Ranger's Apprentice 10: The Emperor of Nihon-Ja (Kindle)

by John Flanagan

  ‘How long is the transit?’ he asked Gundar. For some reason, he spoke softly. It seemed appropriate in this oppressive stillness.

  Gundar considered the question. When he replied, it seemed that he had the same aversion to making too much noise.

  ‘Five, perhaps six hours,’ he said. Then he reconsidered. ‘Could be more. The men will tire more quickly in this heat.’

  Acting on that thought, he gave an order and the relief rowing crew began to change places with the rowers. They did it gradually, a pair of oars at a time, working forward from the stern. That way, the ship maintained its motion through the murky brown water beneath them. As each pair of rowers relinquished their oars to their replacements, they sprawled instantly on the deck in the shade of the awnings. They were tired, but nowhere near exhausted, Will knew. He’d had plenty of experience with Skandian crews in the past. They had an inbred ability to fall sleep almost anywhere, almost immediately. In an hour or so, they’d be rested and ready to replace their companions at the oars again.

  ‘We might even anchor in the channel once it gets dark,’ Gundar said. ‘There’ll be no moon until long past midnight and it could be a good idea to rest in the cool hours.’

  Will could understand the wisdom of that. The channel might be straight, but with no reference points to guide them, the brown water would merge with the low brown banks either side. They could possibly veer one side or the other and run aground.

  ‘Not such a good idea,’ Halt said quietly. ‘We have company.’

  Ayagi and his people had been appalled at the news of Arisaka’s rebellion against the Emperor. The common people of Nihon-Ja thought of the Emperor as a person whose accession to the throne was guided and consecrated by the gods. To rebel against him was an unthinkable sacrilege.

  ‘We are your people, Lord Shigeru,’ the white-haired village elder had said. ‘Tell us what you want us to do. We’ll stand beside you against Arisaka.’

  There had been an indignant rumble of assent from the other villagers. Foremost among them, Horace had noted, had been Eiko, the heavily built worker Shigeru had first shaken hands with. Ayagi might be the village elder, but Eiko was obviously a person of considerable influence among the younger Kikori.

  ‘Thank you, my friends,’ Shigeru had replied. ‘But at the moment I hope to avoid further bloodshed. All we need is a guide to the village of…’ He had hesitated and looked to Shukin for the name of the village he had nominated as a rendezvous point with Reito and the survivors of the army.

  ‘Kawagishi,’ Shukin had said. ‘Riverbank Village.’

  Ayagi had bowed. ‘We know this village,’ he had said. ‘My nephew, Mikeru, will show you the way in the morning.’

  Shigeru had bowed from his sitting position. ‘Thank you, Ayagi. And now let’s have no more talk of this unpleasantness with Arisaka. Let’s enjoy the evening. Do any of your people have a folk song for us all to sing?’

  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. Hora
ce 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.

  ‘Maybe four days behind us,’ Shigeru estimated, but Shukin shook his head.

  ‘Closer to three,’ he said. ‘We’re going to have to move faster if we want to reach Ran-Koshi before they catch us.’

  ‘That’s if we can find Ran-Koshi,’ Horace said. ‘So far nobody seems to know where it is.’

  Shukin met his gaze levelly. ‘We’ll find it,’ he said firmly. ‘We have to find it or we have no chance at all.’

  ‘Ayagi-san was confident that there would be people in Riverbank Village who would know about it. Some of the older folk in particular, he said.’

  ‘Well, we’re not getting any closer to it standing here talking,’ Horace said and Shukin grinned appreciatively.

  ‘Well said, Kurokuma.’

  Horace tilted his head and regarded the Senshi leader. ‘I think I prefer that to Or’ss-san,’ he said. ‘I’m not absolutely certain, mind you.’

  ‘It’s a term of great respect,’ Shukin told him.

  ‘Great respect,’ Shigeru confirmed.

  Horace’s gaze switched back and forth between them. ‘That’s what makes me uncertain about it.’

  Shigeru grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Let’s get back to the horses. As you say, we’re not getting any closer to Riverside Village while we stand here talking.’

  They reached the village in another two hours. As they rode in, a familiar figure strode out from one of the cabins to greet them. Horace recognised Reito, the Senshi who had brought them the news of Arisaka’s rebellion. He glanced around the village and became aware that there were other Senshi there, the survivors from Shigeru’s army in Ito. Many of them were injured, with bloodstained bandages on their wounds. Some were moving around the village, often limping heavily. But too many of them were lying still on rough stretchers and litters. He heard Shukin heave a deep sigh.

  ‘We’re going to be moving a lot more slowly from now on,’ the Senshi leader said.

  There was a lone horseman riding along the northern bank of the Assaranyan Channel, keeping pace with the ship, parallel to their course. The man wore white, flowing robes and a white turban on his head, with a wide tail of material that protected his neck from the sun. It was similar in purpose to the kheffiyeh that Selethen wore, Will guessed.

  ‘Now where do you suppose he came from?’ Gundar asked, squinting to gaze more closely at the newcomer.

  ‘There’s probably a wadi just behind that crest,’ Selethen told him. Gundar looked at him, uncomprehending, and he explained, ‘A shallow gully.’

  Earlier, they had been able to see for some distance across the desert on either side of the channel. At this point, though, the bank rose a little, so that it was several metres higher than the water level. Now, they could see no further than the elevated banks.

  ‘Oh…yeah. I see.’ Gundar paused. ‘What do you think he’s up to?’

  ‘I should imagine nothing that’s good for us,’ Selethen told him. ‘Hello. He’s got friends.’

  Three more riders had appeared, seeming to rise out of the ground at the top of the bank. They joined with the first rider in a loose formation. None of them seemed to show any interest in the ship that continued to glide along the channel, sixty or seventy metres away from them. Selethen had been right about the quicksand, Alyss thought. The riders stayed well back from the crumbling, darker-shaded ground at the edge of the channel.

  Halt studied them and could make out the short cavalry bows slung across their backs. Selethen’s people used such bows. They were effective at close range but lost power after fifty or sixty metres. Still, there was no harm in being prepared.

  ‘Will,’ he said quietly, ‘fetch our bows, would you?’

  Will gave him a quick glance, then nodded. Their bows were stored in the low, enclosed sleeping quarters in the stern of the ship. He hurried away to get them.

  ‘Expecting trouble, Halt?’ Evanlyn asked.

  The Ranger shrugged. ‘It’d be silly not to,’ he said. ‘Unless you can suggest a reason why those four riders just happen to be riding along beside us.’

  ‘Seven,’ Evanlyn told him.

  Halt looked again to see that their number had indeed grown. He also saw that Evanlyn’s sling had appeared in her hand and was swinging slowly back and forth in a pendulum motion. There was obviously a missile loaded into the pouch at its centre. He smiled grimly at her.

  ‘Bit far for that stone chucker of yours,’ he said and Evanlyn shrugged.

  ‘You never know. Besides,’ she pointed past the bow, ‘the channel seems to be narrowing.’

  They all looked forward then and they could see that she was right. Sandbanks had formed on the northern side of the channel, cutting the width down considerably.

  Halt rubbed his beard as he studied them. ‘Hmmm. Not sure that they’ll be able to come any closer, even with that. Those banks look pretty soft to me.’

  Will returned and handed Halt his bow and a quiver of arrows. He had his own quiver slung over his shoulder and both his bow and Halt’s were already strung. Halt nodded his thanks and flexed the bowstring experimentally.

  ‘Maybe we should edge over to the south bank anyway?’ Selethen suggested. That side, they could see, was significantly clear of sandbars. The bank itself seemed to be cut straight and clean, rising almost vert
ically from the water to a height of five or six metres.

  ‘It’s very inviting,’ Halt said. ‘Perhaps too much so.’

  ‘You’re right, Ranger,’ Gundar told him. His sailor’s eyes, used to looking for signs of submerged obstacles, had detected several suspicious eddies on the surface on the southern side of the channel. ‘I’d say there are obstructions just below the surface on that side, waiting for us to get tangled up on them.’

  ‘Sandbars, you mean?’ Selethen asked.

  Gundar shook his head. ‘More likely spikes and logs and heavy cables set to stop us and hold us fast.’

  ‘So the lads beyond the ridge on that side can come visit us at their leisure,’ Halt put in. He had been studying the south bank, suspicious of the fact that the riders on the north bank had revealed themselves, and that the southern part of the channel seemed to offer safety. A few seconds previously, he had caught a flash of light, as if the sun had briefly reflected off a sword or helmet. He was willing to bet there were several score of warriors concealed on the south bank, waiting for the moment when the ship became entangled in the underwater barriers that Gundar had detected.

  He told the others what he had seen and they all looked carefully at the south bank. After a few seconds, Will caught sight of a small movement as well.

  ‘There’s someone there, all right,’ he said.

  ‘And there are quite a few of them,’ Selethen added. ‘There’s just the faintest haze of dust in the air where they’ve been moving into position. Not enough wind to disperse it.’

  ‘I guess they expected our attention to be focused on the riders,’ Alyss said.

  Even as she said it, the seven horsemen on the north bank spurred their horses to move a little ahead of the ship. Then they reined in and unslung their bows, fitting arrows to their bowstrings.

  Halt glanced warningly at Gundar but the skirl had seen the movement.

  ‘Shields on the bulwarks!’ he called and the relief rowing crew clambered down into the rowing well and set eight of the big Skandian shields in brackets on the bulwark to cover the rowers. In many years of raiding and fighting, the Skandians had been shot at before and knew how to protect themselves.