L5r - scroll 05 - The Crab (20 page)

When the ball hit Yakamo in the chest, his whole body convulsed. He snapped his head back and raised his chest directly into the air, gasping for breath. He held his arms as still as he could, but the claw twitched closer and closer to the edge of the rice circle. It seemed to want to cross that line.

Lightning arced between Yori and Yakamo, striking viscously, causing muscles to spasm and contract. With each strike, the claw's movements grew more and more responsive to Yakamo's. It twitched in time with Yakamo's pain.

A blue lightning bolt shot from Yakamo's body straight up into the sky. Then went another, and another. Finally a single, blood-red bolt leaped from the claw and exploded in the air above them with a deafening crash.

"It is done," said Kuni Yori, his voice shaky and weak.

XXXXXXXX

"Why won't it work?" Yakamo sat in his tent staring at the claw on the end of his left arm. It still twitched of its own accord. Indeed, now the young man's own upper arm twitched with the same rhythm, but neither responded to his mental commands.

"You must give your body a chance to become familiar with this new addition," Kuni Yori said smoothly. "It will take a little time."

"I have only so much time," Yakamo growled. "I am about to ride off to lead my troops into battle."

"Trust me, Yakamo-san, you be ready when the time comes."

The samurai stared down at his still-useless arm.

"I had better be!"

He grabbed a cloak from his belongings and wrapped it tighdy around his broad shoulders. Normally Yakamo did not wear such over garments—he preferred the chill of the air on his skin—but he could not let his samurai see him walking around with the claw hanging like a dead weight on his arm. He cinched the cloak so that it would hold his arm across his chest, the way he would if he'd dislocated his shoulder. Better to look injured than weak, he thought.

Yakamo strode from the dark seclusion of his tent into a world filled with white, wispy clouds. Autumn in the mountains meant fog, thick fog that often took half a day to burn off. The young Hida couldn't see more than a dozen feet in any direction.

So much for seeming weak in front of his troops, he thought. The only one who would see him was his cousin Hida Amoro, his second in command.

This was the first time Yakamo was in charge of a large force of soldiers. He had led a battalion once, and more combat units than he could count, but he'd never before led an army. After careful consideration, he'd chosen Amoro to ride at his side.

In his heart he knew what to do. There was no room for self doubt in Yakamo's world. However, now that a thousand men were marching at his orders, ready to fight to the death at a single word of his, Yakamo found that he wanted to seek the opinion of a trusted ally. For years he had wondered why his father kept Kuni Yori around. Surely the Great Bear did not need to consult with a shugenja before every major decision. Now Yakamo understood. Kisada did not need Yori—he just needed someone to talk to.

"Let's ride."

xxxxxxxx

"I don't like this. You can't see anything!" Amoro waved his hand in front of his eyes.

That was the first time Yakamo had ever heard Hida Amoro say he didn't relish the possibility of battle. Side by side they rode into the deep fog, at the head of their marching army.

"What would you like to see, Cousin?" Yakamo teased. In truth, he agreed with Amoro. He could barely make out the man's shape five feet away. But he learned from his father that to keep troops calm under difficult conditions, a commander should act as though the situation at hand was exactly what he desired.

"Anything!" answered Amoro. "Anything but this cursed fog. The entire Crane army could be out there, and we'd never know."

Yakamo chuckled.

"If the Crane were out there, they'd certainly not be so impolite as to attack us without warning."

They laughed.

"No," Amoro returned. "That would be dishonorable. We know that the Crane would not want to take unfair advantage of an enemy marching to sack their outpost."

Without warning, Yakamo sat up tall in his saddle and raised his hand. The samurai behind him stopped, spreading the sign back through the ranks. In moments, the entire army, even the soldiers a mile down the line, halted and waited.

The air was still. Not a bird or frog or even the rusde of the wind could be heard. But there was a sound. A faint sound to be sure, but it was there, wafting through the midmorning fog.

Yakamo knew that fog played tricks with sound. It took noises and shuffled them around like a child's puzzle. He could never tell if a sound came from right next to his shoulder or a hundred yards down the road.

Whatever this sound was and wherever it came from, it made Yakamo nervous. The more he listened, the more it sounded like voices whispering.

Yakamo dropped his own voice to the barest whisper. "Amoro, get ten foot soldiers and come with me. Tell the rest of the column to wait here. We're going to see who's up there."

Amoro came back with six men and four women, most of whom Yakamo knew from his days on the Wall. It felt good to be surrounded by his old comrades. He dismounted and addressed them.

"Do nothing unless I tell you to," Yakamo told them. "This isn't like the fighting we're used to. These could be farmers, or merchants, or even one of Sukune's scouting parties that got turned around in the fog. If it is an enemy, I want them to be more surprised than we are."

They all nodded, even Amoro, but Yakamo could see the bloodlust building behind his cousin's eyes. This was the one reason he hesitated before naming Amoro as his aide. Once a battle began, he would slip away below his "red curtain" and become useless for anything other than killing. In fact, near this berserker was probably the worst place for the army's leader. Yakamo suddenly realized how difficult it was to choose a proper aide. He appreciated Kuni Yori all the more and wished the shugenja had not been ordered to remain with Sukune.

The twelve samurai crept through the fog, stopping every few yards to listen for telltale sounds. They carried their weapons drawn, but not at the immediate ready. It would not do to walk sword-point first into a tree or a rock. Yakamo held a tetsubo— not as large as the one he'd used before he lost his hand but still bigger than most samurai would be able to wield. He was prepared to use his favorite weapon one-handed if necessary, but he counted on Kuni Yori's promise—that the claw would be ready when he needed it.

In the hours since Yori attached the claw, the numbness had fled. Now there was a dull ache down the length of his left arm, but he still could feel nothing below the wrist. Where it lay against his chest, he could feel the claw opening and closing reflexively.

Yakamo stopped and listened again.

Nothing.

Then one word came floating through the mist: "Toturi."

Before Yakamo could even begin to consider why the banished ronin was being discussed, a cool wind crossed his cheek and created a rift in the fog. Where once there had been nothing but an impenetrable wall of clouds, Yakamo could now see a small glade with a campfire and ten samurai sitting around it— Dragons by the look of them. But what were they doing here in the Crane lands?

The Dragon leader looked at Yakamo with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. "So the Phoenix were right. The Crab
have
finally been turned by the Shadowlands. But what did you think you could do with such a tiny band?"

Yakamo did not answer. In fact he was about to ask questions of his own, such as what the Phoenix Clan had to do with this. Just then two more Dragons burst from the fog and into the clearing.

"There's an army of Crab!" one shouted.

"Hundreds of them, maybe thousands!" cried the other.

"We stumbled across them on our patrol," continued the first.

"They slew Yoshi, but we escaped. We must warn the Crane and get word to Toturi!" the second gasped.

The Dragon leaped to his feet and looked Yakamo square in the eye.

"Scatter into the fog!" he ordered. "Don't worry about anything other than getting this information back to Lady Mirumoto. She'll get word back to Kyuden Kakita, then to Toturi!"

Lady Mirumoto, thought Yakamo. Hitomi?

"After them, all of you!" Yakamo snapped. "If any of them reaches the Crane stronghold, we might as well send gold foil announcements of our arrival."

A dozen Dragon samurai disappeared into the fog with an equal number of Crab hot on their tails. Yakamo followed the Dragon leader, whose shadowy form moved through the mists with surprisingly surefooted strides.

Yakamo nearly lost his footing with every step. The rocky landscape was covered with loose stones and sand.

To his left the Crab leader heard sounds of steel on steel. At least one of his samurai had found the enemy.

Behind him he heard another battle. This one ended quickly with a swift slicing noise and a muffled cry. But whose cry?

Yakamo returned his attention to his quarry, but the Dragon's silhouette was gone.

Damn!

He slowed his pace and walked cautiously forward. Maybe the Dragon had fallen off a ledge or stumbled on the uncertain terrain. It wouldn't do for Yakamo to follow him in such a fate. The Crab took another few steps and stopped to listen again.

No sound came at all.

His foe had escaped or was lying unconscious somewhere just ahead.

Or, Yakamo thought just in time, he is lying in ambush.

From out of the fog to his left the Dragon commander stepped forward, katana raised for a lethal blow. Yakamo could not possibly raise his tetsubo quickly enough. He braced himself for the strike, hoping his armor would deflect enough of it so that he would be able to fight back.

Without thinking, Yakamo raised his left hand and looked away.

There was a solid clang as the blade crashed against the black claw strapped to Yakamo's arm. What's more, the young Crab felt—actually felt— the blow land. There was no pain, just a feeling of solid strength.

With a grunt of triumph, he pushed against the Dragon's sword, sending the man a few steps backward. Yakamo whirled his tetsubo into an offensive position.

He flipped the giant club forward and back, making passing attacks at the Dragon's head. He never pulled the weapon back into a defensive posture. Every time his opponent tried a counter-strike, Yakamo's left hand (for such was how he immediately began to think of the claw) reached out and stopped it.

The look on the Dragon samurai's face went from rage to perplexity and finally to panic.

"What is that thing?" he asked in a desperate voice. "What are
you?"

Yakamo swung his tetsubo in an arc at about chest height, knocking the katana from the Dragon's hand. He then stepped forward and placed his left hand around the man's throat.

"I am Hida Yakamo," he said tersely. With a single, easy motion of his left arm he lifted the Dragon off the ground, gripping his neck tighter. "And I am your death."

A warm breeze swirled the fog around them so that Yakamo could barely make out his foe's form at arm's length. But he could feel the man's soft skin give way beneath the metal of his hand. He could feel the warm blood trickle down his arm as the Dragon squirmed in his grip.

With a single snap the man's neck broke, and Yakamo let him fall to the ground.

The warm breeze blew across his face again, and he could feel the first of the sun's rays. The fog began to thin. Within a few minutes he could again see the glade around him and even more.

Over a mutilated foe stood Amoro, slowly coming back to his senses. Seven other Crab samurai stood over fallen enemies at various points across the landscape. Three Crab lay dead, defeated by opponents who had disappeared into the fog, presumably on their way to raise the alarm at Kyuden Kakita.

Yakamo grunted and called back to the column of samurai who were now visible less than five hundred yards away.

"What are you waiting for? Let's move! Let's kill the messengers, then kill the Crane!"

RUMORS OF TOTURI

Steam rose from still-warm blood as it ran across the rocks of Beiden Pass. The day had turned crisp and cold, but the fighting was hot. Wispy clouds flew quickly across the deep blue sky overhead—the wind above the rock walls blew at a frightful speed. Down in the pass, though, the air was still as death.

Yakamo struck a Dragon samurai to his right. His tetsubo caught the man under the chin, lifting him clear off his feet with the sound of shattering bone. No other opponents presented themselves immediately, so he took the opportunity to glance around. His samurai fought with wild abandon. Heedless of their own safety, they launched themselves against groups of Dragons two and three times more numerous than their own battle units.

This
was the Crab army he knew.

"Yakamo!" a tortured voice howled above the din of battle. "I know you are here! Show yourself, son of Kisada!"

He knew the voice. It filled him with lust and desire— bloodlust and the desire to silence the speaker forever.

Yakamo waded through the fighting, shoving past enemy and ally alike. He kicked a goblin out of his way and shouldered past a Crab samurai, nearly impaling the man on his enemy's weapon. Confronted by a mounted Dragon, Yakamo grabbed the reins just below the bit and pulled down as hard as he could. At the same time he clubbed the samurai-ko with his claw, knocking her from the saddle. She landed in an awkward position, and he could easily have finished her off if not for the fact that he'd already moved on—searching desperately for the source of the voice.