George moved up to ride beside Horace. He shifted in his saddle, standing in the stirrups to ease his aching backside. George was not an accomplished rider and Shukin had been pushing the pace for the last few hours. The attorney had been bounced and jounced continually in the saddle and he was sure his behind would be black and blue. His thigh muscles were aching and cramped. His discomfort was physical, but he knew that Horace was feeling an acute mental anguish that was just as bad and he wanted to take his friend's mind off it.
'Are we nearly there?' he asked, hiding a smile as he voiced the age-old complaint of children on a journey.
Horace couldn't help grinning in return. 'You didn't sign up for this, did you?' he said. 'You probably thought it would all be polite meetings and formal banquets in the palace at Ito.'
'Too true,' George replied, with some feeling. 'It never occurred to me that we'd spend our time galloping up and down mountains on tracks that a self-respecting goat would avoid. If I'd…Look out!' he yelled suddenly and leaned over in the saddle to shove Horace to one side.
Horace heard a savage hiss as something flew past his face, missing him by inches. Then he saw George swaying, a long arrow buried in the upper part of his arm. As he watched, George slid sideways from his saddle and thudded onto the rough, churned-up earth of the track.
Their attackers came out of the trees on either side. The initial volley of arrows had taken down three of the escort, as well as George. Now nine swordsmen charged in at the small party. Horace drew his sword and shrugged his shield round into position, his left arm slipping through the straps and finding the hand grip with the speed of long practice.
It was a well-staged ambush, he thought. The enemy had let the advance party go past, poured in a volley, then charged out of the trees while the small column milled about in confusion.
Three of the attackers converged on the Emperor, who was riding in the middle of the column, a few metres ahead of George and Horace. One grabbed the reins of the Emperor's horse, and as Shigeru drew his sword and struck at him, the man ducked under the horse's neck to avoid the blow. Instantly, the other two were on the Emperor like jackals on a deer. They grabbed his arms and pulled him from the saddle, the sword falling from his hand as he hit the ground. His retainers were caught by surprise, engaged with the other six attackers.
Horace made his decision in a split second. His normal instinct would be to attack on horseback. But he wasn't riding Kicker and he had no idea if this horse had been trained for battle. Besides, the Emperor was on the ground and he'd risk trampling him. He threw a leg over the pommel and dropped to the ground, dashing forward to protect Shigeru.
One of the Senshi had raised his sword in a two-handed grip, aiming a downstroke at the helpless Emperor. Horace's sword was heavier than the katana that the Nihon-Jan warriors used. But it was also longer and Shigeru's attacker didn't factor that in. He thought he had just enough time to kill Shigeru and turn to face the onrushing warrior. He felt a moment of surprise when Horace's horizontal stroke took him in the rib cage, exposed as he raised the sword high, and smashed through his lacquered leather armour. Then he felt nothing.
Horace sensed rather than saw the second man swinging a diagonal overhead cut at him from the left. He pivoted in that direction and his shield seemed to move of its own volition, intercepting the razor-sharp blade with a ringing clang. He felt the super-hard steel of the katana bite into his shield, sticking for a fraction of a second. As it did, he stepped forward, cramping the man for space, and kicked flat-footed into the side of his knee. The man's leg collapsed under him and he stumbled forward with a shrill cry of pain. A quick thrust cut off his cry and he fell at Horace's feet.
In a fight against multiple enemies, it was fatal to face in one direction for too long. Horace spun one hundred and eighty degrees, shield raised, just in time to block a thrust from the third man – the one who had seized the Emperor's reins. Before Horace could retaliate, the man threw up his arms with a choking cry.
He fell to his knees, shock and surprise on his face. Behind him, Shukin was poised with his sword ready for another stroke. But it was unnecessary. The assassin pitched forward, face down in the wet earth.
Horace looked around quickly. The rear guard had closed up and were taking care of two other Senshi attackers. He heard the crashing sound of someone running through the undergrowth on the downhill side of the track. At least one of their attackers had got away.
Shukin sheathed his sword. Then he helped Shigeru to his feet.
'Are you all right, cousin?' he asked anxiously.
Shigeru brushed his concern aside. 'I'm covered in mud and winded, but otherwise unharmed – thanks to Or'ss-san.' He smiled his gratitude at the young Araluan.
Horace shook his head. 'I'm glad to be of service,' he said, a little formally. Horace was always uncomfortable when people thanked him for doing what he considered to be no more than his job. He sheathed his sword. The senior man from the rear guard had approached and was talking to Shukin in rapid Nihon-Jan.
'Are they Arisaka's men?' Horace asked the Emperor.
Shigeru nodded. 'That's the Shimonseki crest,' he said, indicating a stylised owl emblazoned on the attackers' breastplates, over the heart.
Shukin moved back to join them.
'My corporal counted nine of them,' he said. 'Two got away. My men killed four others, Or'ss-san accounted for two and I finished off the seventh.' He cast a contemptuous glance at the sprawled figures on the track, then grudgingly had to admit that the attack had nearly been successful. 'They were well organised. Two parties of three moved to cut off the advance and rear guards, while the remaining three attacked you, cousin. I don't think they reckoned on Or'ss-san's skill with a sword. That was their main mistake. We lost two men and one was wounded in the volley of arrows they fired.'
His words brought a terrible realisation to Horace.
'Oh god!' he cried. He swung round and ran back along the track to where George had fallen from his saddle. In all the action, he had forgotten about the scribe. His heart surged with relief as he saw the thin figure sitting upright beside the muddy track, painfully nursing his right arm, still impaled by a long, white-feathered arrow. His sleeve was soaked with blood and his face was pale – paler than normal – but he was alive. Horace dropped to one knee beside him.
'George!' he said, the relief evident in his voice. 'Are you all right?'
'No! I am not!' George replied with considerable spirit. 'I have a whacking great arrow stuck through my arm and it hurts like the very dickens! How could anybody be all right in those circumstances?'
Impulsively, Horace went to touch the arrow, but George jerked away, then howled as the abrupt movement sent pain coursing through his arm.
'You saved my life, George,' Horace said gently, remembering how his gangly companion had shoved him away from the arrow aimed at him.
George grimaced. 'Well, if I'd known it was going to hurt like this, I wouldn't have! I would have just let them shoot you! Why do you live this way?' he demanded in a high-pitched voice. 'How can you bear it? This sort of thing is very, very painful. I always suspected that warriors are crazy. Now I know. In future, I…'
Whatever it was he planned to do in the future, Horace never discovered. At that moment, shocked by the pain of the wound and weakened by the loss of blood, George's eyes rolled upwards and he slid over onto his side.
Horace looked round to find Shukin studying the wounded scribe.
'Might be a good thing,' the Senshi leader said. 'We'll get that arrow shaft out while he's unconscious.'
George remained unconscious for a few minutes. But it was enough time for Shukin, and the Emperor's healer, to remove the arrow from the wound. They applied a salve to the entry and exit wounds and bound his arm with clean linen. Shukin observed the result with a satisfied look.