The Disfavored Hero Read Free Page B

Ushii’s veracity. Without hesitation, Tomoe begged leave of Toshima and ran to the top of the bridge to join the other samurai. She turned around once only, and saw Toshima vanish into the interior of the mansion.
    The day had grown prematurely dark.
    Storm clouds churned in the sky. Thunder rolled over the battlefield, commingling with the clang of metal, clatter of pole, and cries of the fallen and the mad. At intervals, strobes of lightning cast a platinum glow across the scene of carnage; then all was dark once more.
    The peasants had swarmed into the valley estate of the warlord Shojiro Shigeno, their overlord. It was senseless.
    They had been met by Shigeno’s foot soldiers, who were skillful, but for the moment overwhelmed by the multitude. This was no simple peasant uprising, Tomoe was certain, for Shigeno was a good protector. The eyes of the farmers were black like those of dogs. When a foot soldier recognized one peasant and called his name, no reply was forthcoming. The peasants were not in control of their minds.
    Into this bloody mass rode Tomoe on her white steed Raski. From her hand stretched a steel whip—chain links of double-edged razored knives—drawing a circle all about her and Raski. It was another weapon she had borrowed from the Celestial Kingdoms; and she had learned to use it well.
    The spinning whip whirred angrily, slashing at arms and faces, clearing the way for a samurai approach. Behind her came three men: Madoka Kawayama, Goro Maki and Ushii Yakushiji, all on foot, their swords gleaming in the preternatural darkness. Shigeno’s army was heartened by the arrival of the aristocratic warriors, and fought the more valiantly. The samurai would insure victory for the Lord.
    A thousand foe surrounded the three swordsmen, for they had plowed into the melee on the path made by the horsewoman. Unlike the other soldiers, these samurai could not be overwhelmed: none could breach the woman’s chain or the men’s swift swords. Only a dozen heimin could approach the three men at any given time.
    Forming a triangle with their backs, Madoka, Goro and Ushii slowly enlarged their formation, leaving no route for peasants to enter. The peasants, armed with sticks, hoes, and heirloom weaponry whose use they little understood, could not oppress these fighting elite, not even by the weight of numbers.
    Sacrificing himself, a peasant ran into the path of Tomoe’s chain of knives. It wrapped itself around his body, slicing him a hundred mortal scores. He fell, losing fingers by gripping the heinous steel whip to insure the samurai’s inability to restore the weapon’s intention. A horde of snarling, black-eyed peasants closed around her. The steed leapt upward, all four legs kicking at once, crushing peasant bones. He tore at their throats and heads with powerful jaws.
    Tomoe clung to the saddle with strong legs. With butterflylongswords in her hands, she drew deadly arcs of fine, mirror-polished steel—opening windpipes and removing heads on each side of Raski. Blood mixed with rain in the torrential darkness.
    Had they been in control of their own bodies, the peasants would never have continued to advance on this butcher’s field—but they came on and on, maniacal in manner. Night might already have fallen beyond the clouds; Tomoe could not tell. She was uncertain how long the fight endured. The shiny eyes of heimin were like stars around her. Their howling challenged the gales. A suicidal attempt was made by a mad-eyed old woman wishing to sever Raski’s tendons. The horse trampled her, as well as a ferocious young peasant who was hardly more than a child.
    Tomoe’s mind seemed to disengage from the battle, her body’s skill acting alone. Her thoughts rose above the slaughter to look down through the beating torrent, and she spoke to herself: These people are innocent! These people are innocent ! But she was sworn to protect her Lord’s lands; and