sword haft at Daigoro and drew his
The haft cut Daigoro across the cheek. The
Mio’s chest slammed into his face. Daigoro reeled backward. Mio continued his charge, trying to yank his sword free. Daigoro set his feet, pointed Glorious Victory straight at the sky, and put his shoulder into it.
Mio slammed right into the sword.
He toppled backward, dragging Daigoro with him. Daigoro would have landed on him face-first, but at the last instant he stepped up with his flimsy right foot, planting it on Mio’s stomach.
A line of blood ran straight up the center of Mio’s torso. Yellow fat bubbled forth from his belly, blood mixing with it in scribbling red lines. Mio must have turned his head aside at the last instant, for his left ear was missing but otherwise his face and neck were unharmed.
Only then did Daigoro notice that his sword had stopped just a hairsbreadth from Mio’s throat. By luck, by training, by reflex, or by whatever glamer Master Inazuma had hammered into the steel, his sword had stopped just shy of a killing blow.
Daigoro looked to the dais. Hideyoshi was wide-eyed, slack-jawed, with an awed smile playing around the corners of his mouth. Shichio was so furious that Daigoro thought he might draw steel at any moment. Katsushima looked the proud father, chest swelling with pride, hands pressing his thighs as if to restrain himself from leaping to Daigoro’s side. Daigoro gave his audience a small bow. Then all eyes turned to General Mio.
Flat on his back, Mio roared with laughter. He touched two fingers to his missing ear, laughed harder, and rolled his head back onto the sand to look at his liege lord. “Now that’s a fighter! My lord, find me a hundred men like this and I’ll bring those Hojos to heel by the end of the week.”
Daigoro looked at Mio, at Glorious Victory, and at his own foot, which was still planted on Mio’s belly as if the general were a ship’s bow and Daigoro were a sea captain. Without meaning to, he’d effectively claimed Mio as a prize.
Hideyoshi clapped and rose to his feet. “Most impressive! Now we see why he’s called the Bear Cub of Izu.”
Daigoro stepped off his fallen foe, whose laughter now mixed with tiny grunts of pain as his hands prodded his belly wound. “You must understand,” Daigoro said softly, “it was not my intention to embarrass you.”
“Embarrass me? Master Bear Cub, you’ve honored me. People will talk about this duel for a hundred years. Think of it! The little cub who knocked down the mountain! Come, help me up. Let’s find something to eat.”
15
Daigoro awoke with a start. The night was silent—or as silent as it ever was this close to the coast. Frogs chirped; cicadas sang; the surf breathed in and out, in and out. These were his lullabies ever since childhood, but tonight something was amiss.
He slipped out of bed, shivering at the transition from Akiko’s warmth under the bedcovers. He found his robe and belt, and automatically tucked his swords into his belt as he looked around for something to tie back his hair. Then he stepped into his sandals and drew the shoji aside to get some fresh air.
A lone figure stood in the middle of the courtyard.
His shadow seemed blue against the white gravel, and his footsteps crunched audibly as he paced slowly toward Daigoro’s bedchamber. Another figure approached Daigoro as well: Tomo, running as silently as he could, his stockings making muted thumps against the wooden planks of the veranda. He all but slid to a stop at Daigoro’s feet, already kneeling. After a deep bow he looked back up with a worried smile. Out of breath, he said, “Your guest, Okuma-dono. He requests an audience.”
Daigoro’s bodyguards had not bestirred themselves. They recognized Tomo on sight, and the sword-armed man in the courtyard was still too far away to be any threat. They were right not to have woken Daigoro, but he saw that they’d made that subtle transition from awareness to readiness.
“Stand down,” Daigoro told them. “Tomo, tell the rest of our sentries not to interfere.”
He limped stiffly down the stairs, sore from the gymnastics in facing Mio, and crossed the courtyard to meet Shichio—for the dark, stalking figure could only be Shichio. His silhouette was tall and thin, his shadow a long needle on the stones, but more than this, only one man in the compound was drawn inexorably to Glorious Victory Unsought.
But as Daigoro drew near, he did not see Shichio’s face. His skin went cold at the sight of a demonic visage. Short, wicked horns curled up from Shichio’s forehead, and long iron fangs framed his mouth. A row of sharp teeth hid his upper lip, and his expression was unreadable behind a fierce iron scowl.
Daigoro had no idea what to do with this. He’d never faced a madman. His mother teetered on the verge of madness, but even she didn’t stalk the house at night wearing swords and masks. Daigoro could measure the reach of Shichio’s sword arm with a glance, but he couldn’t begin to guess whether Shichio would draw on him. He knew what a sane man would do, but a lunatic? There was no telling what would provoke him.
And do I care? he asked himself. Shichio had given him all the pretext he needed. No one, not even an aide to the regent, had the right to go sneaking through another man’s house.
“What are you doing out here?” Daigoro said.
“I wanted to see your sword,” Shichio said, his voice distant, even ghostly.
“You might get a closer look than you’d like.” Daigoro kept his tone deliberately brusque. If he could tempt the peacock to draw on him, he could cut the man down with impunity. “Take one step closer and I’ll take your head.”
Shichio seemed not to have heard him. “All this time, I thought I’d understood this mask of mine,” he said. “I’d always thought it awakened visions of swords. But they’re not, are they? They’re visions of
“No. You’re wrong.”
“I’m not. I felt the change as soon as we set foot on shore. The need . . . it grew stronger, almost like a living creature. I could feel it under my skin. I did not understand it then, but I do now. Your sword and my mask, they are kin somehow. The closer they come together, the greater my need becomes. That sword—what did they say it was called? Glorious Victory Unsought? Yes. It’s as if my mask can see it. It needs it. I must have it.”
“Your mask has nothing to do with it. This is Inazuma steel. Men have gone mad in pursuit of it. Some have killed for it.”
That seemed to snap Shichio out of his reverie. He almost seemed hurt. “Is that how you think of me? A madman come to murder you for your weapon?”
“You’re welcome to try. Draw your blade, or else go back to bed. One way or the other, I will not abide a man going masked and armed in my home.”
Shichio scoffed. “What do you take me for? A common burglar?”
“An assassin,” Daigoro said. “You and your master have accepted my hospitality. A hundred of your clansmen sleep under my roofs. And here you are, skulking around wearing the face of a demon. Do you fancy yourself a
The eyes behind that mask shifted from Glorious Victory to meet Daigoro’s stare. “You are a rude, impudent boy,” Shichio said. “You do not deserve to carry such artistry at your hip. I should take it from you and put it in a place of honor, far away from this hovel and its salty air.”
“Say it louder,” Daigoro said. “Let everyone hear you insult your host and his home. Or else go back to bed. I have no interest in treating with a lunatic.”
“Nor I with an insolent cub.”
Daigoro felt his temper surging in his veins. Katsushima would have advised patience. Daigoro’s father would have reminded him of Glorious Victory’s curse. But this arrogant peacock had brought the regent’s own fury to rain down on House Okuma, and he would do so again if given half a chance. Daigoro was sure of it. He’d given serious thought to murdering an innocent monk just to make this peacock go away. Why not take the peacock’s head instead?
Somehow Glorious Victory Unsought had cleared her scabbard. Daigoro could not remember unsheathing
