The Twilight War (9 page)

The new day had turned out clear, the humidity mild; perfect for fast travel. Groundspider nodded with satisfaction as he looked back, his black stallion thundering ahead of Moonshadow's white mare.

As he was sure everyone knew, he was the most gifted horseman in the Grey Light Order, and those lessons he'd been giving Moon at the Shogun's racetrack were now paying off. The kid was finally becoming a
skilled
rider! If they survived this mission, next he would teach him how to fight on horseback.

The merchant's stable they had intended to raid had proved empty, so at Groundspider's insistence, they had run to a samurai part of town and stolen war horses. Time had been lost, but at least now they had the
finest
of beasts under them! Hearty, obedient, fast, with enormous stamina, these samurai mounts usually bore heavily armoured riders into battle, while wearing armour of their own. Today, hauling far lighter burdens, they almost flew, and travelled surprisingly far before needing to rest, water and graze.

On the plain and in the lower foothills, the duo passed through towns encircled by rice fields. As they climbed higher the road thinned, forcing them to ride in single file. In the high foothills, the settlements became a chain of ever-smaller thatched-roof villages, flanked by forested gullies
of pine and cedar. Waterfalls and rocky streams split the hillsides. As the first real mountains appeared, all humidity vanished.

They watered and rested their horses briefly at the last village on their map, then, driving their mounts relentlessly under a pale blue sky, the pair swung due north for the line of distant mountains.

In defiance of the sweaty, humid summer, the highest visible peaks shone with white snow caps that never completely melted. One of them had to be Fumayama.

The pair were disguised as young, wealthy samurai brothers. Groundspider, naturally, acted as the newly appointed head of their fictional clan. They each wore striped indigo kimonos, travelling headscarfs of the same colour – to hide the absence of proper noblemen's hairstyles – and a katana, a long sword, all from Badger's stores beneath the monastery.

On route to the high foothills, they passed through two fiefdoms, but clearing the checkpoint barriers proved effortless, thanks to the unique travel papers that the Shogun, on Badger's suggestion, had recently supplied in preparation for just such a mission.

Every Grey Light Order agent now had their own all-purpose barrier pass. Carried in a leather pouch, the oiled, folded document contained a
detailed description of each shinobi's face, peculiar scars, and build. It also carried the Shogun's seal, and warned anyone reading it not to hinder or delay its bearer, record their passing, or discuss them with anyone. The document even outlined the mildest penalty a person breaching
one
of these rules could hope for: public beheading, preceded by the burning of their house.

Every barrier guard who read it instantly became friendly, cheerful and efficient. The very last samurai to let them through a checkpoint, a stoic, barrel-chested fellow who seemed to have genuine respect for the Shogun, actually bowed and wished them luck.

Groundspider scanned ahead as they rounded a rocky bend. The snow-capped mountains looked much closer now. Just ahead, the road thinned even more, forking at a small shrine. He took one hand from the reins, signalling to Moonshadow. While seeing them off, Mantis had ordered that they check the few roadside shrines they would pass along the mission route for
goshikimai
, dyed rice grains that shinobi used to leave each other coded messages. It was a wise precautionary order. Regional Grey Light agents, now also targets, might have left fresh intelligence at a shrine about Fuma attacks or troop movements.

Yesterday for instance, Groundspider reasoned, a local ally could have set goshikimai right here,
after identifying disguised shinobi on their way to Edo. He groaned with dread.
Or today, after seeing them on their way back.

Wheeling his horse to a halt near the shrine, Groundspider swung a thick leg over the saddle. He stared warily at Moonshadow as the white mare caught up. Since leaving Edo, the kid had been unusually quiet, almost broody. Groundspider didn't really blame him. Doggedly loyal to Snowhawk, Moonshadow was no doubt struggling with the signs that she
was
a double agent, not to mention the burden that awaited him once that was proven. Groundspider sighed. He knew an older agent in Kyoto who, under orders,
had
slain a dear friend who was shown to be an infiltrator. Necessary as it was, that deed had hollowed the man out, left him forever dark and bitter. Groundspider looked his young companion up and down. Moon was tough, but still just a
kid
. What would following an order like that do to
him
?

He turned back and stared at the shrine itself, little more than an open-fronted cedar box with a slanting, tiled roof. Inside it, set well back from potential wind and rain, a long, deep shelf sat in shadow. There, locals left offerings to the region's kami: gifts of rice, incense, sweets, sliced fruit or vegetables. Above the shelf, a single, plaited white rope stretched between the shrine's inside
walls. Faded, shrunken ties of paper hung from it, handwritten prayer requests to the gods.

On either side of the shrine, a row of
jizo
, little stone monks representing the guardian of the dead, smiled back at Groundspider with unblinking eyes. Some wore eye-patches formed from moss. Jizo were everywhere. Beside rivers, on street corners in towns, deep in forests and even here, at the lonely edge of the high mountains. Between one row of jizo and the road, near a stunted, gnarled tree, was a small stone water trough.

Moonshadow tethered their horses to the tree so the animals could water, graze, and rest their sweat-foamed legs. Groundspider stalked up and down, glancing in all directions, his tracker's eyes searching for signs. It was crucial to determine whether or not the Fuma had already passed this remote shrine. If they had, their lead was now so substantial that pursuit into Fumayama itself was almost guaranteed. He looked about again, praying that he and Moonshadow hadn't missed their enemies. Would even Fuma leaders drive their men
that
hard? Then he saw the grave.
Yes, they would!

A mound of freshly turned earth, large enough to hold a body, was hidden by one row of jizo. Its only marking was a little white stone laid flat on top of it. On the stone, crudely scratched kanji formed the words ‘wind demon' which, of
course, was pronounced
fuma
. The pair crouched beside the grave. Groundspider crumbled its dirt in his fist.

‘Dug today.' He hung his head. ‘We
have
missed them!' He stood up and cursed, punching the air with one hand. ‘How? Maybe they were met, back there a little, by their own people … with horses.'

Moonshadow stared down at the burial mound. ‘Or just brutally pushed by their leaders to run most of the way. If so, this grave says their injured simply couldn't take it.'

‘If that's true, why only
one
grave?' Groundspider checked behind the other jizo.

‘Snowhawk told me once that it was Fuma policy to always bury their captains and above, but lesser ranks who died out on the road were just stripped of equipment and left, or their bodies weighted down, thrown in a river or lake. Maybe
this
was the fellow with the cannon. He was badly hurt, but we never found his body.'

‘Fascinating,' Groundspider said. The kid was trying to be useful, but all Groundspider could think about was having missed the Fuma. He went to the shrine box for a closer look. Going by their recent luck, there'd be no messages. His eyes lit up. ‘Moon, see here!'

Moonshadow appeared at his side and together they studied the long lines of dyed rice grains
tracking right across the shelf. To an untrained eye, a lavish, expressive offering to the gods. To a shinobi … goshikimai! The grains looked almost new, and all the colours needed to form a detailed coded message were there. Purple, red, black, blue, yellow. Laid out in numerous, varied combinations.

‘You're a lot faster at this than me,' Moonshadow said. ‘What does it say?'

Hunching over the shrine box, Groundspider carefully studied the message. It was a Grey Light Order field code all right, slightly outdated, but still valid. He frowned. What if the Fuma, notoriously good code-crackers, had broken this one? Groundspider sensed Moonshadow waiting anxiously and chided himself. Why, without evidence,
invent
problems? They had enough real ones already! He decoded each line slowly, the colourful, intricate combinations of grains giving up their secret words and sentences.

‘It's from a local freelancer who serves the Order … he's been commanded by the Shogun himself, via carrier pigeon, to guide us from here on, should we need to penetrate Fumayama. It ends by saying
please wait
.'

‘Please wait?' Moonshadow wrinkled his nose. ‘We could be waiting all day. We've a rescue to perform! Where is this agent? Maybe the Fuma found him and killed him.'

‘Not yet,' a cheerful voice called from behind them. ‘But they'd certainly like to!'

Along with Moonshadow, Groundspider whirled around. A wiry man, perhaps in his twenties, stood there in the drab hemp clothes of a farmer, a large sack over his shoulder. His long hair was tied back in the style of a rural peasant. Groundspider narrowed his eyes. This fellow had just snuck up silently on two shinobi. Some farmer! He was ninja and he was
good
. No visible weapons. But whose side was he on?

‘Rikichi,' the young man grinned, pointing at his own nose. ‘I left you the message!' His face was smooth, no scars, and he had an open, avid manner and charming smile. ‘I'm the right man to guide you. You're looking at the only Grey Light ally ever to infiltrate Fumayama and live to tell the tale. I know the way to their base's back door
and
about half the tunnels inside the mountain.' He suddenly looked very earnest. ‘And I can help, whatever your objective.'

‘It's a rescue,' Moonshadow said, stubborn eyes flicking at Groundspider.

Groundspider glared at him. Always so trusting, so gullible! He wasn't convinced yet that Rikichi was truly their man. ‘What's in the sack?' He asked suspiciously.

Rikichi dropped to one knee and opened it. They flanked him, looking in.

‘Mongol bows.' The freelancer held one up. ‘I have three of them, and look, three quivers of arrows with extra heavy heads.' His eyes sparkled. ‘These bows are of a compound design: animal bone and horn, fused together. They fire further and hit much harder than regular shinobi bows. A gift from a grateful warlord from the south! If we're really going to enter Fumayama, we'll need these. Try one, feel the pull …'

Groundspider examined the compact bow Rikichi handed him. Its design was ingenious. The odd shape of its curve made it relatively easy to draw, yet it felt as if it stored enough latent power to punch through armour. Incredible!

‘Badger would love these,' Moonshadow enthused. ‘He'd try to improve them.'

The bows were certainly inspiring, but Groundspider still doubted the bearer of the timely gifts. Was he
another
infiltrator? Rikichi appeared to read his mind.

‘If I were you, I too would be wary.' The young man beamed. ‘So let me prove I'm
really
family!' He sighed. ‘My parents fell to contagion. My uncle raised me. He turned out to be shinobi, of clan Iga. That's where I grew up, where I was trained. My uncle's gone now, he died well and crossed the River Sai with a katana in his hand, I believe! Anyway, a certain ex-samurai lived among the Iga when I was a boy: my uncle's best friend.' He
laughed warmly. ‘So tell me, does the man you call Eagle still wear that long, single plait of hair? He used to tease me, flicking me with it, when he babysat me.'

‘Interesting,' Groundspider said. He was half-convinced, but what happened next swept him all the way over the line.

Rikichi glanced at Moonshadow, quickly reading his face. ‘Eagle … is
well
, isn't he?' Rikichi flinched. ‘What's happened? No, no, tell me the Fuma didn't –'

‘He's alive,' Moonshadow blurted. ‘Barely!'

‘Eagle? The invincible Eagle?' Rikichi looked angry, devastated. ‘Please, tell –'

‘Enough.' Groundspider held up a hand. ‘Let's sit down, break out the rations and water, and we'll tell you everything.'

Ten minutes later, Rikichi knew it all: the story of the raid, the fears held – both ways – about Snowhawk, and the details of Eagle's condition. That part made him curse.

‘There's no time to waste,' he said decisively. ‘Do you have ashiko?' They nodded. ‘Good, so do I. We'll need them too.' He stood and pointed at one of the more intimidating mountains. ‘That's Fumayama. All its entrances are above the permanent snowline. I'm glad you knew about the
back door
, as even the Fuma call it. That's definitely where we should enter. Trying to slip in the front
door would be suicide – it's too well guarded. To reach even the back door, we'll
really
need the bows. Only way to handle the security forces who watch the rear exit.'

‘Security forces? Not Fuma ninja?' Moonshadow asked, squinting at the towering peak.

Rikichi shook his head. ‘The
back door
lies above a frozen lake, on a small plateau, tucked away from the other entrances to the old mine. It's guarded by the village at the edge of that lake. A village of peasant hunters, traders in skins and hare meat.'

‘Snowhawk never mentioned any such back door guards,' Moonshadow said.

Rikichi shrugged. ‘Maybe she never had cause to sneak out across their lake.'