The Twilight War (6 page)

The great room was obscured, its entrances, aisles and other features swallowed by the enormous, hungry cloud. Moonshadow's sharp eyes probed the haze. Where were Heron and Mantis? Back to back on the same spot, or had they been forced to move?

Black smoke from the fires merged with the white smoke cloud of Heron's torinoko, tinting the cloud with dark, jagged brush strokes. Air currents and breezes from human movement collided, making sections of the battlefield reappear at random, smokeless pockets that bloomed, drifted, then abruptly collapsed.

Moonshadow plunged into a high smoke bank looming before him. The din of combat filled his ears: swords
shinged
and clanged, unseen shuriken – black, star-shaped iron throwing knives – swished as they flew by. Battle-cries and shouts broke the thick air. Moonshadow could see nothing. Panic snatched at him, but with a snarl he forced it off.

Suddenly he made out the silhouette of Heron inside an air pocket just paces to his left. A ninja burst from the wall of smoke that Heron faced and, with a single lightning stroke of her weapon, she cut him down. As Moonshadow opened his mouth to call her name, he sensed movement in the smoggy air above him. Evade, quickly!

Too late! Feet landed on his shoulders and he staggered to one side, swinging his blade up
at whoever was balancing on him. A dull
thunk
told him his sword was being parried by an iron weapon. The attacker leapt from his shoulders, kicking him in the side of the head on departure. Sent tumbling to the floor, Moonshadow snatched control of his momentum and rolled, desperate to escape his skilful airborne enemy. A vague impression said he was heading for the open shoji that led to the north-south corridor. A far stronger instinct warned that he was also hotly pursued.

Moonshadow tumbled through a thick bank of dirty smog, emerging to crash into the north-south corridor's shoji doorframe. As he bounded to his feet, a dark shape flashed through the haze behind him. Powerful hands seized his wrist. Twisting his sword arm into a nerve-stretching lock, the opponent elbowed Moonshadow hard in the cheek and tore the blade from his hands. Reversing the weapon with breathtaking speed, the attacker struck with its pommel, hitting Moonshadow between the eyes and driving him into the doorframe. Almost blacking out, he slid to the floor. For an instant, tiny points of light and luminous bubbles popped before his eyes. Fighting off the daze, he looked up.

Kagero stood over him, blood running down her neck from the hastily tied bandage on her ear. The kunoichi's face glowed with a mix of hatred and fresh satisfaction.

‘A fair trade, don't you think? My earlobe for your pretty young head.' Kagero pressed cold steel to his throat. ‘I even get to kill you with your own sword. I like that!'

A heartbeat ahead of her lunge, Kagero tensed her forearm, but at the same instant a powerful figure burst through the smoke wall. Hurtling from the north-south corridor, the mighty form rammed Kagero, hip and shoulder, with a loud
thunk
. The kunoichi flew sideways through the opposite smoke wall and back into the archive. Moonshadow's sword spun to the floorboards. He blinked up at his rescuer.

Groundspider loomed over him, a slashed and blood-stained sleeping kimono barely covering his muscular frame. The giant was drenched with sweat, half his bull-neck mottled by dark bruises. A fresh cut on his smooth jawline said he'd survived a very close call. Despite his wrung-out appearance, he grinned and winked flippantly.

‘Thanks!' Moonshadow smiled. His head was clearing and it was a relief to know that the closest thing he had to a big brother
was
alive – and had just saved his life.

‘Aw, anytime, kid!' Groundspider dropped smoothly to one knee, snatching up Moonshadow's sword. ‘Can I borrow this? Think I left mine sticking in some really
slow
Fuma back down the corridor. Don't worry, I'll return it!'
Without awaiting a response, Groundspider rose, extended the blade and plunged through the smoke bank.

Moonshadow felt a hand touch his shoulder. He flinched and turned.

Snowhawk! She beamed as she gripped his arms and dragged him to his feet.

‘You're alive!' He broke into a wide smile. ‘Watch out – it's you they're after.'

‘So I gathered,' she scowled. A gardener's jacket had been tied over her badly ripped night kimono. A short, straight shinobi sword – not her own – stuck from her belt. Like Groundspider, she'd obviously fought her way here through serious opposition. ‘The Spider and I were pinned down for ages, fighting near our rooms.' Snowhawk drew her stolen blade, eyeing the wall of smoke across the archive. ‘Now what? Back up Groundspider? Fetch your sword?'

He shook his head. ‘Brother Eagle first. He's hurt, needs protection.'

Snowhawk huffed with disbelief. ‘Eagle? Hurt? Then take me there!'

Moonshadow led her into the thick, smelly haze. Snowhawk moved at his side, blade outstretched as they crept through the cloud.

‘I stumbled on the surviving boundary guards and household staff – locked in the food cellar. Had to stop and free them!'

Moving in step with her, he frowned. ‘Why? You could have done that later.'

Snowhawk tossed her hair dismissively. ‘Then who'd stop these fires spreading?'

Unseen blades clashed in the fog on either side of them. Together they scrambled low over the last floorboards of the archive, avoiding debris and staying under every nearby combatant's likely line of sight, desperate to reach the east-west corridor mouth and Eagle without further delays. A strong air current from the corridor split the wall of smog, and there he was, slumped against a doorframe, face ashen, eyes pinpricks. Despite the cruel-looking claw still hanging from his shoulder, Eagle gave them a warm, weak nod. As Moonshadow and Snowhawk huddled protectively around their master, a shuriken
thwacked
into the doorframe just above Eagle's head. Snowhawk turned and covered them with her blade while Moonshadow dragged Eagle into the east-west corridor. Several paces in, Moonshadow propped Eagle against the wall, then crouched in front of him, acting as a shield and watching the smoke-filled door to the archives. Snowhawk bobbed down beside Moonshadow to cover another possible angle of attack, her sword raised.

‘I'll be fine here, Moon-kun,' Eagle said. ‘Go, fight them. Make me proud.'

‘I'll make you proud,' Snowhawk said angrily. ‘By fetching you their heads!'

‘That wouldn't please Brother Mantis,' Eagle murmured, his eyelids drooping. ‘Go, children, both of you, support the others, I don't need pro –' His eyes flew wide.

Moonshadow's head snapped round. Like Eagle, he stared in abject horror.

Just inside the archive, the smoke had parted around a hooded figure – and his cannon! The Fuma ninja was down on one knee, hands working at one end of his chisai odutsu. Still strapped to his torso by a wide leather band, the cannon now also rested across his thigh, pointing straight at Brother Eagle. A wisp of grey smoke rose twisting from one end of the wooden gun. The Fuma had just lit his weapon's fuse!

In seconds it would fire, tearing the three of them apart.

Moonshadow rounded on Eagle, said ‘Forgive me, master!', then seized the iron shuko sticking out from the back of Eagle's shoulder.

Eagle ground his teeth and screwed his eyes shut. As the claw was torn from his body, he threw back his head and roared with pain. Moonshadow clutched the bloodied iron shuko to his chest and shoulder-rolled with blinding speed back through the doorway. He flashed up into a crouch, hovering at the cannon's muzzle. Dodging two strong punches from the Fuma captain, Moonshadow rammed the claw, square grips first, straight into the weapon's dark mouth. He kicked the cannon's muzzle upwards, then tumbled away.

With a thunderous, floor-shaking roar and a bright golden flash, the choked cannon exploded near its muzzle end. Swamped by a powerful shock-wave, Moonshadow was flung along the floor, rolling wildly, arms and legs flailing.

His clothing smoked. Peppered with powder burns that stank like festival fireworks, Moonshadow tumbled right through a wall of smog and ploughed into a solid pair of legs. He peered up warily and sagged with relief. It was Groundspider! The giant's eyes were wild from combat and he held a shinobi straight sword in each hand.

Moonshadow glanced into the corridor. Had it worked? Were Eagle and Snowhawk safe? Through
a gap in the smog curtain he caught sight of them. At the last moment, Snowhawk had thrown herself over Eagle. Both were unharmed!

Sensing heat against his skin, Moonshadow beat his clothes rapidly, putting out several tiny fires. Groundspider clubbed a passing foe with the pommel of one sword, then crouched down and held the other weapon out to Moonshadow.

‘Thanks for the loan,' the big shinobi grinned. ‘Pretty sure this one's yours.'

It was, and Moonshadow gratefully snatched his weapon, at last feeling complete again. He gave Groundspider a thankful nod, then spun around and ran back to Eagle and Snowhawk. The fog around them was darkening as smoke from the ceiling fires overwhelmed Heron's white mist. Moonshadow crouched beside his master, looking back into the archive. He saw the Fuma leader sprawled motionless on the floor, his jacket on fire. His cannon was strewn around him, a wide debris field of mangled, charred oddments of wood. Was he dead or alive?

There was no time to find out. Moonshadow heard Heron call to Mantis and Groundspider, urging them to team up with her. Seconds later ringing steel and war cries came thick and fast from the same area. Then a series of groans and
thuds
followed. Moonshadow smiled. Fuma bodies meeting the floorboards!

‘Hear that?' Eagle said proudly. ‘This bundle of arrows makes music.'

Snowhawk nudged Moonshadow. ‘It's not over yet, though. Look there!'

Out of the smoke a line of hooded figures took shape, stretched across the door to the archive. As the last ninja's ominous form emerged, one of them growled, ‘That's Eagle! Slay him, slay their leader!'

Snowhawk and Moonshadow scrambled to form a wall in front of Eagle, swords raised. The skirmish line of five attackers advanced, shoulder-to-shoulder. Moonshadow frowned. Their swords were sheathed – why?

One by one, each ninja thrust a hand into his jacket.

Snowhawk beat him to the warning shout: ‘Iron storm!'

A wave of shuriken buzzed through the air towards them. Frantically they raked and blocked, keeping their bodies between Eagle and the incoming fire. Blue sparks flew and with sharp
cracks
the missiles ricocheted away.

Swaying as if on the point of collapse, Eagle slumped against Snowhawk.

‘Don't let him fall!' She yelled, frantically intercepting shuriken aimed at Eagle. But Moonshadow was busy, swinging his weapon in an ever-widening arc to deflect more incoming projectiles.
Abruptly one ninja raised a gauntleted fist. The shuriken volleys ceased at once. With a loud
click,
all five Fuma drew their swords.

Moonshadow felt a shiver glide up his spine. ‘Move Eagle back,
back!
' He covered Snowhawk as she dragged Eagle down the corridor. The ninja followed them patiently, one synchronised step at a time, swords rising as one, tips pointing for Eagle. Moonshadow checked his master. Eagle's face was almost colourless now, but he wore a steely expression as if grimly rallying himself for their last – possibly hopeless – stand.

Then Moonshadow saw the faint green hue in Brother Eagle's eyes.

Beyond the Fuma ninja, the writhing wall of dirty smoke surged, then parted around a deep-chested, broad-backed animal. Moonshadow's gaze darted to the muscular canine form rocketing low across the floorboards.

At his side, Snowhawk gasped and broke into an excited grin. ‘Motto-san!'

He glanced at his master. Bright green energy sparkled in Eagle's eyes. The warrior's face remained impassive, and no wonder. Eagle seemed to be channelling all his remaining ki, his life force, into controlling the mighty wolf-dog.

In the middle of the Fuma skirmish line, a ninja turned as if sensing danger. Too slow! Motto accelerated into a great leap and rammed the Fuma at chest height, knocking the wind from his lungs and the sword from his hand. The ninja flew backwards, head striking the floorboards with a loud
thunk
. Turning on the spot, Motto sunk his fangs into the calf muscle of the next ninja in line. Bellowing with pain, the ninja raised his sword to strike at the dog. But before he could, a blurry, shrieking missile spun out of the smoke wall onto his head. The startled Fuma panicked, dropped his weapon and started clawing madly at whatever was wrapping itself around his face. His attacker responded with an angry, high-pitched screech, its pointy head turning fast as it clawed and bit.

Moonshadow beamed at the ever-contorting face of Saru, Brother Badger's monkey. For the first time in its life, the wretched little beast was proving truly useful! Saru wrapped his tail around the ninja's neck, then launched himself for the shoulders of the next man in line. At the same time, Motto released that ninja's leg and the wounded Fuma staggered sideways, dragged
and
strangled by the monkey's long tail. The desperate man snatched a shuriken from his jacket, gripped it like a knife, then cuffed wildly for Saru. With perfect timing the monkey released his tail-choke to leap, shrieking and biting, onto the next ninja. The Fuma skirmish line broke and the uninjured jumped away, one man turning fast circles, terrified now of animal warriors lurking in the smoke.

The pupils of Eagle's eyes now positively shone with the eerie green energy of the Eye of the Beast. Moonshadow shook his head in awe. So even while wounded, the master could control
two
animal agents
and
coordinate their joint attack!

A rumble of thunder made Moonshadow glance up. The smoke was finally dissipating, shrinking into large, drifting banks of filthy smog. A sharp
hiss
drew his gaze back into the archive, to a swordless ninja who staggered, hunched over, clutching his bloodied face. Behind the man, a low, sleek form flitted towards its next target.

‘Banken-san!' Moonshadow grinned. He
looked back at Eagle with astonishment. A nasty wound, blood-loss
and
poisoning, yet the master actually controlled
three
beasts!

A Fuma ninja landed beside Snowhawk, raising his blade quickly to hack at her. With a ringing sword she blocked his powerful downward cut, giving Moonshadow enough time to dart in and jab the man's leg with the tip of his sword. As the ninja crashed to the floor, Moonshadow heard a
swish
and out of the corner of his eye caught a fast-approaching blur. An incoming shuriken, skilfully aimed!

He tried to snap his head clear, but the iron star clipped his temple hard before spinning away into a smog bank. Moonshadow slapped his hand to the impact site: the shuriken's imperfect, glancing strike had broken the skin but failed to penetrate his skull.

Nonetheless, his head began to ring. He swayed on the spot, covering the small wound with one palm. Moonshadow shook his head and it went from ringing to pounding. He forced his eyes open. Unless that shuriken was poisoned, its cut was of little concern. But his skull
had
just taken a blow to its thinnest, weakest point …

Dazed and confused, Moonshadow rubbed his eyes. He heard Snowhawk fighting bravely, backed by the animals under Eagle's control. Every sound blurred into echoes. He blinked rapidly, looking
though the open shoji and into the archive. Ragged and exhausted, Heron, Mantis and Groundspider fought on, enemies circling them relentlessly, darting through the shrinking smog banks. He saw Heron's naginata drive Kagero back, then the floor seemed to pitch and everyone began to move
strangely
. Moonshadow frowned. Now he was seeing things at half their usual speed. A bad sign!

Drowsiness rolled over him and his legs buckled. Moonshadow fell heavily just paces from Eagle. Eagle's head sagged and through bleary, slowed vision, Moonshadow saw the great warrior lapse into unconsciousness.

As he turned his pounding head left and right, searching for Snowhawk, Moonshadow's distorted vision began to tunnel. Motto and Saru flashed across his collapsing line of sight, then, as if looking up out of a well, he saw her. Fuma enemies surrounded Snowhawk, but she wasn't fighting, she was just standing there. What was going on?

A slightly built ninja stood before Snowhawk, not attacking, but loosening the scarf over his mouth. Moonshadow peered hard: the ninja was a
woman
. A hard-faced, mature kunoichi, speaking slowly as she stared at Snowhawk. Her echoing words seemed to belong to some guttural barbarian language.

Snowhawk gaped back at the woman, then her sword hand wilted and dropped completely.

His vision shrank again until all he saw was Snowhawk's face: it twitched with what looked like confusion, then a gleam of hungry recognition lit her eyes. Had this ninja's words struck some chord deep inside Snowhawk, or was she falling prey to a type of kunoichi hypnosis, the very Old Country science at which she excelled?

The unfamiliar ninja woman stretched out her hand towards Snowhawk …

With a determined growl, Moonshadow rose, only to immediately fall back down. His head hit the floorboards and blackness enveloped him. Through it he heard the nasal call of a conch shell trumpet. Digging deep into his willpower, Moonshadow forced himself up, out of the pit of his swoon and back into the heavy air and smoky light. He wrenched his eyes open. The pounding in his head had receded. His legs still felt weaker than wet tofu, but at least he was able to raise his head. He squinted. Where was –

Both Snowhawk and the unfamiliar kunoichi were gone.

Why was the archive suddenly so quiet? He listened, momentarily wondering if the next sound he picked up would echo as before. Then it struck him: all sounds of combat had ceased. Was the battle finally over? The ceiling still burned but
a new, most welcome sound was steadily drowning out their crackle: the muttering of rain on the roof. He listened to it fall and smiled. The weird echo effect had stopped. His vision was clearing fast, too. Letting out a relieved sigh, Moonshadow struggled up onto one elbow.

Surviving boundary guards and household staff were spilling into the archive from the north-south corridor, many armed with smothering rugs and wooden pails that sloshed with water. Moonshadow sat up, rubbed his aching neck and looked around.

Clearly, it
was
over. Aside from those slain, the Fuma had departed, many no doubt with substantial wounds. He glanced at the expanse of wooden floorboards. The pieces of the cannon still lay there, but the Fuma captain himself had vanished. Had he lived to drag himself away, or had the surviving Fuma carried off their leader's body? There was no sign of Kagero herself, but one of her fans lay open in the doorway. Nearby in the corridor, Eagle lay unconscious, curled on his side, his breathing laboured. A stained field dressing covered one shoulder. His eyelids were twitching fast.

Mantis, his clothing hacked almost into rags, crouched on the floor just inside the archive. A half circle of black-clad bodies lay around him. Banken was relieving an itch by rubbing her flexible back along the sandals of a fallen enemy.

Heron, sweat-drenched and messy, knelt behind Mantis, calmly sewing up a slash-wound in his back with a needle and thread. She looked bruised and wrung out but otherwise unharmed, much like Brother Badger. He stood beyond the crescent of fallen enemies, a charcoal-smeared Saru on his shoulder. Badger was carefully winding a bandage around Groundspider's thick right arm. The monkey caught sight of Moonshadow and bared its teeth mockingly. Groundspider's face was streaked with grime, ash and blood, and a fresh duelling wound angled down his neck. Motto lay behind him, powerful legs splayed out, chin to the boards, snoring. Moonshadow gratefully closed his eyes. Each Grey Light agent was accounted for, and their animal warriors had also survived.

Wait! What about Snowhawk? He felt his throat constrict. Surely she had not fallen while helping to secure victory – and life – for the rest of them?

‘Aw, you're back!' Groundspider forced a weary grin. ‘Pleasant sleep?'

‘Where is she?' Moonshadow shouted impulsively. The panic he head in his own voice fanned his dread.

Groundspider hung his big head as he answered. ‘One of the enemies surrounding her gave a signal … he blew a battle conch. Then all the Fuma just … left.' The giant peeped at Heron,
then stared at the floor. Moonshadow sensed what he was about to hear from her lips. His shoulders fell. There was a long pause before Heron turned her head to him.

‘I saw Snowhawk leave with the Fuma,' she said gravely. ‘She went willingly.'