Editing Takeda BW XXXVIII

Takeda recalled his last thoughts before sleep engulfed him – the loss of the gold dragon disturbed him but he wondered if he had abandoned his Lord’s instruction to recover the family’s standard.  The dream that followed seemed very real…

Kneeling, Takeda touched the grass as if to ensure that he was on the Prime. He looked at his folk, loosely scattered in what cover they could find. The grass was wet and cold – as were his followers. It troubled him, was this a future, or was it the past that he had altered?  It was clear that his men were beaten, broken and in disarray.  What had they been through?  They were running from some great peril, but what?  Whose dominion was this? The land of some ancient Gods? Perhaps Heimdall himself? Had this newly discovered God enjoined him to take up the fight against those who had taken what was his? Strength began to pour through him, warming away the chill of despondency and offering new hope.  He knew what to do… 

“Nishiki-san!” he called, standing and shaking as if to remove a robe of despair, “We fight! We can no longer run.” Nishiki noh Matawara was an entrusted samurai, someone Takeda had known from childhood.  Was he the Daimyo now? 

Nishiki nodded, as if he understood exactly what had just happened. “We must be close and swift, save our arrows and make all count. We must choose the weakest point in their defence and break through. Then we do not look back! Our destiny lies in the North, to find those my cousin failed to find and bring to them their Queen.” Nishiki bowed and ran to pass on the orders.
Takeda walked quickly up the slope, which he now realised, but a moment before, he had used to keep his company’s movements from the enemy. Crouching at the top, as best he could in what armour he was wearing, he looked over the rolling plain before him.

Nishiki and two Bushi joined him, “Takeda-sama, they are less than a league from us. I am convinced that they know of our path,” the captain said.

“They do. I know not how, but they do.” He did not turn to look at his fellow samurai; instead he continued to stare fixedly at the enemy. “I count eight score Gith, perhaps a few more and some fell beasts from the north. A scouting party of some considerable strength…” he was lost momentarily in thought.

“Your orders Sire?” Nishiki gently prompted, nervous that he might have interrupted some vital cognitive process.

“Kill them, Nishiki, kill them…” The venom in his voice froze the captain, and he continued, “look how the Gith sweep left and right as they cross the ridge before us. As they weave, they leave a gap between them and the Trolls on the right flank. That is where we will strike. We will kill those that dare interrupt our path but we will not tarry. Strike hard and fast, create the gap and run as swift as the wind as close to north as we may. Assemble and pass on my word – they are to wait for my final order. I’ll see you on the other side or in a more blessed place.”
The order was passed swiftly, the warriors moved to the ridge and, crouching, they took up an arrow formation. Takeda paused momentarily as if doubting himself before leaping up the slope and whispering as if in prayer, “For Heimdall, Mandur and Amorsland…” 

His movement, failed to draw the attention of the Gith, less than a mile away and in plain sight. They covered the ground easily, leaping over the odd rocky outcrop or tuft of long, course grass which pockmarked the Great Plains. He was thankful that he was not encumbered by his O-Yori but wondered whether he would regret his choice of speed over protection.  The samurai were difficult to see, wearing the dark green of the woodland folk, even at less than half a mile range, blending in with the natural colours of the landscape. They were quick to bow range not releasing a single shot until the very last minute. The Gith’s weaving southerly drive created the gap that he had hoped for. The slower and more clumsy trolls were late to react to the appearance of the band, leaving one hundred yards between the most easterly flank of Gith and the nearest of their number. Obeying the order to conserve arrows, the warriors did not return the hasty salvos launched by the Gith and the ill-aimed rocks thrown by the trolls. Instead, they ran for the gap. 

Only a few Gith were mounted and they charged the elves, seeking to slow their progress and allow the company to prepare for the battle. The samurais’ arrows found their mark well, culling the first half dozen before they came within 40 paces. Without stopping, Takeda’s own skill with a bow proved to be the demise of two of the evil creatures. Short of arrows and closing rapidly to the gap, Takeda drew both his katana and his wakizashi, wheeling them in each hand to gain balance, judge their weight and time his blows. He struck down the first foolhardy Gith to come within range, barely pausing to make sure of his aim. Each weapon, circling in a blur of steel, found their mark to skull and neck. At his side, Nishiki struck down another with his katana, defending his liege’s left flank as he continued his sprint.

Half through the gap, the Gith were upon them. Many of the enemy’s number were already dispatched to Hel by the warriors’ unerring arrows but they came on, threatening to close the void on which Takeda had relied. Would this be his undoing? A huge troll, twice his size, swiped a spiked cudgel at the samurai’s head, whilst a Gith stabbed at his side. But he was too quick: leaping forward he rolled over the Gith’s cruel sword whilst ducking below the Troll’s wayward swing; somersaulting he landed on his feet and kept going. Nishiki took his opportunity and, skipping to the Gith’s left, whilst he attempted his lunge at Takeda, cut the evil beast down with a succession of well-aimed sword blows before running to catch his Daimyo. 

Others were less fortunate, becoming embroiled with the Troll as it flung out its cudgel in a wild, frenzied attack furious that it had missed the samurai leader. The first blow proved too powerful to be deflected by one samurai’s wakizashi and, catching his left rib cage, winded the man. Unable to slip away, the second blow was more damaging, striking down hard on the his shoulder, shattering his clavicle and dislocating the joint. Still the samurai struck with his right arm, cutting the troll’s head from its shoulders. Realising his doom, however he screamed, “Fly my Lord!” and, turning to see those that followed he called, “Rally here all too ail to continue the pace!”

Many of the wounded saw the sense and dragged themselves to the man’s side. None escaped with their lives. Because of their sacrifice, Takeda and more than five score of his company broke free, briefly turning to use up what remained of their arrows in the defence of those less fortunate. 
Looking back down at his fallen followers, Nishiki said what Takeda could not, “Come! We must fly! They will not be forgotten lest we fail to remain alive to tell of their bravery and sacrifice. Come, we run north!” 

Whilst subconsciously grateful to be free and for the moment’s peace, he could not think of much more than the image of his wounded followers being slaughtered. At that moment his heart hardened once more – there would be no mercy.  
Even in this dream Takeda knew that this was but one example of the sacrifice he would have to make in the coming years.  He was driven off course to save others; to do what his relative failed to do years before.  So, not only was he sacrificing his men, his kin, he was sacrificing his mission – in the same way Lanzi had before.  Was he right?  Was that all there was to this?  If the last few months had taught him anything, it was that the Prime had more pressing needs than the renewal of his family’s honour.  Takeda lay, half awake, conflicted.