By Rusty Priske
Edited by Fred Wan
Mirumoto Hirohisa checked the finger of jade that hung from a chain around his neck. Its color was still true. He turned and reminded his companion to do the same.
“Mine shows little corruption as yet, Hirohisa-san. We should have time.”
Hirohisa looked over at Mirumoto Katsutoshi. His voice sounded eager but his face betrayed no smile.
It was rare to see an honest smile this deep into the Shadowlands. They knew that there were dangers at every step, whether from the creatures that lived in the foul place or from the air and rocks and trees that could leave a good man with the evil taint that turns them into a servant of Fu Leng and Daigotsu. They had been four when they started this mission.
“According to the information we received from Taishuu, the City of the Lost should be just beyond this ridge.”
Katsutoshi nodded. “But if what the Crab said is to be believed, it is empty. The Lost are gone.”
Hirohisa frowned. “That is what has been bothering me about this whole endeavor. Why would the Lost leave? Moreover, if they were going to abandon the city, why would they leave such an important artifact behind? I would think that since he recovered it, Daigotsu would never allow such a thing to leave his side.”
Katsutoshi shrugged. “Maybe he does not realize what he had.”
Hirohisa shook his head. “I cannot believe that. Daigotsu is not a fool.”
“I do not know why he would leave it behind, nor do I really care. If Taishuu told us it is there, then it is there, and we only do our duty by retrieving it.”
Hirohisa said nothing, but inwardly he thought, “As long as Taishuu is still the man we remember.”
The two Dragon moved cautiously through the streets. There was very little to differentiate this city from any in the Empire other than the heavy, oppressive air about it. With the residents missing, this could have once been inhabited by samurai of any clan, as long as one didn’t look too closely.
There were small signs. The prayer flags hanging from various windows were decorated with horrifying symbols. The choices of colors throughout the city tended dark, though that could be said about places within Rokugan as well. It was not until they spotted a shrine that they saw conclusive proof of the city’s dark nature.
The Shrine to Fu Leng was completely black. Rather than prayer flags or other small offerings that you would see at shrines in Rokugan, the entrance way was adorned with dark stains and bits of charred items, long past recognition.
Katsutoshi shot a look at Hirohisa, who only nodded in grim resignation. This was where Taishuu said the Sword of the Hantei was hidden, unguarded. They both approached, their daisho at the ready, as they had been since they entered the city. Hirohisa motioned for Katsutoshi to wait and then he stepped into the shrine.
If Hirohisa had not recognized the evil nature of the structure on the outside, there was no mistaking the interior. The images on the walls were twisted and dark. The stains from the entranceway continued inside and there were scorch marks on the walls. The focus of the room was a high dais where the stains and burns were most concentrated. There was no question that this was used as a sacrificial altar.
Taishuu’s information had been wrong, however. The Shrine was not unguarded. Standing next to the altar was a dark parody of a samurai. Its purple and white garb was stained with streaks of blood and its face was gaunt and deathly pale. The black hair that hung down its back was greasy and unkempt. The only things that did not look dirty and misused were the twin swords grasped in obsidian-hued gloves. The daisho gleamed through the gloom.
“I was wondering when you would arrive. I have been waiting for an hour since you entered the city. Were the directions not clear?” The voice was dry and raspy, sounding like old tombs and skittering insects.
“Clear enough, beast,” the Dragon replied. “But one is always cautious when entering the den of a lion, even if that lion is easily dealt with. I am Mirumoto Hirohisa and I will not allow you to live, mockery of flesh.”
“Well said, Hirohisa. I am Daigotsu Toru and, unfortunately for you, I am not alone.”
A heavily armored figure charged from the shadows to Hirohisa’s right. The Dragon got his katana up in time to fend off his powerful blow. He allowed the force of it to send him backwards a few steps, with his attacker following closely. This moved the dark one in front of the door.
“Neither am I, creature.”
Mirumoto Katsutoshi leapt through the entranceway and brought his katana down on the shoulder of the black armor of Hirohisa’s attacker. The large thing twisted away and the blade skittered off the heavily layered shoulder plates, leaving him unharmed.
Before Hirohisa could join Katsutoshi in battle with the silent foe, he saw Toru moving quickly towards him across the room and he was forced to shift his attention to him.
“Do not worry, Hirohisa-san. Ogiwara will entertain your friend while we enjoy ourselves.” Toru slashed down with both blades but Hirohisa was able to raise his wakazashi to block both.
“I take no pleasure out of ending your existence. You are nothing more than a sick animal that needs to be put down for its own sake.” Hirohisa held Toru’s blades at bay while swinging his katana across his midsection. Toru spun away, breaking contact before the edge found its way into his stomach.
“This is where we differ, Hirohisa-san. We both are acting on the orders of our master, but I take great pleasure in my work. Your death will be a triumph. Please try not to make it too quick.” Toru darted forward, slashing with his katana. Hirohisa deflected the blow with his wakazashi but correctly predicted that it was just a feint as Toru followed up by stabbing with his own shorter blade. Hirohisa caught it low on his katana, right above the tsuba.
Hirohisa said nothing but shifted his weight slightly and kicked his heel into Toru’s knee. The pale one grunted and staggered back a step, loosening the pressure on Hirohisa’s swords. The Dragon slipped his wakazashi free from Toru’s katana and slashed Toru’s side. His gi tore open and his blood joined the stains on his clothes.
The cut was not enough to kill, but Toru’s arm dropped reflexively as he winced in pain, and Hirohisa’s katana did not waver as it struck Toru’s neck and ended the dark samurai’s life.
Hirohisa did not hesitate over his fallen foe before turning to the other battle in the room. A dark voice, filled with oil and venom, said, “Now you die.”
Ogiwara stood over a fallen Katsutoshi. The Dragon’s katana had been knocked away out of his reach and he held his wakazashi up in defense of what was sure to be a killing blow.
Hirohisa moved across the room with the speed and silence of a cat and plunged his katana between the armored plates on Ogiwara’s back. The blade emerged from the beast’s chest and he dropped his katana towards Katsutoshi, which he deflected easily as he rolled out of the way of his falling foe.
Hirohisa leveled his eyes at Katsutoshi as he stood, scanning him for wounds. “Are you cut anywhere? Even a slight cut?”
Katsutoshi shook his head. “No. He did not strike me with his blade. I apologize, Hirohisa-san. I was unable to defeat my opponent.”
“There is no apology needed. I cannot be certain that I could have killed it, either. My blow was struck from behind.”
“Saving my life. Thank you Hirohisa-san.”
“Get your katana. This was clearly meant as a trap. I am afraid that my suspicions were true and Taishuu is now working for Daigotsu.”
“What if they were merely guards left behind to protect the sword? Shouldn’t we at least look?” Katsutoshi picked up his katana and returned it to its saya. He then went behind the altar and stooped out of Hirohisa’s sight.
“Careful, Katsutoshi-san! There may be further traps.”
Katsutoshi re-emerged holding a long bundle, wrapped in dirty cloth. He walked towards Hirohisa, “Do you…?”
The other Dragon took the bundle gingerly, and shrugged the cloth aside. He looked at the saya, tsuba and hilt for a moment before saying. “This is it – the Sword of the Hantei.”
“You will be a great hero, you know.” Katsutoshi prodded the small campfire with a stick.
“We are not heroes. We only did our duty.”
“What do you think you will do with it?”
Hirohisa frowned. “I? Nothing. I will give it to Lord Satsu. With no Emperor to return it to, I imagine he will keep it until one is crowned.”
“Some think that Lord Satsu himself is best suited for the position. Maybe he should just keep the sword.”
Hirohisa shrugged. “Such things are not for me to decide. I will give the sword to Lord Satsu and what he does with it is up to him.”
Katsutoshi cocked his head. “You do not seem happy, Hirohisa-san. You have succeeded in your quest and are bringing an important artifact back to the Empire. Should you not celebrate?”
“Perhaps, but there are things about this that worry me. The loss of Mirumoto Taishuu is troubling. We always knew he might fall, but to go over so completely that he helps trap his fellow Dragon? Also, if this was a trap, why leave only two behind? What if we had arrived with more samurai? And why leave the sword at all, trap or no? There are too many things that make no sense. When I return to our lands, I think I will visit the Kitsuki. There are mysteries here that need explaining.”
Mirumoto Hirohisa slept fitfully. His words to Katsutoshi would not leave his mind, yet the answers were not forthcoming. The different thoughts and images drifted through his brain, coming together and separating like a rolling fog through the valleys of the Dragon Mountains.
Home. He longed for it now that it was so far away. Only a short time ago, however, he had looked upon it as a prison. He had survived the Battle at the Tomb of Seven Thunders. He had been one of two Dragon who had traveled to that accursed place and returned. The others, his lord Mirumoto Rosanjin among them, never saw their home again.
For months after his return, Hirohisa had struggled to deal with the horrors he had seen there. The only other survivor, a slight little monk named Hitomi Maya, had been remarkably useless in helping him come to terms. She seemed completely unphased by the entire incident. He should never have expected more from a tattooed monk.
Hirohisa thrashed in his sleep as he dreamt of the shame he had brought upon his ancestors with his actions. He had fallen to drink and despair, forsaking virtually everything that had once been important to him. He had come to doubt bushido, and had railed against it in his moments of sheer intoxication. He had been utterly lost in a wave of self-pity and disgust. Disgust with himself, for having lived when so many had died, and disgust with a society that had created such an incident in the first place.
And then, Satsu had come to see him.
It had been weeks ago, possibly months now, but Hirohisa remembered it very clearly, even in his dreams. It was as if it had been burned into his mind. “This is not who you are,” the Dragon Champion had said. “This path leads to darkness. I have need of men like you. There is much we must accomplish if the Empire is to be saved.”
And that had been all that it took for Hirohisa to throw off the shroud that had enveloped him. He had purified his body and spirit, and prepared himself for the task at hand. He had gathered a handful of the finest young soldiers in his old unit, a unit he had commanded before his shameful actions required that he be removed. And he had set forth to the Shadowlands, leaving the mountains behind in the same veil of fog that he could see in his mind’s eye even now.
Then the fog was cut in twain by the unmistakable sound of a katana being drawn from its saya. The shock of it jolted Hirohisa awake and he looked up to see Katsutoshi standing over him, blade drawn. His first reaction was that they were under attack and Katsutoshi was defending him, but that though was banished as the other Dragon swung his sword down at Hirohisa’s neck.
Hirohisa rolled away from the deadly blade, and landed face first into the dirt around the faint campfire. He reached for his daisho that had lain at his side, but discovered that it was no longer there. He scrambled to his feet and faced Katsutoshi, who stood with both blades ready. Hirohisa looked for madness in his companion’s eyes, or some other indication that he had fallen to the taint, but could find none.
“Cannot find your sword, Hirohisa? I am sorry, but I have no illusions about how I would do against you in a fair duel.” Katsutoshi spoke with words in anger and arrogance. “It is unfortunate for you that you woke up. It would have been better if you had just died in your sleep.”
Hirohisa kept his distance, circling, wary of those deadly pieces of steel in Katsutoshi’s hands. All the while, he tried to discern the motivation behind his fellow Dragon’s behavior. “Why are you doing this, Katsutoshi? What benefit do you gain by killing me?”
The other man laughed. “Benefit? I am surprised you even know the word. The benefit is glory. When I return from the Shadowlands, the sole survivor of the expedition, bearing the Sword of the Hantei in my hands, ready to give it to the new Emperor, I will be favored beyond all others in his eyes. I do not even care who it is, whether Satsu, Chagatai, or even Daigotsu, as long as I am in position to take advantage.”
“Then Taishuu is not the only fallen Dragon today.”
“Taishuu,” Katsutoshi spat. “Who knows if he even lives? He either betrayed his clan and set a trap for us, or he attempted to pass on information and was discovered. He is lost either way. Why do you spend so much time thinking on it? It does not matter! You are an old fool who should never have crawled out of his sake bottle. If you had remained behind, then none of this would be necessary. I would have been the hero. Instead, you will steal all the glory, even if you do not mean to. I will not endure it!”
“You are no samurai.”
“By your naïve notion of honor, I suppose not. There is more to the world than bushido, Hirohisa. It is a lesson long in coming to you, but I fear you will not live long enough to enjoy it.” Katsutoshi moved forward aggressively to end the other Dragon’s life, but as they spoke, Hirohisa had circled and maneuvered himself towards the bundle at the edge of the clearing. He dove and rolled towards it, avoiding Katsutoshi’s blow. He scooped up his katana and flung the saya aside only to find… it was not his katana at all.
Hirohisa looked down at the Sword of the Hantei and hesitated. To use the Emperor’s sword would be a disgrace…
He moved to avoid Katsutoshi’s strike but the hesitation cost him greatly. The blade sank into his sword arm. The Sword of the Hantei swung free and fell onto the dust at his feet. Hirohisa staggered back as blood flowed freely, dripping from his hand and falling on the blade that had been their quest.
Katsutoshi sneered in obvious disgust. “And in the end, bushido is your death.”
Hirohisa tried to avoid the final cut, but his loss of blood made him groggy and his reflexes were dulled. His brain told his legs to move but they did not respond in time.
Katsutoshi carefully cleaned the Sword of the Hantei and returned it to its saya. He bundled it with Hirohisa’s daisho and strapped all three blades to his back. He would return the daisho to Hirohisa’s family. They would want to hear how he gave his life in order for Katsutoshi to return the Sword of the Hantei to Rokugan. He was a great hero, after all, second only to Mirumoto Katsutoshi himself.