L5r - scroll 05 - The Crab (19 page)

Perhaps these Crane are not as experienced as they think, mused Sukune. Sometimes pride is a powerful disadvantage.

Sukune continued to turn toward his opponent, whose last strike left a hopelessly overextended ribcage for a target. Sukune's katana bit deeply into the Crane's skin.

The stroke seemed to last for minutes.

Sukune led with his elbow, pulled with his wrists, and drew the blade through, severing Kenji's armor, ribs, and everything beneath. It was only after the katana emerged on the other side with a wet sound that time seemed to resume its normal pace.

Blood sprayed from the Crane's chest. Sukune felt it warm and wet, dripping down his face and across his chest—his blow had cut Kenji's heart in two.

"Now you look like a Hida!" said Kuni Yori in mock appreciation. The shugenja appeared as if from nowhere.

Sukune glared at him. It was the withering stare his father had taught him, but it seemed to have no effect on the shugenja— probably from so many years weathering the same look from Kisada himself.

I ooking around, Sukune could see that the battle was finally over. No Crane remained.

"Tell the generals to take their samurai to the locations we discussed last night," Sukune told Yori. "My brother's troops will be here by nightfall tomorrow. In that time I want this entire corridor secured. Beiden Pass is ours—let's make sure it stays that way."

xxxxxxxx

"You bungle your way to success and call it victory?"

Sukune had not expected his brother to be overflowing with praise, but he likewise never expected Yakamo to call him inept. After all, he took Beiden Pass in less than an afternoon. Granted,
Ik
- had overwhelming numbers on his side, but the reason their father wanted the pass in the first place was that it was so easily defended. A well-organized and prepared force could hold off an army ten times its own size if they used the cliffs and narrow mountain trails to their best advantage.

"I call it achieving my goal with minimal casualties," Sukune said trying not to sound petulant. "We lost only sixteen bushi in the assault, and killed more than fifty of the enemy. How can you call that bungling?"

This might not have been the most efficient operation in the history of Crab warfare, but it certainly was not a debacle. Abundant campfires lit the granite walls of Beiden Pass—a warming reminder that his force had come through practically unscathed.

Yakamo bent down so that he was eye to eye with his brother. They stood in one of the darkened stretches between camps, but the distant firelight danced across his helmet and shone in his eyes.

"When you have a force of completely expendable Shadow-lands creatures at your command, I call any losses unacceptable. If you sent the goblins into the pass ahead of you, they would certainly have come under attack by the Crane and fought tooth and claw to defend themselves. They clearly could have taken the pass on their own—after all,
you
did."

Sukune ignored the jibe. Clearly Yakamo still felt threatened by the fact that he had not been chosen to take the pass. The rivalry between the brothers ran deep, but only Yakamo had any sense that it was for a purpose. Sukune knew how his father felt about him. No matter how many foes he slew or military victories he commanded, he would always be "the weakling" to Kisada.

Yakamo, however, needed to prove his superiority, if only by denigrating any shred of success Sukune achieved. It was perhaps the greatest fault of Yakamo and Kisada's mindset—measuring self worth by conquest. Holding the Wall against the forces of Fu Leng ceased to be enough to satisfy their insecurities. Now they protected the empire from itself. Would that prove to be enough, or would they need to seek a greater victory after this campaign? How many greater victories remained? What would they do when there
was
nothing bigger to be achieved?

"I refuse to honor only the letter of our agreement with the creature to whom you gave your name," Sukune said stiffly. The decision to link himself with an oni was just another in the growing list of poor choices Yakamo had made in recent days. "There is no honor in putting these creatures in harm's way."

"Honor?" cried Yakamo. "Honor? These are goblins and worse! Half the forces are undead zombies! They have no honor!"

"Yes, but we do. This is our fight. Father may have made the right decision in negotiating this truce, but that does not mean the Shadowlands army is ours to throw away."

"I cannot believe that there is
any
circumstance under which you would give up the life of a single Crab samurai instead of a dozen Shadowlands monstrosities!" Yakamo emphasized his point by poking Sukune in the chest with each significant word.

"Once again, we see that there is simply a fundamental difference between us," Sukune said calmly. "Please, use the creatures under your command as you see fit. But allow me the same latitude."

Yakamo grunted. "It is time to open our orders."

They reached under their armor and pulled out the scrolls Kisida had given them five days earlier. They held them out at arm's length, never taking their eyes off one another—staring intently into each other's soul—each trying to prove by force of will that he was in the right in this argument.

Simultaneously, they broke both eye contact and the seals on their scrolls. A minute later they lowered the scrolls and looked at one another again. This time they were trying to guess the con-touts of the other's scroll.

"It seems you will have to defend this pass without my aid," ..lid Yakamo slowly.

"Something I have been prepared to do from the beginning," Answered Sukune. He held the scroll up again and read, " 'Deploy your troops along the pass, and prepare to hold it through t lie coming winter. You must prepare a safe haven for Yakamo and his troops, for they will return with enemies close on their heels. We should only face strong opposition for the first month or so. After that you will have only the Crane to worry about. 'the approaching snows will drive the other clans back to their homelands until spring.'"

Yakamo nodded and smiled.

"You have another objective. One that will bring you great

glory."

"Indeed, I do," the elder brother said. "Mine says, 'To hold the pass over the winter, Sukune's troops will need two things: supplies and protection from the local Crane forces. You must get both by leading your troops to the north and taking the fortress Kyuden Kakita. Rout the Crane stationed there. They will fight to delay you, to hold you off until reinforcements can arrive. Do not allow them to succeed in this. Crush the castle's defenses, then destroy the building itself. Take their stores and rejoin Sukune at Beiden Pass. That is where we shall winter, and from there we shall save all of Rokugan.'"

The brothers stared at one another for a long while, neither saying a word. Finally they were interrupted when Kuni Yori stepped from the shadows—neither Sukune nor Yakamo had seen him approach.

"Is there a dispute I can help settle?" asked the shugenja, although the smile on his face hinted that he was well aware of what was
really
going on.

"My troops and I leave again in the morning," said Yakamo. "We were just saying farewell."

"And wishing one another luck," Sukune continued. "Despite our differences we all fight for the same thing."

"The glory of the Crab Clan."

"The safety of the empire."

THE OTHER HAND

The chill autumn wind was a thief, sneaking through Beiden Pass and stealing the warmth from the dying campfires. No tent flap or blanket or animal hide was proof against its icy fingers.

While Sukune's guards watched either end of the pass, Yakamo's samurai slept soundly between. He had expressly forbidden a guard. Every samurai would need his or her strength for the coming battles.

A lone figure emerged silently from his tent, lifted a large wooden crate, and walked away from the rest. He climbed a narrow, nearly invisible trail up the north wall of Beiden Pass. The moonless night made his going even more difficult, but he managed it without once stumbling or making a sound. Toward the top of the wall, he followed a trail back away from the pass until he came to a flat, open space. He laid the box on the ground and waited, though not for long.

"All is prepared," a shrill voice said from the darkness.

"It is well past time! Now give me some light."

A sharp sound filled the air. It might have been fingers snapping or a dried bone being broken in two. Torches flared to life in a large circle at the plateau's center.

Standing within the circle was Kuni Yori, dressed in heavy velvet robes, the hood pulled tight around his head. Instead of his usual black robes, he wore deep crimson garments covered with the kanji for "crab" and "victory" as well as several pictographs. The shugenja's face was painted differently, too. His usual pallid mask was splattered with odd red shapes, particularly around eyes and mouth. The two ends of his long, thin mustache were braided under his chin. As cold as the night was, no steam escaped the hood. Either Yori's breath was as cold as the air itself, or he wasn't breathing at all.

The torches cast a flickering light on Yakamo and the black box he'd carried all this way.

"Let's get this over with."

"No!" said a third voice. It came from the trail that Yakamo had just traversed. "Brother, I implore you: Do not do this thing. A warrior is measured by the strength of his heart, not his arm."

"Of course
you
would say that!" Yakamo spat, turning to see Sukune's pale face in the dim light. "Your arms are weak—
you
are weak. But I am not. I have always been strong. If I cannot fight, I am nothing."

"If that is what you believe," Sukune said, "you already are nothing."

Yakamo growled an unintelligible reply.

"Sukune-san," Yori said. "I appreciate your concern, but I warn you that interfering with the ritual once it is in progress will only make matters worse. Perhaps you should go back to your tent."

"No," Sukune replied. "I may think he's a fool, but I will not let my brother go through this alone."

XXXXXXXX

Yakamo lay on the cold ground within a large circle of rice sprinkled on the nearly flat rock of the plateau. Yori stood over him, his feet outside the circle, but his head and arms leaning in.

Suddenly, despite the cold and windy night, despite the chilling mission that brought them here, Sukune found the air hot, 'I.imp, and close. Standing on an open plain atop the tallest mountains in the region, he felt crowded and watched.

Kuni Yori actually looked concerned—as if he knew how wrong he was to perform this act.

"This will hurt," Yori said, "quite a bit, actually. 1 just thought you should know."

"I am not afraid of pain!" grumbled Yakamo.

The shugenja looked at him quizzically.

"I didn't think you were," he said. "But you must be sure not

to twitch about. If you or the claw break the circle, things will become even more unpleasant—and I won't be able to do anything to help."

Sukune stepped forward, but Yori placed his hand on the young man's chest.

"You cannot break the circle either," he said in a tone that made it clear that this was an order, not a suggestion. Then he wandered away mumbling to himself.

The two brothers stared at one another. Sukune wanted to say something, anything to bridge the emotional gap between them. The look in Yakamo's eyes was as cold and hard as the mountain on which he lay.

Yori came back holding the claw. It seemed huge in his hands, and it snapped at Sukune as the shugenja passed near.

"It is time to begin."

Yori reached into the rice circle again and fastened the claw to Yakamo's left arm. It was exactly the same procedure as the young samurai used to go through every morning when dressing for battle, except that the claw was as cold as the night and caused his arm to stand in goose bumps.

When the claw's laces were securely tied, Yori sat cross-legged on the ground next to the circle, closed his eyes, and pressed his palms flat together, directly in front of his nose. He began chanting in a low voice, speaking very quickly in a language only shugenja could fathom. Yori's body began to glow a menacing blue.

Sukune took a step back but never let his eyes wander from his brother. As he watched, Yakamo began to glow blue as well. The color, which seemed to be flowing from Yori's stomach, leaped at Yakamo violently. Each time a bolt of blue attached itself to his body, the samurai twitched and grimaced slightly.

Yori's chanting grew louder and more emphatic. He seemed to be arguing with or yelling at something that no one else could see or hear. Finally his eyes, which had remained tightly shut, flew open. He shouted a short, guttural word, and a ball of blue light shot from his mouth.

It circled the plateau with amazing speed. Higher and higher it went, filling the space below with its unnatural radiance. Finally, the ball flew so high it nearly became lost among the stars. It hung there for a moment, then, without warning, dived direcdy down at Yakamo.