The Hooded Ronin augmented the Phoenix Champion's work, breaking holes in the undead battle lines and attacking their most vulnerable spots. The two of them soon had the battle well in hand.
Before Amaterasu sank behind the western mountains, the defile ran black with Shadowlands' blood. In the end, a dozen monks lay dead, but none of the zombies and their fell allies remained. The Shinseists quickly set to tending their wounded.
The Hooded Ronin retrieved his walking staff, sheathed its spear point, and leaned heavily against the dark wood. He nodded approvingly at the Phoenix Champion. "Your arrival was most timely," he said. "You appeared exactly when we needed you."
"I'm told I have a gift for that," Ujimitsu said, smiling. Though sweaty, he looked completely unruffled by the battle.
"You are Shiba Ujimitsu, if I'm not mistaken."
"You're not. Are you the man who calls himself the Hooded Ronin?"
"1 do not call myself anything, but that is what others call inc," the ronin said, bowing. "How is it you happened this way, 1 Jjimitsu-san?"
"I go where I'm needed," the Phoenix Champion replied.
The ronin nodded. "I understand," he said. "I travel such loads frequently myself."
"Which is how you came to be with these monks?" Ujimitsu usked.
"Hai," the ronin replied. "Fu Leng's minions seek to erase temples, monks, and all other traces of Shinsei from Rokugan." He smiled slyly. "They're none too fond of me, either, so I'm happy to thwart them whenever I can. The monks were lucky our fates took the same path."
"Do you think you can finish the rest of the trip on your own?" the Phoenix asked. His eyes glossed over, acquiring a distant, detached quality.
"I think we can manage," the Hooded Ronin said. "You have business elsewhere?"
"Yes, though there's one thing I must do before I go," the I'hoenix said.
Walking beside the body of the undead horseman, Ujimitsu gazed to where the no-dachi had fallen. The blade's steel was dark, and it shimmered with a red haze. Ujimitsu picked it up.
Sparks flew where the sword's pommel met the Phoenix's flesh, and Ujimitsu's hands burned with red fire. His dark eyes narrowed and he swung the sword hard into the cliff face, chanting a prayer to Shinsei as he did so.
The evil blade shattered into a thousand tiny pieces and dissolved in red smoke. The screams of an angry demon filled the afternoon air before fading into nothingness.
The Phoenix Champion took a deep breath and clenched his fists.
"Are you all right?" the ronin asked.
"The sword's voice was dark and powerful, but there was only one spirit within the blade," Ujimitsu said gravely. "The champions of a thousand years fill my soul to overflowing. The sword was no match for them."
The Hooded Ronin nodded. "Well done."
"Thank you."
"These are evil times," the ronin said.
"Hai. Some say it portends the end of the world."
"It does."
Ujimitsu cocked an eyebrow. "Can you be so sure?" he asked.
"I can," said the ronin. "Your voices tell you of the past. Those that speak to me tell of the future. The end time is nearly upon us. Soon, the Thunders will gather once more." He turned and gazed down the valley, to where the monks sat tending their wounds. "We both have much to do before the end comes."
"Hai," Ujimitsu replied, "and I must be about my work."
"Amaterasu's blessing upon you, then. Domo arigato goza-imasu." The cloaked samurai bowed low, though his eyes strayed from Ujimitsu to the battered monks. Their journey was nearly over; his had barely begun.
Ujimitsu bowed in return. "The Sun Goddess be with you as well," the Phoenix said, his voice fading in the afternoon air.
When the ronin turned to look for him, Ujimitsu had vanished. The wanderer sighed and leaned against his bloodied staff.
Mifune plodded up from where the rest of the monks had gathered below. Despite several cuts and bruises, the former Scorpion looked little the worse for wear. "We want to thank both of you," he said, rubbing his shaved head. "But where has your friend gone?"
"Even the Phoenix Champion cannot be everywhere at once," the ronin explained.
"Hai," Mifune said. "There must be a lot of work for one such as he."
The Hooded Ronin nodded, a grim smile creasing his handsome face.
"There is," he said. "More than enough for one samurai. More than enough for seven."
RUINS
The once-proud towers of Kyuden Doji thrust up from the blasted landscape like broken teeth from bloodied gums. The ruins stood above a steel-gray winter sea. Surf hissed like a slumbering serpent. The city's craggy perch had protected it from the waves, but not from its true enemy— the Shadowlands forces of Doji Hoturi.
Matsu Tsuko steered her warhorse through the toppled buildings and burnt-out temples of the Crane capital, leading her troops from the destroyed city and into the surrounding countryside. The Lion daimyo's cheeks ached with smiling.
Her people controlled the land as far as the eye could see in every direction. The Crane's civil war had left them ill-suited to fend off the strong Lion armies. Tsuko's conquest of the Crane province had been almost too easy. The lack of strong opposition made the Lion feel somewhat cheated in her victory. Still, she couldn't help grinning.
A crow banked down from the soot-smudged sky, landed, and pecked the eyes out of a fallen Crane samurai. Tsuko nodded her approval. Nearby, wild dogs fought over the corpse of a temple priestess. The Lion rode up and killed the mangy animals with her lance. Cranes could be left to rot, but a sister of Shinsei—that was another matter. For the first time in days, Tsuko frowned.
The Lion daimyo wondered why the Crane had done it. What had made Doji Hoturi turn on his own people and become the head of an undead army? Could it be true what the priests whispered, that Fu Leng had already returned to Rokugan, that they— all of them—were living in the end days?
Casting her gaze across the burnt landscape and the slaughtered people, Tsuko could almost believe it. Then she shook her head. No. This was the work of the Fortunes, surely. Why would the Evil One want to exact such a toll on Tsuko's enemies? Why would the master of the undead leave the Lion armies all but untouched by his dark hand? Why would he give the Lion their long-awaited victory? Tsuko and her people were no servants of Fu Leng.
The resistance against Tsuko's armies had been pitiful at best. Her troops had joined up quickly and swept across the barren landscape, felling all who stood before them.
Matsu Agetoki, Kitsu Motso, and Matsu Yojo rode nearby, laughing and joking with their samurai. They drank sake and sang loudly of the Lion victory and Crane cowardice.
Tsuko heard the voice of her dead love in their songs: Akodo Arasou sang proudly of glorious battles. How she wished he could be here to enjoy this! Capturing the province nearly made up for his death and that of her friend Kitsu Koji. Never more would the Crane and their allies cut down the flower of Lion youth.
The thought turned Tsuko's mind to Shiba Tsukune once more. The thing that galled the Lion most in this whole victory was Tsukune. Where was she? How did the Phoenix witch escape their patrols?
The Lion daimyo cursed the Phoenix's luck and their skill with magic. Still, she felt confident her scouts would find Tsukune again. Then Tsuko would finally settle accounts.
Finally.
A noise from her left caught Tsuko's attention. Kitsu Motso and some of his people had rousted a band of Crane stragglers from a copse of unburned pines. The enemy samurai shouted, waved their swords ineffectively, and tried to run. Motso's people quickly hemmed the group in.
One samurai-ko, the only woman among the Crane band, ran forward brandishing a long naginata. She aimed the polearm's curved blade at Motso's horse, but the lion commander deftly reined the beast out of the way. He turned and thrust his bronze-lipped spear at the woman's breast. She died bravely on the point of Motso's lance, neither crying nor begging for mercy. Her compatriots perished like dogs, g
roveling in the dusty earth.
Tsuko nodded and smiled. Motso waved a salute to his daimyo and bowed. She laughed and breathed deeply of the cold, winter air.
As the sun set like a ball of red fire over the barren Spine of the World Mountains, Matsu Yojo rode to Tsuko's side. In his fist, lie carried a weatherworn scroll. "News from our troops in the mountains," he said, a broad smile creasing his handsome face.
"Out with it," Tsuko said.
He nodded a curt bow. "Our troops have encountered the ronin Toturi and are preventing his army from crossing out of the mountains and into the eastern plains."
"Have they . . . killed him?" Tsuko asked, arching one pale golden eyebrow.
Yojo shook his head. "Not as of this report. Shall I send them a message to slay him at any cost? It would be our honor to lay the Black Lion's head at your feet."
"No," Tsuko replied, a slight smile creeping over her stern face. "There's plenty of time to deal with Toturi. I look forward to slaying him myself."
The young commander nodded. "Hai, Tsuko-sama." He turned and gazed across the corpse-strewn fields of the Crane. "We have won a great victory against our enemies," he said. He blinked back the dust blowing across the plain, and for a moment, his eyes appeared troubled. "The Crane's foolish civil war has cost them dearly. It would have been better for them if Hoturi had never been born."
"Lucky for us that he was," Tsuko said. Her breast swelled with the pride of victory. Nearly everything I desire is within my reach, she thought. The idea, though, triggered memories of Akodo Arasou. The emptiness in her heart would never be filled. The mountains cast long, purple shadows over the desolate battlefield.
Tsuko turned back to Yojo and said, "Time to make camp. There's an unburned village just over the ridge. They should have some provisions for us. March the troops there and see to it. Then join me in my tent for a drink. Tell the others to come, too, when their duties permit."
Yojo bowed in the saddle. "Hai, my lady." He rode off shouting orders.
Tsuko's samurai mounted up and moved quickly to the outskirts of the village—a congregation of two dozen mud-brick houses with thatched roofs.
Quickly, a small city of tents sprang up outside the town. Samurai laughed and sang and took what supplies the army needed from the frightened villagers. Clouds rolled in just after sunset, and snow flurries began to fall.
Within her pavilion, Tsuko shivered and cursed the weather. She walked to the woodpile and cast another small log on the big iron brazier in her tent. White smoke drifted up from the fire through the opening in the apex of the silk. A few stray snowflakes found their way down through the smoke hole and evaporated over the brazier's heat. Why did the night have to be so cold? A victory this great called for bright sunlight and colorful blossoms blowing on the wind like butterflies.
Matsu Yojo entered through the tent flaps, patting snow off his shoulders and shaking himself to relieve the cold. The Lion daimyo nearly laughed at the sight. Yojo noticed her gaze, bowed, and turned slightly red. "My apologies for getting snow on your silks."
She waved off the nicety. "Seat yourself near the fire and pour yourself a drink," she commanded.
He nodded and did as she bade, seating himself on the floor and fetching a jar of good sake from where several jugs warmed beside the brazier. Tsuko sat down opposite him. Yojo poured her a cup and then filled one himself. They downed their first drink in silence. Yojo refilled their cups.
"To victory," he said, holding his drink in the air. She nodded and did the same. The wind outside the tent howled like a lost soul.
After more long moments of silence, she asked, "Where are Motso and Agetoki?"
"Attending to some issues with the village peasants," Yojo said.
They'll be here shortly. Motso is worried about something, I think, though."
Tsuko frowned. "What could worry him? This province is all hut pacified. The fat Crane storerooms will make this an easy winter for our clan. All our enemies will be dead by spring."
The door to the large tent flapped open once more, revealing Agetoki and Motso standing outside in the blowing snow. They paused at the threshold for a moment, silently vying with each other over who should enter first. After nearly a minute of feigned, intense politeness, Tsuko said testily, "Come in before the snow smothers our fire."
Both men bowed to her and tried to enter at the same time. Finally, Agetoki, who was larger, shouldered his way past Kitsu Motso. The hefty general kneeled and bowed to his daimyo; the thinner man did the same.
Tsuko waved her hand impatiently at them. "Sit down and stop this nonsense. Just because you're in Crane lands doesn't mean you have to act like them."
Agetoki roared with laughter, and Motso, who looked annoyed at first, soon joined him. They laid aside their weapons and sat by the fire. With Tsuko's permission Agetoki poured more sake, and all four of them drank.
After a polite interval of drinking, Motso cleared his throat. He was a square-jawed man with an angry countenance that made him look less handsome than he really was. He wore bronze samurai armor with long, silk locks like a lion's mane around the headpiece. The armor shone red in the firelight.
He nodded a curt bow and said, "Tsuko-sama, I think it might be well to move the camp."
"Tonight? In this weather?" Tsuko asked, incredulous. She reached to refill her cup.
Agetoki chuckled.
Motso shot him an angry glance. "Yes, tonight. My lady, there is plague in this village."
A chill shot down Tsuko's spine, but she kept her nerve steady as she poured.
"There's plague everywhere," Agetoki rumbled. "This whole damn province is full of it."
"Even our own lands are not immune," added Yojo.
Motso looked from one commander to the other, clearly annoyed. Finally he nodded. "Hai, but there's no sense exposing the troops to more plague than necessary. We already have this place under our heel. Better we should take what we need and move on quickly."
"The way Motso talks," Agetoki said, "you'd think he didn't like the Crane lands."
Tsuko downed her sake in one gulp and said, "Plenty of time to move in the morning. No sense in stirring up our people now—not in this weather. Now stop worrying and drink."
She held out the still-warm jar to her commander.
He took it, nodding his thanks, and drank directly from the container.
Agetoki laughed. "Does that change your view, Motso-san?" he asked jovially.
Kitsu Motso wiped his lips with the sleeve of his kimono. "Not yet," he said, "but it will." With a smile that looked almost like a scowl, he put the jar to his lips again.
They drank long into the night, laughing and joking. However, as the hours wore on and the wind howled more loudly, this cold victory began to prey upon Tsuko's mind.
Even with these proud, strong Lions surrounding her, she still missed her long-dead love. As, one by one, her generals succumbed to the drink and the darkness, Tsuko's heart ached with a void that none of them could even begin to fill.
What do you really have to be proud of? asked a nagging voice in the back of her mind. Your demolition of pitiful Crane irregulars? Your seizing of blasted, ruined, and plague-tainted lands? Where is the honor in all this? Better you should ride home to your high-walled fortresses and wait for a more worthy foe.
Tsuko pushed the dark thoughts aside and gradually slipped off into sleep. Her dreams, though, were troubled with images of lire and death and plague. No matter how many enemies she killed, more arose to take their place. No matter how full the mass graves became, nothing could fill her empty heart.
She woke sweating, though the tent around her was cold. Agetoki, Motso, and Yojo slept by the nearly dead fire. Agetoki snored like a wounded bear. These were her men, her samurai. Each one was willing to lay down his life at her command. Each had made sacrifices at her behest—which was only right. Every samurai in the clan—even Tsuko herself—worked for the greater honor of the Lion.
W
hat had that sacrifice bought her, though?
The pale light of dawn crept in through a crack in the silken door. Tsuko rose silently and made her way to the exit. She had never removed her armor the previous evening; Lions frequently slept in their armor on the battlefield. Now, though, the small rings of metal mail felt cloying and terribly cold.
Stepping outside, Tsuko shook herself to warm her limbs. Beyond her pavilion lay a vast armada of Lion tents, floating like ships on a foamy sea. Snow painted the landscape white, hiding the scars from numerous battles beneath a blanket of pristine ivory. The sky was clear and blue, fading to indigo above the mountains in the west.
In a small valley below the encampment lay the conquered village. Smoke from scattered hearth fires smudged the early morning air. The entire world looked serene and beautiful. Tsuko took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. Small clouds, like dragon's breath, formed near her mouth and nostrils. She watched as they drifted up toward heaven.
A sound behind her caused her to spin, her hand flying for the hilt of her sword. It was only Matsu Yojo. He stumbled out of his daimyo's tent, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Tsuko smiled at the bleary look on his handsome face.
"Morning," he said, slurring the words slightly, and then added, "Tsuko-sama."
"Good morning," she replied.
"The plague doesn't look so bad from here," he said, gazing toward the village. "Maybe Motso was worrying for nothing."
Tsuko peered back toward the village. Now that she looked harder, the snow didn't seem to cover up the land's scars quite so well. The leafless trees of the valley told not of winter, but of fire and destruction. The great waterwheel of the village mill lay sideways, broken, in the dirty-looking stream that meandered through the center of town.
Every building in the settlement showed signs of war: burn marks, broken walls, gutted outbuildings. Despite this, life went on for the villagers. Even now, they scurried around below the Lion encampment, going about their daily routines.
Chop wood, carry water, Tsuko thought. Even the mighty must go about their duties, just as the peasants do. She shook her head and cursed herself for thinking like a mendicant priest. What's wrong with me? she wondered. Where is my Lion's heart?
L5r - scroll 07 - The Lion Page 4
