L5r - scroll 06 - The Dragon

by Ree Soesbee

  "Not this way, Yukihera!" she screamed in fury. "Fight me, damn you!"

  On the edge of the field, Agasha Tamori flicked his wrists, tightening the spell around Hitomi. It drew the sight from her eyes and crushed the strength from her body. He spoke the final words of the spell, "Eyes cannot see...."

  Yukihera paused, watching as Hitomi's swords wove a blind path before her, keeping him at bay. He smiled, taking the time to look out over the Dragon troops. "I am your daimyo!" he howled, raising his bloody sword and swinging it in a wide arc.

  "Shinsei, forgive me. .. ." Tamori drew his hands slowly upward, prepared to steal Hitomi's eyes forever.

  Suddenly, cold steel touched the old wizard's neck. Freezing his movements, he stared into the cold brown eyes of Mirumoto Daini.

  The tanto lay flat against his skin, Daini's breath warm in Tamori's ear. "You cheated my sister of her life once, Tamori, and your cowardice cheated us all of our purpose. You pride yourself on never refusing a command, Tamori, but this is a duty you will find the strength to disobey. I do not wish to kill you. Still, if you make one more move, you will never see your precious mountains again."

  The shugenja spoke slowly. "If she wins, we all will die against the Shadowlands. We do not have the troops. We must withdraw back to the Iron Mountain. Yukihera-sama has promised ..."

  "Yukihera has lied to us all." The Mirumoto samurai said.

  Slowly, the shugenja lowered his hands and let the spell unravel. "Hai, Daini-san," the old man whispered. "Perhaps he has."

  Crouched and feral, Hitomi spun her swords to block incoming blows. Blinking the blindness from her eyes, she peered through a white haze at Yukihera as he lifted himself to one knee. Whatever had robbed her of her vision was gone. As her sight returned, Hitomi grinned and stood. This time, there would be no interference.

  Hurt him now, the hand whispered, reaching out toward Yukihera in her mind. Hurt him, kill him....

  This time, Hitomi smiled. Yes.

  Its voice had become her own.

  Her sword flashed as it flew through the sky, darkening when it pierced Yukihera's tainted flesh.

  The Mirumoto samurai staggered, falling to his knees. He stared at her in shock, still certain that Hitomi was on the ground, blind and beaten.

  Hitomi slid the blade deeper into his chest, drawing back her wakizashi. Using the katana to keep Yukihera frozen on the ground before her, Hitomi lifted the shorter blade over her head. "The wakizashi is the soul of bushido," she whispered, staring Yukihera's stunned golden eyes. "My soul belongs to the Dragon Clan. You lost yours, Yukihera, long ago."

  Her wakizashi cut through the fallen samurai's neck in a clean, swift stroke, severing his head from his body.

  become the riddle

  Thunder roared over Otosan Uchi's high walls, ripping open the sky. No rain fell. The bitter, acrid torrents of water had exhausted themselves during the night, turning the ground to mud. Rain had pockmarked rocks and bone and torn open the curtains of the tents. Still, the armies fought, taking no time for rest. The undead behind Otosan Uchi's high gates needed no respite and gave none to the Seven Clans.

  Many days had passed, stretching into weeks as the armies threw themselves at Otosan Uchi's walls. One by one across Rokugan, the Black Scrolls were being opened... one by one, Fu Leng's powers were returning. His soul was being set free. Was it enough? Would it ever be enough?

  Hitomi stared out at the rain beyond the opening of her tent, unable to wish away the dark stone walls of the Imperial City. The fields were covered in blood, autumn rain slowly turning to ice and frost. Still the empire fought.

  Hitomi had worked all the while, turning her dedication and courage to the fight. She had become both general and daimyo to her armies, bringing them through battle after battle with the fewest losses of any of the Great Clans. Her name was becoming legend, and her victories became tales of Dragon courage. She had spent her time earning back the respect she had lost, and in doing so, Hitomi had found her home.

  The legions of the Dragon readied themselves, sharpening their swords and praying to Shinsei for his wisdom. Hitomi walked among them, greeting the commanders by name and flushing lightly when she saw their earnest bows of respect. Something had changed in the Mirumoto troops—and something had changed in Hitomi.

  The commanders had presented her with the ancient Mirumoto katana—the one Yakamo had broken. She had removed the halves of the weapon, wrapped them carefully in her obi, and placed it upon her sleeping mats. Then, Hitomi had reverently sheathed Sukune's sword in its saya. The katana swung easily at her side as she strode through the encampment outside the capital city. The saya clicked against her golden armor like the hoofbeats of an approaching rider.

  Time was sliding through her fingers, and there was not much left to spend.

  She strode alongside the naga encampment. Daini's strange serpent-men had truly been sent by the Fortunes. Their pearls and healing magic had restored the wounded of the Dragon, doubling their forces overnight. As she walked, the strange, green-skinned people stared at her, their slitted eyes and massive tails setting them apart from every other creature in the empire. Hitomi could not hold their gaze for long. Daini, on the other hand, was comfortable with them. He understood their hissing language, and he translated their strange customs. He had changed. Mirumoto Daini was no longer the prideful, spiteful young boy he had been when he left the Iron Mountain. He had become a man.

  "You march through the tents like a boat commander, watching his ship sink around him." Mitsu's teasing voice was like soothing bells, and Hitomi smiled widely. "Do you think you will die today?"

  "I may," Hitomi said carefully. "If Shinsei wills it."

  "Shinsei wills nothing more than to huddle by the fire and be warm, like the rest of us. I asked him; it is so."

  Hitomi rolled her eyes at the ise zumi's words. "If you're speaking to Shinsei now, tell him to get a sword and join us. The battle is about to begin, and we could use another blade." Turning on her heel with a friendly wave, she continued on through the encampment, gathering the Mirumoto for the morning's charge.

  Banners fluttered in the dark gray morning, their colors muted by the rain and cold wind. The Unicorn camped nearest to the Dragon armies, and the Crane, who had arrived only last night, had set up their headquarters nearby. The lord of the Crane had been assaulted by an army of Shadowlands madmen within his own provinces, but had driven them back. Well enough. Hitomi wished them all such luck today.

  Beyond the Crane snapped Crab banners, their dull gray almost blending with the cold sky. Hitomi turned a cold eye on the fluttering flags, trying to forget what Yokuni had told her. You cannot kill Yakamo....

  She had no choice. She had sworn to kill him—and if Yokuni's words were true, she might not be returning from the final battle.

  "Satsu..." Hitomi whispered, asking for answers to riddles yet unsaid. "Guide me...." But in her mind there was nothing but loneliness and the constant whisper of the Obsidian Hand. She looked down at the black glass fingers, curling them into a fist. Today.

  Today, she would find her answer, or the empire would fall.

  "Storm the wall!" Hitomi roared, raising the gold and green flag high above her armies.

  On the parapets of Otosan Uchi, undead archers lifted their bows in a long row of sharpened arrows. Steel tips glinted in the faint light of the cold morning. The fields around Otosan Uchi were flat, covered in pockets of raised earth where samurai feet had rushed and fallen, charging toward the city. For months, the high black walls of Otosan Uchi had spurned all their advances. Thousands had fallen on the wide grassy plain of the Imperial City. Thousands more remained to carry the banner of the empire forward once more against Fu Leng's horde.

  While Unicorn cavalry rushed past to assault an oni outside the eastern wall, Hitomi led her Dragon infantry toward a breach in the northern wall. Out of it poured undead troops. Dragon footmen and pikemen met them and struck fierce blows. Tamori's shugenja—de
termined to redeem themselves after their daimyo's loss of face—protected the charging samurai with spells of wind and stone. Huge walls of granite rumbled forth from the ground, springing up to trap the marching undead. Between the high stone walls, the Mirumoto marched toward the breach.

  Lightning crashed down from Otosan Uchi's walls, guided by the rotting hands of necromancers. Fu Leng's sorcerers had arrived to turn the tide. White energy crackled into the barricades raised by the Agasha and shattered them. Tremendous chunks of granite hailed down on the Dragon legions.

  The Dragon march to the northern wall would not be as simple as Hitomi had hoped.

  The Agasha retaliated with driving winds, swirling about the crushed rock and boulders and lifting the fragments into the gray sky. Air spirits, faint outlines against the dark clouds, lifted the stone high into the air. With a fierce breath of wind, the kami hurled their burdens of rock toward Otosan Uchi's protective barriers.

  Hitomi led her Dragon armies toward on Otosan Uchi, the high wall of the Imperial City rang from blows of pummeling stone. Earth, rocks, and boulders rose high into the air and plunged in cascade after cascade onto Otosan Uchi's wall. The parapet began to crack. The city's defenses slowly shattered under the assault. At last, with a rumbling roar, a section of the wall crumbled open. The blocks that had held the wall together fell to rubble and loose mortar.

  By the time the Mirumoto reached it, crossing the muddied field beneath a rain of arrows, the wall had cracked into a wide breach.

  "Into the city!" Hitomi shouted, driving the Mirumoto forward with her own courage.

  Beside her, four ise zumi roared, calling on the power of their enchanted tattoos. Fire flickered in torrents from their open mouths, and the dragons on their skin writhed and clawed as if trying to reach their opponents. Another ise zumi leapt through the air. On his wide back, clouds boiling across a tattooed ocean. The leap carried him high above the Dragon armies, to the top of Otosan Uchi's uppermost tower. A third ise zumi screamed aloud, his hands moving too swiftly to be seen. His opponents, five small oni, tumbled aside, stung by the wasps tattooed along the ise zumi's arms.

  The Dragon pressed toward the gap, swords glinting in the bright sunlight. They cleft undead skulls like rotten melons.

  Ahead, thick voices chanted in unfamiliar tongues. They worked maho, the evil blood-spells cast by necromancers. Red snakes of spidery mist suddenly twisted out through the breach and spread across the fields.

  Mirumoto samurai screamed, their lungs shriveling beneath the spell's vicious effect. Every samurai touched by the red mist fell to his knees. The Dragon were outmatched. The horde's dark maho was too powerful.

  Hitomi held her breath, determined to reach the bloody gap before the mist could steal her strength, but her knees buckled. The ground raced toward her, and she collapsed among the other Dragon samurai, choking and gasping for breath. Hitomi glanced back to see Tamori standing among his shugenja, gesturing wildly. He cast lightning spells to keep undead soldiers at bay, but it was not enough. The undead poured out through the scarlet mist, unbreathing and unafraid.

  Then, from the rear, the chanting of the Agasha changed. A hiss like a thousand serpents filled the air, and fresh wind began to blow. Where Agasha lightning and stone had pounded against the walls and held back zombie bushi, now naga pearl sorcery began to take effect. The breeze turned into a stiff wind, the wind to a gale, and the gale to a full-blown storm.

  The force of the blast squeezed the breath from Hitomi's lungs. A thin trail of red mist poured from her nostrils. Other samurai choked, gasping in the clean air. Bloody trails of breath streamed from their mouths.

  Near the naga, Daini raised his sword, held it for a shining second, and then dropped it. Fifty arrows, pitifully few for a normal Rokugani contingent of archers, flew from naga bows.

  Few, but more than enough. Every arrow struck a necromancer, hiding behind the walls of Otosan Uchi. The shots were nearly impossible, and Hitomi watched in awe as they arced perfectly to their targets. Not a single arrow faltered. Not one missed. Fifty necromancers died.

  The naga reloaded their bows, and fired again. When they were done, not a single maho-user remained against the far side of the northern wall.

  The Dragon let out a cheer of relief and amazement. Even Hitomi's dark face broke into a smile. She lifted her hand to Daini, thanking him, and he bowed deeply.

  The naga jakla continued to chant, lending their strength to the Agasha's spell.

  Hitomi rose from the field and once more led the Miru-moto in a charge. Their strength renewed, the samurai of the Dragon crossed blades with the undead, their swords ringing against rusted pikes and ancient axes.

  Hitomi climbed over the rubble of Otosan Uchi's wall, shattering two zombies with a single blow. Her katana passed through their breastplates, breaking their rotted bones to splinters. Other Dragon followed her, racing through the breach in the wall.

  "For the Mirumoto!" she screamed, fury in her eyes, and heard her shout returned by the samurai.

  Another force of undead arrived from deep within the city, bringing with them more necromancers. They lifted their hands to begin casting.

  Hitomi raced toward them. "Take the zombies!" she cried to her men. "I will handle the necromancers!"

  Her blade descended over one of the sorcerers as he brought his hands together with a resounding clap. The clap sounded with a thunderous roar, and the force of his blow threw back Hitomi's blade. She staggered, holding her sword between them as she fought to clear her ears of the ringing. Her katana cut down once more, this time blocked by a wall of wind that rang like iron.

  The maho user chanted swiftly, drawing a thin tanto and slashing at his arm. Blood welled from the shallow cut, and the necromancer lifted a gory finger to draw floating sigils in the air.

  Hitomi felt her arm burn and looked down to see an identical cut appearing beneath her armor. The necromancer shrieked with delight, drawing faster as another wound spread across her shoulder, spearing down into her flesh from an unseen blade.

  Around her, the Mirumoto threw themselves at the zombie hordes. Their swords flashed, and stalwart kiop screams echoed from burning buildings.

  The sorcerer chanted, and flame blazed along the city streets, racing amid the Mirumoto troops and lighting them on fire. Screams of war turned to cries of agony as they burned, lit ablaze by dark magic and blood sorcery. Her men were dying.

  Hitomi slashed, but once more the unseen wall blacked her blade. "You can turn my blade, sorcerer," Hitomi snarled, "but you cannot stop this." The Obsidian Hand's fingers flexed, and Hitomi pressed it to the unseen wall.

  The fingers curved into a claw, and tore into the invisible barrier. Ripples appeared in the empty air, shimmering blue and white around each of the black stone claws.

  The necromancer gasped in shock, slicing again with his blade and frantically drawing more patterns.

  Hitomi's leg trembled, bloodied by the sorcerer's spell, and her rib suddenly burned with the cut of an unseen knife, but the Obsidian Hand continued to push through.

  "No!" the necromancer screamed, turning to flee as the fingers reached for his throat. "Noooooo—!" The crack of his neck snapping was the last sound he made.

  Hitomi looked up, blood trickling down her flesh.

  Many Mirumoto bodies burned behind her, but most of her troops had advanced, escaping the sorcerer's wrath. To meet with them, she would have to circumnavigate the city's merchant quarter, now a bloody inferno. Her only choice was to circle east and hope she could reach her men before the city's inner walls.

  Racing past zombies and fallen samurai, Hitomi circled the great plaza, determined to reach her clan.

  Suddenly, amid the blood, fires, and war of the city's largest marketplace, Hitomi froze.

  Before her, the city's western wall crumbled. Siege engines pounded its far side, and cut stones turned to tumbling rubble. A breach opened and widened, spreading like a cancer. Goblin minions of the emperor ru
shed to stop the army on its far side, but the samurai that pressed through were too powerful and numerous. Among them, a banner flew, proudly proclaiming their clan.

  The mon was that of the armies of the Crab. Yakamo's personal sigil.

  He stood a head taller than his men, screaming death and rage at the goblins that clustered around him. As his men fell to lesser attacks, Yakamo pounded the ground around him with his tetsubo, turning the small clawed creatures into paste.

  "Yakamo no Oni!" Yakamo shouted, and the sound echoed above the crashing roar of battle. "Face me!"

  The oni bears his name, Hitomi remembered. He's looking for his oni, but why?

  Then, suddenly, she saw it. Larger than she remembered, the Crab oni towered above the undead samurai in its path, crushing them with a sweep of its sinewy hand. It cleared a path with its large steel club, bashing its allies to paste. Its ropy red muscles and gleaming eyes would linger in her memory for years to come.

  The earth shook with the oni's approach, each step slaying Crab samurai. It turned with a feral smile toward Yakamo, and Hitomi gasped in surprise. When she had last seen the creature, it had been inhuman. Now it grinned down with a human visage—the face of Hida Yakamo. The huge mouth was covered in the blood of its screaming victims.

  Yakamo had kept his fury in check as he advanced on the creature, but when it turned to look at him with his own face and eyes, he could contain himself no longer. His tetsubo swung like a massive club. It struck the creature's head, but shattered on the hard, chitinous skull.

  The oni returned the blow.

  Yakamo caught the steel club in his hand, crushing it with the might of his fist.

  Hitomi gasped. The claw was gone. Yakamo's hand—the hand she had taken from him—had been replaced with a fist of stone. Gleaming green, the jade artifact shone brighter as it touched the oni's flesh. It burned black trails where its glowing fingers carved through carapace and bone.