Its five eyes glimmered at the edge of the lantern-light like hidden jewels. Green chitin caught the light briefly, as it moved through the darkness. Here, in the encampment of men, it was seeking its prey. Its bladed forelimbs snapped upward as it reacted to a sudden motion behind it - a great shadow plummeted from the heights of air to snatch up the hunter and carry it away....
Masasue smiled as he carried the insect, the symbol of his clan, across the camp. If he believed in omens, this would be a good one. Gently placing the hunter in a large, woven basket, he turned to a nearby, tiny wooden cage. He dropped the struggling cricket into the darkness as he closed the lid. One must feed a guest.
"Hey! Masasue-san! Slow down!" The voice called up the hill. He sighed, coming to a halt at the crest. Before them, the morning lit a great expanse of fields. The Lion provinces. Behind them lay the mountains, and ruin, and the Crane. The young bushi panted to his side, winded lightly from the climb. "Why do you always hurry so, eh? You act as though every thing were vital. The Fortunes are with us. We cannot -"
"The Fortunes are dead, or blind. I am old, and have seen years enough for some.
"But my years have shown be that every thing _is_ vital. Osano-Wo has greater cares than _your_ life." The aging mercenary surveyed the plain before them. Within days, they would near Shiro Matsu. The first step on this road. "The last of the Kami died three years ago. Do you think that they look fondly on all who fought there?"
Masasue's arm swept out, pointing down the hill behind them, back into the encampment, where a broken man sat in the dust, giving young shugenja a lesson in how to be a warrior, how to master the fire within. Fire that he would never more weild in battle. Yoritomo Nobuo, one of the most powerful warrior-priests alive, would never stand again.
"Look carefully at what Fate did, and tell me that you would let it rule your life."
Masasue sat, looking even older in the firelight, staring across at
the bushi who followed him. To them, he was a hero, one who had fought
in the Clan Wars, who had seen the Thunders with his own eyes. To
himself, he was tired, his back ached, his _eyes_ felt dirty from the
wasteland they left in their wake. He was no hero, but only someone
unafraid to do what must be done, to count what cost needed counting,
and to try ever and always to end better than he began.
This venture had begun as a simple thing, with easy profit; to reach and claim the Scorpion lands. They rightfully belonged to his clan, and his Daimyo. The Crane had seen fit to turn this into a war of attrition, with great losses for little gain.
Pfeh! No mind for the truth, the Crane. Yet even now, his Daimyo was meeting with one of the Crane. A silent meeting at night between Yoritomo-sama and a Doji who once stood by the Alliance. All this for trusting a Lion-turned-Emperor. For trusting Destiny.
There were mutterings amongst the shugenja of New Prophecy, that the Phoenix had foreseen the future. In Masasue's experience, prophecy brought doom, and hardship, and death. He truly hoped that the Phoenix had not been so foolish.
Destiny or no, he would stand by his Lord and his Clan. He would do what needed doing, and sacrifice what needed to be sacrificed. Give Masasue an objective, and he would take it, one way or another, no matter the cost.
If only he knew his Lord's objective. To Masasue, the path seemed simple: turn, and crush the Kuwanan's army beneath their heels, and spill enough blood that the Crane would run home, to hide themselves in shame. End this game. It was a game that had cost enough in blood and gold, and could hold no profit.
Yet still they marched north, and allowed the Crane to follow. Yoritomo Masasue did not know where this road led, and only cared that the army of Doji Kuwanan not be allowed to trail behind without suffering the cost.
Ah, movement. While much of the encampment slept, the Doji was led from the Daimyo's tent, and escorted away by Wasp skirmishers. The Crane had been allowed to live. For now. Had Masasue his way, the Doji would be sent in pieces to his own Daimyo, as a warning.
Masasue opened the basket at his side. A cricket lurched out in a panic, almost landing in the fire. Another bound, and it was away into the night. Masasue looked into the basket.
Five jewelled eyes stared back at him.
Patience.