Akitada fell onto the road, but managed to roll out of the

way of the pounding hooves. Slashing swords missed him by

inches. When they were past, he tried to get up, staggered, then

saw one horseman turning back, bent low over his horse’s neck,

his sword ready. Akitada was still swaying when a strong hand

grasped the back of his robe and pulled him out of the way.

Haseo.

Muttering his thanks, Akitada rubbed dust from his eyes

and shook his head to clear it. Somehow he still gripped his

sword. The horseman reined in, turned, and charged again,

scattering loose stones and screaming hoarsely. Tora was now

beside Akitada, crouched low, his short sword ready. Akitada

caught only a glimpse of Haseo’s face; he was grinning, his eyes

bright with the joy of battle. Then the rider was upon them and

they jumped clear, slashing at his horse’s legs. They heard the

animal scream, saw the man fall, and then the other horsemen

came, and they slashed and swung some more, and thrust at

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I . J . P a r k e r

horses, at the legs of men, ducking and parrying the swords of

their attackers. This time, they wounded two horses and killed

one man, but Haseo was bleeding from a cut to his shoulder,

and Tora’s sword was broken.

“Back,” gasped Akitada. “We’ve got to get back to the build-

ings where they can’t ride us down. We’ll force them to meet us

on foot.” A strange exhilaration had seized him. He wanted to

taste victory and savor its sweetness.

He and Haseo ran to the narrow passageway between the

farm and an outbuilding. Up on the ridge, Kumo was shouting

orders again. His bannerman now joined the remaining sol-

diers. Only five left? No time to count.

Tora, swordless, was slowly backing away from a horseman

who had been thrown by his wounded horse and attacked on

foot. Tora crouched, dodged, and jumped out of the way of the

furious sweeps of the other man’s sword. Akitada rushed for-

ward, swung down hard, and severed the man’s sword hand at

the wrist. The wounded man was still staring stupidly at the

stump when Tora snatched up the fallen sword and ran it

through the man’s throat. The body arched back, the man’s eyes

already glassy in death. When Tora jerked free the blade, the

wound vomited forth a stream of blood like a second mouth.

The man fell forward, convulsed, and lay still.

On the road the four other soldiers had dismounted and

were coming toward them, slowly now, swords in hand, in a half

crouch. Kumo had finally realized his mistake.

But still the high constable kept his distance, alone and aloof

on his magnificent horse, waiting and watching.

They faced the oncoming enemy side by side, the wall of the

farmhouse to their right, and the fence of the drying yard to

the left. There was not enough room for the attackers to get

past and come at them from the back, but if Kumo’s men re-

membered their training, they could easily overcome them by

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

361

working together. It is impossible to parry two swords simulta-

neously if one slices from above and the other thrusts from

below at the belly.

Akitada warily watched as two men came for him. When they

decided to move, one raised himself on his toes with an earsplit-

ting shriek and rushed Akitada, his sword held above his head

with both hands. He clearly hoped that Akitada would back away

and he could bring his sword down to split Akitada’s head. For-

tunately, this dramatic attack caused the second man to hesitate,

and Akitada, instead of backing away, crouched and lunged, his

sword held in front with its blade pointing upward. His attacker

impaled himself with such force that the sword penetrated to the

hilt, and Akitada had to put his foot against the body to pull it

free in time to meet the belated attack of the second man.

Whether this one had learned from his mate’s mistake or

was afraid for his life, he circled back and forth without making

a move. Akitada could hear the clanging of steel against steel,

the thumps and grunts, as Haseo and Tora dealt with their

opponents, but he did not take his eyes off this man, for a lapse

in attention could cost him his life.

In the end it was the other man who glanced away to see

how his companions were faring, and Akitada quickly slipped

under his guard and killed him.

He stood, rubbing his sore right arm, looking around him

in a daze, and saw that they had survived and their attackers

had not. Four bodies lay in the farmhouse passageway, some

still, some twitching, one vomiting blood. Tora looked unhurt,

and at first glance Haseo also, but then Akitada saw the hand

pressed against the abdomen, the fixed smile, the defiant wide-

legged stance, and knew something was terribly wrong.

“Haseo?”

“The bastard got me from below, I’m afraid,” said Haseo

through stiff lips.

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“How bad is it?”

“Bad. I’m afraid to take my hand away, but it went in pretty

far. I think I’d better sit down.”

They helped Haseo, leaned him against the fence. Akitada

looked at Haseo’s hand, pressed hard against his waist, and

saw the blood seeping through the fingers. His heart contracted

in pity.

“Sir!” Tora pulled his arm and pointed.

Kumo was finally coming down from his embankment. At

the farmhouse, he dismounted, tying up his horse, and walked

toward them. Akitada rose and seized his sword.

Kumo stopped about ten feet away. Close up, he still looked

magnificent, tall and slender, with his golden helmet and his

gold-trimmed armor laced in green silk. But the handsome face

was pale and covered with perspiration.

“So,” he said, his right hand clasping his sword, its hilt also

gold but its blade gleaming blue steel, “you have left me no

choice.”

“You have that backward, Kumo. You chose this way. It’s too

late now to complain because you have chosen death.”

Kumo laughed bitterly. “You fool! I could have killed you

many times myself. I could have had you killed by my men. But

I did not. Now you force me to commit the ultimate sin, the sin

which will cost me eternity.”

What nonsense was this? In any case, the slow death Kumo

had condemned him to in his mine would have been much

worse than any quick strike of the sword. Then Akitada caught

a glimmer of sense in what Kumo had said. He gestured at the

farmyard and the road, both covered with the corpses of men

and horses, the stench of their blood filling the hot midday air

and attracting the first buzz of flies. “This is your handiwork,

Kumo. You are the bringer of death, as guilty as if you had shed

their blood yourself.”

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

363

“No!” Kumo flushed with anger. “I never touched them.

My hands are clean. I never killed man or beast.” He stared at

Akitada, at Tora and Haseo behind him, then back at Akitada.

“Now you force me to kill you and your companions. The great

undertaking must not be jeopardized. I am sacrificing my Bud-

dhahood for my emperor.” He made a deep bow toward the sea;

then the hand with the sword came forward.

Akitada stood, his sword loose in his hand, its point down-

ward. He thought of the difference between them: Kumo rested

and fully armed, both his body and head protected by that

extraordinary suit of armor, with a superb blade on his sword—

he, in Tora’s blue robe and pants, both now blood-spattered,