Tora troops gathered on the other side of the river; row upon row of bushimen, banner-bearers, a few Iron Samurai in bone-white armor. The tiger standards were brilliant red—the red of blood. The blood spilled repelling the Tora assault. The blood Kitsune must spill again in futile combat against their own cousins, while the true threat swelled to the south.
The thought boiled in Yukiko’s veins, jaw clenched as she listened to the field commanders briefing General Ginjiro. The Tora numbered near one thousand, but the bridges would bottleneck their charge. The Kitsune shuriken-throwers would cut them down like lotus fronds as they streamed across—it seemed the Tigers wished for one last, suicidal battle to bring some measure of glory to their doomed endeavor.
“The Tora have few sky-ships, General,” Yukiko said. “Their air support will not last a moment against a pack of thunder tigers. Save your men. We’ll deal with the Tora.”
The Tiger troops parted like water, a retinue of Kazumitsu Elite stomping to the edge of the bridge. Buruu growled, a long rumbling note of hatred that set his armor squealing. Yukiko saw Hiro at the forefront, skin painted with ashes. His sword knot was still tied, his men carrying the white flag of parlay.
“Who is he?” Ginjiro asked.
“Tora Hiro, Daimyo of the Tiger zaibatsu,” Yukiko spat. “Not a man in this city is more deserving of a wretched end. If you’ll excuse us for a minute, we’ll go give it to him.”
“Puppet he may be, but he is still a Daimyo. I will obey the forms of Bushido. I will hear his words.”
Ginjiro nodded to his retinue, walked to the opposite end of the bridge, surrounded on all sides by Iron Samurai. Yukiko rode beside him on Buruu’s back, the air around them crackling with static electricity. She stared at Hiro across the bare expanse of snowcapped stone, the wind between them mournful and hungry.
“Kitsune Ginjiro,” Hiro said, covering his fist.
“Tora Hiro.” The general bowed. “It pleases me to put face to reputation.”
“Rumor has it you intend to march south to confront the Yomi legions spilling from the ruins of First House.”
“You hear much from your cage, Hiro-san. My compliments. But you speak true. When you and your men are stains upon the stone at my feet, we will turn south and face the true enemy, still marveling at your folly.”
Hiro glanced at Yukiko, his face a mask, one hand on the hilt of his chainkatana. “Forgiveness, General, but we do not wish to fight against you. We wish to march beside you.”
Buruu’s claws cracked the flagstones to rubble, the packmates soaring overhead bringing the thunder with their wings.
“You’re a godsdamned liar, Hiro,” Yukiko spat. “You murdered Michi, along with a thousand other Kitsune warriors. And if not for the deeds of a brave few, most of whom are dead now, you’d be toasting this city’s conquest with the skulls of the dead.”
“Yukiko.” Hiro looked at her, those perilous green eyes hard and cool. “For once, this is not about you and me.”
Thunder rolled overhead, fanged winds chewing at the gulf between them. Yukiko grit her teeth, hands in fists. Tempted to just reach in and squeeze …
“What you said on the Death…” He looked around at the ruins he’d made. “You were right, Yukiko. I came to this city to die. I gave no thought for afterwards. All I wanted was to feel clean again. But I was blind. All of us, blind. To the world we built and the monsters we served. And She rises, or so we hear. The Mother of Demons, spoken of in the Book of Ten Thousand Days. And if the code we followed and the lives we lived led us here, to this place, where the Hells themselves have opened, then what good was any of it? The code? Our lives?”
“Who told you about the Endsinger?” Yukiko said. “That She rises?”
“I did.”
Yukiko turned, saw Kaori step from the Fox soldiers, black swathed, pale skin.
“Forgive me, sister, but you said yourself we must put aside the past. We are stronger with the Tora than without them. And we will need all our strength in the days ahead.”
Hiro nodded. “In the Book of Ten Thousand Days, the people pray to the Heavens to save them. But I think it within us to save ourselves.”
“So now you command your men to fight beside us?” Yukiko growled. “Where once you’d have gladly slaughtered us?”
“I command nothing,” Hiro said. “Each man behind me was presented with the choice. Each has chosen to fight. As I have chosen. For the future of this nation.”
“You cared nothing for the future yesterday.”
His eyes betrayed him; a quick glance to her belly then back to her face.
“Yesterday, I had no stake in it.”
Hiro walked across the bridge until he stood face-to-face with Yukiko and Buruu. And there, he drew his chainkatana, and with obvious difficulty, lifted his left hand from its sling and sliced his palm. He offered it to Yukiko, blood spattering onto the stone in tiny, steaming droplets.
She blinked. Searched his face. Finally spoke.
“Nothing has changed. Nothing is different between us. You must know that.”