Konda swore viciously. How many times would this thief vanish from under the daimyo’s nose? How often did he have to track down and corner the prize before he could reclaim it once and for all? He had traveled to the farthest reaches of his kingdom for nothing, and now he must go on for what would almost certainly be more of the same. He needed to find a way to pin this man down, to force him into a situation where he could not run. But how?
The daimyo’s eyes suddenly snapped to the northwest and stayed there. Konda’s rage cooled as he felt the presence of his prize. He was and would remain connected to it, no matter where the ochimusha took it.
Perhaps this was how he could finally catch Toshi. So far, it was the visible approach of his army that gave the thief time to prepare his escapes. If Konda led a much smaller, less obvious party that relied on stealth and Konda’s unerring sense of direction, he could easily surprise the ochimusha and cut him down. His full army would ride openly and in triumph once he took back what was his.
Pleased with his new plan, Konda called out to his infantry with the intent of summoning them to follow at a distance. In the crazed rush to seize the Taken One, he had forgotten that they were already engaged. A cruel smile crossed Konda’s lips.
Here was the place for a demonstration of his full might, in the forests of Jukai. The soratami had come expecting a slaughter, and Konda would see that they got it. Responding instantly to their lord’s thoughts, the moth-riders banked and headed back to the site of the armada’s latest battleground.
The war-torn clearing had grown far larger as the soratami battered and burned their way east. Moonfolk samurai still poured from their cloud chariots, sometimes leaping off the vessels high above the forest floor and floating safely down with their feet wreathed in fluffy white fog. A significant force of new orochi had joined the faltering defenders and slithered out to face the invaders head on. Brutal close combat raged across untold acres of forest with devastating effects on both sides.
The orochi had mustered themselves into ranks instead of individually concealing themselves and waiting to ambush. They seemed to be organized around a single individual who sent them against the invaders in carefully timed waves. The forward edge of his attack was a line of brightly colored orochi who only attacked with their long, sharp fangs. They snapped and bit the leading soratami, not seeking fatal wounds but seizing whatever body part they could latch onto. Once they had struck, they forced their flexible limbs and bodies deeper into the soratami formation and bit again. In this manner they envenomed dozens of soratami without giving the moonfolk time to strike back. Their toxin seemed especially virulent, blackening the flesh and stiffening the lungs of every soratami it touched. Dozens of samurai faltered and fell, disrupting their graceful formation and throwing their charge into confusion. This left the invaders vulnerable to the next wave of orochi, who were among the biggest and best-equipped snakes the daimyo had ever seen. Most had metal weapons harvested from the soratami themselves in all four hands, and while they were not expert they were able to inflict serious damage on the moonfolk. The rest of this second wave fought with bare hands, but those hands were so numerous and powerful that the soratami found themselves stymied and unable to press forward.
Konda approved of this change in tactics. It was better to keep them off balance and use their numbers against them. It was what he would have done. Whoever the orochi leader was knew his business. Konda looked forward to meeting him when the fighting was done.
A larger cloud chariot came down from the canopy, shrouded in a decidedly blue-tinged mist. Konda wondered what made this vessel different, and as he ordered his escorts in for a closer look, the reason became clear.
A single soratami female levitated from the center of the blue chariot in shimmering blue robes and a ceremonial headdress. She stretched her pale, thin arms over her head, pressed her palms together, and then jerked them apart. A small blue ring of smoke formed between her hands and began to spin.
Quickly, Konda had his moth-riders soar up above the canopy. He maintained his view of the blue cloud chariot long enough to see the soratami wizard hurl the ring of smoke down to the forest floor. It fell like a stone.
The ring burst the moment it touched the loamy soil. The blue smoke vanished, and a bitter wind rose, churning the leaves and other debris into a huge funnel cloud. The whirlwind gathered speed and strength, thickening as it rolled east. The orochi in its path held their ranks until the leader hissed, and then they broke and scattered, melting into the brush.
The blue cyclone tore trees from the ground as it approached, and then gouged the ground itself as it passed. The terrible funnel-cloud plowed on, scattering the forest defenders and flattening a wide alley in the tangle of ancient cedars.
Overhead, Konda paused to respect the tacticians on the soratami side of the battle. This was both how they were moving so quickly through the thick woods and driving the orochi back. Their powerful wind magic served both purposes at once, with the added benefit of breaking up the orochi into smaller groups that were far easier to defeat. In fact, as soon as they were out of sight and earshot of their field general, the orochi fell back to their more comfortable but far less effective strategy of attacking the soratami individually.
Konda drew his sword. Fortunately for the orochi, he was able to inspire his army no matter where they fought, or against whom. By the stirring in his heart and the sound of hollow-voiced war cries coming closer, Konda knew he was at last in position to chastise the arrogant soratami.
The first of Konda’s spectral retainers broke through the brush into the scorched battlefield. They did not need to assess the situation or formulate a strategy, for Konda had already done so. Without hesitation, the ghost army of Eiganjo tore into the soratami’s flank, creating a gruesome cloud of pale limbs and thin, sticky blood.
Konda guided his escorts down, both to give him a better view and to allow the moth-riders to support the infantry. Now the soratami would face an army that was in every way its superior: Konda’s troops were better trained, better armed, and more aggressive than the moonfolk. They also had the element of surprise and, since their resurrection, were as strong and fast as the soratami were … perhaps faster and stronger.
The sudden arrival of a new enemy shattered the soratami’s precise formation and made their battle plan useless. They had come to fight wild snakes in the woods, not unkillable crack troops with decades of experience in large-scale engagements. The soratami warriors lived up to their reputation, fighting bravely and fiercely against the new arrivals, but the outcome of the battle was never in doubt. The ghost army’s warped and twisted retainers cut them down like stalks of wheat.
Konda himself took his moth-riders back across the burned-out clearing and circled over the blue cloud chariot. He could see the small crew of moonfolk and the blue-robed wizard inside. They were scrambling to steer their vessel away from the circling array of ghostly moths.
Konda pointed his sword. “You too, must be punished,” he said.
Clouds of glittering yellow force formed around the moths’ antennae, similar to the force that held Konda suspended between his escorts. The force continued to collect and gather until each glowing cloud touched its neighbor. Then, a dozen streams lanced from the moths down to the cloud chariot, rivers of sparkling gold that swam with naked, glaring eyeballs. The orbs rolled and jostled against each other at first, but as they bore down on the blue chariot they locked onto the moonfolk inside.
The eye-beams struck, and the chariot exploded. Glittering gold snow fluttered down to the killing floor, and a mournful wail rose from the beleaguered soratami.