Incursions

by Rusty Priske

Edited by Fred Wan

 


The city of Medinaat al-Salaam, across the Burning Sands…

 

Togashi Chuichi wore his light robe loosely around his shoulders. The heat here was intense and his monk garb from his time at home in Rokugan was not appropriate in Medinaat al-Salaam. That meant wearing clothing native to the area. Wearing their clothing did not hide who he was, nor did he want it to, but it kept him from being the object of everyone’s curiosity, all the time.

This mattered less when he was at the trading house, but here he was walking through the market, as he did every day at this time. He could have left the task to servants, but it was becoming more difficult to obtain food for the day, and the price was growing ever higher. It was nothing he could not afford, as the trading house was quite successful, but the drastic inflation gave the servants more opportunity to claim even higher prices to steal more of his funds.

He did not particularly care about the money, but the servants could not be allowed to believe that such actions were unnoticed.

Walking through the market also allowed Chuichi the chance to see what prices were being set on other things, which gave him a better ability to set proper terms in his own trades. He did not need to drive for better bargains when he was trading Rokugani goods that had very low value back home, but claimed a much higher premium here. Not getting full value for your goods would be noticed, though. He would be considered a fool at best. Worse, the other traders may have begun wondering why he was present, if not to earn profits.

Chiuchi stretched out his shoulder as he walked. He continued the training he received as a Hoshi monk, completing his katas and other exercises every morning, but he was still finding a growing stiffness in his limbs. It was not so much that others would notice, but his training demanded such awareness.

The stiff joints were new to Chiuchi, but he also recognized the source. He was aging. He was not near retirement, but the threshold for the effects of age was lower for those who used Kaze-do and their own muscles and sinews rather than steel as a weapon. He needed to redouble his efforts, but more importantly, he needed to report his findings and concerns. It may be that it was time for a new Dragon to maintain the Hoshi Trading House, here in Medinat al-Salaam.

As Chuichi passed the stalls of the market, he thought back to the way this area used to smell. Not the smells of sweat and more foul odors that seemed ever-present to his Rokugani nose, but the other, more pleasant smells. When he first came here he would walk through and absorb the scents from the food booths. His personal favorite was the roasted figs that would turn on a spit over a bed of coals.

Then there was the smell that first drew him to the man who was preparing meat in a bright red sauce. He was repelled once he realized what the smell had come from, and afterwards he convinced himself that it was the sauce that he smelled, and not the cooking flesh beneath. That allowed him to make this a more pleasant memory. The Senpet’s willingness to eat meat was not something that Chuichi enjoyed, but it was becoming less of an issue, as meat, like most foods in the area, became scarcer. Things were not dire, but hunger was never pleasant. He thanked the kami that he was not one of the poor who begged for scraps that no longer came.

There was still a smell that took Chuichi away from the less pleasant aspects of the market. He could always smell the Nahr’umar River. The river was a fascination to Chuichi. He could not explain it, but while he missed his mountain home, he also knew he would miss this river when he returned to Rokugan.

In truth, he would miss Medinat al-Salaam. Maybe he did not need to send the report of his infirmities just yet.

Chuichi dispelled that notion from his head. He was sent here by Hoshi Wayan to establish the Hoshi Trading House. He was surprised to receive word that his order had been absorbed and that he was now a Togashi. His reports now went to the new head of his order, Togashi Maya. He saw nothing in his instructions that told him he must rename the trading house, so it remained named in honor of the son of Togashi.

Things had changed since that time, however. Chuichi sent his reports to Maya, on the same schedule he had sent them to Wayan, but he never received any response to them. He did not know Maya well, so he was uncertain if it meant that she did not care about his reports, read them at all, or if she was just not one who shared her words of encouragement to those beneath her.

It was of no matter. Chuichi would do his duty until he was relieved or unable to serve at all.

Today’s primary duty involved finding a bushel of figs and maybe a small fish. Even monks needed to eat.

 

           

One week previously…

 

Moto Kunio scanned the steppes and grunted. “Who are they? My eyesight is not as good as yours.”

Utaku Arisa shook her head. “I am not sure. They sport strange markings, almost like the tattooed men of the Dragon, but they are not them.”

Kunio did not break his gaze but he mentally extended their course and said, “From their path it seems that they are headed to the Shinomen Forest.”

Arisa nodded. “I agree, but to what purpose?”

“Does it matter? We cannot allow them access to it. We have sworn to protect it, and even if we had not, allowing an unknown force into Rokugan would be unthinkable.”

“They have yet to show their intentions to be hostile,” Arisa said, “but we will have our forces ready to greet them no matter what their intentions.”

Kunio grunted again. “If these devil’s sons think we will stand aside and let them pass, they will die surprised!” He then turned away from the enemy and called out to another horseman. “Yuudai! Let us go out and intercept them. They do not get the shade of the Shinomen on this day!”

Arisa held up her hand. “Kunio-san, I respect your enthusiasm, but if I could suggest one adjustment. Rather than moving to assault, let us just cross their path. We shall put ourselves between them and the forest, and watch their reaction. We could learn much, as well as getting a stronger position if they do attack.”

Kunio mulled this for a moment and said, “Acceptable for now.”

Arisa then called to one of her fellow riders. “Chiasa, please fetch Ide Shinji. Hopefully he can tell us something we do not know.” She then nodded to Kunio who passed the gesture to Yuudai.

The Unicorn forces reacted to the orders quickly and orderly. They shifted en masse, not towards the advancing figures, but towards the space between them and the looming forest. Kunio and Arisa followed the other Unicorn, but maintained their watch.

“They do not seem to move with a purpose.” Kunio finally stated. “They almost look confused. Were they expecting an attack?”

Arisa shook her head. “I’m not sure. Now that they are closer… I feel like I should recognize them somehow. They are certainly not Rokugani.”

As she spoke Utaku Chiasa arrived with Ide Shinji. Shinji bowed slightly in his saddle. “You requested me, Arisa-san?”

“I was wondering if you could lend us your skills, Shinji-san. Can you make anything of these interlopers?”

Shinji looked across the steppes, as if he was noticing the approaching people for the first time. He stared for a moment before his face opened in shock. He waved off Arisa’s imminent question. “I have seen those markings in the histories!” he shouted. “These are vassals of the Ashalan!”

“Ashalan!” Kunio’s reaction was just as vehement. “I have read of them! Why would they be approaching Rokugan?”

“I don’t know.” Arisa shook her head slowly. “But we cannot assume this is an assault. Though, we need to be ready for…” Her voice trailed off as the Unicorn forces finished their tactical adjustment. The instant they were in position, the apparent Ashalan tattooed vassals stopped their advance.

“Now what are they doing?” The frustration in Kunio’s voice was clear. He did have long to wait to get the answer to his question. The moment the tattooed men found something in their path they seemed to assess their opposition. Then with bloodcurdling screams they charged.

 

           

Two weeks previously…

 

“I do not understand why we have been sent here.” Isawa Chihoko did not seem upset or annoyed; her statement was merely that.

Isawa Idomu barely glanced over at her. “There is no simple answer, I think. The Dark Oracle of Fire has been active along the Dragon border.”

“He cannot set foot in Rokugan.” Shiba Ryugo shrugged. “How active could he be?”

The fourth Phoenix present did not move, but her voice was quite insistent. “It would be a mistake to underestimate him.”

Idomu nodded at Agasha Orito’s words. “Agreed. In fact, he has sent crazed Yobanjin under his command to assault Dragon holdings along their northern border.”

Chihoko pondered this for a moment before saying, “Chosai’s grudge has always been against the Dragon. Why would we need to defend against him in Phoenix lands?”

“What if we did not?” Ryugo walked across the room to a window where he could scan the mountainside. “If the Dragon repel his assaults and he turns his focus to us, should we give him a foothold where the Dragon gave him none?”

Before any could respond to Ryugo’s rhetorical question, a shout came from outside. All four Phoenix rushed out the doorway to where they could see the guard post that overlooked the northern pass. They could see Isawa Zao, holding a flame aloft in the signal that hostiles were approaching.

Zao watched the Yobanjin approach, their intentions clear. “Turn back!” he commanded, his voice booming. “There is nothing here for you! Nothing but oblivion!”

The Yobanjin paid no heed as Zao readied his defenses. “Hold, Zao-san! Aid is here.” Idomu took her place next to Zao, with the others standing just behind. “Report.”

“The northern barbarians are staging an assault, Idomu-san. They have not heeded any of my instructions.” Zao seemed perturbed at the idea that they would not call off their attack on his order.

“It seems you were correct. Chosai has chosen a new target.” Ryugo drew his sword.

Orito shook her head. “I do not think so.”

“What do you mean?”

“Chosai’s followers were reported as being crazed and in some cases, actually burning from his warping of the kami. These Yobanjin do not look crazed. They look more…”

Idomu finished the sentence for her. “They look desperate.”

“Either way,” Ryugo stated, “they must have their advance stopped.”

Idomu nodded. “Agreed. Together I think we can stop them without raining death on this pass.” She looked at the other shugenja. “Agreed?” They all nodded.

Ryugo motioned towards the small group of troops waiting at the base of the tower. Their chui nodded and began barking orders. Ryugo turned back to the shugenja. “Do what you must,” he said. “My steel will buy you whatever time you need.”

He rushed to join the other Phoenix samurai awaiting his orders.

 

           

Three weeks previously…

 

Mirumoto Haruhide glanced around at the other men standing before the gate. He struggled to conceal his concern, but a slight frown crossed his face regardless. If the others saw it, they either gave no sign, or were so consumed with their own trepidation that they did not notice. There were far too few of them. Other troops were on the way, summoned from all over the surrounding mountains, but the secluded nature of the High House of Light made it all but impossible that any would arrive in time.

“Word has arrived from the Northern Towers,” Haruhide said, his tone grim. It was pointless to explain the situation, of course. His men knew the situation. Still, as their officer, it was incumbent upon him to address them before battle, and he had little else to say. “The line has been breached. The Dark Oracle’s forces have broken through. The line has been closed behind them, but there are enough trapped within our lands to pose a threat, and they are heading here.” He gestured to the massive mountain monastery behind him. “There are cavalry forces on the way from Shiro Mirumoto, but they will not arrive in time. We must hold the line, brothers.”

One of the men stepped forward and bowed deeply. “We will be honored to die with you today, gunso!”

Haruhide smiled slightly. “Nothing would make me prouder, but my plan is to live and win the day!” He drew his blade and held it above his head, drawing a cheer from his men. The chorus only served to remind him of how few they were.

“Ever the leader!” came a voice from behind them. “Your mood has brightened since our time at the dojo.”

Haruhide turned, his spirits rising at the sound of the voice. He saw the traveler coming up the path to the castle, and broke into a smile. He trotted forward to meet him. “Yoma-shi!” he said. The two men clasped forearms in greeting. It was a ritual they had adopted in their childhood, during a time when they were both fascinated with the culture and customs of the Unicorn Clan, and they had simply never abandoned it. “How did you arrive so quickly?”

“I was on the way on other business,” Mirumoto Yoma-shi replied. “I passed the herald and he told me what was happening. I thought perhaps I might join your forces for the moment, with your permission.”

“We would be honored.” He turned to his men. “My friend, the great swordsman Mirumoto Yoma-shi, senior student of the late Mirumoto Rosanjin, wishes to sand with us, men! What is our answer?”

The men cheered, even louder than before. Yoma-shi was something of a hero among the fighting men of the Dragon Clan, a contemporary of such prodigies as Mirumoto Hojatsu and the like. His presence would improve morale considerably, and of course he was one of the most capable fighters Haruhide had ever seen. Perhaps the day was not utterly lost.

The gates to the High House groaned suddenly as they opened, and Haruhide stared in surprise as ranks of tattooed monks filed out. There were dozens of them, standing shoulder to shoulder as if in formation, each of them tattooed with a series of bizarre and sometimes frightening tattoos. They all bowed, and held the gesture. “Gunso-sama,” one of the monks called out, “I am Togashi Chikato of the Brothers of Jade. We stand beside you in glorious defense of our home.”

Haruhide stood for a moment. “Brothers of Jade?”

“Those of us who have had the honor and privilege to stare into the Jade Mirror and emerge changed from the experience,” the monk explained. “I would be delighted to discuss the incident at length, but I believe our time may be short.” He gestured to the north.

Haruhide looked to the north and saw what appeared to be pinpricks of flame falling down the mountain to the north. But of course they were not pinpricks of flame, and they were not falling down the mountain.

They were running down the mountain, rushing toward the High House of Light.

“Very well then!” Haruhide shouted. “Stand at the ready, men! Battle draws near, and ours is the most sacred of duties! We stand to defend our Champion and his home! Let him hear your spirit, men! Satsu!”

The chorus of “Satsu!” was far louder than any of the previous shouts, and Haruhide could imagine that he felt his Champion’s attention focused on this small area from where he coiled, serpentine and glorious, in the highest tower of the monastery. “To battle!” he screamed as the first of the burning Yobanjin appeared over the crest of the mountain, moving with incredible speed. “For the Dragon!”

 

           

Medinaat al-Salaam, the present…

 

Togashi Chuichi folded a kimono and placed it back in its box. The quality of the garment was not exceptional, and would never do for someone in one of Rokugan’s major courts. Here in Medinaat al-Salaam, however, it did not need to be. His customers wanted something exotic and his simple Rokugani wares provided that. They paid well, though financial gain was not his interest. He took enough cash to sustain the house’s operation, of course, which was part of the reason he had been selected for the duty; any samurai would be shamed by such an act. Chuichi accepted barter as much as possible, however. He took Senpet artifacts in exchange whenever he could, for just as Rokugani goods were exotic to the Senpet, so were many of their items to a simple Dragon monk. More though, he traded for information. He had collected quite an impressive library of books and scrolls, and had developed quite a reputation as a scholar in the area. He felt that knowing and understanding those around you was very important if you were planning to be in the area for any length of time.

Once he finished straightening his goods, Chuichi fetched the small bag of food he had purchased in the market earlier. He had eaten a bit at his midday meal, but he had saved most for after his workday was completed. With the food becoming more expensive, mealtime was never a minor affair. He made the most of every bite and he thanked the kami for each taste.

That was one thing that Medinaat al-Salaam had taught Chuichi. Nothing should be taken for granted.

The monk took up one of a lot of scrolls he had been traded earlier in the week. The man trading them was a wispy little thing, clearly poor and hungry, and claimed to have found the trunk containing them in an abandoned building elsewhere in the city. Normally Chuichi was leery of such claims, but the trunk was covered in such a thick coat of dust that he had believed the stories, and paid the man enough to feed him and his family for a week. Compassion was the duty of all enlightened souls, after all.

Chuichi wiped the dust from the scroll’s seal as he chewed one of the figs. There was still a great deal of grime in the grooves and recesses, but it looked familiar. The monk frowned. Was that not the seal of a Unicorn family? He had seen it before, that much was certain. What in the world would a Rokugani seal be doing here?

He broke the seal and carefully unrolled the scroll, the bag of figs momentarily forgotten. He squinted at the writing. It was in a cipher of some sort, but it was one he had seen before, and he believed he would be able to decipher it given enough time. Even now he could see that it appeared to be a journal of some sort, detailing someone’s time spent in the city. He searched for a name amid the entries. Was that the Iuchi name?

There was a creak from behind him, and instincts that he had long since allowed to grow dull sprang to new life. He leapt to the side, the scroll falling to the ground, the bag of figs beside him spilling onto the floor. Chuichi was not as fast as he had once been, however, and there was a terrible pain as metal bit deeply into his shoulder. He rolled away and sprang up into a martial arts stance, silently thanking the Fortunes that he had maintained his kata all the time he had been within the Sands.

His black-clad assailant was almost impossible to see in the darkness. He or she wore swirling black robes that completely obscured every detail, rendering the assassin little more than a pool of shadows. For a moment Chuichi felt a sharp pang of terror that some vestige of the Lying Darkness has discovered him, but he forced those thoughts away; that entity had been destroyed decades ago by the Dragon Champion of another era. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice strangely calm despite the screaming of his instincts.

The assailant did not answer. Instead, he withdrew a hand from the folds of his wispy black robes, and tossed a handful of powder onto the floor of the house. The smell was almost overpowering, and everything the powder touched was instantly consumed in flames. The scroll burned as Chuichi watched. “For the Ebon Daughter!” a gravelly whisper hissed from within. Then the form leaped to the window and disappeared into the night.

Chuichi leapt across the room at once, grabbing up a pitcher of water and dousing the scroll at once. Between the fire and water, there would likely be very little still legible, but he snatched it up at once and tried to salvage as much as he could.

What could the scroll contain that could be worth an assassination?