The Way of the Fox (12 page)

An official was roughly pushed away, and some
foot soldiers scattered. Marching up towards the tournament field came Sano Moko – the annoying woman Sura had met at the roadside inn. The female samurai was fully armoured from head to toe in a suit of armour expensively laced with printed imported lacings. She carried a wooden naginata under her arm – a formidable object with an elegantly curved wooden blade and an oak haft measuring seven feet in length. The woman was a sheer force of nature: an irritable tsunami blasting its way forward past the objections of guards, officials, servants and attendants. Sura hastened after her, determined not to miss the fun.

Sano Moko strode out onto the field. She approached the viewing dais, and bowed fiercely to Magistrate Masura. Lord Masura stilled the officials,
and invited the woman to speak.

Sano Moko’s voice carried fiercely out to the crowds.

The
instructor from the Seven Winds school hastened forward to protest.

The instructor pointed angrily at the woman’s weapon.

Sano M
oko gave a stiff bow, conceding nothing.

“My lord!
As a woman, my instructors focussed my training upon the naginata! Why should this bar me from competing?” She flicked a disdainful glance at the sword master. “Are your students so terrified of my superior skill?”

The scarred sword master jerked a contemptuous chin towards Sano Moko’s naginata.

“Your weapon has a longer reach than a sword. The contest would be weighted in your favour!” The man contemptuously waved the woman away. “The Seven Winds fencing school refuses to accept you as an opponent.”

Kuno had heard enough. Stern and dignified, he marched across the tournament ground. He bowed with great respect to Lord Masura.

Magistrate Masura greatly approved. He
slid his folded fan into his belt with an air of great finality.

“
She has come to us in honour. An opponent has agreed. Let Sano Moko, eldest daughter of Lord Sano, be included in the lists.” He signalled to Sano Moko and Kuno. “You may begin.”

Kuno and Sano Moko both bowed. They walked to the centre of the tournament space, and respectfully faced one another at a distance.

They bowed, sank cautiously down into guard position and warily advanced.

Sano Moko handled her weapon with grim, confident skill. Her long hair flowed out from beneath her helmet skirts, rippling slightly in the afternoon breeze.
Her blood-red armour lacings gleamed exquisitely in the golden light.

The tips of their weapons touche
d. Kuno was well out of range: for any attack at Sano Moko, it would take him two full paces to come near enough to strike. Older heads amongst the spectators nodded: The naginata had been the infantry weapon of choice for centuries. What chance had a mere sword?

Over at the contestant’s lines, Sura watched without the slightest concern. She had found some fresh made honey cakes, and shared them out between herself, Chiri, Tonbo and the recently defeated ronin, who was most pleased to join he
r. They all watched the show, making a great shower of crumbs.

Sura ate with glee. Her fangs flash
ed as she watched Sano Moko trying to close with Kuno. The fox nudged Chiri in the ribs..

“You just watch this! This is going to be great.”

Chiri looked thoughtful. “You think she is no match for Kuno san in skill?”

“I think she’s bad tempered and
way
too angry!” Sura seemed perfectly happy with her world.

“When I give way to anger, I become a person I do not recognise. When I act in anger, my body does terrible things! Eschewing anger, my thoughts are clear. When my thoughts are clear, my motives are pure, and I shall be loved by all the myriad things!” The fox shared out sweet rice milk to one and all.

“Kampai!”

Out on the field, Sano Moko, true to form, opened an immediate attack. She cut with great lightning sweeps of her long weapon, only to find the attack countered, and her leading wrist in extreme danger as Kuno’s sword slith
ered around her guard. She withdrew and thrust – a move elegantly matched by Kuno. The long naginata sliced, cut and span in great whirling arcs. Kuno stepped back, engaged, and made a smooth counter attack. The blade-play of both contestants was of the highest possible order, and the spectators murmured in admiration.

The fight drew on. It was the longest battle of the day. They had clashed in a flurry of blows three times, and then a fo
urth. Kuno narrowly avoided a slice aimed at his cheek, followed by an immense downward cut that could have felled an oxen. He slipped the hit aside and drove in. The two weapons cut and flickered. Sano Moko span her weapon, clacking the sword aside as she pulled wildly back out of range. She flicked her blade up to hold Kuno at bay.

Sano Moko scowled. Never before had she encountered such skilled opposition. She was intent upon winning – intent upon making a fierce impression before the assembled lords. It was her downfall.

She came in with another spectacular whirling attack. Kuno made a feint, leaving himself open. The female samurai threw herself forward into an attack, and Kuno was already
in past her blade. He cut up under her wrist, where her armour failed to reach. Sano Moko felt the touch of the sword and knew that she had lost. She stayed in position for a moment, battling with her temper, and then acknowledged the hit before the umpire could raise his fan. Breathing hard, she bowed to Kuno, who bowed back to her profoundly in turn.

“Sano Moko
, your technique is magnificent.” Kuno’s respect shone in his voice. “Victory could easily have gone either way. I thank you for being so formidable an opponent.”

The female samurai had not a courtly bone in her body – but her bow to Kuno was utterly sincere.

It was agreed. Both warriors walked together to the side lines, where other fighters waited to welcome them. Sano Moko was given pride of place amongst the other contestants. Sura tossed the woman a honey cake.

The final rounds of contests were beginning. Kuno would clearly be one of the two champions entering into the final battle of the day. Other men vied back and forth for the honour of opposing him. Anxiety showed, and simple mistakes were made. The Seven Winds school lost two matches in mortifying succession, leaving only Hamada Bunji still in the lists.

Bunji battered an opponent
down with unnecessary wildness and unseemly force. He stood over his injured opponent, making a great show of putting away his own sword. As Bunji returned to the sidelines, the master of the Seven Winds school met him in the shadows. The scarred, dour sword master stared towards Asodo Kuno in hatred.

“Good.”

The school’s master moved aside to glower out over the field. Yoshikiyo, his senior assistant instructor, came swiftly up and knelt before him.

“
Sensei! Please – I beg the honour of proving myself before you. Please allow me to substitute for Bunji san. I have studied the technique of Asodo Kuno carefully. My skill is his equal. Please allow me to uphold the honour of the school!”

“
Bunji san is my nephew. He is my chosen successor. While he lives, he will be first in precedence.” The man waved at Yoshikiyo to depart. “Go!”

Yoshikiyo seethed.
Lean and seething, he withdrew back into the shadows and sat to watch the unfolding disaster. He looked upon Hamada Bunji in hate.

Umpires conferred, and officials nodded. Magistrate Masura’s officer strode forth to summon the final pair of duellists for the day. The compact little man made a stern wave of his signalling fan towards the contestants.

“The final bout will determine the tournament champion.”
He indicated the contestants.
“Hamada Bunji of the Seven Winds sword school will take the field. Facing him
–
Asodo Kuno of the Spirit Hunters!”

Kuno shot a glare from beneath his helmet at Sura, who made a false show of innocently protesting. Kuno could only shake his head, and march forward onto
the field. He bowed solemnly to Magistrate Masura, and then to the officials, then finally to his opponent. Calmly drawing out his wooden sword, Kuno settled into guard: centred, stern and utterly in balance.

Hamada Bunji glowered. He pushed at Kuno’s sword, hoping for a
n opening. Kuno merely moved out and back, once again settling harmoniously into position. He utterly refused to be goaded.

Bunji began a forceful, ill-spirited attack. He cracked his sword against Kuno’s weapon again and again and again, attempting to force in past his guard. Kuno smoothly backed away, always keeping centre, calmly in control. Moving backward with great calm, he led Hamada Bunji back and
aside, back and aside, circling always in the same direction.

The low afternoon sun – harshly bright – was suddenly in Hamada Bunji’s eye. He blinked – and Kuno struck, flickering slightly off line and thrusting beneath
his opponent’s wrist. Bunji skipped backwards, not acknowledging the hit. Kuno pressed inwards, striking to draw Bunji off guard. But the man had retreated back, angered at his own elemental mistake.

Hamada Bunji paced back and forth, well out of range, his sword making angry slices at the air. He came back and re-engaged – this time moving with an ill tempered caution.

The sword tips edged slightly in and out. Kuno kept position… kept position... and then slightly moved his hip. The motion subtly drew in his stance.

There was a blinding flurry. Hamada Bunji leapt in, raining blows at Ku
no’s head, neck and shoulder, then at his head once more. With one hand behind his blade, Kuno caught Bunji’s attack and slid sideways, his sword suddenly sweeping up and around, whipping Bunji’s weapon aside. Kuno twisted from the hips, his sword tip cutting firmly across Bunji’s throat armour, then slamming at him in a thrust. Bunji recoiled backwards – fairly struck. Once again he refused to acknowledge the strike. The umpires – moving to try and keep both men in view – presumed the attack to have been a miss. They were certain that Bunji would have acknowledged the strike had it landed true.

Hamada Bunji whirled straight back in on the attack, cutting with huge, fierce blows. Kuno countered again and again, falling back and back, intense concentration upon his face.
He parried another blow and pulled away – letting his sword point drop slightly away.

Bunji struck, smash
ing down at Kuno’s sword to swat it away before making a violent downward cut for his helm. But the blow never fell. Kuno’s sword fed off the energy of Bunji’s attack, whipping up into a parry that simply glissed the blow aside. Kuno was already airborne, leaping past his opponent and turning. His blade crashed against Bunji’s back, the force of the hit making Hamada Bunji stagger. Kuno remained in attack position, sword raised, ready to strike a felling blow. The umpires flicked up their fans and gave a shout, but the crowd had already spoken. The spectators cheered for Kuno: Lord Ishigi applauded with great enthusiasm. Asodo Kuno had won the day. His armour shimmering, Kuno bowed to his opponent, to the officials, and then withdrew from the field, bowing reverently to Lord Masura.

Sura, Chiri and Tonbo
raced forward to Kuno, griping his hands. Chiri’s air elemental briskly fanned his face, while Tonbo helped his comrade remove his helm. Sura pulled off Kuno’s head scarf and buffed his shaven forehead with a towel.

“You sir
, are a mighty warrior of fame and fable!” She made sure that he drank. “Right! Let’s get you out of this metal suit and off to a bath! Really – I mean it!” The fox inhaled a scent of a very different kind. “Oooh! They’re making dinner already! I told them we were here. Maybe they’ll have duck!” The fox had a sudden wonderful new idea. “Ooooh! I could totally give them my recipe for crispy duck!”