by Ree Soesbee
Yugoro and his brother bowed smoothly, their sky-blue robes fluttering with each movement.
"Finish your treaty, and leave. You are no longer welcome here," Hitomi hissed.
"Hai, Daimyo," the Crane said quiedy, bested.
Hitomi turned to the crowd, raising her head and speaking with authority. "I am daimyo of the Mirumoto family, as my father was before me, and I owe no man. I will no longer be questioned. Is that clear?" Looking down at the Mirumoto samurai once more, Hitomi's stared blackly into Yukihera's eyes until he was forced to bow his head.
"Hai, Hitomi-sama," Sukune whispered. "Hai, domo. Thank you."
Kneeling at her feet, Yukihera said nothing.
The war had only just begun.
WINDS OF WAR
The interior of the Mirumoto mountain twisted through barren rock and thick granite, passages that pulsed with samurai and their families. Protected from the bitter air of the mountain autumn by thick walls of rock, the Dragon Clan lived in solitude and peace. No force had ever conquered Mirumoto Palace; it was said none ever would.
Deep within the palace, where only high windows opened to faint sunlight or the cold glow of stars, the central chamber of the Dragon Champion nestled within thick stone walls and iron buttresses. Only three items decorated the cold antechamber: an ornate ivory throne as old as the mountain itself; twin swords that rested on a low mahogany table beside the throne; and an elaborate circle, carved deep into the rock at the center of the room. The circle's borders were formed by deep cuts into the granite, filled with glistening silver and gold. Each twisting
line consisted of thousands of tiny dragons, flying in serpentine patterns and forming a single golden curve. At each of four edges, the serpent circle broke into wide wings, framing a low cushion of gold thread and green silk. On these cushions rested three of the most powerful members of the Dragon Clan, summoned by their ultimate ruler: Togashi Yokuni, champion of the Dragon.
But his ivory throne was empty, and the three daimyo argued for the future of their clan. One was a young girl no older than eighteen summers, her hair shorn close to the skull and her black eyes filled with fire. She was Mirumoto Hitomi, Lady of the Mirumoto family.
A second rested on his cushion, sipping tea from a simple cup as though at peace with the world. His name was Tamori, lord of the Dragon lowlands and the finest shugenja in the clan. His robes reflected his place as daimyo to his house, and the elaborate serpent tattoos that wove their paths across the bare skin of his face and hands proved his rank as Master of the Agasha, the sorcerers of the Dragon.
Another samurai with youthful features occupied the third place, kneeling as if uncomfortable even on the magnificent cushion. His gi was travel-stained, his elegant haori vest wrinkled as though he had slept in it, and his movements were quick and unrestrained from lack of rest. A fan rested on the ground in front of him, signifying that he had been the one to ask the champion to arrange the gathering. His name was Yasu, master of the Kitsuki family—another young Dragon daimyo, only three summers older than Hitomi.
Hitomi did not completely trust Yasu, but he was an ally. Two years ago, he had asked Hitomi for her hand in marriage, vowing he would give up his own title and take the position of husband when she became daimyo. She refused him, and nearly challenged him to a duel for his presumption. Since then, they had hardly spoken—but he had never opposed her. Not like Tamori had.
Only two hundred years since their inception, the Kitsuki had already gained a reputation in the empire—one that did not speak well of their nature. The Kitsuki were investigators, ignoring the ways of bushido and studying "evidence" rather than proving testimony. They were discoverers, explorers, students of the world, too willing to ignore a samurai's honor in favor of some small token of "proof." Whatever he had found, it had better be enough. Within the guarded heart of Mirumoto Palace, the samurai of each family gathered, ready to face the future under the command of their daimyo.
A daimyo who even now cursed the name of the emperor they were sworn to serve.
"Damn it, Yasu," Hitomi interrupted him with a snarl. She leaned forward. "The emperor turns his back on the empire, allowing the Crane and the Lion to make war. The Unicorn attack the Crab—the Crab abandon their ancient duty and march north, through the empty Scorpion lands. There is chaos and disruption, death and plague, and you want us to join them? Better that we come down from the mountains with the strength of steel and crush every one of them to the ground. That is the only way they will understand 'peace.' Tell me that this is our purpose, and the Mirumoto will gladly join you. But for a fool's errand? Never."
Kitsuki Yasu blanched at such open disrespect, but stammered, "The empire n-needs the Dragon. Our clan is the only one left untouched by the devastation that has swept the lands below our mountains. We must..."
"No, no, Yasu-san." Agasha Tamori smiled pleasandy, sipping the green tea that cooled in his porcelain glass. "Hitomi-san is correct. For centuries, the clan of the Dragon has remained outside the petty conflicts of the empire. We must remain apart; that is our duty."
Shivering slightly at the sound of the man's snakelike hiss, Hitomi leaned back on her cushion and tried to control her impulse to reach for the hilt of her sword. Asahina Tamori could slide smoothly into any conversation, as if he were the most talented Crane diplomat, but his words held the cutting edge of fangs and poison. His golden robes rustled against the cold stone around his cushion, making waves against the black surface of the floor. The man was weak, a coward, thought Hitomi. It galled her to agree with Tamori, but she realized the wisdom of his words. For hundreds of years, the Dragon had watched one conflict after another tear at the empire, and had remained apart. Each battle subsided, each conflict died, and still the Dragon watched.
It is the Dragon's way, Hitomi thought. It is our place to do nothing at all. Damn the Dragon for being cowards, and damn them for giving me birth.
"Yes, the Lion attack the Crane. What of it?" Tamori was as smooth as obsidian. Ripples of amusement tinged his cultured voice. "We have enough to do, feeding our peasants when the snows come."
"Now is the time to move, knowing we will be safe...."
"We are safe already, Yasu-san." Tamori smiled. "Safe enough, behind our walls."
"Safe, perhaps, but for how long?" The voice belonged to Togashi Mitsu, one of the secretive tattooed ise zumi that were the personal servants of the champion. Each ise zumi dedicated his life to discovering the secrets of the Dragons' Heart, the ancient riddle that leant the clan strength. They made the torturous climb through the wilderness and sharp cliffs to desolate Kyuden Togashi, arriving with bloodied hands and a singular purpose: to serve the champion of the Dragon Clan. It was said that those who were unworthy would wander into the lost mountains forever, dying because they could not prove themselves.
Part monk, part samurai, the ise zumi are an enigma to the empire, Hitomi thought. They ask riddles that hide truth, and they know more than they are allowed to tell. It is their nature, and their enigmas keep the clan strong. They are our heart, but they are not our steel.
The steel, Hitomi reminded herself, is the Mirumoto. Untempered, perhaps, but still steel.
The thick-bodied ise zumi knelt at the edge of the ivory throne's dais, looking out at the circle of kneeling daimyo with respect and a touch of mischief. But it was not Mitsu's half-grin that caught the attention of the three daimyo. It was the tall man, standing in the shadows behind him.
No one had seen the champion enter the room, but the whisper of his presence sent chills up Hitomi's spine. The doors of the chamber, thick oak between an arch of stone, had not seemed to move; yet he was there, bringing Mitsu to be his voice. The champion of the Dragon did not speak in conventional ways, even to his most faithful servants. It was said that no creature in the empire had ever heard his true voice. Yokuni towered above his three daimyo, his steel and gold armor glinting in the torchlight and the faint starlight that streamed from a high window.
> "Hail, Yokuni-sama," all three daimyo chimed, and they pressed their foreheads to the floor in respect.
Turning his eyes upon each of them, Yokuni surveyed the room silently. As he moved toward his throne, his steel-masked helm showed no sign of emotion. There was neither anger nor joy in his precise steps. Within the darkness of his shadowed mempo, nothing betrayed the champions thoughts.
"The lord champion bids you all to be comfortable." Mitsu began to speak as if spurred by some silent cue. The tattooed ise zumi grinned faintly, seeming to forget his place for a moment, and then went on. "You have been called here at his bidding, to witness the future of the Dragon Clan."
As Mitsu spoke, Yokuni stepped through the stone chamber. Pausing briefly in the center of the ring formed by his three daimyo, he looked up at the filtered starlight of the high window.
"Yokuni-sama has heard your news of the empire, Yasu-san," Mitsu said as Yokuni remained still for many long moments. "He is pleased that your diligence has returned such useful information. Honor to your house, Daimyo of the Kitsuki."
The champion's robes rustled in the breeze, a wind that had not existed before he entered the room. Mitsu turned to gaze upon Yokuni's silent mask as if listening to unspoken words. After a moment, the monk turned hard eyes on Hitomi.
"Our champion is pleased that you could join us, Daimyo of the Mirumoto," Mitsu said with forced casualness. "He is sorry that your business did not allow you to attend the command council. The discussion with the Unicorn was most enlightening. I am certain you can be informed as to the events of that council, should you speak to your second-in-command, Yukihera-san. He was there in your place, and his advice and wisdom were most appreciated by the other clans, and by our champion."
Hitomi's face darkened at the rebuke. "I will speak with him. I was ... to the south, seeking information on the Crab...."
"On a particular Crab, Mirumoto Hitomi. Hida Yakamo. Yes, Yokuni knows how you spend your days. You will speak with Yukihera. When you do," Mitsu said, tilting his head enigmatically. "You should also ask Yukihera of his dealings with Toturi. Yukihera spent a great deal of time with the ronin general and can give you insight into the man's mind."
Again, the sting. Yukihera had done all her work for her. And where had she been? Seeking a lost vengeance. They did not understand.
Hitomi swallowed her pride and her excuses. "Hai, Yokuni-sama," she said quietly, seething with anger.
The wind furled Yokuni's thick cloak as if caressing the skin beneath the steel, turning the light into half-heard whispers. It was rare that the champion came among them; rarer still that he allowed Mitsu to speak his mind so clearly.
Yokuni turned back to the three daimyo. He stared into each leader's eyes for a long moment.
Unlike the others, Hitomi did not avert her gaze. The action was too bold, too rude even for an accomplished senior daimyo, much less the stripling chieftain of a scattered family. Yet somehow, she knew that Yokuni had expected her to stare. She looked into his eyes for the briefest of moments, and as she did a cold wind swept through the chamber. For an instant, Hitomi felt an unreasoning, desperate fear touch her heart with cold fingers. Something was terribly wrong.
Before she could speak, Mitsu continued. "In times of trouble, history will be written by the victors. The empire has been threatened. This is not unusual. We have always remained apart, Tamori-san, you are correct. But the Dragon has remained apart from the empire for a reason."
Yokuni moved to rest upon the ivory throne. The serpentlike arms of the chair seemed to come alive and twist about his wrists in welcome.
Above the throne, carved on the wall of the antechamber were three kanji—words placed there by the first Togashi, ancient kami of myth. His final act was to carve these words above the throne of his successors, that his spirit would inspire their actions for future generations. Now, the words haunted Hitomi as if the enigma had been posed to the depths of her soul.
Become the Riddle.
When it became his time to take the throne, every Dragon Champion spent a hundred days alone in this room. Chosen from the ranks of the ise zumi, the Dragon Champion became solitary, taking a position of silence and emptiness. Never again would the ise zumi's face be seen by anyone— but only the mempo of the first champion. Once a man had taken the name "Yokuni," he ceased to be a member of the ise zumi and had become the incarnation of the first Togashi. His former identity was lost beneath a metal mask and a shell of armor.
"Now it is time to leave our mountains. The Dragon are needed, and Yokuni commands that we will go. Hitomi," Mitsu turned to each of the daimyo one by one, pointing from his seat at the base of the ivory throne, "will lead the Mirumoto armies south, toward Lion lands. Beneath the mountains, you will meet with our allies, and you will assist them as needed. Tamori, you are commanded to assemble a guard of twenty-five of your best shugenja. They will go with the Mirumoto legions and aid them in every way. Yasu, you will travel with Hitomi. She will need you." Mitsu cocked his head curiously, a half-smile appearing on his lips.
"Need... ?" Hitomi whispered, but her protest was ignored.
Yokuni gestured toward the open sky with one gauntleted hand.
Mitsu continued without pause. "Hitomi, you will take the Mirumoto legions to the Kitsuki palaces and visit the Gardens of Shinsei. There you will meet your guide, and he will lead you the rest of the way. You leave in three days."
"Three?" Hitomi said. "Forgive me, Champion-sama," she began, trying to remain respectful of his position and her own duty. "It will take weeks to prepare the caravans of supplies, to arm the troops, to make ready the guard who will remain behind...."
"Perhaps you do not understand, Hitomi-sama," Mitsu turned to her, a touch of sorrow on his face. For once, he spoke no riddles, nor did he quote the eternal Tao of the prophet, Shinsei. "None of your troops will remain behind. All the forces of the Mirumoto must join our allies at the base of the Dragon Mountains and continue south from there. As it is, the Crab will beat us to Beiden Pass—and once there, the fighting will begin. We will not have time to prepare a reserve, and there is no reason. If the Crab seize the pass, the empire may fall. But the Dragon will not remain unguarded."
Mitsu turned toward Yasu and continued. "A smaller force of Kitsuki will remain here to guard the passes, though Yasu will travel with you as aide and advisor. Your supplies, and an apt guide, await you at the Kitsuki palaces."
"All... ?" Hitomi's face darkened, but she knew better than to defy the champion of the Dragon when he had given a direct order. Beside her, Yasu bowed gratefully.
"My men will be pleased to serve, Yokuni-sama." Of all the daimyo, only Yasu seemed excited about their orders. His open face shone with honest respect and admiration, and he eagerly clutched the hilt of his sword. "The Kitsuki scouts will come with me, to find the best way out of the mountains before the snows seal the passes. The others will remain behind. Although my family is small, with the thick blanket of snow and the treacherous passes, the palaces of the Dragon will be safe for many months. Even if an enemy chose to attack, they would have to wait until spring, and by spring, my men will have the resources they need to stop any enemy advance."
Though Tamori seemed no more pleased than Hitomi, he too nodded in assent. "I will do as my champion asks. Gennai, twenty-three others, and myself will assemble to follow the ... armies," he said with barely covered distaste. "Our magic is at Hitomi-san's disposal."
After a moment, Mitsu rose from his place at Yokuni's feet. "Your orders are clear, Daimyo-sama, and I have served my duty. You should hasten to prepare your men for their journey. There is much to do and little time to begin." Mitsu looked at Yokuni as if loath to speak, but the champion's stone demeanor revealed nothing. Turning back to the daimyo, Mitsu concluded, "Go."
As one, the three daimyo bowed from their cushions once more and rose fluidly. Yasu beamed his emotions like a man with no sense of the fool he makes of himself. Beside him, Ta-mori's face twitched with rap
id calculations. They crossed the wide room like snakes retreating toward their burrows, seeking out safe havens within the mountain's rocky heart. Both of the other daimyo had much to do tonight, Hitomi knew. She doubted if any of the three of them would sleep.
What rest could there be in a world gone mad?
As the other daimyo exited through wide oak doors in the stone corridors of the palace, Hitomi heard Mitsu's rapid footsteps behind her. The ise zumi neatly scampered to her side, his warm eyes troubled and his hands in protective fists.
He knows something he does not want to tell me, Hitomi thought, noting the concern that masked the monk's movements.
"Hitomi-san?" Mitsu began, stepping closer to her and bowing briefly. "I have one further message for you. One that I was not allowed to say in the presence of the other daimyo." He paused, and Hitomi nodded. "The champion wished you to know your enemy." Now that he was no longer speaking for Yokuni, Mitsu once more spoke in riddles and enigmas.
"I see." Choking back her anger, Hitomi said icily, "Against whom do I bring war?"
"The enemy of our enemy is our friend. Your orders, Hitomi-sama, are to make war against the Crab."
A sharp intake of breath, and Hitomi's demeanor changed from ice to fire. "Crab ..."
"lie, Hitomi-san!" Mitsu spoke quickly. "This battle is for the clan, not for your own personal vengeance. You must seek out the answer without carrying the future of the clan on your shoulders."
"Will the Crab Champion's son be there?" Hitomi asked.
"Hitomi-san, I..."
"Will he be there?" her tone changed from that of a petulant girl to the strong crack of a soldier's command.
Unwillingly, the ise zumi felt his spine bend, and he fell to the ground on his knees before the daimyo of the Mirumoto family. "I do not know," he said quietly. "Perhaps. We are content to speak, and we suppose, but only the secret truly knows."
"Hida Yakamo." Hitomi's face contorted in rage and hatred. "I would give my life to take his from this world. He murdered my brother, and I have not forgotten. Before I die, the life of Hida Yakamo will end on my blade."
