“You have the courage of a warrior,” Shigeru replied, “and the Otori clan, if any survive, are forever indebted to you.”

“Let’s get out of here,” the other replied, smiling slightly, as if Shigeru’s words had somehow pleased him. “Take off your armor and leave it here.”

“You probably think I should take my own life,” Shigeru said, as he complied. “I wish I had, still wish I could. But my father’s last command to me was to live-if Jato, his sword, came to me.”

“I don’t care one way or the other. I don’t know why I’m helping you. Believe me, it’s not my customary practice. Come on, follow me.”

The Fox had put Shigeru’s sword back on the flat rock, but as they turned toward the mountain, shouts and the padding of feet came from below and a small band of men burst upon the scene, the triple oak leaf clearly visible on their surcoats.

“I might need this after all,” the Fox muttered, as he seized the sword and drew it from the scabbard. At the same time, Jato came to life in Shigeru’s hand. He had held the sword before, but this was the first time he had fought with it. He felt a flash of recognition.

They had the advantage of the slope, but neither of them had any protection, and the Tohan men were in full armor, three carrying swords and two spears with curved blades. Shigeru felt his energy return, as if Jato itself had infused new life into him. He parried the closest man’s sword thrust and with snakelike speed stepped sideways and let the man stumble past him; Jato hissed back through the air and slid beneath the helmet into the back of the neck, severing the spinal cord. A spear thrust followed from below, but the Fox had gone invisible and now reappeared behind the warrior, slashing with the long sword, cutting the man from shoulder to hip. The spear fell uselessly to the ground.

The Tohan men might have guessed whom they were fighting and their hopes of a huge reward spurred them on, but after the first two men died so quickly, the second spearsman retreated backward down the hill, clearly preferring not to be killed now that the battle was over. However, he was shouting for help. At any moment, Shigeru knew, others would come pouring up the slope: if he was to avoid capture now, he must kill the remaining men and flee immediately, but he knew he was tiring as he was fighting them both at the same time, Jato moving through the air like a striking adder. He thought the Fox had abandoned him; then he realized the man was fighting at his side-and had been joined by a third, curiously similar in appearance. In the moment when their opponents were distracted, the Fox caught one man’s sword arm with a return stroke, taking it off at the shoulder. Jato found the other’s throat and cut deep into the jugular.

“Ha!” the Fox said with some satisfaction, looking at the bodies and then at the sword blade before returning it to its scabbard. “It’s a good weapon. Maybe I’ll keep it after all.”

“You have earned it twice…” Shigeru began, but the other man cut him off.

“You have a fine way of putting things, Lord Otori, but with all respect, there’s no time for that now. You must know the entire Tohan army is looking for you. Sadamu has offered rewards for every Otori head, and the biggest one of all is for yours. I found you first and I’m not going to let anyone else get you.”

“You did not give me my father’s sword in order to hand us both over to Sadamu?”

“No, if I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it by now, before you even realized it. I’m trying to help you.”

“Why?”

“I think we might discuss that later, when we get to wherever it is you want to go.”

“It seems I am to live,” Shigeru said, glancing briefly back toward the place he had thought would be his death scene. “In which case, I must return to Hagi as soon as possible and save what I can of the clan and the Middle Country.”

“Then we will go to Hagi,” the Fox said and began walking swiftly up the slope into the darkness of the forest.

The last sounds of the battlefield faded as the forest deepened around them. It was almost completely dark and the first stars had appeared: the Great Bear low in the northeast corner like an omen of evil to come. A vixen screamed, making the back of Shigeru’s neck tingle. He remembered how he had followed this man before, when he had been just a boy, before he had killed even a single man, when his whole future had seemed full of hope. Then his world had been knocked out of kilter-by the collision with a supernatural reality. Now his world was again reeling-he did not know if it was within his power to steady it or if it would tilt and fall, hurtling him and everything that had any meaning for him into oblivion.

The vixen screamed again. She would be hunting to feed her young at this time of year-an undreamed-of feast awaited her on the plain below. He shuddered, thinking of the scenes dawn would bring, the crows feeding on the dead.

31

They walked most of that night, climbing all the time, through the wild mountain country that lay to the west of Yaegahara. For much of the time, Shigeru walked in a daze, his head wound aching, mind and body almost beyond exhaustion, one moment regretting bitterly the actions that had led to this disaster, the next inveighing against those who had turned against him and bidding farewell to the dead who walked beside him. Scenes from the battle, devoid of any meaning, passed before his eyes. Who of his army was left alive? Would any return to the Middle Country?

They stopped to rest briefly at the top of the pass. It was so cold that swaths of snow still lay unmelted across the black rock of the mountain, gleaming ghostly white in the predawn light; yet Shigeru did not feel it. He fell into a light feverish sleep and woke sweating, bands of dread tightening across his chest.

The Fox leaned over him. It was day, the first rays of the sun touching the peaks around them, turning the snow gold and pink.

“We must move on.” A flicker of concern crossed his face. “You’re burning. Can you walk?”

“Of course.” Shigeru got to his feet, swaying slightly as the blood rushed from his head. The cut was throbbing. He went to the snow and scooped up handfuls, rubbing them over his scalp and neck, wincing as he scraped the surface of the wound, then cramming clean snow into his parched mouth. He took several deep breaths in one of the exercises he had been taught at Terayama, gazing out across the unbroken green of the forest below.

“Let’s go.”

The Fox led the way, and they clambered across boulders and began the descent. It was hardly a path that they followed, more a fox track. Often they went on all fours through dense undergrowth, as if tunneling through the earth. From time to time the Fox turned back, as though suggesting they should rest, but each time Shigeru indicated that they should press on.

He did not remember much about the journey, the alternations of fever and shivering, the throb in head and ache in lungs, compounded after the second day by bruised and cut feet and constant thirst. At the foot of the first range was a small valley, cultivated with rice fields and vegetable gardens. It took only half a day to cross it, and on the way a farmer gave them some early greens and carrot thinnings. He seemed to know the Fox, as did the other peasants working in the fields, but Shigeru had never been into this valley before, had not even known it existed, and in the hollow-eyed fugitive they certainly did not recognize the heir-now the head-of the clan. At its farther side he could see another range of mountains, steeper and higher than the one they had just crossed, and behind it another. He forced himself not to think about the next ascent and the one after but to concentrate on walking, one foot after the other, keeping on only through the strength of his will.