The Plains of Thunder, Month of the Goat, year 1169
Miya Shoin emerged from the central tent in the region set aside for his family, his demeanor already grim despite the early hour of the morning. Other than his expression, every facet of his appearance was in perfect order, just as one might expect from the daimyo of an Imperial family. His vassals, the Miya heralds, had been moving about the impromptu tent city for hours, long before the sun had risen. Even as he emerged, a trio of heralds approached and bowed deeply, each offering him a scroll detailing the activities of the morning thus far. Shoin returned their bows with a nod and accepted the scroll, then watched them rush off to continue the morning’s preparation. He tucked two of the scrolls into his obi and opened the third, perusing it as he walked through the narrow paths between tents until he reached the largest in the area.

The two Seppun guards bowed crisply to Shoin and held aside the tent’s heavy flap as he entered. Inside, the daimyo might well have entered the luxurious estate of some wealthy daimyo elsewhere in the Empire. The light scent of incense hung in the air, and finery of all sorts was present. Near a low table filled with all manner of fine delicacies, and elderly woman, no less elegant for her age, stood glancing at a scroll held by one of her attendants. She looked up as Shoin entered and smiled warmly. “Shoin-san,” she said, her voice almost a purr. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, lady Hoketuhime,” Shoin said, bowing low before the daimyo of the Otomo family. “I hope the morning finds you well.”

“So much the better now that you are here,” she said, her face radiant. Despite that Shoin knew she was capable of showing such warmth and affection even toward those she despised, he could not help but feel favored by her attention. That was her strength, he knew, and her greatest weapon. “What news do you have?”

“The iaijutsu tournament will begin in a matter of hours,” Shoin said. “We should know the identity of those who will face one another in the final match before the day’s end.”

“Excellent,” Hoketuhime said. “All is proceeding as we had hoped.”

“Yes,” Shoin said, his tone clearly reserved.

Hoketuhime raised an eyebrow. “What troubles you, Shoin?”

“A number of things, my lady,” he admitted. “There have been a handful of… incidents thus far. Things that should not have happened.”

“Such as?” she pressed.

“There are a larger than normal number of ronin contestants,” Shoin said. “Three, to be precise. One bears an invitation from Shinjo Shono, the others one from Otomo Kotone.”

“Kotone?” Hoketuhime frowned. “She has been quite ill of late, has she not?”

“Yes,” Shoin confirmed, “and yet she passed on her invitations to two ronin. Most unusual.”

“You have had these two keep under watch, I presume?”

“Of course.” Shoin nodded. “They have done nothing particularly strange, although the judges they spoke to are all reluctant to have anything further to do with them.”

“That is to be expected,” Hoketuhime said. “They are ronin, after all. What else?”

“There was a duel a short distance from here,” Shoin said. “An unsanctioned duel, a duel to the death. One of the Dragon contestants was killed by a young Mantis.”

“The Dragon should never drink,” she said with a derisive sniff. “I have rarely met one who could hold his sake.”

“There are conflicting reports,” Shoin said, “but it does not appear that there was any sake involved. Indeed, the contestant should easily have defeated his opponent. Regardless, the event has greatly strained relations between the two clans here at the tournament,” Shoin continued. “Some among the Dragon have called for the young woman’s head, and the Mantis have refused to punish her for her role in the duel.”

“A concern for the clans, not the Imperials,” the Otomo daimyo said. “I have heard, however, that there were some who were given invitations but who chose not to attend. I do not take such insult lightly. Can you confirm this, Shoin?”

“Hai,” he said with a grimace. Hoketuhime was not one to have as an enemy, and regardless of how the missing samurai might justify their absence, she was unlikely to take it very well. “Chief among them, I believe, is Hiruma Todori, although there were others such as Yoritomo Buntaro and…”

“Todori?” Hoketuhime tapped her chin with her fan. “The Hiruma daimyo?”

Shoin nodded. “My heralds have reported that the Hiruma may have discovered one of their ancient dojo somewhere in their provinces. If that is true, then they may be able to recover the ancient Hiruma Techniques that were lost when their lands fell to the Maw centuries ago.”

“The Hiruma Techniques,” she mused. “The Hiruma were reported to be elegant and deadly in battle before they lost their lands. The Hida were virtually impervious to harm with the Hiruma defending them, or so it is said.”

Shoin frowned slightly. “That is my understanding, my lady.”

“Most interesting,” Hoketuhime said. “I shall keep that in mind. Very well then!” she seemed to emerge from her private thoughts and focus her attention exclusively upon Shoin. “Shall we begin the day’s festivities, my friend?”

The herald bowed. “Of course, my lady.”

Kakita Noritoshi took the field without preamble. Those assembled to witness his second duel of the day did not speak to him as he approached, nor would he have responded if they did. He was focused only on the impending duel. Many misunderstood the Kakita mindset, believing that they focused on the certainty of victory. That might well be true for many, but for Noritoshi and the hundreds of students he had personally trained, it was false. To Noritoshi, there was no thought given to the outcome. All that mattered was that his strike was perfect. It was the single greatest expression of all he was, and all he would ever be. Each time he faced an opponent, he barely even considered their presence other than to examine their stance. The challenge was against himself, against the imperfection of man. Could he execute his technique to the fullest possible potential, to the maximum capacity he had within him? He would never reach perfection, but nor would he ever stop seeking it.

Noritoshi inhaled through his nostrils and closed his eye. He pushed aside the thoughts of his previous duel, a duel against a beautiful young Scorpion named Bayushi Hisako. Her technique had been impressive indeed, and her performance had been admirable. Under different circumstances, Noritoshi would have enjoyed speaking to her about her skills, but here and now, there was only room in his mind for pushing forward.

His opponent was a ronin, a man of non-descript build who chose to conceal his face entirely with a large, plain kabuto. It was not unusual among some duelists, who believed that the helmet might offer them some sort of psychological advantage. A skilled duelist who knew that a duel was against oneself rather than an opponent, however, would care nothing for such tricks, and Noritoshi felt something like pity for the bedraggled wave man. His notions of his advantage were about to be disabused.

Seeing the signal from the judges, Noritoshi dropped easily into his stance, the move a practiced, fluid motion that required no conscious thought whatsoever. He looked to his masked opponent, and for the first time since the tournament began, he felt a slight sense of alarm. The ronin’s stance was extremely unusual, unlike anything he had seen in decades. There was no way to read the man’s expression, but some slight hint of malice in his posture immediately told Noritoshi that this man was not interested in a duel to first blood. This ronin meant to kill him.

I know you. Noritoshi knew that he had seen the unique stance somewhere before, somewhere long ago, but there had been so many faces and names that he could not remember. Who are you? he wondered inwardly, but he pushed the thought aside even as it bubbled up in his mind. This ronin meant to kill him, and if he were not careful, the man might succeed.

The ronin moved with incredible speed, drawing his blade and darting forward with the grace of a predator. His blade sang perfectly as it left its saya, a long, mourning note that hung in the air like a shroud. Noritoshi knew at once that no normal man could hope to match this stranger’s speed, his pure killing instinct.

Kakita Noritoshi was no normal man.

His blade was in his hand as quickly as he thought to draw it. He turned the ronin’s blade away, and the sound of the two clashing was a sharp contrast to the normally muted tones of one blade scraping lightly against another in a duel. The ronin lunged toward him again and again, each blade easily enough to kill a slower man. Each strike was turned away. Noritoshi was dimly aware that there were people shouting, that sentries were rushing toward them from their distant post at the entrance to the dueling ground. He paid no attention to any of it, searching constantly for any weakness in the man’s primal fighting style.

There.

Noritoshi struck once. His blade sliced through a momentary hole in the man’s defenses, a fleeting window that was open no more than a second at the most. His steel bit through the man’s wrist, then the bone, severing his hand half-way to the elbow.

Unbelievably, the ronin did not lose a moment. He sheathed his wakizashi in a lightning fast motion and grabbed his severed hand by the wrist. The man darted away from Noritoshi, leaping over the stunned spectators and disappearing into the crowd, leaving a trail of blood behind him. The Seppun sentries raced after him shouting for the crowd to move, but Noritoshi knew that he would not be caught.

The wound could easily prove mortal if not properly tended, and tended quickly. Somehow, though, Noritoshi suspected that the ronin named Eiya would not only live, but that the two would meet again someday in the future. When that day came, Noritoshi would make certain that they did not meet a third time.

The young samurai Kakita Hideo smiled broadly as he stretched before his second duel of the day. He hoped that this one would provide him with some manner of challenge, as his first had completely failed to do so. Disappointing, really, and he had not been shy about informing his defeated opponent as to the depth of his disappointment. How was he to showcase his talents if there was no significant competition? He needed to give the maidens something to whisper about, after all.

Hideo flashed his roguish grin to a bevy of young Imperial maidens near the front of the crowd. The audible chorus of their fans snapping open to conceal their blushing and giggling was all the encouragement he needed. Even if this next match were not all he hoped, he thought perhaps he would be able to find entertainment this evening. It was all too easy, really. Perhaps he should try the Lion lands, as he had heard that the women there were quite the challenge.

“I am ready.”

The words caused Hideo to turn, one eyebrow raised. His opponent had entered the field and taken his position without drawing any attention, and now stood calmly, awaiting the young Crane’s convenience. Hideo frowned somewhat at being upstaged, but took his place quickly and dropped into his stance as well. “Shosuro Jimen,” he said. “The courtier. I had rather hoped for another duelist.”

“And I had rather hoped for a serious competitor, not a petulant child acting out the worst stereotypes of his family,” Jimen replied quietly.

Hideo’s jaw dropped, but only for a moment before his expression was replaced with grim anger. “I will see to it you regret that statement,” he said.

“The only thing I regret,” Jimen replied, “is that I will not be there in the Crane lands to watch the disgrace you will inevitably become. A pity, considering that you might have had promise. But you choose to throw it away to become what others expect of you. Ultimately, there is little lost.”

Hideo felt his face grow flush. He bit back a bitter retort and instead focused on his enemy’s stance. The Scorpion was attempting to bait him, to cause him to make a mistake. He had been warned that they would employ such tactics, but he had not believed that they would be successful. Now, he only hoped to still his beating heart before the Scorpion’s strike came.

Both blades rang out as they left their saya at the exact same moment. Hideo’s strike was not perfect, of course, but he knew instantly that it would be equal to the task. He could feel it in the way the blade cut through the air, the sensation traveling up the blade into his hand, along his arm, and into his heart.

Jimen’s blade knocked Hideo’s katana aside unexpectedly. The force of it was more than he had expected, and earlier in the swing than he had believed. The disruption of his stance was critical, and he stumbled slightly as he moved through the latter portion of his swing. The Scorpion did not miss an instant, and struck the young Crane along the side of his face with the hilt of his blade.

Hideo grunted and staggered into the dirt, very nearly dropping to one knee. He saw a glint of metal and realized that his blade was on the other side of the Scorpion. He had been defeated. He looked up to his opponent, his expression wondrous. He saw the courtier’s impassive stance and knew that he had not stood a chance. Not today.

Jimen sheathed his blade, his back turned to Hideo. He glanced over his shoulder, returning the young duelist’s quizzical look with a flat, emotionless expression. “Disappointing,” he said curtly, and left the field.

Hideo ground his teeth and struck the ground with the palm of his hand, drawing a few quiet gasps from the onlookers. He said nothing for several minutes, remaining exactly where he was. After several minutes of silence, he retrieved his blade and left the grounds without a word to anyone.

The final match began as Lord Sun hung suspended in the sky overhead. Historically the matches had been held at first light, but a convincing case had been made that the radiant brilliance of Lord Sun could influence the match by blinding one of the contestants unfortunate enough to stare into his magnificence. The Crab had of course argued that this was merely the means by which the Heavens displayed their will, but the Scorpion objections were too articulate to be ignored. The Crane contingent made no protest, and so the duel was scheduled for midday.

Two men stood in the field, surrounded by the flowing golden grasses. In the distance, hundreds of samurai stood watching, still as statues. This was the moment they had all come to see, the moment that so many had hoped would be theirs. Now, it was merely a matter of time, moments or perhaps hours, until the Emerald Champion’s identity would be known, and the balance of power within the Empire would change.

One of the two men, clad in crimson and black, seemed unconcerned. His stance was informal, and although his hand rested near his blade, his posture suggested that he was completely at ease. A mask covered the lower half of his face, one that was painted in garish, gaudy colors that drew the eye at once, distracting any who looked upon him from whatever else he might be doing with his hands. It was a simple ploy that had served him very well time and time again.

His opponent was clad in splendid blue, but his manner was as different as could be imagined. His face was completely devoid of expression, and though he had but a single eye, it blazed with an intensity that could be sensed even by the spectators hundreds of feet away. His stance was relaxed as well, but even a casual observer would know from a single look that his was a killing stance. It was a stance that no one had ever defeated. That he would win was not in question, it was merely a matter of how badly his opponent would be defeated.

“We have never met,” the Scorpion said softly, his voice not carrying to the spectators. “I am Shosuro Jimen, which of course you know by now. I know that you will not respond. You never speak to those you duel, at least not until they are defeated. I have studied you extensively, as I knew that, should I make it to the final match, you would be the man I would face. That was never in question.”

Kakita Noritoshi said nothing, his eye fixed upon the Scorpion’s.

“It is of course natural that we would not have met,” Jimen said. “You are, after all, something of a recluse. You have left your family’s estate only rarely in the past few years, instead focusing on the teaching of your students, the administration of the Kakita’s resources, and of course your own family. Does it worry you, I wonder, the curse that could one day bring your young son to ruin? I fear it may. Unfortunate, for the young to suffer for the sins of their parents’ generation. But then that is our lot, is it not?”

Still, the great Crane warrior did not move.

“Many think that perhaps I will concede to you, given the unquestionable fact that you are the superior duelist.” Jimen tilted his head very slightly to one side as he pondered the notion. “They are mistaken, of course. The likelihood is far greater that you will concede to me.”

Even this did not prompt movement from the Crane, but there was a faint wavering in his eye, indicating perhaps that he was incredulous at such a claim.

“Ridiculous, I know,” Jimen said. “The idea that you would concede to a man like me. I am a courtier, after all, and though I have some talent with the blade, I cannot match the prodigious gifts of a man like you. I do have my own gifts, however. Information, in particular, is a talent I possess like few others, even among my clan. Even now, as you contemplate striking purely to silence me, I wonder… did you know about the harriers, Noritoshi-sama?”

Finally, there was a reaction. Noritoshi’s head moved very slightly to the right. It was imperceptible to those who observed from a safe distance, but to any who might have known Noritoshi, it would have been shocking in the extreme to witness.

“You did not, did you?” Jimen sounded almost sympathetic. “You knew something was happening, of course; a man of your influence and perception could hardly fail to notice the changes going on around you. Tell me, Noritoshi-sama, what do you think the Lion would think if the truth were revealed? Would your alliance stand? I imagine that they would be appalled that a Champion they trained would ever be complicit in such things.” He glanced sidelong at the spectators. “Of course, she was not complicit in any way, but the Lion do not know that. And it would be child’s play to convince them that she was. You know as well as I do that the Lion have no tolerance for dishonor.”

Noritoshi’s face was no longer relaxed, but showed signs of anger now, and his hand moved every so slightly closer to the hilt of his blade.

“If you are victorious, even if I die here today,” Jimen continued, “then your reign as Emerald Champion will be remembered as a failure. You know how Yasuki Hachi’s tenure was tainted from his first day. It can be done. Difficult, yes, but not impossible, and the Scorpion will devote themselves to the task utterly. Your alliance with the Lion will be lost, your Champion’s honor called into question by an entire Empire, and your personal power will be subverted at every turn. Your clan will gain nothing, and lose much.” He paused for a moment, tilting his head. “If you concede, however, then all that will simply disappear. I will personally ensure that no Scorpion agent interferes with the relations between your clan and the Lion in any way, and I will see to it our influence from your courts and those of the Lion is withdrawn to a token presence. You will be the victor in all but this duel.”

There was no response, no apparent movement.

“Your son,” Jimen said in a whisper. “Your wife has not yet told you, but he has been ill. He began feeling ill only a short time after your family’s recent visit to Kyuden Otomo. She has kept it from you, to keep you focused on this event. Do you know how hard it was to arrange events to ensure you would travel to the palace, when you had not been out of your estate in so many years? Do you have any notion of how difficult it was to infiltrate the staff of Kyuden Otomo, an estate crawling with the most vigilant of Seppun guardsmen? It was tedious beyond measure, but I accomplished it. Concede to me, Noritoshi, and I will give you the antidote you require. Everything will be as it was.”

There was a long moment when Jimen seriously considered the notion that Noritoshi might kill him regardless of the circumstances. Then, ever so slowly, the Crane master duelist moved his hand away from the hilt of his blade. Even at this distance, Jimen could hear the gasps of the crowd as they realized what was happening. “You are wise, Noritoshi,” Jimen said softly. “You have gained much today, for little cost. My rule as Emerald Champion will be unlike anything you have ever witnessed, that much I promise you.” He paused for a moment. “Join me,” he said. “Be first among my magistrates. You will have the chance to change the Empire forever.”

Noritoshi’s eye blazed with such rage that Jimen’s unflappable aura of cool faltered for the briefest of moments. “You have made an enemy today, Scorpion,” the Kakita daimyo whispered. “I will bring every resource I have to bear on discovering the truth about you. I will place my family so that you can never touch them, and ensure that my Champion is beyond reproach. When those things are done, I promise you… nothing in this world or in the Heavens will stop me from coming for you.” The Crane turned and stormed from the plains, the silent spectators giving him a wide berth as he disappeared into the tents beyond. Some followed him, clearly disgusted at the day’s outcome, but most turned to face the man who would shortly become the new Emerald Champion.

Beneath his mask, Shosuro Jimen smiled at the retreating Crane. “At last,” he whispered, “an enemy worthy of my attention.”