with flowering cherries that had lost their leaves and stood bare in the autumn twilight. It seemed almost peaceful from the hill on which the two men rode, but beneath the calmness of the evening hung the tension of war.
Pines spiraled down into a fertile valley, its rice fields drained and empty for the winter. Yet where the village should have been, there were no lights, no bustling passage of latecomers seeking a teahouse in which to rest. Instead, they saw only a thick mist that shrouded long groves. As they approached, the stench struck them with the force of a gloved hand. Bitter, the "mist" was smoke, filled with the scent of charred flesh.
The two men cautiously rode downhill, watching for any sign of movement. The air was still. The silence was broken only by the harsh cawing of carrion birds and the crackling of fires within the burned buildings. A few black shapes stood where once there had been a prosperous village. The road into Osuka had been churned into acrid mud by the trudging of a hundred armored feet.
Through the smoke, Hoturi made out more distinct figures—a house, broken and smoking beneath twin crags of rock, the shattered remains of blistered metal in what once had been a blacksmith's shop. Hoturi rode slowly through I he village streets. Beside him, Toshimoko covered his face with a scrap of rough brown cloth, tying it behind his head to shield his nose and eyes from the smoke.
Hoturi's pony stepped through a broken torii arch. To one side, near a larger crevasse of rock, three more buildings burned. Bodies lay piled near the last, their blue armor scorched and twisted in the heat of the fires. Their blackened skin reeked.
Fire had destroyed the village of Osuka and trapped her brave defenders. Fire had been the killer, but the Lion were the cause.
"Hoturi-sama," Toshimoko called, motioning for his student to return. Toshimoko's pony stood beyond the perimeter of the still-burning village.
Hoturi approached and saw what had attracted the sen-sei's attention. A plain of rice paddies had become a battlefield, filled with blackened skeletons and more smoke and flame. The Daidoji had made a stand against their attackers, giving their lives to defend the holdings of the Crane. They had died for their valor, but perhaps somewhere in the surrounding hills and forests, some Osuka villagers still lived. They would make their way south to the castle of the Kakita. The Lion would surely follow.
There had been no siege, no pitched battle. Although the Daidoji had fought bravely, their numbers had been too small. They had been decimated.
Hoturi rode through the smoking field, trying to ignore the stinking bodies of his clansmen. The faces of the Daidoji leered through blackened flesh, their swords broken and their tattooed arms outstretched on the bloodied ground.
Amid the blue and silver of the Crane, an occasional Lion corpse remained. Drawing his horse up beside a dead Matsu, the champion of the Crane gazed with hatred at the mon.
"They aren't headed to Kyuden Kakita," Toshimoko called from across the field. "Their tracks head north." He turned his nervous steed. "The Lion will have more troops waiting there. Our Kyuden has over four thousand standing soldiers. The Lion cannot afford a siege." As he spoke, another curl of smoke rose beyond the forest.
Hoturi heard the sounds of clashing blades. "Toshimoko!"
Nodding, the dueling master spurred his pony. Together, they chased the sound across the field and into the nearby woods. Once in the forest, even the churning noise of hooves could not drown out the scream of soldiers in combat.
Between three large oaks, in a clearing just outside the village, a small group of Daidoji stood back to back. Around them circled a troop of Matsu, cleaning their blades. The body of a fallen Crane lay among them.
Looking up, the leader of the Lion scout party scowled at Toshimoko and Hoturi, mistaking them for clanless ronin. "Who do you fight for, ronin, or do
Pines spiraled down into a fertile valley, its rice fields drained and empty for the winter. Yet where the village should have been, there were no lights, no bustling passage of latecomers seeking a teahouse in which to rest. Instead, they saw only a thick mist that shrouded long groves. As they approached, the stench struck them with the force of a gloved hand. Bitter, the "mist" was smoke, filled with the scent of charred flesh.
The two men cautiously rode downhill, watching for any sign of movement. The air was still. The silence was broken only by the harsh cawing of carrion birds and the crackling of fires within the burned buildings. A few black shapes stood where once there had been a prosperous village. The road into Osuka had been churned into acrid mud by the trudging of a hundred armored feet.
Through the smoke, Hoturi made out more distinct figures—a house, broken and smoking beneath twin crags of rock, the shattered remains of blistered metal in what once had been a blacksmith's shop. Hoturi rode slowly through I he village streets. Beside him, Toshimoko covered his face with a scrap of rough brown cloth, tying it behind his head to shield his nose and eyes from the smoke.
Hoturi's pony stepped through a broken torii arch. To one side, near a larger crevasse of rock, three more buildings burned. Bodies lay piled near the last, their blue armor scorched and twisted in the heat of the fires. Their blackened skin reeked.
Fire had destroyed the village of Osuka and trapped her brave defenders. Fire had been the killer, but the Lion were the cause.
"Hoturi-sama," Toshimoko called, motioning for his student to return. Toshimoko's pony stood beyond the perimeter of the still-burning village.
Hoturi approached and saw what had attracted the sen-sei's attention. A plain of rice paddies had become a battlefield, filled with blackened skeletons and more smoke and flame. The Daidoji had made a stand against their attackers, giving their lives to defend the holdings of the Crane. They had died for their valor, but perhaps somewhere in the surrounding hills and forests, some Osuka villagers still lived. They would make their way south to the castle of the Kakita. The Lion would surely follow.
There had been no siege, no pitched battle. Although the Daidoji had fought bravely, their numbers had been too small. They had been decimated.
Hoturi rode through the smoking field, trying to ignore the stinking bodies of his clansmen. The faces of the Daidoji leered through blackened flesh, their swords broken and their tattooed arms outstretched on the bloodied ground.
Amid the blue and silver of the Crane, an occasional Lion corpse remained. Drawing his horse up beside a dead Matsu, the champion of the Crane gazed with hatred at the mon.
"They aren't headed to Kyuden Kakita," Toshimoko called from across the field. "Their tracks head north." He turned his nervous steed. "The Lion will have more troops waiting there. Our Kyuden has over four thousand standing soldiers. The Lion cannot afford a siege." As he spoke, another curl of smoke rose beyond the forest.
Hoturi heard the sounds of clashing blades. "Toshimoko!"
Nodding, the dueling master spurred his pony. Together, they chased the sound across the field and into the nearby woods. Once in the forest, even the churning noise of hooves could not drown out the scream of soldiers in combat.
Between three large oaks, in a clearing just outside the village, a small group of Daidoji stood back to back. Around them circled a troop of Matsu, cleaning their blades. The body of a fallen Crane lay among them.
Looking up, the leader of the Lion scout party scowled at Toshimoko and Hoturi, mistaking them for clanless ronin. "Who do you fight for, ronin, or do
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