By Shawn Carman
Edited by Fred Wan
Toshi Ranbo, the Imperial City
The Imperial Palace was a vast, sprawling building that incorporated hundreds of rooms and countless corridors that wound through an entire compound of buildings, making it difficult for most to determine exactly where the palace began and ended. It was a deliberate aspect of the building’s construction, of course; the first occupant to reside within as Emperor, Toturi III, had been specific about certain matters of security, one of which was to ensure that anyone attempting to seize and hold the palace would have tremendous difficulty locating all the entrances and exits. Those who secured the castle were of course familiar with them, save for a rumored few that only Toturi III supposedly knew of. If any of those exits still existed, no one had yet discovered them. It was a fact that made the Seppun guardsmen who protected the palace extremely unhappy.
For a few self-indulgent moments, Norachai considered searching for one of those exits and departing the palace in secret, with no one the wiser for his departure. Surely such a thing would be preferable to what he was about to endure. The senior magistrate woefully dismissed such flights of fancy, and after ensuring that his attire was in perfect order, he rapped sharply on the wooden frame of the chamber ahead.
“Enter!” a cheerful voice said instantly. Norachai grimaced, then fixed a flawlessly blank expression upon his face and entered the chamber.
“Ah,” said the room’s lone occupant as Norachai closed the door behind him. “The Protector of the Imperial City arrives! I am grateful that you could take time from your duties to meet with me, Protector. Or would you prefer I called you Otomo Norachai?”
Norachai struggled to keep from frowning. “That,” he said, forcing his tone to remain even, “is not my name.” Only seconds in the room, and already his host had been able to raise his ire. This would be a difficult meeting.
“Oh, of course,” Shosuro Jimen said. “I apologize, I remember now. It seems as though I read that after the tragedy of Lady Hoketuhime’s death, and the subsequent discovery that she had specified Otomo Taneji to serve as her replacement, your betrothal to her niece was cancelled in order for her to marry Taneji-san. How grossly inappropriate of me! I apologize, Norachai-san, I do not know how I could have forgotten such a scandalous turn of events.”
Norachai smiled politely. “Of course, Emerald Champion.”
“Of course,” Jimen said, “I understood that the Otomo compensated the Bayushi very well to assuage any hard feelings. Very well indeed! Your loss is the clan’s gain, it seems.”
“As you say, Emerald Champion.”
“Please, call me Jimen,” the masked courtier said. “We are contemporaries, are we not? Men of equal standing, some might say.”
“I know of no one who would slander the Emerald Championship by saying such a thing,” Norachai replied. “Few recall that the position of Protector yet exists.”
“An unfortunate situation borne of circumstances outside of your control,” Jimen said, his tone sympathetic. “Did I hear correctly that the sister of your betrothed, your former betrothed, recently married Bayushi Tsimaru?”
“You did hear correctly.”
Jimen placed his brush from on the desk where he had been writing and reclined slightly. “Tsimaru is an incredible asset to your family, would you not say?” he asked. “That is man who has achieved great things. First an appointment as governor of Ryoko Owari, then promoted to a provincial governor here in the capital, and now a marriage to a high-ranking Imperial bride? An exquisite individual, your Tsimaru. I think it speaks volumes that his wife took his name rather than the converse. Such a credit to our clan, unlike… well, unlike several others I could mention.”
Norachai’s mouth was a thin, grim line. “Did you summon me for any particular purpose, Jimen-sama? I have much to do, as I am sure you are aware.”
“Oh, of course,” Jimen said. “And you do excel at your duties, by any measure.”
Norachai ground his teeth. “That is a… gracious estimation, my lord.”
Jimen lifted a rolled scroll. “You might be interested to know that I just this moment signed the order appointing a new chief magistrate for the Imperial City. A young man named Bayushi Kosugi. Do you know him?”
“I do not, Jimen-sama.”
“A pity,” the Emerald Champion said. “You will be working closely together, I imagine. Kosugi was a magistrate in the Bayushi provinces, and quite successful at his job. He was promoted to Shutai, where he actually seemed to make a difference against the corruption, then finally I chose him for the mission here. An exceptional career all around. Much like yours, during your early years, of course.”
Norachai had reached his limit. “May I speak frankly with you, my lord?”
“Of course,” Jimen answered. “Your position exists outside my own. I have no authority over you, according to the letter of the law. By all means, speak whatever is on your mind.”
“I have no interest in being badgered, less in having my time wasted,” Norachai began, “and less even than that in being reminded of my myriad of failures. If you have something you wish to say, any legitimate business that concerns me at all, then speak it, or we are finished.”
Jimen raised an eyebrow. “You wish to speak as equals, then? As one Scorpion to another, without the trappings of our offices?” He gestured to the various accessories that filled the room. “Are you certain you wish to do that?”
“Yes,” Norachai insisted.
“As you wish,” Jimen said. He spread both hands on his desk and leaned forward, fixing the other man with a baleful glare. “I want to know if you are fully aware of the catastrophic nature of your failures and their effect upon our clan, or if your incompetence extends to your ability to perceive the obvious as well?”
It required all of Norachai’s will not to take a step backwards. When one normally spoke to Jimen, there was always a current of uncertainty below his pleasant demeanor, something that suggested he was a dangerous man. Now all the pleasantries had been stripped away, and his raw, naked malevolence filled the room. Still, Norachai was no wet-behind-the-ears student fresh from his gempukku. “I am aware of it,” he returned. “I scarcely need to be reminded by one such as you.”
“Bold words,” Jimen countered. “At one point there was surely some value in your efforts, perhaps causing our enemies to underestimate us as a result, but at this point your reputation has become little more than a joke. Your liability far outweighs any meager benefit you might serve.”
Norachai stood taller. “Is it Paneki-sama’s wish that I request the right of seppuku, then?”
“Paneki does not know we are having this conversation,” Jimen answered. “There is no need for him to know. He has far more pressing matters that require his attention.”
Norachai frowned. “What is it you want, then? Are you so naïve as to imagine that a stern rebuke from you will somehow alter my fate in a meaningful manner?”
Jimen actually burst out laughing at that, and reclined for a moment to wipe a tear from his eye. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “I brought you here to try and give you some measure of control over your fate.”
“I do not understand.”
“Right now,” Jimen continued, “you are essentially useless. We both understand that simple truth. There are two means by which you can recover at the very least your self-worth, and some degree of usefulness to the clan. I do not know which of the two you would consider a higher priority, so I present you with a choice.” He held out his left hand. “On the one hand, I could easily use my influence to restore your reputation. It would require a significant amount of time from you, however, as you would be in court a tremendous amount. You would enjoy all the respect a position such as yours is due, and garner influence for the Scorpion, but sadly it would leave little time for your other duties. I would of course assist you in selecting the proper subordinates to oversee your duties in your absence.”
“How magnanimous of you,” Norachai said bitterly.
“The second choice,” Jimen held out his right hand, “is that you embrace your shortcomings and use them to your advantage. Your honor has already been sacrificed on the altar of duty. Why not benefit from that loss?”
Norachai said nothing for a moment. He remembered the conversation he had with this man’s processor, Yasuki Hachi, a good friend and far better Emerald Champion than Shosuro Jimen could ever aspire to, before he had departed the Imperial City toward his death. He had trusted Norachai to remain behind because, of all those who served Hachi, Norachai alone was enough of a villain to do what needed be done. “What is it you would have me do?” he asked cautiously.
“Whatever is required,” Jimen said. “Whatever is necessary. What must be done. You have the resources and the station to accomplish nearly anything, and many fools believe you cling to the burdens of honor.” The masked man’s tone changed slightly, and Norachai imagined that he was smiling beneath his mask. “Imagine what I could accomplish if I were not so closely observed. And, of course, so desperately scrupulous.”
Norachai licked his lips. “What manner of task would be set before me?”
Jimen shook his head. “This is not an opportunity you can closely survey before deciding,” he said quietly. “You must choose. There will be no forewarning.”
The minutes that Norachai spent considering the matter seemed to stretch into an eternity. There was no right choice. If Hachi were still alive, he would find a way around this terrible situation, but he was dead, and every day Norachai disgraced his memory a little more. He could not continue as he was, and he was unwilling to essentially cede his authority over to a man more sinister than perhaps any he had ever met in his entire life. That left only one option, one that would require him to forever cast himself into the shadows, never again to be worthy of calling himself Hachi’s friend. “Show me,” he said.
Jimen’s eyes sparkled. “Very well, then.” He withdrew a scroll and spread it open on the desk. “Are you familiar with a man… at least I think it’s a man… named Shosuro Atesharu?”
Norachai shook his head, then reconsidered. “An actor?”
“Yes,” Jimen confirmed. “Atesharu works for me in a certain, shall we say, unofficial capacity. As part of his duties he has made contact with an individual named Kuni Yae, whom I believe is a member of the Lost operating within the Empire.”
“I see.” Norachai’s grip on his blade tightened.
“The problem,” the other man continued, “is that I can no longer be completely certain of Atesharu’s loyalties. I should have known better than to place my confidence in an actor, but there we are. What I would like you to do is to place him under very careful surveillance, and determine the purpose of his visit to the Imperial City.”
“He is here?” Norachai said. “What about Yae?”
“That is one of the things I want to know, and that you will find out,” Jimen said. “Unfortunately, he has connections to several other organizations that you must not disrupt. At least, not yet.”
The discussion continued well into the late afternoon.
* * *
The Toritaka family provinces, Crab lands
The outcropping of forest was dense, and sizeable. It was not a part of the Shinomen Mori, but close enough so that most of the common folk of the region left it alone. It had never even really been used as a source of resources, despite the relative scarcity of lumber in the Crab lands. This was most likely due to the fact that whenever the wind blue, there were haunting sounds that emanated from deep within the trees, sounds that could easily be interpreted as baleful spirits searching for someone or something. It was more than enough to drive the peasants away, fearful for their lives. Thus it had gone underutilized for generations.
Kuni Daigo was not a man who could be so easily fooled by such ridiculous tricks. He had heard the noises, and he was absolutely certain that they came from simple wooden whistles and chimes, suspended high in the trees to catch the wind and make the sounds that sent grown men running back to their homes. Once this affair was concluded he would see to it that the entire forest was cut down, if that was what it took to restore proper reverence for the law in this region. Superstition had no place in such matters.
The others on horseback around Daigo were all still and silent, save for the one immediately to his right. The nervous little man shifted in his seat every few seconds, clearly agitating his horse. Daigo glanced sidelong and the man, and he withered under the glare. “They should have been here by now!” he hissed to the Jade Champion under his breath. “Something is wrong! They know!”
“Pray they do not,” Daigo whispered back. “And sit still, or I will pin you to your saddle with steel.”
The little man’s already cadaverous appearance grew a shade whiter, and he stilled himself in the saddle. The men waited for ten more minutes, and then, finally, there was movement in the brush. One man emerged from within the forest, bearing a beaten and battered set of armor that had clearly seen a great deal of combat since it had first been created. The warrior surveyed the scene calmly, and made no attempt to go for his weapons.
He did not need to, of course. There were clearly others concealed in the bush. They were well hidden, but Daigo could hear the whispers of the earth kami as the men crept across their backs. Stealth was such a useless endeavor to a true priest of the kami.
“Kyodo!” the man near the tree line called out. “Is that you?”
“Hai, it’s me!” the little man called out.
The warrior glanced around again. “Why did you bring so many with you this time?”
The little merchant laughed nervously. “Well, you know… it really is quite a valuable cargo! I need to protect it from… uh… you know… bandits?”
The warrior shook his head. “No other bandits operate in Shadow Lightning territory,” he said. “They fear us too much. So what is the real reason? Betrayal?”
“No!” Kyodo shouted. “No, no, no, no. You know me! I haven’t the stomach for that sort of thing!”
“True enough,” the bandit said. “Where is the money we agreed upon?”
Kyodo looked at Daigo, but did not turn his head. Daigo nodded very slightly, to which Kyodo responded by shaking his head up and down like a broken puppet. At the gesture, two of the other horsemen dismounted and carried a small wooden box forward. They stopped twenty paces ahead of the bandit and set it down. One of them bent to open it, and a long mane of black hair fell from her hood as she did so.
“Oh my,” the bandit said. His eyes lingered over the woman, then down to the money that the box contained, and then back up to the woman. “How much for this one, eh Kyodo? I think we could work out a little something extra!”
“Uh… that’s… she is… please do not speak about my cousin like that, friend!” the merchant replied. “My mother… she would be quite cross if I came back without her!”
The bandit sneered at the merchant, then resumed his leering. He gestured toward the forest and, in short order, a half dozen other men emerged along with a bedraggled ox and a cart. The cart was filled with something brilliant and green.
Jade, Daigo thought. The bandits had not been lying.
“So… where did you get that?” Kyodo asked.
“What difference does it make?” the bandit spat. “We need to get rid of it, and you can sell it off piecemeal to the Crab over the course of a year or two, getting twice your money back. Who cares where it came from?”
The merchant glanced at Daigo, who shrugged. He looked to the other side and nodded once to the man there. The horseman drew back his cloak to reveal his Lion armor. “Kill them,” Akodo Koun said.
The lead bandit snarled and reached for his blade, but he was far too slow. The two horsemen who had carried the box threw off their cloaks as well, revealing two Crab warriors in light armor. The woman was closer, and drove her elbow into the man’s face with such incredible force that he was actually lifted off the ground by it. The sound was like a bottle shattering on stone. He still reached for his blade, but the woman was on top of him faster than he could draw a breath, and within seconds he was dead.
Two men rushed from the woods toward the two, blades drawn. They were the closest of their adversaries, and perhaps they hoped to be shielded from any archery fire by closing with them. Daigo lifted one hand to call on the kami, then thought better of it and lowered it again. Koun and his men dispatching the others would be of little interest, but this part, at least, would doubtless prove entertaining.
The second of the two Crab withdrew his fighting implement of choice, a unique chain weapon that had a large iron sphere attached at each end. The man spun them about in a dizzying display of skill, easily deflecting the confused attacks of the two bandits. In a matter of seconds, he disarmed them, crushed one’s skull with one end of the chain and entangled the other, leaving him helpless and frothing in the dirt. The Crab then turned and bowed slightly to the woman.
Hida Nichie’s student was coming along famously, Daigo had decided. He had apparently been developing his own martial art, something he called “tanujitsu” after the savage fighting style of the badger-spirits, the tanuki, and had sought Nichie out after her second win at the Kumitae tournament held by the Brotherhood of Shinsei. She had agreed to take him on as a student, and Daigo certainly could not argue with the results.
“My lord,” Koun said, bringing the Jade Champion’s attention back to the matter at hand. “The bandits have been neutralized. Some remain alive. Would you have them questioned?”
Daigo considered the matter for a moment. “Are your scouts able to track them back through the forest to their lair?”
“They are, my lord,” Koun answered at once.
“Then no,” he said. “I have no use for them. Execute them for their crimes.”
Koun bowed. “As you command, Champion.”
“This one as well,” Daigo said, gesturing to the merchant.
“What?” Kyodo screamed. “You said I if I cooperated you would show me mercy!”
“A quick death is a mercy,” Daigo growled. He nodded to Koun, who pulled the screaming merchant off his horse and escorted him back to the tree line with the others. His screaming did not last long.
Somewhere in the forest, Daigo mused, there was a man who ruled over the organization of bandits and smugglers called the Shadow Lightning. Rumor held that this man was a shugenja, and if so, then his use of magic in aiding or committing these crimes was a violation of Imperial law, and it was Daigo’s duty to see justice done. If the man had more jade in his hoard, so much the better.
Daigo was going to have use for a great deal of jade very, very soon.
* * *
Somewhere deep within the Shinomen Mori
Two men in robes paced around one another within the confines of the large ritual circule that had been inscribed on the forest floor. Both bore the signs of combat, with sections of their robes tattered or singed depending upon what trials they had faced. The two never allowed the other to escape their field of vision, each searching for any weakness that could be exploited.
Daigotsu Hotako watched the entire affair with absolute disinterest. The test she had set forth had attracted a large number of interested parties. Most of them were members of the Chuda family, but a few were Bloodspeakers who had survived her master’s purge of their order some years ago. Inexplicably, there were a handful of ronin shugenja who had somehow learned not only of the test, but also managed to find their way to the Spider’s stronghold within the Shinomen Mori. Their presence troubled Hotako the most, but all but one were no longer an issue.
All throughout the day, competitors had stepped into the ritual circle and battled for supremacy, each wielding their most powerful sorcery against one another without reserve or hesitation. Many had been killed. Those who had survived had been grievously injured, and many more would likely be dead within a week’s time. Of the ronin that had concerned her, only one remained alive, and he was within the ritual circle even as she watched.
The two men in the circle had stopped their pacing. They seemed to have decided how to end the duel. The larger of the two, one of Chuda Mishime’s personal students, held his hands open in one of the ritual poses that Hotako had come to recognize over the course of the day. He unleashed a torrent of pale blue fire toward his opponent. The ronin crossed his arms in front of him, however, and the fire washed over him with no apparent effect. The Chuda immediately moved into a counter-stance, summoning a shimmering shield of black energy in front of him with a gesture while creating a ball of flame to sit in the palm of his other.
The ronin held one hand out, and bright green shards, so brilliant that they were almost painful to look upon, erupted from each of his fingertips. They sailed across the space between the two men and shattered the obsidian shield as if it were nothing. They continued onward, however, and each pierced the Chuda’s body somewhere in the torso. They did not emerge from the other side.
The Chuda shugenja staggered, the shards of his shield disappearing, the flame in his other hand simmering and evaporating. He fell to one knee, then face down on the ground, and did not move. His body smoldered.
“Was that a jade spell?” a voice at Hotako shoulder whispered. Her lieutenant Daigotsu Fumiaki had not spoken since the tournament had begun in the morning. “How is that possible?”
Hotako shook her head wordlessly. She watched as the ronin withdrew his outstretched hand, and noticed that it was blackened and smoking ever so slightly from where the jade energy had coursed out of his fingers. She rose at once and crossed the tournament grounds. “What is your name?” she demanded.
The ronin was smaller than she had realized, and concealed almost entirely within voluminous brown robes that hid his every feature. “What would you like it to be?” he asked.
“Games are of little interest to me,” she snapped. “If you cannot obey a simple instruction to give your name, then your term of service will be ridiculously short.”
“As you like,” the ronin said. “My name is Isawa Fosuta.”
“An Isawa,” Hotako said. “That seems unlikely.”
“It was my name once,” the little man said. He drew back his hood and Hotako frowned at his hideous, wrinkled appearance. “No one has been able to take it from me, so I retain it.”
“I see,” she answered. “And how is it that you are capable of… such things?” she asked, gesturing toward the dead Chuda.
“I was an Inquisitor,” he answered flatly. “I learned many things, many questionable secrets, that have interesting applications if one is only willing to endure a little discomfort.”
“A fallen inquisitor,” Hotako said. “That is a rare thing indeed.”
“You have seen into the darkness,” Fosuta replied. “You understand the allure, the power to be had there. Perhaps you came to serve it against your will, but you cannot deny the benefits.” He shrugged. “I simply evaluated my failing body and sought out a more agreeable solution to the impending end of my life.”
“And?” Hotaku said. “What now, inquisitor?”
Fosuta gestured to the city around them. “Why settle for a modicum of power when I can have more?”
Hotako nodded slowly. “Very well, then,” she said. “Welcome to the Spider Clan, little man. If you possess the power you claim, and the will to direct it, then there is much that we can accomplish.”
“I certainly hope so,” the Onyx Champion replied. “I despise boredom.”
“I assure you, there will be no boredom,” Hotako replied. “The Empire has clutched us to their breast, even if they did so unwillingly or unknowingly. The time has come for the Spider’s venom to cripple all of Rokugan. In a matter of days, the world as you know it will be changed forever.”
“That does sound interesting,” Fosuta said with childish glee. “Tell me more!”
Hotako smirked. “And ruin the surprise? No, I think not.”
*
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