by Travis Bughi
Chapter 22
The man led them out of Lord Jiro’s presence. They were allowed to arm themselves again and afterwards were taken to a similar tent, not too far from Lord Jiro’s. Emily’s mind was swimming with questions, and her pulse rose as she walked.
Forty thousand, her mind repeated. Forty, thirty, there’s going to be a battle of seventy thousand warriors! What had she been thinking to join this madness? Where could such a battle even take place? How could such a fight even happen? How could so many people die in one day? Would it even end in a day? How long would this fight last? She couldn’t kill forty thousand people. She couldn’t make that many arrows. She only wanted to kill one person. She was only one person!
Yet Emily followed this man and held her tongue long enough for him to speak first.
“My name is Fudo Hanu, but you will call me sir,” the man said. “Lord Jiro is a cousin of mine, so know that my influence does not stop with my rank. You’ll be attached to my unit. We’re to guard Lord Jiro’s son—his only son.”
“Lord Jiro brought his son to this battle, sir?” Takeo asked, shock in his voice.
“Of course he didn’t,” Fudo scoffed. “My lord is much more reasonable than that and left his son and wife in his castle. Lord Katsu need not know that, though. Hanu family tradition dictates that the children be exposed to war as soon as possible, so Katsu will expect Jiro’s son to be present for the battle. The boy we’ll be guarding is a fraud and will serve as excellent bait, which Katsu won’t be able to resist. We expect to be hit very hard.”
Fudo took them inside the white tent and sat them down around a wooden table. There were no chairs of any kind; they sat on their ankles with knees in the dirt. Fudo set one gnarled hand on the table and gave Takeo a hard stare.
“I took you away because Lord Jiro’s uncle is too prideful to hear advice from a youthful source,” Fudo said. “Lord Jiro would listen, that I’m certain of, but to spare us the indignation of that old man’s coughing, I’ll relay what information you tell me. So then, Takeo, you fought alongside Katsu long enough. What would you say his strategy will be to defeat us?”
Emily glanced between the two of them as they exchanged stares and then cleared her throat to catch their attention. Fudo glanced at her, his gaze still hard, but somehow not threatening.
“I hate to ask, but shouldn’t you be asking what your strategy should be to defeat Katsu?” she said. “I’ve never fought in any battle larger than maybe a hundred, but it sounds like Katsu has ten thousand more troops than you. How can you possibly hope to defeat him, strategy aside?”
“Because we’ll actually have ten thousand more troops than Katsu,” Fudo replied. “The Old Woman of the Mountain is finally coming to join the war. She’s bringing twenty thousand of her warriors, and Katsu thinks she means to join him; but in truth, she will turn on him, and together, she and Lord Jiro will defeat Katsu and divide Juatwa in a truce of North and South.”
Takeo took in a deep breath and leaned forward to place his hands on the table, his dark hair cascading forward to frame his face. A shine came to his dark eyes, and the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“So that’s how you’ve done it,” he said, a hint of awe in his voice. “That’s how you’ve drawn him out. I didn’t understand it before. Lord Katsu has always been too cautious for such large battles that risk so much, especially since he’s already winning the war, and I couldn’t imagine how he’d come to meet Lord Jiro in a battle that could possibly go poorly. But you’re telling me that Katsu thinks this is a battle of his sixty thousand against your thirty. Small wonder he couldn’t resist. You . . . you could defeat him this way. This war could really end.”
Fudo nodded. “That’s the plan. Our only concern is staying alive long enough for the Old Woman to reach Katsu so we can defeat him.”
“Why not wait for her to arrive before starting the battle?” Emily asked.
“Because we want Katsu to believe the Old Woman is joining him. For that, we’re making it appear that we are eager to meet him in battle before she arrives. Katsu believes he is the one baiting us, pulling us into a battle from which we cannot escape. In such a situation, it would seem prudent and necessary for Lord Jiro to strike before Katsu’s reinforcements arrive.”
Emily’s fingers touched the handle of her dagger. “And how do you know the Old Woman isn’t going to betray you, or should I say us?”
Fudo nodded, but didn’t appear to be concerned. He took his hand off the table and folded his arms across his chest.
“She won’t join Katsu,” Fudo said plainly. “The mountain bows to no one. Katsu will never split the land with her. He expects her to obey him and fall in line like the rest of the daimyo, but she will not do it. She’s only agreed to assist Jiro because he has agreed never to take interest in her lands again. She wants peace through power, not peace through slavery. I’d stake my life on it.”
“Yours and thirty thousand others’,” Emily corrected.
“Lord Jiro is well aware of that.”
Her fingers continued to play on her knife’s handle. It was a source of comfort for her as well as a perpetual habit. She used to touch her bow just as often, but that had been her treant bow, a gift from her grandmother. This normal, wooden one was just a tool, and it did not make her sleep easier. Of course, the pesh-kabz was also borrowed, but somehow it had proven itself to her, and she’d decided she liked it well enough to let her old habits continue. Fudo watched her touch the dagger but, thankfully, didn’t take the wrong message from it.
“If your questions are finished,” Fudo said, “you’ll recall I have some of my own. Takeo, look at the table please.”
Takeo looked at the empty table, and Fudo placed his hands on it again.
“We’ll be fighting in a large clearing just southeast of here.” Fudo traced his hands along the table to indicate the battlefield’s shape. “There is a mountain on the south side, thick forest to the west and north that’s bordered by a small stream, and plains to the east from where Katsu will approach. We expect he’ll reach the location first, meaning we won’t have time to set up defenses, but we also expect him to assault us rather than wait for our charge. We’ve made the deal too sweet to avoid, and we suspect he’ll be eager to take the fight to us. Now, Takeo, tell me, what is Katsu likely to do?”
Takeo leaned forward to look down upon the imaginary lines Fudo had drawn. His dark eyes swayed from one corner to the next, and Emily held her tongue as she watched Takeo’s mind at work.
“Lord Katsu has always heavily relied on his komainu-mounted troops,” Takeo said. “This battlefield won’t give him as much use with them, but he’ll use them nonetheless. I suspect he’ll have them travel through the forest to harrow your flanks and assault your back lines, trying to draw your men out of formation or otherwise detract from their ability to deal with his main assault at the front. Also, if what you say is true, he’ll want to commit as much of your army to the fight as possible so a retreat would be devastating when Lady Xuan arrives. This means he’ll wrap around your northern end to try and put the mountain at your back. Honestly, this isn’t a very good place for Lord Jiro’s men to do battle.”
“The location is of Lord Katsu’s choosing,” Fudo said, “but you need not worry. I suspected much of what you said, so it’s good to hear I understand the enemy we are about to face. Were it not for Xuan, this battle would be over before it began. The entire affair is ill advised—no one is arguing against that—but we’ve been left no choice. Lord Jiro will grow weaker when winter comes, Katsu is eager to see this war ended, and Xuan has taken the only option available to her: treachery. Then again, this is Juatwa. If I survive this battle, no matter who wins, I suspect I’ll survive long enough to see a new war begin.”
Takeo did not argue the point. His attention remained focused on the wooden table, searching over the imaginary lines as if he’d missed something. Emily drank in those dark eyes, trusting that he
knew what was best. In her mind, she could not imagine what the next few days would hold.
“Anything else, Takeo?” Fudo asked.
“No, sir,” the samurai said and shook his head.
“How do you feel about fighting against your former friends?” Fudo said in a low voice.
“Okamoto did not trust in friends, only his sword and blood. I will not balk, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ve seen enough to know that they all deserve death, myself included.”
Fudo’s hard gaze softened for the blink of an eye, and his chest swelled as he took in a deep breath.
“I think it was a pleasure to meet you, Takeo Karaoshi,” the man said. “If we survive this war, I might ask that you be assigned to me permanently.”
Takeo seemed to have nothing to say to that. He glanced at Emily, and she saw the uneasiness in his eyes. Fudo saw the gaze, too, and looked at Emily, as well. She placed her hand on the table and tapped it with a finger. The truth was that she had no intention of following anyone, but she also knew better than to insult Fudo’s offer with a quick dismissal.
“If,” she said.
Fudo gave a shallow smile and nodded before dismissing them. With a gracious bow, they exited the tent and were immediately greeted by a young soldier with big ears and a hairless face who carried a bundle of sticks and sheets.
“Follow me, sir,” he said to Takeo’s feet.
The soldier led them to a tent with a single cot set up inside.
“You’re to have my quarters.” He was still speaking to Takeo’s feet. “I’ll be setting up another tent for myself next to you, but I promise you won’t hear me at all. I’ll be so quiet, not even a gashadokuro could find me, sir. Also, I’m very sorry I didn’t set up another cot. I didn’t know there were two of you. I’ll get one immediately.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Emily heard herself say.
The soldier choked, and his jaw flapped up and down, but no words came out.
“What’s your name?” Takeo asked.
“Gan Yang, sir,” the soldier replied. “I’ve been assigned to you.”
“Assigned to watch me, you mean?”
Gan stuttered again, and Takeo waved a hand that closed Gan’s quivering mouth.
“It’s alright,” Takeo said. “It’s good to hear Lord Jiro is not so easily trusting. Sleep well, Gan. Tell the others watching me that I’ll need some sparring partners tomorrow, if they have the nerve.”
“I . . . I’ll tell them, sir.” Gan nodded.
Emily smiled and went inside the tent. She closed the flaps behind Takeo, knowing that at least half of the measures being used to spy on them were now cut off. Once again, it was the illusion of privacy she sought, and yet it seemed to work well enough.
“Finally alone,” she muttered. “Sort of. So, tell me, why is Lord Jiro worried about us?”
“My guess is that he doesn’t want us sneaking off to send a message to Lord Katsu. For all he knows, I am part of a very elaborate plan to infiltrate his ranks. A lack of trust is what keeps you alive in Juatwa.”
“Speaking of trust,” Emily said and sat on the cot, “did you know Lei was selling us to Lord Jiro?”
Takeo shook his head, keeping a good pace from Emily, near the tent’s exit.
“I don’t think he had a choice in the matter,” Takeo replied. “I’m sure his master made the decision on what to be done with me. You seem rather hurt, so let me set your mind at ease. Have you realized that if we were being sold, Katsu would have offered payment to have us killed? It would have been easier, too, than communicating with and transporting us to Lord Jiro. We should be mindful that we could have been handed over to Katsu, and I believe Lei is the one to thank for that.”
Emily sighed, but grudgingly nodded her understanding. Her seat on the cot was becoming warm, and she felt her heart’s pace quickening. In the silence that followed Takeo’s words, she heard only the rising desires of her heart.
“I know you have more questions for me,” Takeo said.
His voice was calm, but in his eyes, she saw the hunger they shared. She knew he was being respectful, mindful, patient, the person she fell in love with, but such things were nothing but an obstacle to her now. Her mind, once so clear and full of questions, was now clouded and throbbing. Her lips parted, suddenly warm and tender.
“They can wait,” she replied in a soft voice.
Chapter 23
When Emily’s eyes cracked open in the morning, she awoke from a slumber that lasted ages. She was nuzzled into Takeo’s chest by a combination of the cot’s bend, Takeo’s arms, and her own desire to be as close to him as possible. Her breath lingered in the small space created by pressing her nose between his pecs, and she felt his every heartbeat. Their legs intertwined from their waists down to the tips of their toes, and Emily’s hand rested on Takeo’s side, her thumb carefully dragging over the hardened muscles of his stomach.
“Hm,” Takeo mumbled, “that tickles.”
Her fingers stopped moving, and she bit his chest.
“That also tickled,” he mumbled again.
She bit him harder.
“Ow!” He chuckled. “You bite like a wee lass.”
She went for his pec this time and latched on tightly.
“Ah! OW!” He squirmed. “You win! You bite like a rakshasa.”
She released him and smiled, looking up into his dark eyes as they giggled at each other. Takeo put one hand to her chin and leaned in for a kiss. She rose to meet him, and they both took in deep breaths as their lips touched and then opened.
Then Emily remembered where she was and swore.
“What is it?” he asked. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Yes.” Emily sighed. “You gave me something to lose.”
She attempted to pull him closer, and he did the same. She turned her head and tucked it into his throat while he rested his chin on the top of her head. When he spoke, she felt the vibrations against her ear.
“I wish I could say the same of you,” he said, “but you’ve only ever done things right. You gave me a reason to live.”
“You wanted to die?” she asked, not bothering to hide the shock in her voice.
“It was a thought that had crossed my mind,” he admitted. “It’s not so horrible in samurai culture. Dying for a cause is considered a grand honor, even if you kill yourself. We even have a special name for it, called ‘seppuku,’ and it would have been the only way for me to clear the Karaoshi name of the dishonor I’ve done to it. After Katsu banished me, whether for good or bad, I’ll always be considered a lesser man. Lord Jiro has no issues with me fighting and dying for him, and Fudo’s offer for me to join him is likely similar, but I’ll never gain a position of title again. When they record this battle, my name will not be listed. I’ll always be thought of as a sword, not a man. I knew this the moment Katsu betrayed me, and I struggled with the shame. Then I met you, and there was a shimmer of hope. Now you’re here in my arms, and I feel more fulfilled than I ever have before. I would die for you, without any hesitation. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s all I’ve ever known. Samurai are trained and taught that the most valuable thing we can give is our life, and I would give mine for you in an instant.”
“Don’t.” Emily put a finger to his lips. “Don’t you dare. You say samurai are made to obey, then obey this: don’t you ever die and leave me here without you. I forbid it.”
Takeo curled his hand around her finger and pulled it from his lips.
“As you wish.” His eyes smiled at her.
They kissed again and then reluctantly broke apart to greet the day. The air felt cool, but deathly still, which was at odds with the liveliness of the camp. There seemed to be more activity in the morning than there had been during midday when they had arrived. Gan Yang was already awake, minus a few yawns, and bowed low when Takeo and Emily exited the tent.
“Sir, good morning, sir,” he said. “I’ve brought food, sir, for both of you. Rice and
soup, if it pleases you.”
“Thank you, Gan. And might I add, you’re awfully polite to a sellsword and a ronin,” Takeo remarked.
“Thank you, sir. I think. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” Takeo said. “Did you relay my wishes to the other spies?”
“I have, sir.” Gan bowed low again. “They are eager to meet your challenge.”
Gan gestured across from the tent, and Emily turned to see a row of four samurai seated nearby. Their queues were pulled tight, and their katanas hung ready for use at their waists. They were staring hard at Takeo with eyes that barely blinked and stoic faces that hid all emotion. One of the samurai had two wooden sticks carved into the shape of katanas before him, and Takeo gave them all the faintest of nods.
“Tell them I’m to eat first,” Takeo said to Gan, “and that afterwards, I’ll only face those who can defeat my companion.”
“Hm?” Emily blinked and turned away from the four samurai. “Me? But they want to fight you. They look eager, too.”
“They are, and you’ll make them look like fools because of it. Today you’ll find out that I never went easy on you. Come now, you didn’t actually think I intended to fight anyone?”
He disappeared inside Gan’s tent, and the smell of hot soup was released into the air. It struck Emily’s nostrils, and her stomach growled low and long.
“Hey,” she called after him, “I’m eating first, too!”
* * *
He was big, like Adelpha had been big. Emily saw broad shoulders with a thick core and heavy hips that lent power and strength to their owner. His footing looked solid and formidable, showing that he would not topple so easily as the other three. His eyes were narrowed, his knees were bent, and his hands twisted on the handle of his practice sword. Unlike the others, this one was not clouded by any delusional idea of grandeur. His eyes carried that hint of fear that said he knew his opponent was not to be underestimated. Yet still he prepared to duel, and for that, Emily respected him.
