The Wrath of Silver Wolf (17 page)

The head ninja turned back, flicking his head
at Kagero as if requesting orders.

Kagero pointed at Snowhawk with a fan. 'Go
ahead, gentlemen. Wear her down first, then I'll
take over.' Her mouth warped into a spiteful smirk.
'It's really
my
responsibility to get her home alive,
but if she won't submit,
barely alive
is also fine.'
She let out a soft chuckle. 'And once we're there,
I have so many questions for you, my dear, on
behalf of
our
former clan's leadership! You'll talk
to Kagero about your new friends, won't you?' She
laughed again, this time with unconcealed malice.
'Submit! You have no choice!'

They all flinched as lightning struck a patch of
weeds near the ruin. A puff of smoke rose from the
charred circle it left.

'Submit?' Snowhawk gave a menacing laugh of
her own. She felt her eyes glaze over with wrath.
'Here's what I say to that, Kagero. I think it a most
appropriate answer.'

Snowhawk flung her sword point-first at
the ground alongside her rock. As it dug in, she
dropped to one knee, wrists crossing as her hands
flashed into her jacket. Darting back out, her right
hand whip-cracked in the air.

Almost instantly a cloud of smoke plumed at
Kagero's feet. Snowhawk's left hand reappeared
and whipped forward. A curve-bladed Fuma
shuriken whirred through the smokescreen. As
the teeming white cloak enveloped Kagero, she
gave a loud shriek.

Snatching up the sword, Snowhawk back-flipped
off the rock. One of Jiro's black bo-shuriken
streaked past her. She landed on balance in time
to see the head ninja signalling.

Three of his camouflaged agents ran for the
White Nun and Moonshadow.

Motto bolted forward and threw himself at
the closest one, rearing up and ramming chest to
chest, big paws swiping inwards to trap the man's
arms. The other two agents leapt clear as Motto
drove their companion into the ground. Swords
ready, they advanced on Moon and the White
Nun. The sage raised a trembling hand, then made
it a fist.

The pair of ninja stopped walking and turned
to glare at one another. Both went into defensive
stances.

'Who are you?' one shouted. 'What treachery
is this?'

'Who am
I
?
You're
the infiltrator!' his agitated
comrade snapped back.

There was a bright flash of steel between
them, the ring of impact as one cut and the
other blocked. Hand guards locking together,
they began to shove each other back and forth.
Behind them, Motto released the ninja he had
downed, springing away as the obviously shaken
man fumbled drawing his sword. His camouflage
suit was torn and he moved as if the dog had badly
bruised him head to foot.

Jiro ran around them all, his second bo-shuriken
raised, targeting Snowhawk as she scrambled
backwards between two piles of crumbling wall
stones.

Snowhawk watched her smoke bomb's cloud
disperse. Kagero still stood in what had been its
centre. Teeth set, she pulled a shuriken from her
shoulder. A Fuma shuriken, Snowhawk thought,
and smiled. The wound bled fast, staining Kagero's
flower-patterned kimono.

The bounty hunter's face shifted, her true
appearance breaking through the shinobi illusion.
An older, sharply lined countenance locked fiery
eyes on Snowhawk.

'Before I am done with you, little squirrel,'
Kagero growled, 'you will
beg
Lord Hachiman for
death!'

I must lead them away
, thought Snowhawk to
herself. Lead them away from Moon so he has a
fighting chance against Chikuma. As long as they
don't take me alive, I don't care what happens.
Grimly, she half-smiled. A simple enough plan.
Make the rest of this wolf pack give chase and
draw them off the White Nun, too.

She cupped three Fuma shurikens from her
holsters, then threw each hard and fast.

The first flew at the claw-handed head ninja
who was trying to pacify the two the White Nun
had tricked into fighting each other. Missing its
mark, the shuriken struck one of the confused
fighters in the neck. The ninja shouted in alarm,
then crumpled. The man he'd been struggling
with flinched, suddenly recognising his leader.
The White Nun's influence over them had run its
course.

Snowhawk took a pace backwards. Even with
one
down, the odds remained
nasty
.

She lobbed the second shuriken at Jiro, forcing
him to duck, and shearing off a matted lock of hair
near the crown of his head. He straightened up
and swore at her.

The third shuriken she thrust at Kagero but the
experienced agent, despite her wound, was ready
this time and she blocked it with one of her war
fans. With a
clunk
and a flash of iron spokes the
throwing star wheeled to the leaf-strewn ground.

Kagero stared at the shuriken she had pulled
from her flesh, then looked up. 'You are GLO
now, yet use
Fuma
designed shurikens to battle
us?' Her face swam with barely controlled rage. 'I
am a professional. You just made this
personal.
Get
her!'

Spinning about, Snowhawk broke into a
hard run, her eyes on the area uphill where the
lightning struck most often. Hard footfall pounded
the ground behind her as she dashed between two
gently swaying stands of bamboo and onto open
ground.

Be careful what you start, Snowhawk told
herself.

She hurdled a log, sidestepped a rain-cut trench
and glanced over one shoulder.

The fallen ninja lay curled up, staunching his
fast-bleeding neck wound.

But apart from him and Chikuma, every other
enemy was now right behind her.

Silver Wolf awoke with a start and propped himself
up on one elbow.

He had told his men he was going into his
bedchamber to sit and meditate, but he suspected
that at least his sharpest guards, the father and son
bodyguard team, knew the real reason. He had, yet
again, drunk too much sake with his early lunch
and had needed to sleep off the dull ache steadily
growing in his head.

On entering this, the innermost room of his
castle's keep, he had hung a simple, ink-brushed
portrait on the wall, one that had been relayed to
him on Katsu's orders through a chain of agents in
the field. Then, sagging backwards onto his futon,
he had fallen asleep at once. He was unsure for
how long, but it was still daylight outside.

Now, though awake for only a matter of
seconds, he felt oddly free of any effects of liquor,
and strangely alert. He found his eyes drawn to the
rectangle of handmade paper dangling below the
wall lamp's iron bracket.

The warlord stood up and stared at it with a
dark, sullen expression. The crude portrait showed
a long-faced youth with an ample head of dark
hair, tied back in a single tail. The boy's eyes were
sharp, purposeful, his nose long, lips thin, chin
pointy and face free of scars.

'I have never seen you,' Silver Wolf muttered,
his chest immediately heaving with anger, 'but
now I know you, Moonshadow of the Grey Light.
Do you still live?' He glanced at the diffused glow
coming through the oiled paper squares of the
sliding screen. 'Or have my allies done their job
by now . . .' his voice built into a roar, 'and taken
your stinking little head?!'

Silver Wolf dropped to one knee, one hand
burrowing between the futon and the tatami
beneath it. He sprang back to his feet and his
arm streaked forward, fingers aligned, pointing
at the picture. Polished steel caught the light as
it whirled through the air. A low
thud
followed.
Silver Wolf blinked at the picture, then flashed
a maniacal grin. His small samurai-style throwing
knife, made from the same folded steel as his
swords, stuck from the picture's grim face, right
between Moonshadow's eyes.

'Yes!' Silver Wolf's stare narrowed with
sustained rage. 'A good start but not enough!'
He twisted to the sword rack at the head of his
bed, snatched up his long sword and drew it from
the scabbard. Hurling the scabbard to his futon,
Silver Wolf rushed the picture,
hakama
trousers
rustling as he sped across the room. He swung a
blindingly fast cut downwards at the face, stopping
his whispering blade's tip a finger's width short of
the paper.

The sliding door to his bedchamber flew open.
His father and son bodyguard team appeared
around it, faces wary, hands ready on their
undrawn swords. They glanced around the room,
frowned, then stared at the warlord with baffled
expressions.

After studying his master's incensed face and
drawn blade, the older samurai waved his son
away and bowed low. A shrewd light came on in
his eyes.

'Forgive the intrusion, my lord. We were overcautious;
we did not intend to disturb your
practice.'

'Get out!' Silver Wolf stood, hands and sword
trembling with fury, his unblinking eyes on the
samurai as he bowed again and closed the door.

The warlord looked back at the picture. His
eyebrows fell and mouth twisted as he drove the
tip of his blade through Moonshadow's cheek and
into the wood behind it.

FOURTEEN
Of two
battlefields

Moonshadow felt his body start to relax as the
silent blackness thinned.

At first he made out only shifting shadows,
heard just one sound, a distant owl's call. Then
abruptly he found that he could see and hear
properly again.

But not, he realised at once, the sights and
sounds of his actual life.

He looked around, turning a slow, wary circle.
Was he simply turning inside the dream? Or did
his body rotate now, out in the
real
world?

This
had
to be a dream, a daylight mind attack,
forced upon him by Chikuma.

How else could he abruptly find himself alone
in the ruins, and under
stars
?

The night air was cold. The sky through the
trees starry and still, with no signs of thunder or
lightning. Far up the mountain, a wolf howled,
then its whole pack joined in.

Moonshadow paced through the ruins, looking
around. Yes, he
was
alone. An urge came to him.
A prompt to go to that wall on the edge of the
plateau, to look over as he had before.

'No,' Moonshadow said instinctively, 'I won't.'
The urge repeated, more insistent now. He steeled
himself against it and felt its strength quickly
halve. Then it was gone.

'Well,' he said to himself, 'that wasn't so bad.'

Twigs snapped at the other end of the ruins.
Muffled footfall, then a
thump
. He turned fast,
eyes hunting for the source of the noises. Louder
snapping, closer. Moon gripped the jacket directly
over his heart.

An awful, now-familiar feeling spiralled
through him, growing stronger with each passing
moment. It made his breathing accelerate, his
stomach knot.

Something genuinely
terrible
was approaching.
He had no idea how he knew, but he was utterly
certain of it. He stepped up onto a cracked boulder,
peering through the stunted trees and scattered
rocks in the ruins. There, staying in shadow: a
figure. Female?

It was weaving towards him in the dark,
approaching with skittish, disturbing bounds and
lunges. Every movement was too fast, too sharp,
impossible, yet on it came. Moon swallowed. It
couldn't be human. Not even a shinobi could
move that way.

His right hand flew up, fingers stabbing for the
grip of the sword on his back. They closed around
air. Moonshadow shuddered deeply.

His sword was gone.

Ahead of him, whatever was coming let out a
long, slow
hiss
.

Snowhawk looked back downhill. In the heart of
the ruins, Chikuma and Moon faced each other,
stock-still as before. The White Nun hovered at
Moon's side, eyes closed. What was she doing?
And where was Motto-San?

Movement between two of her pursuers
drew Snowhawk's eye. She saw the huge animal
charging up the hill, teeth bared, and it made her
sigh gratefully. The White Nun would not kill with
her awesome powers, but nor would she abandon
her companions to battle these fiends alone.

Snowhawk's seven attackers encircled her; Mr
Claw and the remaining hooded Fuma ninja, the
limping Jiro and the relentlessly scowling bounty
hunter.

Raising a bo-shuriken, Jiro leered. 'Time you
started walking like me!'

He drew back his hand and tensed for a
powerful throw but just on the point of release,
Motto crashed into him from behind.

The shuriken
whizzed
wide and stuck in a
slim young maple tree. Snowhawk watched
Motto trample the gangster and push him along
the ground. Ignoring his wild punches, the dog
rammed Jiro into a roll with its head and then bit
its screaming target.

She marvelled at Motto's enthusiastic attack.
So, animals instantly hated Jiro too.

'Get this thing off me!' Jiro wailed as Motto
clamped his wrist and started dragging him away
along the forest floor. 'Iiiii-eeee . . .' The gangster's
screams rose to a high pitch. 'Don't let it eat me!'

'Everyone has their problems,' Kagero sniffed,
gripping her bloodied shoulder.

'Enough delays,' the leader snapped at his men.
'Take her
now
!'

He stood back as his four remaining underlings
ran at Snowhawk. They formed a diamond around
her and began edging closer, shuffling warily,
swords held overhead.

'Help me, White Nun,' Snowhawk whispered.
'This is too many, and too close . . .' If you let me
live out this day, she vowed silently, I
will
cut the
hatred from my heart. I
will
show respect for this
second chance that destiny has given me and –

The ninja wearing a bow and arrows flinched
and started looking in all directions. 'How?' he
addressed his sidekicks. 'She's not supposed to
have invisibility skills!'

All four hooded agents began turning twitchy
circles, the typical shinobi response to a threat or
mystery. Snowhawk inclined her head at their odd
behaviour.

What was this? They were acting as if she was
no longer there.

'It's a trick! It's that demonic White Nun!'
Mr Claw called. '
I
can't see the girl either now!'
He glanced downhill over his shoulder and then
glared at Kagero. 'Are you
sure
we can't just kill
that old hag?'

'That path,' Kagero said coldly, 'you will go
down no further. Just do your job!'

Sounds came from the distance: Jiro squealing,
Motto's growls and jaw-snaps.

'Close in, then!' the chief ninja commanded.
'Listen for her!'

Snowhawk held her breath. The four encircling
Fuma ninja cocked their heads.

'She
is
gone,' the archer muttered. 'No wait . . .
I hear her heartbeat!'

Snowhawk winced, her eyes darting between
the men. Which one would attack first? Whoever
it was, this was going to hurt.

'Idiot!' Another ninja pointed through the
trees. 'There,
there
she is!'

'So!' the nearest agent said, peering into the
forest, 'she's learned eye-trickery!'

Compulsively, Snowhawk turned and looked,
along with her enemies. Her mouth twisted in
wonder. She saw herself, obviously just as they
did, running away through the forest, vaulting
fallen trees and rocks. Smiling in awe, she checked
downhill.

Beside Moon, facing the immobile Chikuma,
the White Nun pointed uphill with her gnarled
stick. Thunder rumbled above. Snowhawk held
her ground as the four ninja tore past her, one
brushing her jacket with his elbow. Their clawed
leader followed. The pack weaved away through
the forest, accelerating, chasing the second Snowhawk.
Unslinging his compact bow as he ran, the
archer among them made ready to shoot.

The real Snowhawk quickly glanced around.
Flashes of sheet lightning lit the green clouds
overhead. Far away downhill, Jiro scaled a maple.
Motto circled it ardently.

Only Kagero had stayed where she was. Snowhawk
eyed her suspiciously. Could this veteran
shinobi see her, the real her? Was the bounty
hunter adept enough to neutralise certain of
the White Nun's skills? Kagero wasn't even watching
the departing ninja team. If she wasn't fooled
by the illusion, why had she not alerted the
others?

Kagero stopped nursing her shoulder and
tensed her war fans. 'There,' she gave Snowhawk
a superior glare. 'Let the gullible stretch their legs,
believing the old sage's trickery. Not all of us are so
easily fooled! Now we can be alone, just you and
me. You're
my
prize and I don't want any disputes
about who earns that bonus!'

'In case you hadn't noticed –' Snowhawk
gestured downhill – 'I'm hardly alone and at your
mercy.'

A wolfish
yike
came from the foot of Jiro's
maple. Kagero and Snowhawk both turned to
watch the tree. Jiro slid down its trunk. Motto
scampered away, tail between his legs. He hunched
his great back, big head turning hard to one side as
he snapped at something.

Kagero laughed as the dog fled through bamboo
towards the remains of a wall. Then Snowhawk
saw the bo-shuriken sticking from the Akita
Matagi's shoulder. She covered her mouth with
one hand as the sight needled her heart. It felt
so wrong that he should be hurt in any way. True,
Motto-San was an animal warrior, but he was
also an innocent, caught up in a human conflict,
controlled by the wills of others.

Whimpering, the mighty beast ran behind the
wall and out of view. The White Nun stared after
him. Had she lost control of Motto now? Could
she heal his wound?

'How sad. I know just how the poor creature
feels.' Kagero pouted. 'And I have you to thank
for it! Now, what were you saying? You're hardly
. . . alone?'

Running forward energetically, as if her
shoulder wound suddenly meant nothing, Kagero
hacked with her fans in a double slash across
the front of her body. Snowhawk bolted clear,
springing backwards high into the air, turning as
she descended.

The ground rushed up, looking solid and even,
but as she landed, one foot struck a pit under the
forest's thick carpet of leaves. Snowhawk stumbled
and fell.

She twisted quickly onto her back. Kagero,
airborne, was coming for her.

Snowhawk dug into her jacket, fingers probing
fast into one holster, then the next.

Empty. No more shuriken
. Snowhawk cursed.