Island of Exiles (43 page)

And there, among the firs and pines, something sparkled and moved. As insignificant as ants at that distance, a small contingent of horsemen wove in and out between the trees and, one by one, disappeared into the misty sea. The scene was surreal, and they would have missed it, if the sun had not caught the shining helmet of the leader and then drawn the eyes to the rider who followed, a colored standard attached to the back of his armor.

There had been fewer than ten horsemen, but more might follow.

Akitada felt certain that the man in the gilded helmet was Kumo himself, eager to make an end of their cat-and-mouse game. He turned to look back at the hut, its drapery of morning glories an intense blue in the sun. Ribata had come out on the veranda, a small and frail figure in her grayish white nun’s habit.

Masako was looking from Ribata to them, a frown on her pretty face. No doubt Toshito was among the horsemen in the valley below, showing Kumo the way to the hermitage, certain that the women would keep their prey distracted.

Ribata called out, “What is the matter, my lord? Is something wrong?”

Ignoring her, Akitada turned back to Haseo and said in a low voice, “They will have to leave their horses below and climb up on foot. It gives us a little time. Kumo counts on surprising us, on finding two invalids taking shelter. We must go down the other side of this mountain. Masako said the road to Mano passes there. It’s not far.”

Haseo nodded. It was like him not to argue or ask questions.

Instead he said with a regretful grin, “A pity! They’re a mere handful apiece. What I wouldn’t give if we had a couple of swords!”

As they ran past the hermitage toward the forest, Ribata stepped in their way. “Stop! Where are you going?” she cried, her eyes anxious. “What is happening?” Akitada pushed her aside without answering.

The forest was still dark and gloomy, but the ground was soft with pine needles and dry leaf mold and they ran quickly, talking in short bursts.

“How are you today?” Akitada asked.

“Much better. I suppose that nun was healing me for whoever’s coming after us?”

“Yes. Kumo. A relative. I saw a golden helmet. Only Kumo’s rich enough for one of those.” Haseo was moving well, but Akitada suddenly felt guilty. He said, “It’s my fault. I brought you into this. Kumo’s after me.”

Haseo snorted. “You’re wrong. Anyone in the mine might’ve found out. He’s been stealing gold for years.”

“What?” Akitada almost stumbled over a tree root. “What do you mean?”

Haseo looked back over his shoulder, missed a step, and slid down the slope. He got back up and continued. “Don’t you know? You were chipping away at those rocks for two days.”

Of course, Akitada thought. How could he have missed it?

All those badger holes and baskets of rock with little or no silver in them! They had been after those tiny bits of yellow metal.

That was why he had pulverized the rocks, and why they had washed the gravel on that sluice. That was why there had been so many guards. Kumo was not mining silver for the emperor, but gold for himself. “Jisei!” Akitada cried. “I forgot to ask you about Jisei.”

Haseo stopped. “The little fellow in the stockade? What about him?”

“Someone killed him the night they took me to see the governor. Did you see anything?”

Haseo cursed softly. “Yes. I was sleeping, but he must’ve cried out. Those two pirates were having some argument with him. By the time I guessed what was happening and got to my feet, he was on the ground and the guards came. They took the two bastards away and put the little fellow on a litter. I thought he was only hurt.”

“They called it a fight between prisoners, but I think he was murdered. He knew about the gold and was blackmailing someone. That’s why he was so sure he was going home.” Haseo turned away. “Too late now! We’ve got to save our own tails. Come on!”

Yes, this time Kumo would make certain by killing them. A helpless rage filled Akitada as he plunged down the slope after Haseo. He would make Kumo pay for what he had done to him and to Jisei, make him fight for his gold, but not here. Not in this murky forest where you could find no firm foothold and where he would lie forgotten among the roots of giant cedars while spiders built their webs between his bones.

Halfway down the mountain, they found a barely noticeable track. Perhaps charcoal burners had come this way and had marked the easiest and most direct path down to the valley. They

were glad, for the rapid descent over the roughest parts had taken its toll. Going down a hill is faster than climbing it, but not necessarily less tiring for two men weakened by illness and blood loss and hampered by leg injuries. Only the knowledge that, in spite of their bravado, they had little chance against heavily armed men speeded their descent, and they emerged from the dim forest into almost blinding sunlight a scant hour later.

The view extended southward, across thinly forested lower slopes down to a sun-bright sea where Sawata Bay merged into the infinite expanse of ocean and sky. The highway beyond the foothills skirted the edge of the bay like a pearl-gray ribbon joining two pieces of fabric, one glistening silver, the other deep green. They could see the brown roofs of a town some distance away, and beyond that, farther along the vast bow of the shore, another, larger town-Mano. Fishing boats worked the shimmering bay and a large sailing ship lay at anchor nearby. Above stretched an immense pale blue sky streaked with streamers of thin clouds and dotted with black crows and white seagulls, circling and rising, swooping and plunging into the waves.

“The road’s empty,” said Haseo. “Maybe we’ll make it.” They trotted down the slope, skirting stunted pines and sending nesting birds aflutter, but Akitada knew that they could not keep up the pace much longer. Both of them limped and gasped for breath, and now, in the warm sun, sweat poured down their faces and bodies. It had been cooler in the forest, but the hard exercise had heated their blood. They chased a lone hare through the dry gorse down the hill, its white tail bobbing up and down before them, mocking their slow pursuit.

When they crested one low hill, they found another. They glanced over their shoulders and slapped at stinging gnats, and eventually they reached the road and started walking.

Apparently there was not much travel between the northern mountains and Mano, for they saw only one farmer, driving an ox with a load of firewood, and three women on their way to tend their fields. They attracted curious glances, but their greetings were returned and the peasants hurried on to their chores.

Then three horsemen came from the south.

Haseo stopped.“What now? Soldiers? Maybe we’d better hide.”

“Yes.” They crouched down behind some low shrubs on the embankment. Akitada narrowed his eyes. Only one of the horsemen was armed. The other two seemed to be peasants, unused to riding, because they sagged in their saddles. And the horses, all three of them, were mere nags. They could not be Kumo’s men. He touched Haseo’s shoulder. “Get ready. We need those horses. We won’t have a chance on foot.” Haseo began to laugh. “Wonderful! Look, the guy in front even has a sword. What luck!”

Only Haseo would consider this a fortunate circumstance.

Akitada was less sanguine. He had not formed any cogent idea how two half-naked scarecrows would convince a fully armed soldier to give up his weapons and horses to them. At least the soldier’s companions looked negligible. One seemed sick; his body not only slumped but swayed in the saddle. Someone had tied him to the horse to keep him from tumbling off. The other man was frail and no longer young. He clutched his horse’s mane and slipped at every bounce. Neither had any weapons that Akitada could see.

No, the only dangerous man was the one in the lead. Tall, a good horseman, and young, judging by his straight back and easy movements with the stride of his horse, he wore his helmet pulled forward against the sun, a breastplate, and a long sword. He was still too far away for them to guess his military rank, but possibly he also carried a second, shorter sword in his belt.

Then Akitada’s heart started beating wildly with a sudden hope. There was something very familiar about the set of those shoulders, the tilt of the head. “Dear heaven,” he muttered. “Tora?”

Haseo turned to look at him. “What?” Akitada gave a laugh. “Come on,” he cried, rising from behind the shrub, “I know that soldier.” He started into a stumbling run down the embankment, hardly thinking of his knee now.

The horseman saw them and reined in his horse. After a moment, he urged it forward again, but now his hand was on the hilt of his sword.

Akitada stopped and waited, grinning foolishly, chuckling from time to time, until Haseo shook his elbow. “Are you all right? Are you sure you know those people?”

“Only one of them, and yes, I’m sure.” The three horsemen approached at a slow pace. The two in back seemed to take little interest in them, but the young soldier stared, frowned, and stared again.

He came to a halt before them. “What do you want?” he asked, not unkindly. “I’ve no money to give you, but we can share a bit of food.”

“Thank you, Tora,” said Akitada. “That is very kind of you.

We missed our morning rice.”

“Amida! Oh, dear heaven! Can that be you, sir? Is it really, really you?” Tora bounded out of the saddle and ran up to Akitada, seized him around the waist, lifted him, and crushed him to his chest. He laughed, while tears ran down his face.

When he finally put the weakly chuckling Akitada back down, he said, “Sorry, sir. I was on my way to Kumo’s mine to look for you, and here you are. They said you were dead, and I’d started believing it.” He wiped his face with his sleeve.

“Never mind. An easy mistake. There was a time when I thought I was. This is my friend Haseo. We’re both on the run from Kumo’s men.”

It was said casually, as if they had just met on the street, old friends exchanging broad smiles and trivial news, but Tora was sobered instantly. “You look terrible,” he said. “I’ll kill the bastards.” This seemed to remind him of his companions. He turned, his face grim, and pulling his short sword, went to the man on the second horse. Akitada saw the bloodied, blackened, swollen face, the eyes so puffy that it was a wonder the man could see, and he heard the man’s high scream of fear, before he realized that he was looking at Wada and that Tora meant to kill him right here in the middle of the road to Mano.

“Wait!”

Tora turned, and Akitada saw the deadly determination in his eyes. “He dies,” Tora said, his voice flat. “He would’ve died yesterday, but I kept him around to show us the way.”

“Not here and not now,” Akitada said. “I don’t want to remember our meeting this way.”

Tora reluctantly put back his sword. He came to Akitada and took him into another bear hug.

“Thank you, my friend,” Akitada said when they finally released each other. “And who is your other companion?” Tora grinned. “That’s Turtle. A bit of a coward, but his heart’s good. He’s my servant.”

Akitada raised his brows. “I see you’ve risen in the world.

Congratulations on the new armor. You do look like a man in need of a servant.”

Tora had the grace to blush and looked at Haseo, who had sat down beside the road to adjust the bandage on his leg. “Your friend’s hurt?”

Haseo made Tora a slight bow. “It’s just a cut which likes to bleed. We’re anxious to get to Mano before Kumo catches up with us, and I’ve already caused too many delays with my infernal leg.”

“Never mind, Haseo,” said Akitada. “We can ride now. I see no reason to transport the despicable Wada. Let him run alongside. And Tora’s servant can walk, too.” Turtle slid from his horse and rubbed his behind. “Glad to,” he said cheerfully. “He’s not a very comfortable horse.” Tora unpacked his saddlebag and passed his spare trousers and robe to Akitada. To Haseo he gave the wide-sleeved jacket he wore over his armor. Then he frowned at their callused, scarred feet. “How did you walk like that?” he asked Akitada, taking off his boots.

Akitada said, “Thank you, but your boots won’t fit. And my feet have become accustomed to worse than road gravel.”

“Uh-oh!” Haseo grabbed his arm. He was looking up the road toward the north. Where the road disappeared around the foot of the mountain, a dust cloud had appeared. It moved rapidly their way.

“Kumo,” cried Akitada, and swung himself on Turtle’s horse. “Come on. We’ll try to outrun them.” Tora cut loose a whimpering Wada, who tumbled heavily onto the road, where Tora kicked him out of the way, and called to Haseo, “Here, get on!” before running to his own horse.

Turtle stood, staring at them with frightened eyes. “What’s happening?” he cried. “Who’s coming? Please, take me with you, master!”

Tora was in the saddle. “Sorry, Turtle. No time. Hide in some bush. If I can, I’ll come back for you.”

“Tora, your sword,” cried Akitada, bringing his horse alongside Tora’s. After the merest moment of hesitation, Tora passed over his long sword and offered his helmet, but this Akitada refused. Then they cantered off after Haseo.

The nags were not up to a chase. Having spent all their miserable lives in post stables, fed on small rations of rotting rice straw or trotting back and forth between the two coasts, carrying fat merchants or visitors on leisurely trips, they had never galloped. Now, beaten and kicked into a burst of speed, they lathered up, started wheezing and heaving, and eventually slowed to an agonized trot. Behind, the dust cloud came on rapidly, already revealing horses, men, and the flying banner.

Haseo shouted to Akitada, “We’ll have to make a stand. Are you any good with that sword?”

“Adequate,” Akitada shouted back. He had kept up his practice with Tora, and he was not about to give up the sword.

“Sorry.”

Haseo nodded. He eyed Tora’s short sword, but evidently decided against asking an officer in robust health to render up his only weapon to an invalid.