The Twilight War Read Free Page B

bowls. As usual, she was dressed in an elegant kimono, her long hair bound carefully, make-up applied, plum-scented perfume on her wrists. Though trained in shinobi ways, Heron had been born and raised a noblewoman, taught from childhood that a lady must always be the essence of beauty, poise and dignity. Throughout years of teaching Moonshadow the art of disguises, the science of potions and even the secrets of naginata fighting – combat with a bladed pole – she had flawlessly maintained that ladylike aura.
    Groundspider crouched behind Heron, and passed out the food. The opposite of Heron in almost every way, he wore a stained jacket and his hair, though tied, was a bundle of tangles and escaping strands. The big-framed shinobi was the closest thing Moonshadow had to an older brother, though his sheer size and muscular build made it plain the two weren’t truly related. Their appetiteswere in sharp contrast too: Moonshadow ate like a bird, Groundspider like a horse. Watching him eye the food and lick his lips, Moonshadow grinned knowingly. Make that two horses.
    On an iron cooking plate over one corner of the fire pit, thin fillets of eel steamed. Their aroma plumed, drowning the scent of Heron’s perfume and making Moonshadow’s nose twitch and stomach flutter in anticipation. Groundspider sniffed the air and gave a low moan of delight. Eagle and Mantis closed their eyes, quietly savouring the aroma.
    â€˜Slept in, Moon?’ Snowhawk called from opposite him. He shrugged and nodded. Her small mouth puckered teasingly. She was already dressed in daytime training clothes, hair combed and tied neatly, large eyes bright. On any other day, he’d retort with friendly jibes of his own. But with the dream still fresh in his mind, he found it oddly hard to look at her, let alone engage in banter. He flashed Snowhawk a vague smile, then looked away.
    Eagle and Brother Mantis bowed gratefully as Heron distributed the strips of eel on tiny plates, along with sets of chopsticks. The meal and implements in place, Heron and Groundspider joined the others at the low wooden table.
    â€˜Brother Badger informed me that he’s already eaten,’ Eagle said, adding with a hint ofimpatience, ‘but of course will join us very shortly for the special briefing.’
    The group bowed their heads in silence to thank the gods for the privilege of once again having food. Then everyone took up their chopsticks and ate with relish. Clicking sounds and murmurs of approval filled the air until the bowls and plates were empty.
    Mantis put down his chopsticks and dabbed his mouth with a soft cloth. His melancholic eyes locked on Moonshadow.
    â€˜Well, still no Badger. You made it, but you look a little out of sorts. Were you up half the night again, thanks to those infernal beasts?’ Mantis asked sympathetically.
    Moonshadow nodded, hoping his perceptive duelling coach – and everybody else – would probe no further. But Mantis was as sharp as his sword, so probably wasn’t fooled. Once a ronin, he had duelled for a living in his youth, attaining legendary status but taking many lives. A faded scar on his cheek remained a souvenir of those days. Though his skill was undiminished and he loved to teach what he called ‘scientific duelling’, the mature Mantis followed the Way of the Buddha as many older, more philosophical samurai did. From time to time, he spoke of his many regrets.
    Officially, the Grey Light Order was anindependent chapter of warrior monks. In reality, they were mostly shinobi, with a mandate to safeguard the Shogun. But Mantis had practically become a real warrior monk, complete with a shaven head. Now he denounced killing, whether of guards or enemies, unless there was simply no option.
    Brother Mantis himself, Moonshadow decided, also looked a little haggard. That was understandable. A fitful sleeper at the best of times, he often stayed up late, hunched over a writing