Perhaps they meant to capture him. Perhaps the Shogun would demand he commit seppuku in front of the court. Such an end Yoshiro would not accept.
He urged his horse one way and then the other. But with each move, the foot soldiers drew back. Yoshiro pulled up. He had no wish to see his steed uselessly killed. It was a beautiful animal and his only advantage.
“Fight me!” he demanded, turning from quarter to quarter. “Fight me if you have any honor!”
A primal grunt caught his attention. A spear was hurled his way. With superb reflexes, Yoshiro parried the incoming missile, slicing through the wooden shaft with his sword, both deflecting and dividing it. The weapon fell harmlessly in two pieces.
“Do not attack!” a voice shouted from behind the mass of troops. “His head belongs to me.”
The soldiers straightened at the sound of the command and one section of the circle opened, allowing the rider to enter.
Yoshiro recognized the silk draping of the horse, the golden breastplates of the armor and the winged helmet. The Shogun had come to fight at last.
“Kasimoto!” Yoshiro called out. “I did not think you’d have the courage to cross swords with me in person.”
“I would not allow any other to vanquish a traitor,” Kasimoto said, drawing a sword of his own, a katana like Yoshiro’s, though it was a darker weapon with a thicker blade. “You swore allegiance to me as feudal lord. You are in rebellion.”
“And you swore to protect the people, not murder them and steal their land.”
“My authority is absolute,” the Shogun bellowed. “Over them and over you. I cannot steal what is already mine. But if you beg for it, I will be merciful.”
The Shogun whistled and a small group of prisoners were brought out. Children. Two boys and two girls. They were forced to kneel while servants of the Shogun stood behind them with daggers.
“I have more than a thousand captives,” the Shogun said. “And with your rabble defeated, nothing stands between me and the village. If you surrender now and take your own life, I will kill only half the prisoners and leave the village standing. But if you fight me, I will slaughter them to the last man, woman or child and I’ll burn the village to ash.”
Yoshiro had known it would come to this. But he also knew that many in the Shogun’s ranks had grown weary of the brutality, expecting it to land on them sooner or later. That gave him one flicker of hope. If he could kill the Shogun here and now, wiser minds might prevail. At long last, there might be peace.
Yoshiro considered his chances. The Shogun was a cunning warrior, strong and possessing great expertise, but he and his horse were unmarked by blood, sweat or soil. It had been a long time since the Shogun fought for his life.
“What answer do you give?”
Yoshiro kicked his horse in the side and charged, raising his gleaming sword above his head.
The Shogun reacted slowly but deflected the attack at the last moment and urged his animal forward, passing Yoshiro on the left.
The warriors swapped sides, turned and charged once again. This time, the armored animals collided at the center of the circle. Both horses buckled from the impact. Their riders were thrown to the ground.
Yoshiro sprang up first, attacking with a deadly thrust.
Kasimoto parried the assault and
jumped to the side, but Yoshiro spun and slashed downward.
With each clash of the swords, sparks flew from the blades. The Shogun regained his form and an uppercut from him tore Yoshiro’s helmet off, opening a gash on his cheek. A return strike from Yoshiro took off one of Kasimoto’s shoulder boards.
Angered and in pain, the Shogun came on furiously, slashing, feinting and hacking, using a deadly combination.
Yoshiro reeled from the attack, nearly losing his balance. The Shogun went for his throat with a cut that should have separated head from body, but with a desperate flick of the hands, Yoshiro deflected the strike with the flat side of his sword.
The impact should have broken his weapon into useless pieces, but Yoshiro’s blade took the blow, flexed and deflected the strike away from him.
In a counterattack, Yoshiro unleashed a powerful crosscut that found Kasimoto’s midsection. The edge of the blade was so sharp and the strike so fierce that it gashed through the painted steel plate and the hardened leather, drawing blood from the Shogun’s ribs.
A gasp came from the soldiers gathered around. Kasimoto stumbled back, clutching his side. He gazed at Yoshiro in astonishment. “Your blade remains in one piece while my armor is carved like wet cloth. There can only be one reason for that. The rumors are true, you hold the weapon of the great swordmaker. The Masamune.”
Yoshiro held the gleaming sword proudly. “This weapon was handed down to me from my father and from his father before him. It’s the finest blade of all the Master’s works. And it shall bring an end to your vile life.”
The Shogun pulled off his helmet in order to breathe and see better. “A powerful weapon indeed,” he said. “One I shall treasure when I pull it from your dead hand—but my sword is the greater of the two. It is the blade that thirsts for blood.”