The Initiate Brother Duology (89 page)

“We will begin to move our people south the day the barbarian army crosses the border,” Shonto said. “We are a laughing stock for gathering so many river craft…but that will change soon enough. Boats will transport what forces we have faster than the barbarians will ever ride. And rafts handled by men who have lived their lives on the desert will be slow—especially when they find the canal locks impassable. Plans must be complete
to burn all other craft in Seh and also to keep the canal open ahead of us. Once the news of the barbarian army passes us on the way south, we will be dealing with thousands fleeing toward the inner provinces. We cannot have our progress impeded.”

Jaku Katta bowed quickly and not as low as he had previously. “I have left garrisons of Imperial Guard along the canal, Lord Shonto. We can use them to open the waterway before us.”

Shonto nodded. “Good.” He considered for a moment. “The Emperor sends his useless son north with what will no doubt be a small guard. The Prince will be a nuisance, I’m sure, but we will treat him with proper respect. Who knows what part he may yet play.”

“Certainly he will never make a hostage,” Hojo offered. “The Prince is not dear to his Imperial father. The Emperor may be hoping we will send him to his end fighting barbarians.” The general considered this. “And perhaps we should.”

Shonto nodded. “Too many will find such an end, Masakado-sum, and I will wish it on no one.”

L
ORD KOMAWARA STOOD at the window in the top of West Tower, watching. At intervals around the horizon he could see beacon fires blazing with a distant urgency. By morning the news would have spread to the remotest corner of the province.

It was a cold evening with a harsh wind, but the lord did not seem to notice. He had been standing in the same place for more than an hour, and though he felt numb to the center of his soul it was not from the night.

They come,
he thought,
they come.

His mind seemed to have no focus, starting down one path to veer suddenly into another. Thoughts of his retainers making their way up into a stronghold in the mountains were lost to images of riders, relaying from the northern border, racing to Rhojo-ma with news of the barbarian army. Could it be as large as Brother Hitara wrote?

A fire blazed to life on an eastern hill, and then, far off, another.

*   *   *

Lord Toshaki sat upon his horse outside a small inn. In the background a narrow river flowed and the light from the almost full moon wavered on its
surface—liquid moonlight rushing off into the night. Toshaki’s son, Yoshihira, sat nearby on the stump of a pine tree, his horse cropping some poor, winter grass beside him. Neither man spoke. Their guards sat upon horses or stood at intervals around the clearing without sign of either impatience or intent. Warm light from the inn reflected off lacquered armor here, a helmet there. A cold wind jostled among the pines, making them sway and creak.

The moon drifted west. The innkeeper came out with cups and a cauldron of steaming rice wine, but his suggestions that the lords would find the night less forbidding inside were politely rebuffed. The horsemen waiting in the dark felt that the wildness of the night gave their vigil a certain purity.

The sound of horses at the gallop. A guard stationed up the narrow road came into sight and whistled. Toshaki’s son vaulted into the saddle and joined his father.

Men burst out of the inn and disappeared toward the stable. These were men Toshaki had spoken with earlier—retainers of Lord Taiki Kiyorama, though they bore the flying horse emblem of the Governor of Seh on their surcoats. They reappeared almost immediately with three saddled horses and spent a moment checking girths and bridles in the light from the inn.

Three men on horseback broke out of the trees and pulled their mounts up before the inn, horses in a lather, driven to their limits. A crowd appeared on the porch, talking among themselves. The riders were off their exhausted mounts, taking a moment only for drink before setting off on fresh horses.

Lord Toshaki and his men rode up then, half surrounding the messengers.

“What news?” Lord Toshaki’s son called. “How large is this army?”

The three riders looked up to see who questioned them, and at a whisper from one of the Taiki handlers the men went back to their drinks, handing bowls to servants to be filled a second and third time.

Young Toshaki rode closer now, blocking their path. “The Lord of the Toshaki asks the size of the barbarian army,” he said with some anger.

One rider, a young captain, swung into the saddle, his horse stepping sideways, catching the excitement of the men. “Does your lord wish to measure the size of the force he has spent the winter raising against the size of the barbarian army?” he asked with little show of respect. “Go back to your gii board, young Sire, we do the governor’s bidding.”

Toshaki spoke now, riding up beside his son, the wind whipping his long
hair out of its ring. “We will all fight together now, despite the past. We are men of Seh, tell us what it is we face.”

The captain rode forward, working to control his mount as it tossed its head, ready to run. His voice was pitched low and taut with anger. “You will bow at Lord Komawara’s feet and ask for forgiveness, lord,” he said to Toshaki’s son. “That is the size of the barbarian army.”

The messengers spurred their horses then and pushed through Toshaki’s guards. The riders disappeared into the darkness where the trees tossed like confused seas driven before a great storm.

*   *   *

The morning after beacon fires appeared, the first riders bearing the reports from the frontier officers arrived in Rhojo-ma. By first light a great human stream was flowing into the provincial capital from the nearby countryside and villages. It was inconceivable to these people that Rhojo-ma could fall, and so they came, bearing everything they could load into carts or carry on their backs or drag.

It was late winter and still cool, but the skies were a clear northern blue during the days and filled with stars at night. Those who had experience with the movement of troops prayed for the rains that would be common at this time of year. Rains would slow the invasion, could even bring it to a halt for some time. The horizon was studied with an intensity that was unprecedented, but there was no sign of cloud.

The reports from the frontier officers came to Governor Shonto and he shut himself up with his staff for most of a day. They waited for the major lords of Seh who would arrive late that evening. For the first time in two generations a Council of War had been called by the Governor of Seh.

*   *   *

The fisherman stood with his family on the muddy edge of the River Chousa and watched the flames change his life forever. Smoke and steam from wet planking plumed up in great clouds, racing toward the heavens, an offense to the purity of the sky. Tugging at the flaming hull, the river lapped the shore and passed on, bearing a slick of oily soot. The fisherman’s wife sobbed and shed bitter tears, holding their two small children close, but the fisherman stood looking on without a sound, a deep sadness in his eyes.

Downstream, toward the bend in the river, he could see another boat pulled up on the bank and put to the torch. The governor’s soldiers rowed on. The fisherman could see them searching the mouth of a tributary overhung
with willows, a guard standing up in the boat parting the curtain of branches with his sword.

The fisherman’s burning boat heaved now, as though some part of it was alive and in agony. This drew his attention and for a second he looked as though he would join his wife in tears. But this passed and the sadness returned. The flaming pole of a mast toppled slowly to the bank, hissing where it touched the wet mud. More ribs buckled and the boat settled even farther onto its side.

Turning away, the fisherman went to the pile of goods tossed up on the bank and half covered by a patched sail—everything he now owned in this world. He pulled aside the sail and dragged a net out from under a chest. There were wooden floats somewhere. War or no war, people would need to eat.

*   *   *

Shonto sat in his own apartments, writing by the light of two lamps. His brushwork was deliberate, though not slow. The silk and brocade robes of the Imperial Governor were a bother to him, especially now when his armor laced in Shonto blue had been readied. He dipped his brush in ink and wrote:

Shonto signed this, folded it carefully, and sealed the letter with his stamp. It was very late, the middle of the night had passed. He rose and walked to the door. The Council of War awaited him.

*   *   *

The Great Hall of the Governor’s Palace held perhaps a hundred men in all and though they were men used to the uncertainties of life in the north most of them showed some signs of the deep shock they felt. Shonto had seen the look before in swordsmen—the split second when they realized they had made a mistake from which there was no recovery, and so waited for the inevitable touch of steel.

Shonto watched with great detachment as the gathered lords bowed. For each man present the governor knew there was a number and that number represented how many armed men they could raise. For some of the lords the number would be less than fifty. Komawara’s forces consisted of three hundred and fifty men, and he had mortgaged his future to raise that number. The major lords might raise a thousand men, perhaps two thousand for Toshaki and Lord Ranan.

Fifteen thousand men in all was the estimate of Hojo and Komawara. Add to this the thirty-five hundred men that Shonto had brought with him to Seh. To face a barbarian force of almost one hundred thousand.

Shonto nodded to the assembled lords. The lamps flickered around the hall and the scent of burning oil almost covered the odor of riders—so many had arrived barely in time for the council. It was readily apparent that this was not the Imperial Capital where such an assembly would be dressed in clothes of unequaled finery. Many of the lords of Seh wore hunting costume—practical for riding and ease of movement—clothing one never saw anywhere inside the Imperial Palace grounds.

Without prearrangement, the men present arrayed themselves according to their earlier beliefs: Shonto’s advisors and allies aligned themselves to the governor’s right, apart from the others who sat in rows facing the governor’s dais. Shonto looked over at Komawara who knelt stiffly among his allies. It is a moment of vindication, Shonto thought, no one has suffered as Komawara has. Yet Komawara hid anything he felt behind a mask of earnest concern.

Off to the left the governor noticed the Toshaki Lords sitting near the Ranan—hardly a natural alliance—their only bond the fact that they had all recently been utterly wrong. Yes, Shonto thought, there will be few moments in Komawara’s life as gratifying as this.

Shonto nodded to Seh’s Major Chancellor, Lord Gitoyo, who bowed and gave a signal to someone unseen. Outside the hall an enormous drum boomed, twelve even beats, echoing across the city and the lake long after the drumming had stopped.

Lord Gitoyo bowed again and pulled himself up to his full sitting height so that his voice would reach the back of the hall. “The Council of War of the Province of Seh has been called. The Imperial Governor, Lord Shonto Motoru, has summoned you. Are there any who would dispute the Imperial Governor’s right to lead us in time of war?”

Some few shook their heads, but most indicated their answer with silence.

“Until the state of war is declared past, the commands of the Imperial Governor, Lord Shonto Motoru, will be the law of Seh above all but the word of our Emperor.”

The gathered lords bowed.

The Chancellor fell silent, waiting. Shonto nodded and the Chancellor again drew himself up. “The reports of the frontier officers have been received and what they have written shall be made known to you. Lord Akima….”