The Initiate Brother Duology (121 page)

Guards in armor laced in the darkest blue appeared through the mist, bowing to Lord Shonto as he passed. A few paces later he came upon Lord Komawara staring out into the featureless gray.

“Can Komawara eyes part the mists?” Shonto asked.

Komawara turned and bowed low. His face lit with half a smile. “Komawara eyes fail this test as miserably as most others, Lord Shonto. But when I traveled in the desert with Brother Shuyun, he taught me not to rely on my eyes as other men do. I cannot claim to have attained the skill of the Botahist trained in this, but I am learning. It seems to be a matter of focus.”

Shonto stopped at the young lord’s side and looked out into the mist as Komawara did. “What do your other senses tell you, Lord Komawara?”

Komawara listened for a few seconds before answering. “An army gathers on the plain, Sire, I have heard the pounding of mallets on wood indicating that tents have been raised. Horses are being pastured,” he pointed to the north. “I smell fires burning and there is a tang of tar in this odor. They burn the ships now. This close to the capital the barbarians would appear to have no expectation to return north. I hear the sounds of armor being cleaned and weapons being honed. I hear the sounds of men who are not entirely confident. So far from home—if their chieftain has misjudged the strength of this vast Empire they have crossed, they will never return to their lands, to their people.”

Shonto nodded. “You have crossed swords with the men of desert, Lord Komawara, is it possible that we can win a battle against such superior numbers?”

There was a long silence then and Shonto found himself straining to hear the sounds that drifted up from the plain.

“It would depend on the place and the commander, Lord Shonto. When we attacked their supply rafts, we had the advantage of surprise and they thought they had been set upon by an entire army. I do not believe it is foolish pride to say that the men of Wa are stronger warriors. The reports from the battle for Rhojo-ma would indicate this to be true. A confident army with superior position would likely prevail—at great cost—despite smaller numbers. Confidence comes from the men’s faith in their commander, Sire.”

“And the Emperor? Can he meld the two armies into a force that will bear the blow this Khan will deliver?”

Komawara shrugged. “The Emperor is unknown to me, Sire. If he abandoned his position on the west side of the canal, burned the bridge, and concentrated his force and our own on the eastern hillside, the Emperor’s position would be improved. But I cannot say that he could inspire the confidence required to beat a foe who is stronger in numbers. It is impossible to know.”

Shonto turned and looked back toward his own position, hidden in the fog. Noises similar to those heard emanating from the enemy position echoed here.

“We will see,” Shonto said quietly.

The sound of armored men approaching caused both lords to turn around. A moment later Kamu materialized out of the fog followed by guards.

He bowed low. “A rider has arrived from the north bearing news, Sire.” Kamu paused for a second to catch his breath. “Lord Shonto Shokan has come down from the mountains with a small force. He hurries to join you, Sire.”

Shonto remained calm at this, compared to the obvious excitement that his steward barely contained. “We must get word to him. He must not risk capture. There is no reason for him to hurry. His presence here with a small force will hardly be the deciding factor. We must warn him to stay well clear and approach from the southeast. He must take no risk of capture, Kamu-sum, absolutely none. Send messengers immediately.”

The steward bowed quickly and was gone.

*   *   *

Prince Wakaro did not know whether to feel relief or not. The ride through the fog toward the perimeter of his father’s defenses was a terrifying endeavor. Even his guard wearing the armor of the Imperial Guard was little comfort. The men of the Imperial Army knew that Jaku Katta and his rebel followers still wore their black uniforms and all the insignias of rank.

They had found a guard in the fog and finally been escorted through the lines. The feared arrow did not find him and the Prince was relieved to the point of developing a small tremor. He was not sure if Shonto or his followers would have condescended to wear armor in such situations, but the Prince had decided he did not care. To die of an arrow shot by some nervous, unknown archer did not seem like a dignified death.

He and his men stood surrounded by Imperial Guards, and though they had not been shown the courtesy due an Imperial Prince they had been treated well enough and even allowed to retain their swords. The Prince realized he had stopped trying to predict his father’s reaction to this embassy from Lord Shonto—an embassy led by his own son.

Perhaps he should have refused Shonto’s request that he approach the Emperor, but the Prince felt that what Shonto had said was true. This was a decisive moment in history, and he did not want to be known for all time as
the prince who contributed to the fall of the Empire. So he tried to swallow his fear.

Lord Komawara had told Wakaro that he had been frightened before the attack on the barbarian supply rafts and there was something about Komawara that made the Prince believe the young lord would never stoop to lies.

A guard officer appeared then and it took a moment for the Prince to realize it was Jaku Tadamoto. The young guardsman seemed to have aged many years in the past few months.

“If it is convenient, Prince Wakaro, could you accompany me?” Tadamoto asked in the refined tones of a scholar. How did the men of the Imperial Guard respond to a commander who sounded and looked like a historian or a poet? A few weeks earlier the thought would never have occurred to him and it surprised him.

Nodding, the Prince fell into step beside the young colonel who deferred to the Imperial Prince in voice only. It was no time to demand that proper etiquette be followed, Wakaro decided.

They made their way along a deep trench behind one level of the earthworks. Bundles of arrows stood against the trench wall and, on a dirt shelf, archers stood looking out onto the fogbound plain. Prince Wakaro had become more intimate with fear recently and this had increased his sensitivity to it. He could feel the fear among these men.

They mounted a wooden stairway that brought them up a level. The effort was causing the Prince to sweat under his heavy armor, and he pulled off his helmet and tucked it under his arm as he often saw guards do, for there was no one on his staff to reach out and take this burden from him.

They progressed through various rings of guards until the sound of banners rustling in the frail breeze told Wakaro that the Emperor would be near at hand. Indeed, only a few paces farther along and they were stopped by guards. Wakaro stood trying to hold together the shreds of his failing courage. I have seen the barbarian army, the Prince reminded himself. Any death I find here will be more charitable than the death I would find on the battlefield. Stories of what the barbarians did to captured enemies had reached Wakaro through his guards. His dreams had not been the same since.

A guard appeared out of the fog and gave a hand signal. Tadamoto motioned the Prince forward. A few paces along and a small pavilion took shape before the Prince. He knelt and bowed to his father who did not offer even a nod in response.

“I am told you are a messenger for the Shonto?” the Emperor said, his voice betraying tight control—a sign of anger that the Prince dreaded.

“Despite all appearances, Sire,” Wakaro said, ashamed at the quaver in his voice, “I remain the Emperor’s loyal servant. The truth of this will be revealed as the fog lifts. An army of unprecedented size is before us. If the Imperial Army does not join with the forces of Lord Shonto, the Empire will be lost.”

The Emperor stared at his son until the young man looked down. “You have a message from your master?” the Emperor said at last.

Wakaro reached into his sash and removed the carefully folded letter. He passed this to Tadamoto who set it on the edge of the small dais.

The Emperor looked down at it for a moment as thought the letter itself was an insult to his dignity. He picked it up suddenly, tearing it open without even glancing at the seal. After casting a final, cold eye upon his son, the Emperor turned his attention to Shonto’s letter. He looked up in a moment. “This does not differ from the message Lord Shinzei conveyed,” the Emperor said, his face flushing with anger.

Wakaro could only nod. He kept his eyes cast down.

The Emperor threw the letter in his son’s face, startling the Prince so that he almost fell backward.

“Colonel Jaku. Take this man out of my sight,” the Emperor said as though dismissing an annoying servant. “He is charged with treason and we are at war. Deal with him accordingly.”

The Prince reared up, stumbling to his feet. He felt Jaku Tadamoto’s hand on his sword arm and then other hands gripped him also. “I have not lied!” the Prince cried out. “I do not support your enemies. The enemy is a barbarian army that has armed itself using Imperial gold.” He was dragged backward, the Emperor disappearing in the fog. “Father! You will see that I tell the truth. In just a few hours. Father!” Jerked off his feet, the Prince hit his head against something hard. He sank completely into the fog then; it swirled close about him obscuring everything, even his thoughts.

*   *   *

Swimming up to the surface of the fog, ever so slowly, the Prince came back to the world. He lay on his side on a surface that was soft and uneven. Nausea passed through him like a wave rushing onto the shore though it did not break but only dissipated in the smallest ripple. Two more waves moved him and he felt for a moment that he had washed ashore and was swept back and forth by the rhythms of the sea.

Finally the Prince opened his eyes. A thick, straw mat was the surface under him.

“Sire?”

It was a soft voice, not at all hostile. Wakaro tried to nod.

“Can you hear me, Sire?”

Tadamoto, Jaku Tadamoto: Wakaro recognized the voice now. He moved his head, a definite nod, he was certain.

“If you wish, I will help you to sit.”

After a moment of consideration Wakaro shook his head. I must have more time, he thought. The fog will lift and then I will be vindicated. His eyes focused on a second guard who stood a few paces off. In his hands this man held a sword laid across folds of white silk. The Prince closed his eyes again.

After a few moments had passed, the voice came again. “Sire? I will do everything to preserve your dignity, but you must assist me in this.”

“I am more concerned with my life, Colonel,” Wakaro said, words coming with difficulty into a dry mouth.

“I am prepared to give you time to make your preparations and also your own sword. In this I defy the orders of my Emperor. Please, Prince Wakaro, I offer you the path of dignity. It is the honorable way.”

The Prince shook his head softly.

“Tadamoto-sum?” he whispered, using the familiar form. “If you will grant me one request…I will cooperate in any way you wish.”

Tadamoto did not answer immediately. “It is not my place to grant requests, Prince Wakaro. I risk the Emperor’s displeasure in what I do now.”

Displeasure,
Wakaro thought, the word striking him like a blow. He fought to control growing panic. “I wish only to be given until the fog lifts to make my preparations. It is a small thing,” he said, trying not to let his voice be reduced to the whimper that was threatening. The Prince propped himself up on his elbow then, looking up at the young guard colonel. He prayed it was compassion he saw there.

Tadamoto crouched at the edge of the mat, looking down at the Prince. Very deliberately he nodded once, then rose and walked away, leaving the Emperor’s son under the eye of several guards.

*   *   *

The days had fallen into a pattern of fog in the morning which then lifted at virtually the same hour each afternoon. The Prince knelt on his mat facing
the north, searching for the first sign of the barbarian army. The rest of the Imperial Army encampment was hidden from view by a roll in the hill and some low bushes. Undoubtedly, the Prince had been carried to the top of the hill on the canal’s eastern bank.

Faint signs of blue began to appear overhead and the Prince felt his hope rise. The guard, holding what Wakaro realized was a ceremonial white robe, still stood, unmoving, at his back. Had the Prince known how to pray to Botahara, he would not have hesitated to do so.

The fog seemed to have learned considerable cruelty in the last few hours, for it kept showing signs of thinning and then blowing in as dense as it had ever been. Then the plain before the Imperial Army began to appear, a few paces at a time, the green grasses trampled but still vivid against the white of the mists.

Finally a barbarian sentry appeared, riding a dark horse. Colored banners took form, waving among the tendrils of white—gold and Imperial Crimson, and blue and spring green. Wakaro offered up an awkward prayer of thanks to powers unknown and unnamed.

The mist disappeared more quickly by the moment. A man cleared his throat at the Prince’s back causing the young man to tear his eyes away from the scene being revealed before him. Jaku Tadamoto had returned.

“May I assist you with your armor, Sire? It would be my honor.”

The Prince pointed out at the army that was slowly coming to light. “It is as I said, Colonel. Once I had seen this, I could not chose another course. The Empire is in grave danger. You
need
Shonto Motoru.”

Tadamoto nodded. “May I begin with your shoulder pieces, Sire?”

Turning back to the north, the Prince saw that more of the army of the desert was coming into view. Fingers began working at the lacing on his shoulder pieces.
But it is there before them to see,
the Prince thought.
Could they not see?

Tadamoto and a guard were lifting the heavy body armor over Wakaro’s head when the guard happened to look up.

“Botahara save us. Colonel!” He pointed to the plain.

Tadamoto turned to look as the armor slipped over the Prince’s head. He froze in position for a second and then stood up to full height, the Prince completely forgotten.