He had failed. He had been one short step away from achieving his goal without sacrificing Kiku or Marrow, but now everything had fallen apart. As if to confirm his bleak position, the second yamabushi also took hold of Toshi as Hidetsugu and Kiku advanced. Being held fast was bad enough, but the combination of gleeful grins and hateful stares on the faces of his former oath-mates did not speak well for his immediate future. Still, there was time for one quick prayer, one last observance to his patron spirit.
O Night, he thought, help me just one more time.
Toshi licked his lips and struggled against the yamabushi’s grip while he waited for an answer.
CHAPTER 9
Marrow-Gnawer enjoyed ascending to the academy’s roof, but staying put once he got there was another matter.
The top of Minamo was like a small city of worthless buildings to the nezumi clan leader. There were patches of open space, like the one Toshi had tethered the moth to, but mostly there were peaked alcoves, scaffolding, and arcane equipment stations. It was cold and damp, and the roar from the falls made his ears throb. To further foul his mood, a thick mist filled the air from the nose up so he had to crouch if he wanted to see or smell clearly.
It didn’t help that the moth was completely docile and required almost no attention. Toshi had told him to keep the moth from being discovered or getting loose until he or Kiku returned, but Marrow could tell the moth wasn’t going anywhere, and no one would come up here exploring any time soon.
Worst of all, there was an entire building full of belongings left behind by important wizards and the scions of wealthy families. In his boredom, Marrow imagined an increasingly dazzling and powerful hoard of treasure that was just waiting for an enterprising nezumi to come along. As the hours wore on he convinced himself all he needed to fund his sudden early retirement was ten minutes alone in the teacher’s dormitory and a heavy sack. No more burglary for the bosses, no more backbiting clan politics, and no more reckoners. They couldn’t force him to avenge anything if they couldn’t find him.
Once he’d made up his mind, it didn’t take Marrow long to sniff out a way to the academy. A little muscle, a little tooth-work, and soon he had a hole big enough to squeeze through. He poked his face into the hole, saw that it led to some sort of attic storage space, and then pulled back onto the roof in a shower of masonry dust.
Something was happening. He couldn’t see anything above or beyond the academy roof, but the nezumi tilted his head and listened carefully. He could hear snarls, roars, and terrible cries, but they all sounded far away, fading as if they were falling from the sky to the lake below.
Marrow shrugged. It was probably just another kami manifestation. Certainly nothing that should distract him from his retirement fund.
As he pondered his wealthy future, Marrow’s hand exploded into a fiery ball of agony. It felt as if his bones were being crushed by a millstone and burned in a furnace. He hissed and cradled his hand against his chest. When he glanced down, the hyozan symbol scratched into his flesh was glowing white-hot.
The ratman struggled to his feet and skittered back to Toshi’s moth. He checked the tether and made sure the food bricks were in easy reach. He stood and watched the great insect gently move its wings while burbling happily. If they needed to flee in a hurry, the moth was ready and waiting. Meanwhile, the pain in Marrow’s hand was proving to be a summons he could not ignore. Hyozan business was happening somewhere nearby, and the oath was demanding he get involved.
Wincing from the pain, Marrow loped back to the hole he had made and disappeared inside.
Daimyo Konda was amazed by the resistance he encountered in the approach to Minamo but he did not let it sway his path. He did not understand how the fabled yamabushi kami-killers had come to fight alongside oni demons, but neither did he care. Whoever and whatever stood between him and his prize would be cut down like rice before the sickle.
Astride his perfect white steed, Konda galloped along the battlefront. He urged his ghost army forward where the oni were thickest and focused the moth riders on the high-leaping yamabushi as he himself led the charge for the academy. Konda had always been a fighting general, unwilling to send his soldiers into a battle without him, and he felt blessed to be fighting alongside his retainers once more.
The spirit army was the finest he had ever commanded, responding to his commands almost before he gave them. They were fearless, fast, and strong. They moved as a single coherent entity, overwhelming the enemy and always advancing like an irresistible tide.
Konda noted that the misshapen spectral warriors moved faster, struck harder, and glowed more brightly when he was beside them. To confirm that this was no trick of the brain or delusion of ego, the daimyo watched his warriors as he rode the ranks. The daimyo beamed as he galloped. It was true-with their leader to personally rally them, his ghost warriors were even more formidable.
Konda’s grin faded into a disgusted scowl. The demon filth opposing his army was unworthy of their swords. Oni were mere monsters, twisted and vile brutes who wallowed in bloodlust and gluttony. This was not a war fit for his army. This was but extermination of a dangerous pest.
The oni were savage and numerous, but they were unable to stop Konda’s advance. His army’s phantom swords cut more keenly than steel and their arms never tired. Though the demons’ claws could tear their bodies, the wounds never bled and healed almost as quickly as they were made. Against such invincible and well-disciplined troops, these mere oni were outnumbered and woefully overmatched.
The yamabushi were another matter. Trained to battle kami and other spirits, the mountain priests were striking down Konda’s ghost army with alarming efficiency. They moved almost unimpeded through the crush of battle, felling spectral horses and phantom infantry alike with sword and staff and magic bolt. Though Konda’s ranks never seemed to dwindle … those that fell to the kami-killers soon reappeared to continue the fight. He would have to intervene personally if the yamabushi could not be brought to heel.
Overhead, scores of gleaming battle-moths soared ever closer to the academy. Konda had kept them in reserve in case the yamabushi became a serious threat to his own progress, but so far the warrior priests had only been able to sting at his flanks with their powerful hit and run tactics.
With a thought and a wave, Konda directed most of the battle-moths to move on toward Minamo. The rest he called to him. When they were circling overhead, Konda scanned the battlefield to note the positions of each yamabushi. He raised his face and clapped his hands, and the moths split into pairs, one pair for each mountain priest.
Surprised, the first yamabushi cried out as the moth-riders attacked. They converged on his position, each rider clasping his hands overhead. Moth and rider alike were enveloped by a cold, yellow glow, and then two braided streams of glowing eyes spiraled from each attacking moth to the yamabushi below. His face was wide and vacant, and he howled incoherently as the beam attack crushed him to the ground like a gnat beneath a stone.
Konda roared his triumphant battle cry. This was how it was meant to end, on the field of battle where he could conquer his enemies and win back his prize in the same master stroke. The Taken One was ahead, his eyes still fixed on it within the academy building. He would clear the field and ascend to Minamo on the backs of his beloved battle-moths. And if they could not carry him, he would climb to the heights of Kamitaki Falls with his own hands.
The daimyo stood in his saddle, thrust his sword forward, and cried for his army to follow him. His army roared their loyalty. Konda looked upon Minamo, knowing that his treasure was within, and he roared again.