Read Online The Disfavored Hero by Jessica Amanda Salmonson - Free Book Online Page B

of samurai far better than this descendant of spies who sniggered in darkness and spread the most terrible secrets of others while guarding their own like treasures. Tomoe sprung to her feet, swords drawn in an instant, and slashed twice at the jono priestess, the dark Shinto warrior. But the jono was intangible as smoke, as an eclipse. Tomoe’s swords struck behind the magician-ninja, finding no flesh or bone.
    The word of a magician-ninja had no meaning to Tomoe. She crossed both swords against the back of her neck, prepared to pull the blades with enough force to behead herself.
    â€œDo not! I beg you. Set aside your resolve.”
    Arrogance was gone from the posture of the magician-ninja. She fell upon her knees, the grey robes flowing around her, her head bowed as if to honor or to yield. She said, “The only possessions of the ninja or the jono are our names and our faces.”
    She looked up at Tomoe, and fingered at the cloth covering her face, pulling it down. Tomoe gazed upon beauty unlike any she had ever seen, like the very face of Amaterasu, blinding in its bright perfection. Tomoe averted her eyes and gasped, and the magician-ninja said, “My name … my name … is Noyimo.”
    Then the bright lady cloaked in darkness was gone, leaving Tomoe seared and cleansed of guilt, empty of all but the memory of a face. She sheathed her swords, and walked into the light. The wall of water cooled her of the remembered fire of Noyimo.
    In the valley, a few hundred persistent samurai fought without hope. The last of the united clans might not fall until the sun was nearly down, but Tomoe saw no reason to rejoin the battle. She felt helpless in the face of Huan’s magic. It was hard to know what direction to turn. She did not want to think, to question, to look ahead in time. These were not a samurai’s duties. A samurai was meant to serve; and Tomoe’s master was Toshima. “I will find Toshima and beg instruction!” she told herself, and considered the route by which Goro Maki led Shigeno’s wife and daughter to safety.
    Tomoe’s plan was predictable, and someone had foreseen it. An unexpected adversary strode the path from beyond the valley.
    â€œI have come for you, Tomoe Gozen,” he said. “I am sent to deliver the Mikado’s justice.”
    The magnificent warrior’s armor was studded with emeralds and rubies, his helm rimmed with diamonds. The wood of it was lacquered in rich colors, so that he seemed to be clad in enamel, shiny like a beetle’s shell, strong like a turtle’s carapace. The glitter of the warrior was dazzling and Tomoe wondered what famous, rich family this noble samurai represented.
    â€œA grudge match?” Tomoe asked. “Who bears me animosity?”
    â€œNot a grudge match, Tomoe Gozen. You will know me by my name: Ugo Mohri.”
    Tomoe started, and moved back. She said it aloud: “The Mikado’s executioner.”
    He came at her. An honorable act would be to bow and accept the killing punishment; but the magician-ninja had said there would be no honor if Tomoe died with tasks undone. She fled up the path, toward the waterfall. Like a frightened animal she hopped away, seeking some hole in which to hide. She would have slunk to some distant sanctuary and stayed there, but she was quickly backed against the sheer cliff from which the waters poured.
    Fear upon her face, Tomoe scrabbled up the stone wall, a surprising feat, and clung there, high enough that the executioner’s blade could not reach her. In all her life, she had never met her match in swordplay; but Ugo Mohri was already a legendary figure, and even were he not, could any lower samurai think to defeat the Mikado’s executioner?
    She was not surprised that her execution day should come. The past weeks had found her in dubious occupations; and although a generous judge might find her behavior in accordance with the bushido in spite of Lord