John Flanagan - The Emperor of Nihon-Ja

A hot bath, hot food, dry clothes and a warm, dry bed for the night worked wonders on Horace's tired body.

Shortly after dawn, the Emperor and his party woke, breakfasted and prepared to move out once more. The rain had stopped during the night and the sky had cleared to a brilliant blue. Horace's breath steamed in the cold air as he exhaled. One of the village women had taken his wet, travel-stained clothes during the night and cleaned and dried them. The same service had been performed for the rest of the travellers. Putting on clean clothes, still warm from the fire they had dried in front of, was a distinct luxury.

There was the usual bustle and confusion involved in setting out. The riders inspected their girth straps. Weapons were checked, belts tightened, armour adjusted. As was his habit, Horace had cleaned and sharpened his sword the previous night before he slipped between the warmed bedcovers laid out on the matting floor of his room. He guessed that each of the Senshi had done the same.

As the rest of the party mounted, Shukin held back. He reached into the purse at his belt and produced a handful of golden coins, each stamped with the triple cherry crest.

Ayagi saw the movement and backed away, holding his hands out before him.

'No! No, Lord Shukin! We don't want any payment! It was our pleasure to have the Emperor as our guest!'

Shukin grinned at him. He had expected the reaction but he knew that times were hard in the mountains and the Kikori had little to spare. He had his answer ready for Ayagi's protestation.

'The Emperor, perhaps,' he said. 'But nobody would expect you to provide for a dozen hungry Senshi – or for a massive gaijin with the appetite of a black bear!'

He indicated Horace when he said this, grinning to make sure that Horace knew he was joking. Horace shook his head ruefully. He couldn't dispute the fact that he had eaten more than any of the others in the party. Nihon-Jan helpings seemed so small to him and he was famous even in Araluen for his prodigious appetite.

The villagers laughed. Horace had proved to be a figure of great interest and popularity among the Kikori. He was polite and self-effacing and ready to join in singing their folk songs – albeit with more enthusiasm than melody.

Even Ayagi smiled. His sense of hospitality made him reluctant to take the money but he knew that if he didn't, his people would go short. With the gold Shukin was offering, they could buy more supplies at the monthly market held in one of the larger villages.

'Well then,' he said, capitulating with good grace, 'in deference to the kurokuma…'

He accepted the coins and Horace was given the name by which he would be known among the Nihon-Jan – Kurokuma, or Black Bear. At the time, however, he was unaware of it. He was busy fastening a loose strap on the bedroll tied behind his saddle and missed Ayagi's statement.

Shukin bowed gracefully and Ayagi returned the gesture. Then he turned and bowed to the Emperor, with all of the assembled villagers doing the same.

'Thank you, Ayagi-san,' Shigeru said, raising his hand to them all, 'and thank you, Kikori.'

The villagers remained, heads bowed, as the small party rode out of the village.

Mikeru, the elder's nephew, was a keen-faced, slimly built youth of about sixteen. He rode a small, shaggy-haired pony – the kind the Kikori people used as beasts of burden when they gathered wood. He was familiar with the area, of course, and led them on a much shorter route than the one shown on the map Shukin carried. They had been travelling for less than an hour when they reached the ford in the river that Shukin had hoped to cross the night before. They rode across in single file, the horses stepping carefully on the slippery stones beneath their hooves. The water rose shoulder high on the horses and it was icy cold as it soaked through Horace's leggings and boots.

'Glad it's not raining,' he muttered as he rode up the far bank, his horse shaking itself to rid itself of excess water. He wished he could do the same.

'What was that, Kurokuma?' asked one of the escort riding near him. The others chuckled at the name.

'Nothing important,' Horace said. Then he looked at them suspiciously. 'What's this "kurokuma" business?'

The Senshi looked at him with a completely straight face.

'It's a term of great respect,' he said. Several others, within earshot, nodded confirmation. They too managed to remain straight-faced. It was a skill the Nihon-Jan had perfected.

'Great respect,' one of them echoed. Horace studied them all carefully. Nobody was smiling. But he knew by now that that meant nothing with the Nihon-Jan. He sensed there was a joke he was missing but he couldn't think of a way to find out what it might be. Best maintain his dignity, he thought.

'Well, I should think so,' he told them, and rode on.

Shortly after crossing the river, Mikeru led them to a cleared patch of ground on the side of the trail, set at the edge of a sheer cliff that dropped away into the valley below. This was the lookout Shukin had wanted to reach. He, Shigeru and Horace dismounted and moved closer to the edge. Horace drew in his breath. The cliff edge was abrupt, as if it had been cut by a knife. The mountain dropped away several thousand metres to a valley. They could see the mountains they had been climbing and, beyond them, the low-lying flatlands.

Horace, who never enjoyed the sensation of being in high places, kept his distance from the cliff edge. Shukin and Shigeru had no such qualms. They stood less than a metre from the awful drop, peering down into the valleys, shading their eyes against the bright morning sun. Then Shukin pointed.

'There,' he said briefly.

Shigeru followed the direction of his pointing finger and grunted. Horace, standing several metres away from the edge, tried to crane his neck and see what they were looking at but his view was obstructed. Shukin noticed and called to him.

'Come closer, Or'ss-san. It's quite safe.'

Shigeru smiled at his cousin. 'Shouldn't that be Kurokuma?'

Shukin smiled in return. 'Of course. Come closer, Kurokuma. It's quite safe.'

Horace shuffled closer to the edge, instinctively keeping his weight leaning back away from the drop. Bitter experience in the past had taught him that, even though he hated being in high places, he was paradoxically drawn towards the edge when he stood on one, as if he found the drop irresistible.

'Quite safe, my foot,' he muttered to himself. 'And what is this Kurokuma you all keep calling me?'

'It's a term of great respect,' Shigeru told him.

'Great respect,' Shukin echoed.

Horace looked from one to the other. There was no sign on either face that they were joking.

'Very well,' he said, continuing to shuffle forward. Then, looking in the direction Shukin indicated, he forgot all about his hatred of heights and terms of great respect.

Across the vast valley, toiling up the trail that clung to a mountainside opposite them, he could make out a long column of men. The sun glinted haphazardly from their equipment as they moved and the light caught on helmets, spear points and swords.

'Arisaka,' Shukin said. He looked from the column of tiny figures to the crest of the mountain they were climbing, then across the next series of ridges. 'He's closer than I'd hoped.'

'Are you sure?' Horace asked. 'It could be Reito, and the survivors of the royal army.' But Shigeru shook his head.

'There are too many of them,' he said. 'And besides, Reito-san should be closer to us.'

'How far away are they, do you think?' Horace asked. Even though he had been riding through this countryside, he had no idea how fast a large party could cover ground – and he had no real idea what lay between Arisaka's army and themselves.