"No, Lady, I swear it. I have told you he is not the enemy, that was a lone madman, not one of ours, I keep say--"
"You have to leave, you must," Koiko said in a tiny voice. "Please go. Please go now, please. Quickly."
"There is no need to worry or be afraid.
None."
"Oh, but I am, I am terrified, and terrified that someone should, should denounce you, Yoshi would..." The words seemed to suspend themselves in the air between them. Their eyes locked, Sumomo willing her, Koiko helpless and wilting under their strength. Both seemed to have aged, Koiko torn apart that she could have been so naive and that her idol had used her so evilly, Sumomo furious that she was so stupid not to have agreed instantly the moment this meddlesome whore had proposed she should leave.
Fool, fool, both were thinking. "I will do as you say," Sumomo muttered, "I will leave even though..."
The shoji opened. Yoshi strode in jauntily, heading for the inner room. Their trance shattered. They hastily bowed. He stopped in midstride, all his senses shrieking danger.
"What is it?" he asked sharply. He had noticed their instant of fear before their heads bowed.
"Noth... nothing, Sire," Koiko said, collecting herself as Sumomo hurried for the brazier to fetch fresh tea. "You will have tea, breakfast perhaps?"
His eyes went from woman to woman.
"What-is-it?" he said slowly, the words like ice needles.
Sumomo knelt humbly, "We, we were so sorry not to be going with you, Sire, it was just that, just that the Lady Koiko was so sad. May I serve tea, Sire?"
The silence gathered. His fists bunched on his hips, face set, bare legs planted.
"Koiko! Tell-me-now!"
Koiko's mouth began to move but the words would not come out. Sumomo's heart stopped, then thundered in her ears as Koiko dragged herself to her feet, tears beginning and she stammered, "You see, she... it is true but she is not quite what ..."
Instantly Sumomo was on her feet, her right hand darting into her sleeve and bringing out a shuriken.
Yoshi set his teeth, seeing it. Her arm curled back for the throw--he was unarmed, an open target, his swords in the inner room. At once he ducked left, hoping the feint would confuse her, preparing to hurl himself at her, his eyes fixed on her hand. Unperturbed, she aimed for his chest and threw viciously.
The barbed circle of steel spun across the room. Frantically he arched his body and skewed around. One of the barbs caught the edge of his kimono and sliced through the material but touched no flesh and went on to disappear through the shoji and thwackked into one of the posts in the inner room as, jerked off balance by the supreme effort, he slammed into a wall and buckled into a heap.
For an instant everything seemed a slow dream ...
Sumomo reaching endlessly in her sleeve for the next shuriken, seeing only the great enemy lying helpless and his dimwitted whore who had caused this unnecessary conclusion gaping at her, a pillar of fear --but feeling no fear herself, only elation, sure that this was her zenith, the moment she had been born for and had trained all her life for, and that now, invincible champion of the shishi, she would conquer and, dying, live in legend forever...
Koiko, standing paralyzed, aghast that she had been duped by the godlike guru who had betrayed her, told her nothing but lies, the girl equally a cheat, and because of them this monstrous conspiracy was happening: her Patron would die and even if he did not die, she was disgraced and would die, either by his hand or those of the guards, everything in this life wasted, never to marry her samurai, never to have sons, never in this life, better to end it quickly by her own hand than foully by theirs but how, how, and then she remembered Sumomo's knife...
Yoshi craning around from the floor, frantic to see the next throw, hauling his feet under him for the charge he had to make or die, everything taking so much time, his mind exploding that he had been nursing a viper in his embrace, then his eyes saw Sumomo's hand with the second shuriken--how many does she have?--her lips drawn back from her very white teeth...
The frozen instant ended.
Sumomo hesitated, exulting in the kill, but the moment was too long and she saw Koiko come out of her trance and the knife appear in her hand.
Instinctively she shifted her aim, caught herself, wavered, aimed at Yoshi again and began the throw, but at that instant Koiko lurched forward, tripped over her hem and sprawled toward her.
The spinning shuriken embedded itself in Koiko's chest and she cried out and that gave Yoshi time to lunge at Sumomo from the floor. He caught one of her ankles and brought her down, stabbed fingers for her throat but she was an eel and twisted away, trained in martial arts, her hand seeking the last shuriken. Before she could reach it, his iron fingers grabbed part of her kimono, tore half the sleeve off, inhibiting her. Again she squirmed from his grasp and was on her feet in a second, but now he was too.
At once she shrieked a nerve-racking battle cry, bunched her hand and threw again. He was transfixed, dead--yet her hand was empty, the throw only a feint, the last shuriken still caught in her torn sleeve.
As she groped for it the shoji behind her was jerked open by the guard. "Quick," she shouted, pointing at Koiko writhing and moaning on the floor, distracting and directing him. As he darted forward, she ripped his long sword out of its sheath, raised it and hacked, wounding him, and in the same movement turned for Yoshi. But he had leapt back a pace, jumped over Koiko's prone, squirming body and sprinted for the inner room and his swords, bursting through the closed shoji, Sumomo in fierce pursuit.
His sword hissed out of the scabbard. He spun, parried the first blow violently, and pivoted in the enclosed space. Fearlessly Sumomo attacked and was again parried while Yoshi measured her and she measured him. Another flurry of blows, she an impeccable sword fighter, as he was.
Now he attacked and was held and they broke off and circled, then she darted back through the shoji seeking more space, he close behind her and they circled seeking an opening. Outside there were shouts. Guards converged, the wounded samurai half blocking the doorway. Knowing there was little time Sumomo increased the pressure, lunged forward, then swivelled to put her back to the door and they hacked at each other, parry and blow, parry and blow. Yoshi twisted, forcing her around once more, but losing the initiative.
He saw Abeh rush for her back, sword raised, and he snarled, "No! Leave her to me!" and almost got decapitated, retreating in temporary disorder.
Obediently Abeh backed off. Another wild skirmish, Yoshi regaining his balance just in time. Both of them well matched, Yoshi vastly more strong though not as practiced.
Now their hilts locked. Quickly she disengaged, knowing he must beat her in such a clinch, stepped back, feinted then hurtled forward in a blind, unorthodox blitz, her sword edge cut into his shoulder. It would have disabled a less skilled fighter, but he had anticipated the blow and suffered only a minor wound though he cried out and dropped his guard pretending a great hurt.
Carelessly she went in for the kill. But he was not exactly where she expected. His sword arched up ferociously from the ground catching her unawares, the blow slicing through her left wrist and sending it flying with the sword, her fingers still gripping the hilt.
She stared at the stump of her arm astonished, blood spurting up and out in a huge stream. There was no pain. Her other hand grabbed the stump and slowed the flow. Guards raced forward to seize her but again Yoshi cursed them away, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, watching her so very carefully. "Who are you?"
"Sumomo Fujahito... shishi," she gasped, her courage and strength ebbing fast, then, with the last of her spirit, whimpered, "sonno-joiiii," released her grip on her wrist, groped for the last shuriken, found it, dug one of the poisoned barbs into her arm and stumbled forward to jam it into him. But he stood ready.
The great blow took her perfectly where her neck joined her body and sliced across and through her to come out just under her arm. Those watching sucked in their breaths as one man, sure that they had witnessed a happening that would be passed from mouth to mouth for centuries and proved this man a worthy descendent of the great Shogun and bearer of his name.
But all were rocked also, at the sight of so much blood.
Abeh recovered his voice first. "What happened, Lord?"
"I won," Yoshi said grimly, examining his shoulder, blood staining his kimono, an ache in his side and his heart still violent.
"Get a doctor... then we'll leave."
Men raced to do his bidding. Abeh tore his eyes off Sumomo's corpse. Koiko was moaning and squirming pitifully, her nails clawing the tatami, gashing it. He went towards her, stopped as Yoshi said, "Careful, fool!
She was part of the conspiracy!" Cautiously Abeh kicked Sumomo's knife to one side.
"Turn her over!" He obeyed, with his foot.
There was only the slightest sign of blood.
The shuriken had pinned her kimono to her flesh, stanching the seepage, more than half of the steel buried in her. Apart from the pulsating agony that twisted her face in waves, she was as breathtaking as ever.
Yoshi was filled with hatred.
Never had he been so close to death. The other attack was nothing compared to this one. How he had managed to withstand the onslaught and sneak attack, he could not understand. Half a dozen times he had been, knowingly, beaten, and the terror at the brink was not as he had imagined it to be. That terror will unman anyone, he thought, wanting to hack Koiko to pieces in fury for her betrayal, or to leave her to her agony.
Her hands were clawing impotently at her chest, at the huge pain centered there, trying to tear away the thing that was causing it. But she could not. A shudder racked her. Her eyes opened and she saw Yoshi standing there and her hands left her chest and went to her face, trying to make her hair neat for him.