I. Parker - Island of Exiles

Tora had also dismounted, his short sword drawn. Only Akitada remained in the saddle, blocking the road, Tora’s long sword in his hand as their pursuers halted in a cloud of yellow dust.

Kumo’s helmet was brilliant in the sun, his armor, trimmed with green silk, also shone with gold, and a golden war fan flashed in his raised hand. The banner bore the insignia of the high constable. Kumo’s men were all armed, their armor polished, their bows over their shoulders, and their swords drawn.

Bright red silk tassels swung from the horses’ bridles. Their faces were avid with excitement, with the hunger for blood. Only Kumo looked utterly detached, his lips thin and his forehead furrowed in a frown of distaste.

Akitada waited to see what Kumo would do. He no longer felt the pain in his knee, or weariness, or even fear. He wanted to meet this man sword to sword. He wanted to kill him more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

Kumo shouted across, “Give yourselves up, in the name of the emperor.”

In the name of the emperor? Akitada laughed.

Scowling, Kumo brought his horse a little closer. “I am the high constable. You’re escaped convicts and under arrest.” Akitada shouted back, “You know who I am, Kumo. Sugawara Akitada, imperial envoy. You’re under arrest for treason.

Tell your men to lay down their swords.” Kumo’s people burst into laughter in their turn, but Kumo raised his golden fan, and they fell quiet. “You’re outnumbered,” he shouted. “If you don’t give up, you’ll be cut down like dogs.”

“Try it, you bastards!” shouted Haseo, stepping forward and swinging his bamboo pole. Akitada hoped he was as skilled at stick-fighting as Tora.

“If you want a fight, Kumo,” he shouted back, “let it be between the two of us.”

Kumo was heavily armed and sat on one of his magnificent horses, while Akitada wore nothing but Tora’s trousers and robe and rode a worn-out nag which stood wide-legged, its head hanging in exhaustion. Akitada was also becoming conscious of the weight of Tora’s sword. He was much weaker than he had thought.

But his anger kept him there. This man had done his best to kill him slowly and horribly and had failed. Now Akitada wanted a quick and clean kill of his own. He could taste the sweetness of such a victory, knew he could not lose, and gloried in the moment.

But Kumo gave him a look of contempt, then turned his horse and rode up the embankment. There he stopped and waited for his bannerman. It dawned on Akitada that he had refused single combat and would conduct this like a battle, as a general from a safe distance.

A battle? Stunned by this ridiculous turn of events, the fury at the insult still gripping his belly like a burning vise, Akitada bellowed after him, “Stand and fight, you coward!”

Kumo ignored him. The great man would not fight a mere convict. He raised his fan and pointed it at Akitada, and his men burst into raucous cries, spurred their horses, and came at him, swords flashing in the sun, the horses’ flying hooves splattering gravel.

Later Akitada could not remember how he had met their charge, what had given him the strength to grip his horse between his legs and force it to the side of the road so the attackers had to pass on his right. The animal was stolid enough, but with a sudden onrush of so many riders, it kept backing and sinking onto its hindquarters, its eyes rolling in its head with fear. Because the road was narrow, they came single file. Soldier after soldier passed, each one slashing down or across with his sword, in an almost comical imitation of a parade-ground drill, except that he was the bale of rice straw they practiced on. He parried, hacked, slashed, and swung the heavy sword, felt each jarring contact with steel, the impact traveling up his arm like fire; but he feared making body cuts more, because the blade could get caught in the other man’s armor and there would be no time to free it. Below him, on either side, Haseo and Tora slashed and swung their weapons, but he was hardly aware of them because the enemy came so fast.

And then they were past.

Two riderless horses galloped off, and two groaning men rolled on the ground, their blood soaking into the hot earth. A wounded horse screamed dreadfully, its legs flailing in the air as it rolled on the body of its rider. Tora grinned up at him, his sword dripping blood.

“That’s three of the bastards,” he called.

Akitada nodded. Kumo had foolishly given them the advantage by sending his men singly at them. True, the road was narrow, but if he had ordered his men to use their bows and arrows, or to dismount and attack on foot, their numbers would have made short work of three weak adversaries. He glanced up the road where the remaining five soldiers gathered for a return sweep, and then at Kumo, who was watching impassively from his embankment.

Haseo’s bamboo pole lay broken, but he helped himself to the sword of the dead man under the wounded horse, then stepped forward and quickly cut the suffering beast’s throat. Its blood drenched him, but he returned to the others, swinging the sword triumphantly, his face exultant.

Up on his embankment, Kumo raised his fan, and here they came again, hooves thundering on the roadway, frenzied shouts ringing, long, curved blades slashing and hissing through the air. Akitada attempted to turn his horse, but this time the abused nag had had enough. With a frenzied whinny, it reared, unseating Akitada, and took off down the empty roadway ahead of the attackers, legs flying.

Akitada fell onto the road, but managed to roll out of the way of the pounding hooves. Slashing swords missed him by inches. When they were past, he tried to get up, staggered, then saw one horseman turning back, bent low over his horse’s neck, his sword ready. Akitada was still swaying when a strong hand grasped the back of his robe and pulled him out of the way.

Haseo.

Muttering his thanks, Akitada rubbed dust from his eyes and shook his head to clear it. Somehow he still gripped his sword. The horseman reined in, turned, and charged again, scattering loose stones and screaming hoarsely. Tora was now beside Akitada, crouched low, his short sword ready. Akitada caught only a glimpse of Haseo’s face; he was grinning, his eyes bright with the joy of battle. Then the rider was upon them and they jumped clear, slashing at his horse’s legs. They heard the animal scream, saw the man fall, and then the other horsemen came, and they slashed and swung some more, and thrust at horses, at the legs of men, ducking and parrying the swords of their attackers. This time, they wounded two horses and killed one man, but Haseo was bleeding from a cut to his shoulder, and Tora’s sword was broken.

“Back,” gasped Akitada. “We’ve got to get back to the buildings where they can’t ride us down. We’ll force them to meet us on foot.” A strange exhilaration had seized him. He wanted to taste victory and savor its sweetness.

He and Haseo ran to the narrow passageway between the farm and an outbuilding. Up on the ridge, Kumo was shouting orders again. His bannerman now joined the remaining soldiers. Only five left? No time to count.

Tora, swordless, was slowly backing away from a horseman who had been thrown by his wounded horse and attacked on foot. Tora crouched, dodged, and jumped out of the way of the furious sweeps of the other man’s sword. Akitada rushed forward, swung down hard, and severed the man’s sword hand at the wrist. The wounded man was still staring stupidly at the stump when Tora snatched up the fallen sword and ran it through the man’s throat. The body arched back, the man’s eyes already glassy in death. When Tora jerked free the blade, the wound vomited forth a stream of blood like a second mouth.