Attack from the North

Agasha Sanami grimaced as she watched portions of the village burning. She and her yojimbo had been en route to the Isawa provinces, where she had been invited to study with the Isawa masters, when Shiba Morihiko had noticed the column of smoke to the south. Now he stood beside her, staring wordlessly into the village from the rise where they watched. She could see that his grip on his sword was so tight that his knuckles were drained of all color. Carefully, she reached out and touched the armored plate covering his forearm very lightly. He turned to face her, his expression completely neutral. “We must help them,” she said softly. “But we must be wise. They outnumber us by a wide margin.”

“Twenty three bandits by my count,” Morihiko said.

Sanami grimaced. She was a scholar and a shugenja, a priestess of the kami in the service of the Phoenix Clan. She had never been in battle before. “What can we do?”

“Your magic will go a long way toward evening the odds,” the yojimbo said, “but not far enough. There are simply too many of them for us to…”

“What?” she asked. “What is it?”

“Be silent, my lady, please,” he said, his voice a whisper. He pointed across the village to a rise on the opposite side. Sanami followed his gesture, and there she saw a man in a heavy traveling cloak standing, watching the battle just as they were. His cloak was colorless and he seemed to bear no sign of any clan affiliation.

“A ronin?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” Morihiko answered. “He watches as if coordinating.” The samurai drew his bow and fired once, an arching shot. Sanami marveled at his accuracy, and recalled that he was a master archer. Against all odds, it seemed that his arrow would strike true. Then, at the last possible moment, the figure plucked the arrow out of the air. He cast it aside as if bored by the entire affair, then crouched down and hurled himself into the sky.

Sanami gasped as the man was catapulted far above the village, twisting and somersaulting head over heels, until he came to land only feet away from the two Phoenix. She stared at the man in awe, but Morihiko was not so stricken. The samurai drew his blade at once and stepped between the priestess and the stranger. He launched into a kata that would have cut the other man in half, but he bent backwards at the waist, his body bending at an incredible angle, and kicked the blade from the Phoenix warrior’s hands.

Without losing a beat, Morihiko spun and kicked the man in the legs. He had started to jump out of the way, but the yojimbo was apparently faster than he had expected, and he was knocked to the ground. Impossibly, he laughed. “Congratulations, my friend,” he said. “I cannot recall the last time I was defeated in martial arts by a samurai.”

“Your name,”Morihiko said, rubbing an arm that hung uselessly by his side.

“Togashi Chiko,” the man said, rising and discarding his cloak. “Tattooed monk in the service of the Dragon Clan.” The monk’s arms were covered in tattoos, and Sanami could see others peeking out from the collar of his simple gi.

Morihiko picked up his blade, but Sanami stepped forward. “Why are you here, Chiko-san?”

The monk pointed to the village and the bandits attacking it. “My lord Satsu-sama commanded me to hunt down any bandits that escaped his purge of the southern provinces. I apologize that they have fled to the Phoenix lands.”

“In a few moments,” Morikho said, testing his arm and hefting his blade in hand, “it will not matter.” He looked down at the bandits.

Chiko smiled and nodded. The tattoos on his arms swirled and surged with power.

Sanami whispered a prayer to the kami, and flame enveloped her hands. She was no warrior, but today the scourge of these bandits would end all the same.