Two black oxen led the caravan, their cart loaded down with goods. The men who walked alongside were no merchants, however. Deep scars etched the face of the lead guard. A full sake jar was slung casually over his shoulder, and he laughed with one hand on his sword. Blood stained his grey kimono - fresh blood, too, from the look of it. Ronin and bandits, not merchants at all.

The men were in good spirits as they sloshed up out of the river. The oxen shuddered in the winter cold, but the bandits obviously intended to press on. Yet more food stolen - probably to feed the last remains of the Phoenix rebels. Innocent blood shed for Phoenix pride. Peasants die that maho-tsukai may eat.

Across the river, the last of the bandits struggled with the second wagon. The lone ox pulling the over-heavy cart refused to enter the bitter water. A bit of bright, crimson silk fell from the cart and began to drift lazily down-stream. The bandit shouted across the river to his fellows. They laughed at his difficulty, but splashed back into the silver water, grudgingly willing to help.

Soon, both carts were across the cold river, and began to trek through the ash-coloured morning. They were heading south, away from the mountains.

Away from Mori Kage Toshi.

Mukami had been tracking these bandits for two days, since he saw them leave the Shadow Forest. What business they had there he did not know, but surely they had found no merchant caravan traversing that haunted place.

South of the river, the pair of carts, grey with autumn dust, turned to the west. Well before evening settled twilight onto the land, they passed an inn. As they had done at the last inn the day before, they passed on, not stopping. Only when the moonless night enfolded the Empire in its dark grasp did they appear to make camp.

Even in the dark and cold, they did not make a fire, but waited out the darkness in silence. Last night, Mukami had waited perched in the crook of a tree, for they were still near to the woodlands of the Phoenix - the trees that grew there now were blasted and stunted things, but they could still support the weight of a man. This night, he sat in the long grass, keeping himself awake by reciting the Law, and when that was done, by reciting the duties of the Emerald Magistrates.

Throughout the night he sat awake, counting the Laws. Ever he kept his ears on the bandit camp. These bandits had a secret, he thought. Lord Tsuruchi had vanished amongst the trees and shadows of Mori Kage. The peasants told tales of ghosts and shadows in the night; the bravest amongst them would not dare those woods after Amaterasu's light had set. These bandits had left those woods in the pale light of dawn, jokes and laughter on their lips. These bandits had a secret, and Mukami would find it from them.

It seemed years until the pale fingers of dawn edged above the horizon, and began to wet the frost which touched the grass in which he sat. Carefully, making no sound, Mukami peered over the grey tips of the grass. Sheltered by a stand of brush, the carts and their crimson silks glared against the pale backdrop like fire in the dark.

Of the bandits, even of the oxen, there was no sign.