Shike, Robert J. Shea [ebook reader that looks like a book TXT] 📗

a major councillor had made a speech denouncing Domei as a rebel against the crown. Encouraged, the council had avoided approving Domei’s demands. This delaying tactic could be as disastrous for Domei’s cause as outright rejection.

In addition, Hideyori and his men had returned, and Jebu heard that Horigawa had eluded his pursuers. Jebu felt a pang of disappointment, and realized he had been hoping to learn that Taniko had been made a widow.

Domei’s forces, the thousand samurai of the palace guard, augmented by six thousand Muratomo samurai called in from around the country, continued to drill and to stand guard over the walls surrounding the palace grounds. The White Dragon banner over the main gateway flew just as bravely in the cold winter air. But there was a feeling of tension and uncertainty among the samurai. They needed action, but there was nothing for them to do.

At noon on the third day of Domei’s seizure of the palace, a young samurai came to Jebu, who was meditating on the veranda of the minor palace.

“Captain Domei wants you at the south-centre gateway.”

Domei and other Muratomo leaders were standing on the parapet of the palace wall overlooking Redbird Avenue. Domei appeared tired and discouraged.

“You did well bringing in His Retired Majesty, shik��.”

“I should have prevented the burning of his palace.”

Domei shrugged. “Just another old building. The main thing is, we got GoShirakawa and we didn’t lose a man.” He lowered his voice. “I’m speaking to you now because you’re not one of us. You’re not a samurai, nor a member of the Muratomo clan. Perhaps you won’t be as affected by the news. I’ve tried to keep it a secret. This morning Emperor Nijo escaped.”

“How?”

“Some Takashi infiltrated the palace grounds, disguised the Emperor as a lady-in-waiting, and whisked him out one of the side gates in a carriage. What’s more, Sogamori and Kiyosi have returned to the city. We can expect an attack at any moment. When it comes, I want you to guard my son.”

Jebu knew that Domei had five sons, but he had only met Hideyori. “I presume you mean your youngest son, Hideyori?”

Domei smiled. “I have a son younger than Hideyori. He’s eleven and he’s safe at his mother’s house. I do mean Hideyori. He’s a proud devil. He wants to prove himself better than his older brothers. But he is young to be in the thick of the fighting that will come. The greatest casualties are always among the youngest. Stay close to Hideyori. Try to protect him. But also, try not to let him know you’re doing it.”

Jebu was touched. He remembered Taitaro’s care-worn face the morning after his initiation as a Zinja. Eathers loved their sons, but had to send them into danger.

A cry of alarm came from the near-by Muratomo officers. “Here they come.”

Jebu looked over the wall. The Takashi were advancing. Led by a small group of mounted samurai, the Takashi marched a hundred abreast, their ranks filling the entire breadth of Redbird Avenue. The sun glittered on their armour and the ornamental horns on their helmets. Their hundreds of red banners looked like a sea of poppies. Their war taiko thundered a relentless, triumphant rhythm.

Their leader, riding down the middle of the avenue, wore a helmet with a red-lacquered dragon. His black armour was decorated with gold butterflies and orange-tinted lacings. He rode a chestnut stallion with white mane and tail, and his saddle was inlaid with mother-of-pearl in willow and cherry designs. In his hands he held a long sword curved near the base, the haft decorated with gold and silver mountings.

“That magnificent one,” Domei snarled. “That’s Kiyosi, Sogamori’s son. Look how he’s got himself up. The Takashi are all so vain. We’ll spoil their looks for them today. That sword in his hand, that’s Kogarasu.” He drew his own sword. The winter sun glinted on its long, almost straight blade. “I, too, have my heirloom sword with meHigekiri, the sword that sliced off the arm of the demon of the Rasho Mon. We’ll see whose sword has more power today.”

These samurai deceived themselves into thinking their blades had magical power. “A sword has only as much power as the man behind it,” Jebu said.

Domei shook his head. “Any time a man believes he has power, he has it. This is one of the secrets of warfare, shik��. Go now, and find Hideyori.”

At that moment Kiyosi broke into a gallop, pointing Kogarasu at the little band of Muratomo standing atop the wall. With a roar, the Takashi warriors ran behind their mounted leader, their heavy sandals drumming on the pavement of Redbird Avenue like a stampede of wild horses. Thousands of long swords stabbed the air. The sea of poppies had become a wave of steel.

Scaling ladders sprang up from among the flashing swords, and the Takashi wave crashed against the walls of the Imperial Palace. Over the din Domei shouted orders to his men on the grounds below, and archers sprang to the walls to loose their arrows into the mass of Takashi warriors.

Forcing down his urge to join in the fight at the wall, Jebu hurried down the steps leading to the palace grounds. He ran across the white gravel to the inner wall surrounding the main buildings of the palace. A long line of defenders had formed between the two ancient trees, the Cherry Tree of the Left and the Orange Tree of the Right, which stood before the Ceremonial Hall. Jebu found Hideyori among them. The young man’s fingertips nervously tapped his sword hilt.

“Have you ever drawn blood with that?”

Hideyori shrugged. “I tried it out on a slave. But you heard what my father said. I just had my topknot ceremony. I’ve never been in real combat. Why do we have to stay here? I’d rather be on the outer wall.”

Jebu looked through the gateway leading out of the compound. He saw a Takashi banner wave briefly on the outer wall, then fall. “Erom the look of it, the Takashi will be coming to us,” he said. In his mind he was repeating the Zinja sentences to compose his mind for battle. Arrows flew through the air, but none of them fell near the Muratomo line within the palace compound.

There came a rush of Muratomo defenders from the outer wall to join the line between the two trees. Right behind them the Takashi burst through and streamed into the palace compound like a long ribbon of red silk unwinding. Jebu unslung his bow and took aim at Kiyosi, but the scion of the house of Takashi changed direction suddenly, and the arrow flew past him and disappeared. Make every arrow count, Jebu reminded himself with chagrin. He wanted Kogarasu, which he could see slashing like a great silver scythe, too badly. He was infected with the lust for success. He resolved just to act and to forget about Kiyosi’s sword. The Self doesn’t collect swords, he thought.

“Stay close to me,” Jebu said to Hideyori. The young Muratomo had his sword out. Jebu stood to his left and slightly in front of him, acting as a shield. Other Muratomo samurai, seeing their leader’s son in their midst, crowded around him protectively.

Jebu wished Domei were more of a planner. The Takashi, at least, seemed to have some sense of direction, and it was working for them. The Muratomo fought as samurai usually did, every man for himself, and they were being driven back.

A big Takashi samurai drove his naginata straight at Hideyori’s chest. Jebu brought his Zinja sword down in a chopping swing and broke the naginata pole. But the broken end of the pole struck Hideyori and threw him, stunned, to the ground.

“We have Domei’s son,” the Takashi samurai shouted, drawing his sword against Jebu. Jebu swung his sword at the Takashi’s legs. The Takashi brought his sword down to block the swing. Jebu drew his sword back and struck again, but this time as the attacker’s sword came down to block him, Jebu turned his blade and struck upwards. The force of the Takashi’s blocking motion brought his right forearm down on the Zinja blade. Only by quickly letting go of his sword was he able to save his arm from being severed. As it was, Jebu’s blade had cut through muscle and sinew right to the bone. The big samurai, bellowing in pain and anger, fell back among his comrades.

Jebu stood over Hideyori, his short sword cutting and thrusting this way and that. An empty circle formed around him. Slowly Hideyori got to his feet and the Muratomo samurai closed around them.

Domei, recognizable, in spite of his face plate, by the white horsehair plume on his helmet, came riding towards Jebu and the other men near the Cherry Tree of the Left. Domei leaned down and patted Jebu on his shoulder.

“I saw that. My son would not be alive now if it weren’t for you. You’re a marvellous swordsman. In battle, the Zinja are devils. You must train my sons.”

The Zinja are devils. But Jebu did not have time to think about that now. Domei wheeled his horse and began rallying his men. In a moment the Muratomo had steadied their line between the two trees.

Domei gave the command, and the Muratomo counter-attacked, those at the far right end of the line running at full tilt, spearheaded by horsemen, slashing wildly with their swords, thrusting with their naginata. Nearer the Cherry Tree the Muratomo line advanced more slowly. Jebu and Hideyori stayed at the left side of the line to hold the samurai there to a slow, inexorable walk controlling the pivot. Many white banners were waving in the air now, and the Muratomo taiko drummers pounded wildly to spur on the attack.

It now appeared that the Muratomo had the Takashi on the run. The southern half of the inner palace compound was swept clear of Takashi, and the pivoting advance of the Muratomo became a rush as the Takashi began a headlong retreat.

A flash of gleaming red caught Jebu’s eye. It was the dragon on Kiyosi’s helmet. Waving his sword, the Takashi leader was calling his men to fall back before the onrushing Muratomo. He was leading the retreat.

But a Takashi retreat made no sense. Kiyosi should be rallying his warriors to make a stand. The Takashi outnumbered the Muratomo three to one. They had managed to overwhelm the outer defences. They had only to keep on and they would grind the Muratomo down. But so rapidly did the Takashi fall back that there was no time to pin them against the Ceremonial Hall, the aim of Domei’s counter-attack. Instead, the fleeing Takashi and the charging Muratomo circled the Cherry Tree a second time, swirling like a whirlwind.

And now Kiyosi’s red helmet and dazzling sword could be seen leading the Takashi out the gate they had broken in through. A cheer went up from the Muratomo as they rushed out of the palace grounds in pursuit of their foe.

“Stop!” Jebu called. “Stop! Close the gate and hold the palace.” But the samurai flooded past Jebu as if he were just another ornamental tree on the palace grounds. The Muratomo vanguard, led by Domei’s white plume, was already far down Redbird Avenue. Jebu and a handful of Muratomo samurai remained behind. In a moment the walled park was nearly empty.

A strange silence fell. The screams and shouts and clatter of battle faded in the distance. All that remained, besides Jebu and the few samurai, were hundreds of armoured bodies scattered over the white gravel of the outer grounds and the inner compound. Here and there lay a severed head, arm or leg, a dark lump of leather-wrapped flesh surrounded by a puddle of blood. Blood was