Moonshadow (13 page)

FOURTEEN
Encircled

Moonshadow eyed the lone figure on the walkway. If he overcame that one man, a path to the outer rectangle, and escape, was his.

Moon advanced, darting quickly through the fingers of brightness, creeping watch fully through the bands of grey half-light.

On the walkway ahead, the man paced out of his shadow into a brighter spot. He pulled a short, shinobi-style sword from his belt and began tapping it, still in its scabbard, against one shoulder. Moon studied him.

This one was balding and wiry. Clean-shaven. Hard eyes and a plain black robe. He was smiling, the manner of his walk deceptively casual. Moon's mouth turned as dry as his lips. This fellow was very dangerous. There was skill in his aura, a cruel edge to his face.

The man looked Moonshadow in the eyes and bowed elegantly. Then his smile vanished. He started feeding his sword back into his belt.

Help me, Mantis, Moonshadow thought. What would
you
do if facing this confident fellow? He gave himself a subtle nod. Yes, that was it.
Use
the enemy's confidence, his assurance that he's facing
another shinobi and therefore predictable shinobi
moves. Be unpredictable.

Moon stepped back into a patch of shadow and hunched low. Keeping his weapon hidden behind his body, he moved it from his back to his hip. After tying it in place, he looked around.

Three men were sneaking up on his rear. Two were uniformed samurai wearing household emblems: a tall fellow and his shorter sidekick. The third man's numerous tattoos said he was a gangster, no doubt from one of those big-town criminal gangs the Grey Light Order had, at times, infiltrated on behalf of the Shogun.

The trio stopped moving. The tattooed one gestured to the lone figure blocking Moon's path. It was not a polite gesture.

'Come on, Akira!' The gangster was playfully irritated. 'Stop dragging it out. Get on with killing him, otherwise I
will
take the first turn.' His voice dropped. 'I still say it was rigged. We should have used
my
dice.'

Moon looked the complainer over. Many gangsters shaved their heads, but this one had long tangled hair, a messy beard and a droopy moustache. His loudly patterned jacket bragged that he was proud to be an outlaw. Moon was glancing at the man's forearm tattoos, red-green carps and dragons, when he realised that the gangster was holding a shuriken in each hand. Moon set his jaw. This was no mere thug!

As he turned back to check on the man blocking his way, Moon found the fellow creeping silently up to the edge of the shadow, one hand gliding to his sword's grip. He was dangerous all right, Moon nodded, he was clearly
good
. He could move without a sound! But how well would he handle . . .
this
?

Lunging at his enemy but staying just inside the shadow, Moon drew his sword from the hip, duellist style.

The smallest fingers of his right hand pressed into the weapon's grip, tensing the blade as its tip was about to clear the mouth of the scabbard. As the draw accelerated, Moon's left hand pulled and twisted the scabbard off the moving blade, keeping it under his belt, sliding it back around his waist. The combined, dynamic actions of each hand launched his sword tip at blinding speed.

In the moonlight, the explosive fast draw became a horizontal streak of silver, flashing momentarily from the cover of the shadow. The tip of Moon's sword ambushed the lurking foe, who stood, still drawing his own weapon, at the edge of the better-lit ground. The man flinched, and Moon saw that his eyes were turned upwards, as if he had been expecting a power cut from overhead. Aborting his own draw, the swordsman sprang back without a sound. Then he frowned, looked down and clutched his right arm.

Moon smiled to himself. Even the best could be undone by the power of surprise.

'Well you sure messed that up, Akira!' The gangster sniggered cheerfully. 'So now it's Jiro's turn!' Jiro raised one hand. Moon dived forward into a shoulder roll. An instant later he heard the
clack clack
of two shurikens ploughing into the walkway right where he had been.

There was no time to lose! Gaining his feet, he rushed the wounded Akira.

Akira parried Moon's powerful diagonal cut and sliced back, narrowly missing Moon's head. Next he aimed a sneaky sideways hack at Moon's belly, but Moon saw it coming and sprang into the air, raising both knees. Akira's blade glanced off the armour on Moon's left leg, denting one panel. Moon landed, regained his balance and backpedalled away. Akira rushed him with a series of wild horizontal swings, each one just missing its mark. Moon dropped into a low crouch and lunged at his foe's closest ankle. Akira narrowly avoided the cut, jumping back out of sword range, chest heaving with exertion. Moon shook his head. This man sure didn't fight like one with a deep cut to his arm! Then Moon heard – and a second later felt – a shuriken whiz past his cheek. Akira dodged as it almost clipped him instead.

'Idiot!' Akira yelled. Frustrated at Jiro, he swung a hard rising cut at Moon. Blocking it and seizing on his foe's broken balance, Moon slipped past Akira and ran.

He dashed in a zigzag along the walkway. Dark figures pointed and shouted from the courtyard below. The crescent moon was higher overhead now, its light reaching further, thinning the shadows with each passing minute. Ahead, where the walkway ran out, he could discern a line of tiles, then another of huge stones.

It was the corner of the castle's outer rectangle that faced the town's sake brewery. And it was close! An arrow streaked up from the courtyard, whistling as it just missed his shoulder. He ran faster.

Four sets of feet pursued him, shaking the walkway. He glanced back. Akira was at the rear now, which surprised Moon. Perhaps he
had
cut the fellow badly. The gangster had fallen behind the two samurai. That was no surprise.

He looked ahead. The moonlight glinted on a cargo cable. It ran from the top of an iron mast planted in one of the corner's stone blocks. Moonshadow's mind raced. The cable ran to the sake brewery
across the moat
. A risky escape route, since it meant fixing himself to a predictable trajectory, but if he could somehow travel it fast . . . He glanced back at the pursuing samurai, their robes snapping as they ran.

The cable would have been the wrong way
in
, since it would always be watched by the nearest guards. But now, fleeing, his cover already lost, getting seen hardly mattered!

He thought of the samurai's uniforms. Yes, there
was
a way to do this.

Another arrow flashed up from the courtyard, burying itself in the platform's handrail beside him, its tail flights trembling. Moon reached the end of the walkway and jumped for the roof tiles. He bounded across the outer roof and landed on the tall block of stone from which the mast rose. Panting, Moonshadow looked back.

Akira had stopped before the end of the walkway and was tying a tourniquet around his arm. The two samurai, as one might expect from professional warriors, were already scrambling with great determination across the roof. The one nearest the stone was perhaps five seconds behind Moonshadow. The gangster was at their rear, weaving nervously over the roof with less than cat-like agility.

Moon took in the sake brewery end of the cable, then he spun back with his sword raised as the large samurai scrambled onto the stone block.

The samurai guard lunged at him. Moon parried the attack, then turned the cutting edge of his sword quickly to hack at the foe's nearest wrist. But the guard had seen that trick before and he changed
his
grip fast, flicking his sword outwards to block the slice.

Something blurred into the corner of Moon's vision and instinctively he ducked. A shuriken hurtled just above his head, then another. He stood tall. The smaller samurai guard was struggling onto the block now. Moon ignored him and charged the tall one.

Forcing the big samurai to block a fast series of slices with ever-changing angles, Moon pressured the man into turning. Then relentlessly, cut by cut, he drove him backwards at his colleague. Finally, Moon gave a ferocious growl. He rushed the tall guard, locked swords with him and pushed, sending the man crashing onto his partner.

Tangling each other's limbs, the guards tumbled on the edge of the stone block.

As they struggled to rise quickly without nicking one another, Moonshadow dropped to his knee and aimed a precision cut at the tallest samurai's thick cloth belt. His sword's tip sang true all the way to its target and the man's belt fell away, severed cleanly near its stomach knot.

Moon stood up then jumped, aiming with both feet for the samurai's belly. The man wheezed as Moon landed on him, snatched the belt away, then pushed himself off hard. With a humiliated bellow the samurai angled a flailing cut up at Moon, who blocked the rising sword with his leg armour then scurried for the mast.

Enraged, the big samurai leapt up. His kimono swung open, revealing his carefully tied white loincloth. With a high-pitched grunt, he dropped his sword and frantically began tying the flaps of his clothing together.

Below the mast and its cable, Moon sheathed the sword on his hip. He wound the stolen belt around one wrist, slung its length, double-folded, over the cable, caught the falling end, and wound that onto his free hand.

There was a sharp
crack.
Sparks flew from the mast beside his head. Moon shuddered. Another shuriken! He looked around. The gangster was about to climb onto the stone block and he obviously hadn't run out of throwing stars yet.

The tall samurai finished tying the front flaps of his kimono together. The guards exchanged nods and rushed Moon, side by side, their swords
swishing
up into an overhead attack position.

Letting the cable take his weight, Moon gripped the belt tightly and launched himself out over the moat. The cable creaked. Light as he was, he rapidly gained speed.

Halfway across and descending fast, a shuriken glanced off the armour of his right leg. He winced and cried out. The tip of one of its blades had punctured a joint in his armour, just missing the pockets, crammed with tools and clothing, above and below it.

He raised his leg and glanced down at it. There was a new pin-prick hole in his legging, and he could feel a blood welt, right beneath it, on his thigh.

The outer bank of the moat flashed below. Moon released the belt and dropped from the cable at the foot of the sake brewery. Just uphill, three huge wooden brewing barrels, each atop their own little tower, cast a massive, dark shadow.

As he ran for its cover, a hail of arrows fell around him.

FIFTEEN
Blame game

In the castle's finest landscape garden, Silver Wolf's two top guards, then Akira and Jiro, stood in a line, their heads bowed. Their master paced angrily before them, his face matching the dark clouds rolling in from the mountains.

Behind them, The Deathless sat on a granite boulder, dreamily brushing its dappled moss with his large fingers. He nodded slowly, feeling the strength of the rock beneath the softness of the moss.

He was unperturbed by Silver Wolf's lurking rage. Like this rock he was weathered, hard and patient, yet like its speckled covering, misleading with deceptive softness, at least so far. The Deathless grinned. His invincible edge would show itself soon. First, his experience told him, he should hold back, let the enemy themselves make his task simpler. Let this warlord fume, his minions fumble about.

The Deathless crumbled some moss between his thumb and finger, watching Silver Wolf grumble as he paced.

He had known there were two intruders in town, each young, powerful, and about to strike, for he had
felt
them. He'd watched one entering the castle and, if his impressions had been correct, had even sensed the second spy, further away, no doubt crossing the moat elsewhere to scale another wall. Their slightly different energies suggested they weren't of the same school, but each of them was
skilled
. The Deathless yawned beneath his hood. His master Koga Danjo, before his . . .
untimely
death, had taught him far more than the greatest Old Country science. He had taught him to reason and to scheme about every situation. In the spirit world, no doubt Danjo regretted
that
now!

The two intruders The Deathless had sensed were probably among the best of a whole new generation of shinobi. By comparison, deathless or not, he was a scarred old war dog. He would let them compete, battle it out for the prize, then corner the exhausted winner, saving his strength in case they proved as strong as they felt. Yet he would prove superior: he the falcon, they the dove.

His eyes glided over his fellow hirelings. Along the way, these lesser men would be thinned out, for the pair they were up against clearly outclassed them.

Good! He alone would remain to make that final kill, and perhaps, as things grew more desperate for Silver Wolf, he could even raise his hefty fee a notch or two more.

The Deathless dropped his eyes to his seat of stone. He could make this work. But only if he remained as cool, as hidden, as that Ezo valley where he had been born. Double-faced, like this unbreakable rock and its misleading, passive moss.

'More rain in the next few days, then a storm, I would say,' Silver Wolf took his eyes from the cloudy sky and continued pacing his landscape garden, hands clasped at his back. 'But we have a greater problem than bad weather, don't we, gentlemen?'

On learning the plans had been taken, he had exploded with rage, threatening to behead the unfortunate guard who had delivered the bad news. Once alone, Silver Wolf had hurled his writing kit against a wall. Along the way to his garden he'd barked at every maid, servant and samurai he had encountered.

His fiery red fury had settled down now into brooding, white-hot malice. His every sarcastic word and chilling glance overflowed with it. But Silver Wolf knew self-control was vital if he was to salvage this disaster. As usual, he would have to do the thinking for his idiot men. He took a steadying breath. This peaceful garden always helped clear his mind. It was where he came to find solutions when things went wrong. As they had last night, and
badly
.

He crossed a small wooden bridge over the garden's spring-fed stream, stopping at a stone lantern under a maple tree. Muttering, Silver Wolf shook his head and walked on. Rounding a miniature 'sea' of raked sand, he strode back to the group of waiting, uneasy men.

The warlord eyed his hirelings coldly as he approached, making no effort to hide his contempt for them. He was tempted to slay at least one for last night's miserable effort, but then he would never get his money's worth out of whoever he chose to kill. Besides, their job wasn't done yet, and he still needed them all. With his guidance, they might yet redeem themselves.
If not . . .

'Anyway . . . finish your report!' the warlord grunted at Akira. The spy cleared his throat. 'Before sunrise, I went with Jiro and your men to the inn your informer spoke of. The innkeeper there agreed he'd just had such a customer: a messenger boy, the right age and build, and what's more, a stranger to the town. But that boy vanished last night. Nobody near the inn has seen him since.'

Silver Wolf was thoughtful. 'Akira, though you failed last night, it was you who duelled our intruder before his escape on the cable. As your wound proves,
you
were closest to the action. So, what else can you tell me?'

'Forget last night, Lord, he won't escape us again!' Jiro butted in. 'My gangsters now watch every exit from town, with orders to stop and search any young male of slight build! A bit more time, that's all we need. He'll be found.'

'Which your heads won't be, if he gets away.' Silver Wolf ogled each one of them, ending with Jiro. 'Or if you speak again without first being spoken to.'

Jiro dropped to one knee and lowered his head. Akira gave a weary sigh. 'There were two of them, Lord, which added to the confusion last night.'

'Who was the other?' Silver Wolf folded his arms. 'An accomplice to the one you fought?'

'I don't think so, Lord. His kind, like me, prefer to work alone.' Akira gave Jiro a cold sideways glance. 'Professionals find the presence of others a hindrance. No, I would say that second intruder was a rival, a rival of equal skill to the one who took your plans.' He went to add something then stopped himself.

The warlord gestured impatiently. 'What else? Come on, out with it, man!'

'I was the one who saw the other intruder on the wall of the keep, Lord. I would say from the figure's light movements and peculiar, agile flitting that it was a girl.'

'Maybe you should have fought
her
,' Jiro mumbled. 'Man with the big reputation.'

Akira turned on him, hand moving to his sword. 'Lucky I'm still alive to fight anyone for our Lord! Half your shurikens flew nearer
me
than
him
!'

Jiro's hand flashed into his jacket. He took a step back. 'Oh, now it's all
my
fault! Who demanded first try at the enemy? Who won the dodgy dice roll and got his way? Who –'

'Silence!' Silver Wolf snapped. 'Unhand your weapons!
I
will decide where blame is laid and who shall die for it!' He raised one eyebrow. This gangster scum had made a good point, though. Who had failed him most the night before? He stared at each of his samurai, then the hirelings, leaving The Deathless till last.

It had been agreed that The Deathless be held in reserve, the others forming the first wave against any intruder. But their overnight visitor had proved too strong for that first wave. Silver Wolf narrowed his eyes. Surely The Deathless must have been watching? Why didn't he simply jump in and deal with that intruder, who was so obviously a worthy match for him?

Silver Wolf watched the tall assassin flicking moss. Reason cooled his anger. He wanted to demand answers, but what if he made an enemy of the killer? After all, this fellow was a dangerous living legend, and since he was immune to blades, not even a warlord could threaten him with death. Silver Wolf hid a sly smile. Of course, his magic probably did not extend to guns. He might have to consider that option, if his most expensive hireling didn't
do something
. And soon.

The Deathless looked up and appeared to read Silver Wolf's mind. His soulless eyes locked on his master's face.

'Have no concern, my Lord,' he said slowly. 'The matter isn't settled yet. I sense our thief is still in town. Be assured: I will conduct my own search, my way, and pounce when the time is exactly right. If your other . . .
employees
here do not redeem their failure first, then it is I who in time will recover your plans.
And
this boy spy's head.'

Silver Wolf met the killer's unblinking gaze. A bold promise! He would have mocked anyone else making it, or warned them to make good on their word or die, just as he had with Jiro. The warlord drew a slow breath. But no.
Not with this man.

Instead, he thought aloud. 'So! There's another spy. And a girl?'

'I am quite sure of it, Lord,' Akira bowed. 'A girl, and his rival.'

'She too,' The Deathless said, crumbing moss between his fingers, 'is still here.'

'Sir,' the tallest samurai turned, 'no disrespect, but how can you know that?'

The Deathless pointed at Akira then back to himself. 'All shinobi are taught to detect each other. As Akira-San has shown, even when disguised, the subtle moves of one's body betray information to a trained eye. As we hone our craft, some of us even learn to sense each other's presence
directly
. But that's an imperfect science, and few reach the level where their
impressions
are consistently accurate.' He paused. 'I have.'

'What matters is that they are both still here,' Silver Wolf was heartened by the news. 'I see the way ahead! We'll make this rival work for us, then kill the pair of them.'

Jiro sprang to his feet. 'Great idea, my Lord!' His nose creased. 'How?'

'All of you, forget trying to find the boy. He's obviously well hidden now in town, no doubt waiting for the right chance to bolt. Therefore, make no loud house-to-house searches for him. I will have that particular corner swept by a more subtle broom.'

'Then what should
we
do, Lord?' Akira rubbed the bandage on his arm.

'Concentrate on finding this girl. She must appear in
some
guise by daylight. You, Akira: brief the others on her build and that distinctive agility. Let The Deathless here use his sensing powers! All of you: disguise yourselves. Comb the streets. Try to recognise her walk or manner.'

Jiro looked confused. 'And then?' Akira rolled his eyes.

'Follow her, you fool! She is this boy's rival, neh? Let her lead us to him
and
my plans. And when you get another chance, your second try at one or both of them, take no risks!' He pointed sternly at his best guards. 'Horses and capture chains this time!'

The two samurai bowed quickly. Silver Wolf gave a low hiss. 'But know this, each of you. My patience now lies stretched, like rice paper about to tear. Fail me again . . .' he had to stop himself. Rage was swelling inside him once more.

The Deathless cracked his knuckles. The tall samurai closed his eyes. Akira stood stony faced, unblinking. Jiro glanced back at the hooded assassin and swallowed hard.

'Now get out of my sight.' Silver Wolf turned away.