“She surrounds him,” Daijin said. “Lord, let me kill her for you…”
“Lord!” Ohori wheeled about, pointing. Already Hara flags descended from the marshes to the north, from the woods where Akiyo had laid her trap. The Keishi had split in two – half on foot, going west to the river temple, half moving south and then looping back east to cut Tokuon off on the field. Her army was now between them and Yora’s fighters at the temple. When he looked out, Sen could see distant riders, blue flags flying with white wisteria in a ring of leaves.
“The Hara clan,” Kiie told him. “Akiyo’s troops. The ones beside them are the Kaga; their crest is the ring of three.” A second group, in varying armor of all colors, bore the Kaga standard: a circle divided by two parallel lines, bright white on black.
“They’ve split off the main force to engage us on the fields,” Kiie said.
Daijin brought his riders about. Sen turned. “What of the temples?”
“Get back to your group,” Tokuon said. “We’ll handle that.”
Sen’s horse huffed. They were caught in a trap. If they engaged Akiyo here, it would mean stopping the push west – exactly what Akiyo planned. Her horsemen would have been hindered by the close quarters of the bridge, or fighting in the temple halls, the canal courtyards and village streets, so she kept them in the open. They came now from the higher northern wood, which provided vantage over both the river and its temple, and the empty field that Tokuon would have to cross.
“Damn it,” Sen hissed.
“Hoshiakari, to your troops!” Tokuon ripped off, barking orders. But even as Sen left, he could see the Kaga and Hara riders coming down the hills, into the open grassland at their right.
“They’ve caught us from behind,” he called. “If we go further, we’ll be surrounded – we must stop Akiyo here.”
“We’ll punch through and move on to the river.” Daijin gave Sen a quick nod, thundered off to his Akazonae.
“Hold steady!” Tokuon shouted. “Form up!”
Sen felt too exposed. Too far from his riders, from Saito and the guard, from his place at the north end of the line. A wave of fear passed through him: his breath caught in his chest. He felt it in his eyes. He felt it at the back of his ears. Somewhere, the conch moaned.
Tokuon raised a signal fan. “Kiie. Watch my son.”
Kiie made his way back up the hill behind them. Sen tried to calm his breath as Tokuon turned his gray horse about, trotting back and forth as the red-devil Akazonae gathered around him, preparing for a charge.
“I’ve found my cousin,” he shouted, rallying them. “We’ve come from the far winds of the east and the mountains of the north, to free our capital from corruption! The retired-emperor is a captive! His eldest living son is under attack! We must save him!”
“Eiii!” the riders cheered.
“The gods are gone!” Tokuon’s voice rang shrill and clear over the snow. “Sora’in gave her life to let us rule our own lands. For a thousand years the Ten’in told us they were gods incarnate: I sayweare gods! Gods of the arrow and bow! The gods beyond the barrier look upon us, they bless our fields and houses! They live inside us all! Andthey” – he pointed toward the enemy – “they, those nobles with their hats, they look at us with scorn. They spit upon our feet, they turn their noses because we do whattheycannot. They seek enlightenment by giving sins to us – and wehave killed for them! We have slaughtered for them. We are kijin-tai! We are killing-gods! And if the Ten’in there are truly children of the Ones Above, then we are their ghosts!”
“Ghosts!” his army shouted in response.
“Fight for duty, fight for vengeance, fight for love!” Tokuon cried. “The mighty will fall!”
The blood-red Akazonae screamed his cry back at him, working themselves into a frenzy. Repeating his words. “The mighty will fall!”
“Signal!” he shouted.
A horseman pulled forward, fitting a special arrow to his bow. A rounded whistling-bulb.
“Get on with it!”
The archer let loose.
“Hoshiakari!” Ohori was shouting at him. “Form your hunt.”
“Come on,” Sen whispered to his horse, Kaminari, and together they raced back to his position on the line as Tokuon and his wife shouted orders and the kill-squads began grouping up, in clusters of two and three and five.
“First spear!” Ohori’s guard was forming around her. “Ride! Ride like lightning!”
The leaders thundered down the slope, heading west toward the river. Tokuon had begun his charge. They blew the conch horn. They beat the drums. In the field, the enemy began to turn, rotating toward them like a wheel. Sen’s heart pounded. His throat felt tight. He gripped his reins. The air felt thin. The arrows screamed. And still, white snow continued to fall.
A shriek caught his attention. Signal arrows, in a high arc toward the river.
