pair of sheathed swords at their hips on top of the large, iron clad spiked clubs resting in their hands.

“I think we found it,” Daxton spoke in a hushed tone.

“Quiet.  Things are going to get interesting really fast.  Let me do the talking.”

“Stop there!” the samurai on the left demanded, lifting his weapon.  The other did the same.

“When that doesn’t work,” Daxton added, “I’ve got the one on the left.”

Hemingway spoke up, once again in Japanese, “We have been summoned by Lord Yukimura.  Let us pass.”

“Lord Yukimura has summoned no one!”  The samurai shouted lifting the club over his head.  “You lie!”

“Oh, yes,” Daxton grinned beneath his mask.  “This one is definitely mine!”

The samurai brought the weapon down upon them.  Daxton unleashed one of his swords and moved to block.  The blade of his Timbre sword, forged of the strongest alloys in the known Realms and sharpened to the width of an atom, cut into the relatively soft casing of the club.  Pushing to resist the downward force of the assault, Daxton cut the warrior’s weapon in half with ease.

“Damn it!” Hemingway muttered as he rushed to hold off the second guard who, for the moment, was shocked by the sudden appearance of Daxton’s sword.  That astonishment was short lived.  He quickly abandoned his rudimentary weapon and drew his katana before Hemingway approached with his own swords.

Daxton’s opponent was clearly less impressed.  He shoved the Author back and followed up by hurling his broken club at Daxton’s head.  Daxton easily avoided it, allowing the samurai the time he needed to take out his own blade.

The Japanese steel was surprisingly resilient against the Authors’ swords.  Whether it was the blade itself or the skill of its wielder, no one could say.  Nevertheless, Daxton and Hemingway once again found themselves in a battle for their lives against a surprisingly strong foe.

Daxton cried out in pain as a three inch gash was cut into his thigh.  In anger, he let loose his second sword into the samurai’s chest.  The warrior stumbled back with not more than a wheezing gasp before he dropped to the floor.  Hemingway, horrified by Daxton’s sudden show of force, was too distracted with the remaining samurai to reprimand him.

“I’m tired of this,” Daxton stated as he limped over to the door and removed the bar.

“Daxton, don’t!” Hemingway called after him, but it was too late.

The young Author threw the doors open.  The room was dimly lit with torches.  Lord Yukimura sat on a raised platform in the center of the room.  He was remarkably unguarded.

“Most extraordinary,” Yukimura said with a grin.  Daxton didn’t understand a word.  “I see the Tokugawa shougunate has decided to send more skilled assassins.”  He chuckled.  “I assure you, it is a futile effort.”

“I’m going to stop you right there to tell you I’ve just about had my fill of feudal Japan,” Daxton interrupted.  “I don’t know what the hell you’re saying.  Frankly, I don’t care.  Where’s the generator?”

“Sarutobi-san did not die easily, I imagine.  The others will not be pleased by his passing.”

“Enough!”  Daxton stepped forward and was instantly thrown back by a flash of light and an electrical shock.  He hit the wall hard.

The samurai laughed.  “You are not the only one to harness powerful magic, assassin.  The gods have seen fit to defend me from your powers.”  A slight flick of the wrist was all that was needed to signal five more ninjas to drop from the shadows above.  They landed as gracefully and as silently as cats.

Daxton was less than impressed.  “Aw, hell.”

There was no time to rest.  The ninja attacked the second they landed.  Daxton rolled to his feet and turned to deflect the first two attacks.  His leg was on fire.  He could already feel his energy waning as the blood drained from him.  The ninjas moved in to give him more wounds about which to worry.

Yukimura watched the furious battle with extreme amusement.  Daxton fought like a cornered animal.  Despite his dreams of demise, Daxton was always at his most dangerous when death was so close he could touch it.  The five ninjas did their best to kill him.  Still, he held his own.

Hemingway tossed the defeated guard through the door.  His mask had been torn away and a cut along his forehead stained half his face in deep red.  Daxton could tell he was angry.  It almost made him want to draw out his fight with the ninjas to avoid the lecture on the trip home.

“Stop this!” Hemingway demanded of the samurai.  “We have not come to kill you!”

“You invaded this fortress with subterfuge,” replied Yukimura.  “What other goal could you have?”

“The device that fell from the sky is a danger to your world.  We must take it away from here before it brings more harm!”

“This?”  Yukimura moved his cloak to reveal a cylinder twice the size of a football resting underneath his chair.  “This is a blessing.  With it, I will be invincible.”

“You don’t understand!”  Hemingway was interrupted by two ninjas striking the shield.  A sound like the cracking of thunder filled the room and the shape of the electric dome protecting the samurai became visible for only an instant.

“Ha!  Three of you bastards left!” Daxton cheered his small victory.  There was little more time for his celebration.  The remaining ninjas swept in swiftly.  Their katana flashed in the torchlight.

“Your efforts are useless,” Yukimura informed Hemingway.  “As we speak, more soldiers are descending upon you.  You may topple some of them.  You will not defeat them all.  I would not consider it dishonorable if you wished to perform seppuku and save yourself the agony defeat.”

“There is no dishonor in defeat when one fights for the proper cause.  You, however, have become a coward hiding behind your magic shield while brave men die defending you.”

“You dare insult me?” Yukimura demanded with a fist slamming against the armrest of his chair.

“Why not?  I have nothing to fear from you.”  Hemingway took a step back as Daxton hurled another one of the ninjas into the shield.  He never broke his gaze from the infuriated samurai.

“Two left!” Daxton announced, adjusting his grip on his swords.  “Who’s next?”  He didn’t wait long for a response.  The sound of katana striking his Timbre swords resonated throughout the chamber.

“Insolent dog!” Yukimura raged.  “I will have your head!”

Hemingway smirked.  The samurai was easier to spur into anger than he’d expected.  “Then come claim it.”

The samurai rose with his sword in hand.  With the press of a button, the shield was deactivated.  Hemingway didn’t wait for the samurai to come to him.  In a flash, he released his Timbre swords and rushed forward.  Yukimura was prepared.  He sidestepped and struck the back of Hemingway’s bloody head with the hilt of his blade.  Hemingway stumbled forward, yet managed to catch himself on the chair.

Yukimura came at him.  This time Hemingway blocked and guided the sword away.  He recalled one of his weapons and attempted a swift jab to the samurai’s face.  He missed.  Yukimura twisted and tripped the Author with the flat of his blade.  Hemingway hit the floor inches from the shield device.  He reached for it.  Yukimura clenched him by the collar and tore him away.

“You were foolish to challenge me,” Yukimura chided, withdrawing his katana from its sheath.  “However, if your wish was to die by my sword, you have succeeded.”

“Actually, I had another idea in mind,” Hemingway replied, taking a few steps back.  The samurai was about to criticize his cowardice until his chair, and the shield generator beneath it, exploded.  Hemingway turned to run.  “Daxton, let’s go!”

“Right behind you!” Daxton answered, delivering one final left hook before he followed suit.

“Kill them!” Yukimura shouted over the roar of flames.  The two ninjas left standing gave chase.

“What the hell was that?” Daxton questioned once he caught up with Hemingway.

“Not right now,” Hemingway replied curtly.  “We have to get out of here before every damned ninja in this place comes to kill us.”

“We have to have something to talk about while we run for our lives.”  A soldier burst through the door next to Daxton.  He grabbed the man by the arm, twisted it, and dislocated the shoulder before launching him into a large vase.  A moment later, he was at his mentor’s side once again.  “So, spill.  What’s with the explosive?”

“The shield generator was supposed to have been destroyed within the black hole,” Hemingway began.  They fought a small collection of foot soldiers on their way up the stairs.  He continued to explain as they fought.  “Therefore, its destruction here wouldn’t harm its Realm of origin.  It was easier than trying to carry the damn thing!”

“Fine.  What about this Realm’s continuity?  That was a fancy chair.”  They finally made it through the soldiers and up one level.  Still, they were to floors from the surface with no way to call the Guild for support help.

“It’s easier for the MOCs to replace an object than it is an organism.”  Daxton knew that last comment was directed specifically at him.  He knew once he had killed the samurai, Hemingway wouldn’t be happy about it.  However, at this point, they both knew there was no way around it if they were going to get home alive.

Another level toward freedom was gained with the price of blood.  They were learning that most of the men dressed as ninjas were, in fact, unskilled in the martial arts.  Their purpose seemed to be nothing more than to dissuade enemies from attacking with a show of false might.  It was rather clever, actually.

Their embattled ascent took nearly twenty minutes.  Finally, bloodied and exhausted, they burst through the main door out into the cool night air.  The bulk of Yukimura’s forces were there waiting for them.  Outnumbered nearly a hundred to one, this was a battle the weary Authors would not win.

“Damn,” Daxton remarked as he caught his breath.  “We’re screwed.”

“We’re not dead yet,” Hemingway recalled his swords.  “Put away your weapons.”

“What?”  Even though he protested, Daxton did as he was asked.

“You heard me!”  Hemingway stepped forward with empty hands raised so that all the warriors facing them could see.  He spoke up in Japanese once again.  “Hear me!  Your lord has fallen!  His magic has failed against our might!  We have defeated all who oppose us!  If you value your lives and those of your families, you will let us pass!  If you do not, we will lay waste to this castle and the lands beyond.  All of Japan will feel our wrath!”  He let loose his Timbre swords once again to give substance to his threat.  Daxton, unsure of what was happening, followed suit.  “Make your choice!”

There was silence for what seemed like days.  The two forces stared each other down.  One side tried to determine the true potency of their opponent.  The other desperately hoped their bluff was not called.  Then, slowly at first, the solders began to step aside, opening a path through which the Authors could travel.

“Follow me,” Hemingway told Daxton.  “Try to look like you could kill every single one of them if you wanted to but don’t hurt anyone.  We may just get out of this alive.”

They walked through the amassed crowd with their weapons in hand.  Every single soldier and warrior stared them down as if their true strength could be drawn from a single gaze.  The Authors returned the suspicious glares with fire in their eyes and none dared to oppose them.  They were allowed to walk peacefully out of the castle and into the night.

“That was amazing,” Daxton commented once the castle had grown small on the horizon.  “We should be dead.”

Hemingway chuckled and wiped the blood from his face.  “I told you, Daxton, our words, above all others, are our greatest weapons.  Without them we are powerless.  Wield them correctly, and even armies will fall underfoot.”

Daxton had little more to say after that.  He, like the hundreds of soldiers, was in awe of Ernest Hemingway.  The man was simultaneously aggressive and peaceful.  It was not a balance easily achieved.  Daxton rarely felt any sort of balance.  He understood now why the Guild had paired them together.  If there was anyone in all the Realms that could help Daxton find equilibrium, he knew it was Hemingway.

The Authors found their uniforms hidden beneath a shrub a quarter mile from the path.  In silence, they dressed themselves and topped it off with their signature deep blue jackets embroidered with the seal of the Guild on their upper arm.  It felt good to get back to the familiar.  Hemingway activated the communicator in his watch and signaled their readiness.

A door and frame appeared in the middle of the field as the Gateway generated an exit portal.  With a twist of the knob, they opened the door to a reality existing independently of all others.  Without a moment of hesitation, the Authors stepped through the Gate, closing the door behind them.