L5r - scroll 05 - The Crab (27 page)

The ogre leapt directly into their midst, landing squarely on top of one samurai and crushing him beneath tremendous feet. The other samurai stood frozen. They'd never seen an ogre move so quickly, and this was the first casualty they'd had in days.

Higeki kept his wits. He spun on his heel and slashed over the top of his head with his yari. The polearm whisded. Its blade slashed down and through the jaundiced skin of the ogre's back.

Now the creature's full attention turned to the unfortunate commander.

It backhanded the yari from Higeki's grip, nearly tearing his arm from its socket. Opening its hand, it reversed the blow, scooped Higeki up, and pulled him tight against its chest. Before the startled Crab could do anything, the ogre wrapped its other arm around him in a painful bear hug.

Higeki's arms were pinned at his sides—there was nothing he could do. Try as he might, he could get no leverage, and his wakizashi scabbard was pinned against the ogre's midsection. Pain shot through his lower back where the creature squeezed, and flashes of bright white light clouded his eyes.

The white explosions became a wave of red clouds across Higeki's vision. Thunder rolled in his ears.

So this was how it ended?

Abruptly, the ogre loosened its grip. It gently put Higeki down on the ground, loped back to the parapet's edge, and climbed down the Wall. The surviving goblins followed as quickly as they could disengage from their melee combat. All of them looked at the sky, wonder and awe in their eyes, and broad smiles on their lips.

It took Higeki a few moments to realize he had indeed escaped death. Instead of being overjoyed, he too stared skyward.

The red clouds and thunder had not been part of his near-death throes. A blanket of crimson flowed from the north to the south. Heat lightning danced, lighting the sky in brilliant red flashes. A low, resonant thunder rolled relentlessly through the air, shaking the Great Wall.

The display lasted for more than ten minutes before the clouds broke up. Thunder slowly faded into the southern distance.

204 # S
tan! ■«

The clear, moonless sky returned, seeming even more ominous than before.

Sunrise brought no answers. The Shadowlands troops were gone. There was no sight of them anywhere across the landscape. In fact, there was no sign of any living or unliving thing for as far as the eye could see.

As the day wore on, no further attacks assailed the Wall. The siege was over, but why?

Eventually, runners came from other sections of the Wall. All of them carried similar stories. The red clouds and thunder ap-parendy filled the skies from one end of the Great Wall to the other and caused all Shadowlands creatures to halt their assaults and return to the depths of Fu Leng's realm. It meant
something,
the clouds were some sort of signal. But a signal of what? And what did it mean for the Crab Clan?

THE TEN-THOUSANDTH STEP

Hida Kisada spurred his horse to a gallop. After nearly two weeks of travel, planning, and more travel, he hoped there would still be some action when he arrived at Beiden Pass.

He was not at all prepared for the sight that greeted him as he approached the southern entrance.

In the failing daylight, wounded and dying Crab samurai lay everywhere. Healers tended to those who had strong spirits, and priests tended to those who did not. What kind of army did Toturi have? Even if he matched the Crab man for man, Beiden Pass offered sufficient protection that Sukune's losses should have been less than a quarter of the enemy's. If the south end of the canyon was this crowded with casualties, at the north, they would be stacked like firewood. How had Toturi managed to raise such a massive army so quickly?

The Great Bear heard the sound of ringing steel. Beiden Pass was miles long, yet the battle

was close enough to hear. His thinking changed entirely. No force was large enough to displace a Crab army the size Sukune commanded, not in two weeks. Something had gone terribly wrong.

To the west of the pass entrance stood the command tent. Sukune had better have a lot of damned good answers, thought the Great Bear as he rode to it and dismounted.

"Explain yourself!" Kisada demanded, stepping through the flap and into the small room, but Sukune was not there. His go set was, stopped in the middle of a particularly intriguing game. So was the tiny altar he insisted on carrying with him. The smell of incense still hung faindy in the air. It had not been very long since Sukune was here.

Perhaps he was at the front, leading his samurai. So many things could have gone wrong, and Sukune was a brilliant tactician. The answers to Kisada's questions lay with his youngest son.

The daimyo emerged from the tent. He was about to remount his horse and urge it toward the canyon, but the sounds of battle had ceased. A shiver shot up Kisada's spine, and the world grew dark around him. The last sliver of the sun sank below the mountainous horizon.

The fighting was done for the day. Kisada would wait here for Sukune to return.

But it was the Great Bear's eldest son who led the troops out of the canyon mouth. Though most of the samurai seemed weighed down by fatigue, Yakamo walked tall, strong, and proud.

"Oy! Yakamo!" Kisada called out.

The younger Hida raised his left hand—or what now took its place—and waved enthusiastically.

"Father!" Yakamo answered. "You have arrived! Tomorrow we will drive the hated Toturi from the pass for certain!"

He turned to his samurai.

"Let us raise the call—the Great Bear has returned!"

The other Crab, though, were too weary from the day's battle to raise more than a mild cheer. They appeared gladdened, even relieved, by Kisada's presence. But all they really seemed interested in was hot food and a warm bedroll.

"How fares the army, my son?" the daimyo asked, ignoring the lukewarm reception. Kisada did not blame the samurai for their lack of enthusiasm. War was a terrible business. And though these men and women had been practicing their craft for years, it was tougher on one's spirit to kill fellow samurai than it was to strike down inhuman monsters.

Yakamo shook his head despondently. "We've lost about a third of our troops, Father," he finally admitted. "Shadowlands casualties have run closer to one half."

"How?" Kisada demanded. "How did this happen? What trick did Toturi use?"

"He needed no trick," answered Yakamo, his voice as sharp as a katana. "My brother practically gave him the pass. He refused to use the Shadowlands warriors and—"

His father held up a hand.

"Let us see what Sukune has to say for himself. Where is he?"

Yakamo made a dismissive gesture. "I do not know," he said. "Last night I assumed command of our combined forces, and Sukune has not shown his face since. For all I know he is sitting in his tent crying over his lost command."

Kisada shook his head. "He is not in his tent. And despite your brother's physical weakness, he recognizes that
you
make the better commander and would not stand in your way."

"Yes," Yakamo agreed, "but now that you are here, we can really make some headway! Let me clean off this Dragon filth and then we can ..."

The young man's voice trailed off. Behind his mask his eyes widened visibly. Throughout the camp, samurai had grown disturbingly still. All eyes stared at something beyond the Great Bear's shoulder.

Kisada turned and followed his son's gaze. Coming over the rise was a retinue of Shadowlands creatures. Ogres, ghouls, ghosts, and other monstrosities marched proudly before a single towering figure—Yakamo no Oni!

"Ah, my old friend," the oni said. "Here we are at last. What a glorious future awaits us!" Its voice was less grating than before. It still echoed faintly with pops and crackles as its ropy throat flexed and stretched, but the overall effect was smoother—more natural. Its expressions and mannerisms seemed even more familiar than before.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded the Great Bear. "What are you doing here? And what gives you the right to call me 'friend'? I've killed honorable men for such familiarity— don't think that our agreement will prevent me from doing the same to you."

Yakamo no Oni raised its hands innocently—an unnatural expression for this monstrosity. It seemed truly shocked by Kisada's outburst.

"I don't understand," it said. "Aren't you preparing for an assault on the capital? Aren't you bound to spend this winter seated on the Emerald Throne?"

Yakamo stepped between his father and the towering Shadowlands general.

"The daimyo made it clear when last we met," the young Hida barked. "He has no intention of taking the throne. Your offer, and now your presence, is wholly unwelcome!"

The oni looked confusedly back and forth between father and son. Its bewilderment changed quickly to annoyance. "Surely you knew that when you accepted my offer—"

"We accepted
nothing!"
Yakamo shouted with such fury that spittle sprayed across the oni.

Kisada gazed back and forth between the oni and Yakamo. He realized why the creature's mannerisms seemed so familiar—it was slowly transforming into a tremendous, hideously perverted version of his son. Yakamo had not just given this creature his name. He'd also given it his personality, his visage—everything that gave him identity.

"Oh, but we did." The voice of Kuni Yori came from beyond the ridge that the oni straddled. "And we did so at the daimyo's order." His velvet clothing was brittle and soiled. Under the shadow of the hood, the shugenja's eyes were bloodshot and wild.

"Shugenja!" bellowed the Great Bear. "What is going on here? And
none
of your riddles! I want a straight answer. And I want to know where Sukune is!"

"All your questions," Yori said as he crested the rise and stood next to Yakamo no Oni, "will be resolved with one answer." He extended his tiny, fragile looking hand from the depths of his robe and motioned someone—or something—forward.

A handful of goblins responded to Yori's summons. They held ropes tied to a great standard that another group of goblins struggled to carry to the top of the hillock.

"What in the name of all that is holy—?" Kisada said.

Yakamo just stood there mute.

The standard, painted on tattered yellow scraps of cloth, was stained with dark splotches of blood. It was covered with strange symbols and glyphs—black magic. One word was legible, and it chilled the samurai to his very soul. The word was "Fu Leng."

An evil wind whipped the cloth to and fro, causing it at first to obscure something else strapped to the standard's wooden frame. It was something soft and white—no, pink and splashed crimson in places, like a body covered with wounds and dried blood.

Kisada's tremendous frame shrank as he let out a long, mournful breath.

It
was
a body strapped to the standard. No, not just strapped— crucified. And it wasn't just any body, not a Shadowlands zombie or even a Crab bushi who fell during the fighting. The body splayed across the terrible standard of Fu Leng was none other than Hida Sukune.

The Great Bear fell to his knees and stared helplessly at the lifeless body of his son.

"What have I done?" Kisada whispered.

Yakamo continued to say nothing. He simply stared at his brother's tortured body with a hateful sneer curling his lips.

"Done?" asked Kuni Yori with glee in his voice. "You've done everything you ever wanted."

"No!" Hida moaned. "I never wanted this. I never told you to do this. I never meant... I never knew...."

"Liar!" the shugenja challenged. "You knew exactly what would happen the minute you gave me my orders. 'Toturi must be killed,' you said. 'If my son fails, you know what you must do.' Well, your son failed. And the only way to kill Toturi was to get reinforcements. I did exactly as you ordered. You simply assumed that your weakling son would not let things come to this point. You
chose
not to think of the real consequences of your orders, but you certainly did know what would happen when it came down to a choice between victory and defeat."

"No!" Kisada yelled. "No! I was wrong! I was so terribly wrong! Sukune! My son! I have killed you!"

"All you have done, Tono, is follow your passions. You let your pride lead you to the brink of greatness and did not allow the mewling of weaklings to distract you from your goal. Now instead of striding boldly to your just rewards," the shugenja said derisively, "you kneel in the dusty remains of those who opposed you and failed."

Kisada knelt completely motionless, completely still.

Yakamo no Oni extended a tremendous, blood-red hand to the Great Bear.

"Get up, Kisada-sama," it said with unexpected compassion. "Your future awaits!"

The daimyo stared uncomprehending at the hand. He was insensate.

Yakamo knelt down and placed a hand his father's shoulder.

"I killed your brother," the poor man finally whispered. "I gave the order. I am to blame. Can you forgive me?"

"No!" growled Yakamo. "You do not need forgiveness! Sukune did not want you to succeed. He never supported this action. By placing him in charge you nearly cost the clan everything. For that I might never forgive you. But you had enough insight to give an order that turned defeat into victory. For that, I offer you my hand."