by I. J. Parker
“Never mind. An easy mistake. There was a time when I thought I was. This is my friend Haseo. We’re both on the run from Kumo’s men.”
It was said casually, as if they had just met on the street, old friends exchanging broad smiles and trivial news, but Tora was sobered instantly. “You look terrible,” he said. “I’ll kill the bastards.” This seemed to remind him of his companions. He turned, his face grim, and pulling his short sword, went to the man on the second horse. Akitada saw the bloodied, blackened, swollen face, the eyes so puffy that it was a wonder the man could see, and he heard the man’s high scream of fear, before he realized that he was looking at Wada and that Tora meant to kill him right here in the middle of the road to Mano.
“Wait!”
Tora turned, and Akitada saw the deadly determination in his eyes. “He dies,” Tora said, his voice flat. “He would’ve died yesterday, but I kept him around to show us the way.”
“Not here and not now,” Akitada said. “I don’t want to remember our meeting this way.”
Tora reluctantly put back his sword. He came to Akitada and took him into another bear hug.
“Thank you, my friend,” Akitada said when they finally released each other. “And who is your other companion?” Tora grinned. “That’s Turtle. A bit of a coward, but his heart’s good. He’s my servant.”
Akitada raised his brows. “I see you’ve risen in the world.
Congratulations on the new armor. You do look like a man in need of a servant.”
Tora had the grace to blush and looked at Haseo, who had sat down beside the road to adjust the bandage on his leg. “Your friend’s hurt?”
Haseo made Tora a slight bow. “It’s just a cut which likes to bleed. We’re anxious to get to Mano before Kumo catches up with us, and I’ve already caused too many delays with my infernal leg.”
“Never mind, Haseo,” said Akitada. “We can ride now. I see no reason to transport the despicable Wada. Let him run alongside. And Tora’s servant can walk, too.” Turtle slid from his horse and rubbed his behind. “Glad to,” he said cheerfully. “He’s not a very comfortable horse.” Tora unpacked his saddlebag and passed his spare trousers and robe to Akitada. To Haseo he gave the wide-sleeved jacket he wore over his armor. Then he frowned at their callused, scarred feet. “How did you walk like that?” he asked Akitada, taking off his boots.
Akitada said, “Thank you, but your boots won’t fit. And my feet have become accustomed to worse than road gravel.”
“Uh-oh!” Haseo grabbed his arm. He was looking up the road toward the north. Where the road disappeared around the foot of the mountain, a dust cloud had appeared. It moved rapidly their way.
“Kumo,” cried Akitada, and swung himself on Turtle’s horse. “Come on. We’ll try to outrun them.” Tora cut loose a whimpering Wada, who tumbled heavily onto the road, where Tora kicked him out of the way, and called to Haseo, “Here, get on!” before running to his own horse.
Turtle stood, staring at them with frightened eyes. “What’s happening?” he cried. “Who’s coming? Please, take me with you, master!”
Tora was in the saddle. “Sorry, Turtle. No time. Hide in some bush. If I can, I’ll come back for you.”
“Tora, your sword,” cried Akitada, bringing his horse alongside Tora’s. After the merest moment of hesitation, Tora passed over his long sword and offered his helmet, but this Akitada refused. Then they cantered off after Haseo.
The nags were not up to a chase. Having spent all their miserable lives in post stables, fed on small rations of rotting rice straw or trotting back and forth between the two coasts, carrying fat merchants or visitors on leisurely trips, they had never galloped. Now, beaten and kicked into a burst of speed, they lathered up, started wheezing and heaving, and eventually slowed to an agonized trot. Behind, the dust cloud came on rapidly, already revealing horses, men, and the flying banner.
Haseo shouted to Akitada, “We’ll have to make a stand. Are you any good with that sword?”
“Adequate,” Akitada shouted back. He had kept up his practice with Tora, and he was not about to give up the sword.
“Sorry.”
Haseo nodded. He eyed Tora’s short sword, but evidently decided against asking an officer in robust health to render up his only weapon to an invalid.
Looking about for a suitable place to face their pursuers, Akitada knew their chances of winning were slim. They were badly outnumbered and lacked weapons. Tora, with his short sword, would have to dismount, because a horseman had the reach on him with a long sword. His only chance was to fight on foot, slashing at the horses’ bellies or legs, and then killing the riders when they were tossed.
They approached the small town, a collection of fishermen’s huts strung along the bay, with farmhouses, a couple of manors, and a small temple set back on higher ground. The road skirted the bay with its hard shingle beach. On the other side were muddy rice paddies like irregular patches of dingy hemp cloth sewn on a ragged green gown.
“Stop at those first houses,” Akitada called to the others.
“The road narrows there, and we’ll use the house walls to cover our backs.”
“Like cornered rats,” Haseo shouted back, but he grinned.
Kumo was nearly on top of them. They had been seen a long way back, and their pursuers had whipped their horses into a gallop. Now they came, banner flapping, and raucous shouts of
victory mingling with the pounding of hooves. Akitada, Haseo, and Tora spurred their own nags into a last short burst of speed.
The first farm consisted of several independent buildings.
The main house with its steep thatched roof fronted the road, but barns, kitchens, and other low buildings clustered around and behind it. Narrow passages and small fenced gardens linked the buildings. There was no one in sight. The men were probably in the fields, and the women had gone into hiding when trouble arrived.
Haseo tumbled down before his horse had stopped. Half running, half limping, he went to a side yard where the farmer’s wife had pushed several tall bamboo poles in the ground to support her drying laundry. He pulled up one of the sturdier poles, letting the rest of the rig topple into the dirt, and weighed it in his hand. With a grunt of satisfaction, he joined the others.
Tora had also dismounted, his short sword drawn. Only Akitada remained in the saddle, blocking the road, Tora’s long sword in his hand as their pursuers halted in a cloud of yellow dust.
Kumo’s helmet was brilliant in the sun, his armor, trimmed with green silk, also shone with gold, and a golden war fan flashed in his raised hand. The banner bore the insignia of the high constable. Kumo’s men were all armed, their armor polished, their bows over their shoulders, and their swords drawn.
Bright red silk tassels swung from the horses’ bridles. Their faces were avid with excitement, with the hunger for blood. Only Kumo looked utterly detached, his lips thin and his forehead furrowed in a frown of distaste.
Akitada waited to see what Kumo would do. He no longer felt the pain in his knee, or weariness, or even fear. He wanted to meet this man sword to sword. He wanted to kill him more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.
Kumo shouted across, “Give yourselves up, in the name of the emperor.”
In the name of the emperor? Akitada laughed.
Scowling, Kumo brought his horse a little closer. “I am the high constable. You’re escaped convicts and under arrest.” Akitada shouted back, “You know who I am, Kumo. Sugawara Akitada, imperial envoy. You’re under arrest for treason.
Tell your men to lay down their swords.” Kumo’s people burst into laughter in their turn, but Kumo raised his golden fan, and they fell quiet. “You’re outnumbered,” he shouted. “If you don’t give up, you’ll be cut down like dogs.”
“Try it, you bastards!” shouted Haseo, stepping forward and swinging his bamboo pole. Akitada hoped he was as skilled at stick-fighting as Tora.
“If you want a fight, Kumo,” he shouted back,
“let it be between the two of us.”
Kumo was heavily armed and sat on one of his magnificent horses, while Akitada wore nothing but Tora’s trousers and robe and rode a worn-out nag which stood wide-legged, its head hanging in exhaustion. Akitada was also becoming conscious of the weight of Tora’s sword. He was much weaker than he had thought.
But his anger kept him there. This man had done his best to kill him slowly and horribly and had failed. Now Akitada wanted a quick and clean kill of his own. He could taste the sweetness of such a victory, knew he could not lose, and gloried in the moment.
But Kumo gave him a look of contempt, then turned his horse and rode up the embankment. There he stopped and waited for his bannerman. It dawned on Akitada that he had refused single combat and would conduct this like a battle, as a general from a safe distance.
A battle? Stunned by this ridiculous turn of events, the fury at the insult still gripping his belly like a burning vise, Akitada bellowed after him, “Stand and fight, you coward!”
Kumo ignored him. The great man would not fight a mere convict. He raised his fan and pointed it at Akitada, and his men burst into raucous cries, spurred their horses, and came at him, swords flashing in the sun, the horses’ flying hooves splattering gravel.
Later Akitada could not remember how he had met their charge, what had given him the strength to grip his horse between his legs and force it to the side of the road so the attackers had to pass on his right. The animal was stolid enough, but with a sudden onrush of so many riders, it kept backing and sinking onto its hindquarters, its eyes rolling in its head with fear. Because the road was narrow, they came single file. Soldier after soldier passed, each one slashing down or across with his sword, in an almost comical imitation of a parade-ground drill, except that he was the bale of rice straw they practiced on. He parried, hacked, slashed, and swung the heavy sword, felt each jarring contact with steel, the impact traveling up his arm like fire; but he feared making body cuts more, because the blade could get caught in the other man’s armor and there would be no time to free it. Below him, on either side, Haseo and Tora slashed and swung their weapons, but he was hardly aware of them because the enemy came so fast.
And then they were past.
Two riderless horses galloped off, and two groaning men rolled on the ground, their blood soaking into the hot earth. A wounded horse screamed dreadfully, its legs flailing in the air as it rolled on the body of its rider. Tora grinned up at him, his sword dripping blood.
“That’s three of the bastards,” he called.
Akitada nodded. Kumo had foolishly given them the advantage by sending his men singly at them. True, the road was narrow, but if he had ordered his men to use their bows and arrows, or to dismount and attack on foot, their numbers would have made short work of three weak adversaries. He glanced up the road where the remaining five soldiers gathered for a return sweep, and then at Kumo, who was watching impassively from his embankment.
Haseo’s bamboo pole lay broken, but he helped himself to the sword of the dead man under the wounded horse, then stepped forward and quickly cut the suffering beast’s throat. Its blood drenched him, but he returned to the others, swinging the sword triumphantly, his face exultant.
Up on his embankment, Kumo raised his fan, and here they came again, hooves thundering on the roadway, frenzied shouts ringing, long, curved blades slashing and hissing through the air. Akitada attempted to turn his horse, but this time the abused nag had had enough. With a frenzied whinny, it reared, unseating Akitada, and took off down the empty roadway ahead of the attackers, legs flying.
Akitada fell onto the road, but managed to roll out of the way of the pounding hooves. Slashing swords missed him by inches. When they were past, he tried to get up, staggered, then saw one horseman turning back, bent low over his horse’s neck, his sword ready. Akitada was still swaying when a strong hand grasped the back of his robe and pulled him out of the way.
Haseo.
Muttering his thanks, Akitada rubbed dust from his eyes and shook his head to clear it. Somehow he still gripped his sword. The horseman reined in, turned, and charged again, scattering loose stones and screaming hoarsely. Tora was now beside Akitada, crouched low, his short sword ready. Akitada caught only a glimpse of Haseo’s face; he was grinning, his eyes bright with the joy of battle. Then the rider was upon them and they jumped clear, slashing at his horse’s legs. They heard the animal scream, saw the man fall, and then the other horsemen came, and they slashed and swung some more, and thrust at horses, at the legs of men, ducking and parrying the swords of their attackers. This time, they wounded two horses and killed one man, but Haseo was bleeding from a cut to his shoulder, and Tora’s sword was broken.
“Back,” gasped Akitada. “We’ve got to get back to the buildings where they can’t ride us down. We’ll force them to meet us on foot.” A strange exhilaration had seized him. He wanted to taste victory and savor its sweetness.
He and Haseo ran to the narrow passageway between the farm and an outbuilding. Up on the ridge, Kumo was shouting orders again. His bannerman now joined the remaining soldiers. Only five left? No time to count.
Tora, swordless, was slowly backing away from a horseman who had been thrown by his wounded horse and attacked on foot. Tora crouched, dodged, and jumped out of the way of the furious sweeps of the other man’s sword. Akitada rushed forward, swung down hard, and severed the man’s sword hand at the wrist. The wounded man was still staring stupidly at the stump when Tora snatched up the fallen sword and ran it through the man’s throat. The body arched back, the man’s eyes already glassy in death. When Tora jerked free the blade, the wound vomited forth a stream of blood like a second mouth.
The man fell forward, convulsed, and lay still.
On the road the four other soldiers had dismounted and were coming toward them, slowly now, swords in hand, in a half crouch. Kumo had finally realized his mistake.
But still the high constable kept his distance, alone and aloof on his magnificent horse, waiting and watching.
They faced the oncoming enemy side by side, the wall of the farmhouse to their right, and the fence of the drying yard to the left. There was not enough room for the attackers to get past and come at them from the back, but if Kumo’s men remembered their training, they could easily overcome them by working together. It is impossible to parry two swords simultaneously if one slices from above and the other thrusts from below at the belly.
Akitada warily watched as two men came for him. When they decided to move, one raised himself on his toes with an earsplitting shriek and rushed Akitada, his sword held above his head with both hands. He clearly hoped that Akitada would back away and he could bring his sword down to split Akitada’s head. Fortunately, this dramatic attack caused the second man to hesitate, and Akitada, instead of backing away, crouched and lunged, his sword held in front with its blade pointing upward. His attacker impaled himself with such force that the sword penetrated to the hilt, and Akitada had to put his foot against the body to pull it free in time to meet the belated attack of the second man.
Whether this one had learned from his mate’s mistake or was afraid for his life, he circled back and forth without making a move. Akitada could hear the clanging of steel against steel, the thumps and grunts, as Haseo and Tora dealt with their opponents, but he did not take his eyes off this man, for a lapse in attention could cost him his life.
In the end it was the other man who glanced away to see how his companions were faring, and Akitada quickly slipped under his guard and killed him.
He stood, rubbing his sore right arm, looking around him in a daze, and saw that they had survived and their attackers had not. Four bodies lay in the farmhouse passageway, some still, some twitching, one vomiting blood. Tora looked unhurt, and at first glance Haseo also, but then Akitada saw the hand pressed against the abdomen, the fixed smile, the defiant wide-legged stance, and knew something was terribly wrong.
“Haseo?”
/> “The bastard got me from below, I’m afraid,” said Haseo through stiff lips.
“How bad is it?”
“Bad. I’m afraid to take my hand away, but it went in pretty far. I think I’d better sit down.”
They helped Haseo, leaned him against the fence. Akitada looked at Haseo’s hand, pressed hard against his waist, and saw the blood seeping through the fingers. His heart contracted in pity.
“Sir!” Tora pulled his arm and pointed.
Kumo was finally coming down from his embankment. At the farmhouse, he dismounted, tying up his horse, and walked toward them. Akitada rose and seized his sword.
Kumo stopped about ten feet away. Close up, he still looked magnificent, tall and slender, with his golden helmet and his gold-trimmed armor laced in green silk. But the handsome face was pale and covered with perspiration.
“So,” he said, his right hand clasping his sword, its hilt also gold but its blade gleaming blue steel, “you have left me no choice.”
“You have that backward, Kumo. You chose this way. It’s too late now to complain because you have chosen death.” Kumo laughed bitterly. “You fool! I could have killed you many times myself. I could have had you killed by my men. But I did not. Now you force me to commit the ultimate sin, the sin which will cost me eternity.”
What nonsense was this? In any case, the slow death Kumo had condemned him to in his mine would have been much worse than any quick strike of the sword. Then Akitada caught a glimmer of sense in what Kumo had said. He gestured at the farmyard and the road, both covered with the corpses of men and horses, the stench of their blood filling the hot midday air and attracting the first buzz of flies. “This is your handiwork, Kumo. You are the bringer of death, as guilty as if you had shed their blood yourself.”
“No!” Kumo flushed with anger. “I never touched them.
My hands are clean. I never killed man or beast.” He stared at Akitada, at Tora and Haseo behind him, then back at Akitada.
