L5r - scroll 05 - The Crab (26 page)

"What is wrong?" demanded Yakamo "Has one week with my brother made you so finicky that you would pick and choose who saves you from honorless defeat?"

The samurai rubbed the back of their necks and gritted their teeth.

"It's just that the goblins have been of no help to us," said one man.

"Hai!" said another. "They sit at the southern end of the pass and wait for their orders to march home while we die trying to hold the pass."

Now it was Yakamo's turn to grit his teeth.

"Is that so?" he said. "Well, the forces who traveled with us were the first to assault the walls of Kyuden Kakita. Perhaps the fault lies not in our comrades but in your commander."

A low murmur went up among the samurai. None of them were willing to speak out against Sukune—but neither were any of them willing to defend him.

"Where is my brother? Who can tell me where to find him?"

"He is in his tent, son of the Bear. Would you like me to bring liim a message?"

Kuni Yori stepped from behind a hulking samurai and walked up to Yakamo. His face was hidden beneath his cloak, but his eyes glowed within the shadows.

Yakamo spat on the ground.

"Tell your new master that as of this moment he is relieved of 11is command!" he growled. "I will not stand by and watch him I hrow away our only hope of victory! Tell him I will deal with him properly once we secure the pass!"

Yori's eyes actually sparkled at these words.

"Hai, Tono," he said gleefully. "I will say these words to your brother—and some words from your father as well."

THE PRICE

My time is short."

Sukune spoke aloud, though he knew no one was there. Still, he was not talking to himself. To the stars, then? They shone and sparkled above in the kind of crisp night sky that comes only in winter. Rather than go to his tent, Sukune had climbed to one of the perches along Beiden Pass's upper ridge. As he inhaled, the air constricted the insides of his nose and throat, and as he exhaled, it escaped in great billowing plumes. It was cold, colder than it had been so far on this uncomfortable campaign. But there was something more—the wind.

The pass was always windy—such is the way in the mountains—but tonight was different. The wind did not blow particularly hard, yet it howled and moaned like a dog baying at the full moon.

"My father will certainly be here in another day or two," Sukune continued. Perhaps he was speaking to Beiden Pass itself—to the spirit of the place—appealing for support in this vital mission

gone terribly awry. "If I can just hold on until then, he will see what desperate shape my forces are in and commend me for achieving so much with so few resources, instead of damning me for failing in my one task. Take and hold the pass—it sounds so simple. And based on every principle of warfare I've ever learned, we should have lost fewer than fifty men in its defense."

He paused and looked at the sky. Lord Moon was nowhere to be seen. Tonight he turned his back on the world completely—a time when anything could happen. The greatest and most terrible of events happened on nights like this, nights with no moon.

"Perhaps my brother is right. Perhaps I am a failure."

Somewhere in the darkness, the frozen gravel of the path crunched as if under an approaching foot.

"Who is there?" he demanded. He had gone to some trouble to get this far away from interruptions and prying ears. "Kuni Yori, is that you?"

"You have failed," Yori said, and took a silent step closer. The faint light from the campfires below flickered across his form. He held both his hands inside the sleeves of his black velvet robe, and his face was entirely swallowed in shadow. For a moment, Sukune thought he was an apparition—a ghost of some Hida ancestor come to punish him for failing to hold the pass.

"One more day, and Toturi will be crushed," Sukune said with a confidence he didn't feel. For most people, a convincingly spoken lie was more powerful than a silent truth.

Yori took another step forward. "I have a message from your father."

"For me?" asked Sukune failing to sound casual. He hoped for orders that would render his current situation less precarious.

"No," said Yori, "for me."

As he spoke, his eyes began to glow. Somewhere in the darkness, another footstep crunched on the rocky path.

Sukune looked over Yori's shoulder but saw no one. "What does the Great Bear have to say?"

Yori now stood directly in front of Sukune. Arcane patterns glinted on the shugenja's robes. His eyes glowed pale yellow in his shadowy face. The long ends of his mustache bobbed and

twitched as he spoke. "A great many things," was how Kuni Yori chose to answer the question. Did he smile as he said that? Sukune could not be certain.

The Crab commander's mouth was suddenly dry. He coughed once and licked his lips.

"I would like to see the message my father sent you," he finally said. It was not an order—Sukune did not feel up to ordering anyone to do anything—but he needed to know what was in the missive.

Yori slowly withdrew one hand from his robe. It held a small scroll tied with a red silk ribbon. The shugenja held it gingerly, lovingly, like a prized possession.

Another gust of wind howled, carrying more sounds of footsteps—yes, several sets of slow steady footsteps from down the path.

Sukune snatched the scroll from Yori's hand. He nimbly untied the ribbon and opened the fragile rice paper. Even by the weak firelight, he recognized his father's bold brush strokes. It was a brief message, but one that turned Sukune's blood colder than the mountain night. His eyes stopped focusing on anything— not the scroll or the shugenja or anything on the ridge. Sukune was looking at his future, and he did not see much of it.

The scroll read: Toturi must die. If my son fails, you know what to do.

"What do you read in that paper that turns your skin the color of porcelain?"

The youngest Hida snapped back into focus. Suddenly they were no longer alone on the ridge. Behind Kuni Yori stood four samurai, even more cloaked in shadows than he.

So this was how it would be? A group of turncoat bushi would remove him from authority before he had a chance to prove he could do the job.

"I need more time," Sukune said. He was not begging or even cajoling, merely stating a fact. He
knew
he could succeed.

"There is no more time," Yori said and stepped to one side.

The samurai lurched forward and grabbed Sukune's arms.

"Let go!" he said. "I order you to let me go!"

Yori laughed darkly. "I'm sorry, Tono," the shugenja's words dripped sarcasm, "but these warriors do not take orders from you—they never have."

The young Crab looked closely at his captors. Between the seams of their armor he could see rotting flesh and crawling maggots. Zombies!

"Yori!" Sukune said, panic making his voice high and thin. "I have not yet failed. We still hold the pass. I might yet prevail tomorrow."

The shugenja's eyes sparkled like the stars above.

"Yes, that is exactiy what has kept you safe these past few nights. Despite your inept opening foray, you had it within you to upset my carefully laid plans. But no longer. You see, your brother has returned and, seeing the army in such a shambles, has assumed leadership over all the Crab forces." Yori giggled absently. "You have been relieved of your command. There are no more chances. You have failed."

The zombies' hands tightened around Sukune's arms. Another undead warrior moved behind the young Hida and slipped a putrid arm around his neck, holding his head forward so that he would see what came next.

"This is a plan that took years to execute," Yori gloated, "and for the past month only
you
held the power to stop me. Do you know when you failed, when you guaranteed my victory?"

Despite the zombie holding him still, Sukune shook his head.

"The minute you lost your resolve."

It was clear Sukune did not know what Yori meant.

"Of all the headstrong members of your family,
you
were the only one who recognized my counsel for the subtle moral erosion that it was. You refused to apply the Crab motto to every situation in life—for you the ends did not always justify the means. You were the only one willing to take a stand and say that some tactics were simply without honor, and you were willing to die for that principle."

Sukune stood proudly. "I still
do
believe that."

Yori laughed. "If you truly believed that then you would have died in defense of the pass and taken all your samurai with you.

Instead, your resolve shattered, and you brought the Shadowlands army into the battle. If you had died in the pass, your sacrifice would have shown Kisada the truth of your words. Instead you gave up your honor just as he surrendered his—quietly and in a moment of weakness. To protect your own life, you compromised the only principle that could have saved your soul—and those of your father and brother."

Yori leaned in so close that the steam from his breath dampened Sukune's face.

"And now, you will obstruct me no longer."

As the shugenja turned away he made a sharp stabbing motion with his hand.

The remaining zombie drew a rusted and chipped wakizashi from a rotting scabbard and advanced on Sukune. The young Crab struggled to get free, but the undead strength of the zombies was too much for his frail muscles.

Even as the sword stood poised over him, Sukune made no sound. Blow after jagged, painful blow ripped through his flesh, but still he held his tongue. If he was to die tonight, he would die like a samurai—like a Crab. After a while, he no longer felt the blows, or the life and heat of his body seeping out into the cold night.

"Stop!" commanded Kuni Yori. "That is enough. We don't want him dead—yet! Lift him and follow me."

As the cold, decayed hands lifted Sukune into the air, his eye caught the shugenja's.

Yori smiled evilly. "You see, you still have a part to play in my plan. You will be the instrument of your father's downfall."

Sukune let out one tortured scream, but it was carried away by the mischievous mountain wind.

THE FINAL WATCH

Atop the Great Kaiu Wall, a dozen Crab samurai stood with legs tensed and arms loose. Moonless nights were the worst. They made it impossible to see Shadowlands troop movements. But the samurai could hear their enemies approaching, scrambling over ancient stone.

The Crab were tired. They would never admit it, and they certainly would never allow weariness to keep them from battle, but they were tired to their bones. The assault had continued for nearly a week, and this was the third attack they had to repel today. The enemy forces were relentless.

Only a few weeks ago, Kuni Higeki was just another veteran in a company brimming with experienced samurai. The section of the Wall to which he was assigned must have been near a goblin village, because it was frequently and heavily attacked. Higeki fought well and was liked by his comrades, but he never showed any inclination toward command. He was simply a good samurai.

Then the daimyo announced the Crab were going to take and hold Beiden Pass. Higeki's commander read off names, indicating who would serve under Hida Sukune and who under Hida Yakamo. When the commander was done, one name had not been read—Kuni Higeki.

"Your assignment," the commander said, "is to remain here and lead a troop of samurai from other companies in defense of our position. The fighting will be lighter all along the Wall, but it will not cease. You must make sure we have a Wall to come back to!"

Higeki couldn't tell whether this was an honor or a punishment.

As the days passed, he realized it was a nearly impossible task. At Higeki's post, the goblins came in the same furious numbers as always, but now the turret was manned by novice samurai under an inexperienced commander.

Higeki was proud of his warriors and, by extension, of himself. At first there was no way goblins, ogres, and other creatures scrambling up the Wall could tell that the post was manned any differently than usual. After a week of nearly constant assault, though, the greener samurai showed fatigue.

Their eyes were wrung with dark circles. Their weapons hung loose at their sides. Their blows became less powerful, their movements less crisp, and their tactics more predictable. Sooner or later they would begin to drop where they stood, leaving the tower undefended and the gateway to the Crab lands open for all of Fu Leng's creatures.

"We cannot fail!" Higeki shouted to rally his troops.

"For if we do the empire falls," answered a dozen lackluster voices.

This could well be it, Higeki thought. These men have given all they have. They simply are not up to the task.

A huge, pale yellow forearm crashed over the top of the Wall. A raging ogre pulled itself onto the parapet. Seven goblins clung to the creature's shoulders and matted hair. The goblins had tanto clenched between their teeth. Feral glints shone in their eyes.

"Charge!" shouted Higeki as he led his warriors forward. He and four others moved to attack the ogre. The remaining seven each took on one goblin.