John Flanagan - The Emperor of Nihon-Ja

'Kurokuma! Good afternoon. His excellency is expecting you.'

Pausing only to respond to the man's greeting and to take off his snow-encrusted boots, Horace stooped and entered through the low doorway. Shigeru was seated, cross-legged, on a reed mat on the floor. A small, but brightly glowing, charcoal brazier proved a welcome source of warmth in the room. The Emperor had a fine brush pen in his hand and a frame holding a stretched piece of rice paper across his knee. He was writing the same Nihon-Jan ideogram on the paper, over and over again, striving each time for a better rendition of the loops and careful swirls. He looked up and smiled.

'Ah, Kurokuma, please sit with me.' He gestured towards a low stool.

Horace bowed, then sat. He knew it was normally a breach of etiquette to sit in a higher position than the Emperor. But Shigeru was aware that Araluans did not spend years sitting with their legs tucked up under them and, as a consequence, their knees tended to burn in protest after some minutes in that position. It was another example of the man's consideration for his subordinates, Horace thought.

'Would you like tea, Kurokuma?'

Horace, of course, had just had tea. But he knew there was a rhythm and etiquette to Nihon-Jan society. To refuse would jar that rhythm.

'Thank you, your excellency,' he said, bowing from his sitting position. He felt a little silly, sitting on his low stool with his knees drawn up in front of him – rather like a giant in a children's playroom. Shigeru, by contrast, looked dignified and balanced, sitting back on his heels.

A servant emerged from the inner room and served them both tea. Horace sipped his gratefully. Even the short walk from his cabin to Shigeru's had exposed him to the shivering cold in the valley and he felt the heat of the tea flood through his body.

'You wished to see me, your excellency?' He had a vague notion that George would have disapproved of such a blunt opening. Probably, he should have commented on the Emperor's calligraphy, admiring it while Shigeru modestly pointed out its mistakes and shortcomings. But he was intrigued to learn the reason for the summons. Since the battle at the palisade, a certain lack of activity had overcome them. There was no urgent need each day for Shigeru to consult with his advisers and the Emperor had withdrawn into himself a little. Horace knew that Shukin's death weighed heavily on the Emperor and it was highly likely that Shigeru, sensitive and kindly as he was, also felt a deep responsibility for the fate of those who had rallied to his aid – the Kikori, his own Senshi and the group of foreigners who had arrived and offered their service. It would be little wonder if the Emperor had retreated out of a sense of depression.

These thoughts all went through Horace's mind. But the Emperor showed no sign of doubt or uncertainty. His expression was calm and his demeanour was serene. He smiled now at the young man sitting before him, hands on his knees.

'You have been busy, Kurokuma?' he asked.

Horace shrugged. 'Not really, excellency. There has been little to do. But that will change. I have been asked to take command of one of the hyaku.'

'Ah, yes. The troops your friend Wirru-san is training,' Shigeru said. 'Tell me, do you think the Kikori will stand a chance against Arisaka's Senshi?'

Horace hesitated. He recalled his thoughts at the drill field – how the Kikori appeared as an inexorable force, advancing across the cleared ground behind the deadly shower of javelins.

'I think they could, your excellency,' he said. 'So long as they believe in themselves and keep their nerve. But all of Will's training and special tactics will come to nothing if the Kikori don't believe they can win.'

'Do they believe this?'

Horace shook his head. 'Perhaps not now. But they will. We'll make them believe it. It's up to us to build that spirit in them.'

'I thought you might say that. And it occurs to me that if you are fighting beside them, leading them in fact, you will need a sword.' Shigeru gestured to the hilt of the katana where it protruded from Horace's sash. 'How do you find your katana?'

'It's a fine weapon,' Horace said, careful not to offend. 'But it feels unfamiliar to me. It's not what I've been trained with.'

'Hmmm. I thought this might be so. A warrior needs the weapon he knows and trusts. In that case…' Shigeru turned towards the smaller side room, where his servant had retired after serving tea.

'Tabai! Bring the sword!'

The servant entered again, carrying a long bundle wrapped in oilcloth. He went to present it to the Emperor, but Shigeru clicked his tongue and pointed to Horace. Tabai proffered the parcel to the young knight, who took it curiously. He glanced up at Shigeru.

'I found it yesterday among Shukin's baggage,' the Emperor said. 'I couldn't bring myself to go through his things any sooner and frankly, I had forgotten about this.' He gestured for Horace to unwrap the parcel.

Horace cast the oilskin cover aside, coming forward onto one knee to inspect the parcel more closely. Inside was a sword. His sword, in a finely oiled leather scabbard. The plain steel crosspiece, the brass pommel and the leather binding of the hilt were all familiar.

'But…this is my sword!' he said, in amazement. The sword had plunged into a deep ravine, with a rushing torrent at its bottom. He couldn't conceive how it could have been recovered.

'Look more closely,' Shigeru told him. When he did, Horace noted that the leather binding on the hilt was fresh and new, unstained with the perspiration of a score of encounters and hundreds of practice drills. He went to draw it from its scabbard, then remembered that this was a gross breach of protocol in the Emperor's presence. But Shigeru gestured for him to go ahead.

The blade zzzzinged clear of the scabbard and Horace held it aloft, a little confused. The balance was perfect – just as he remembered. It could have been his old sword. But now he could see the blade itself, slightly blued, showed a repeating pattern of half circles beaten into the steel that appeared as a series of wavy lines. It caught the dim light and gleamed as his old sword had never done.

'It was Shukin's gift to you,' Shigeru explained, and Horace remembered Shukin telling him to look for a parcel when he had left them to defend the ford. 'He "borrowed" your sword one night in the summer lodge and had his own swordsmith copy it exactly.'

'But…' Horace began, wondering why Shukin had gone to such trouble.

Shigeru, sensing what the question was going to be, held up a hand to forestall it.

'There is one difference. This blade is Nihon-Jan steel – much harder than your old sword and able to take a much sharper edge. Now if you fight against the Senshi, you will do so on even terms.'

Their first night had been uneventful, save for Evanlyn's groans as she lay in their small tent, trying unsuccessfully to ease the waves of pain that swept through her shoulder and thigh muscles. She and Alyss had paddled for several hours across the placid waters of the lake, eventually landing on a small island. A quick scouting trip showed them that the island was uninhabited – it was barely more than a rock thrusting up out of the water, dotted with shrubs. They had made camp on a tiny sandy beach and settled in for the night.

'There are muscles here I never knew I had,' Evanlyn told Alyss the following morning. 'And every one of them is burning like fire.'

Evanlyn was fit and in excellent physical condition. The active life she led saw to that. But the action of paddling, hour after hour, had her using muscles that she never normally put under strain.

Alyss, more used to the motion, was stiff herself. But she knew it was worse for Evanlyn. Still, she reasoned, there was nothing to gain by allowing the princess to wallow in misery. Evanlyn's constant low moaning through the night had kept Alyss awake, and this morning she was a little snappy about it.