So swift, so clever,
he crosses the battlefield
no care for the dead

Once Kazuchiyo was finished he hurried to put his supplies away and then took his breakfast in his room. After his discussion with Mahiro that morning he was anxious of drawing attention to himself, even more so with Iomori’s secret blessing, and would have to plan how best to approach the alcove again. The thought of so many suddenly tangile secrets for him to carry left him almost light-headed, and he hurried to his chores to keep him focused.

After a morning of studies, sitting in with Lord Aritaka and his advisors, and aiding in preparations for the approaching march, Kazuchiyo made his way toward the castle gate. He found himself casting long glances at the rooftops in search of a familiar silhouette. He wondered if his verse could stir the conscience of a cold-eyed agent of deceit. The distraction was very nearly a costly one, as he rounded the last corner and spotted a figure already at the slatted window. It would have been suspicious to pause, so he continued on, his excuse for business in the town already prepared. However, as he passed, the man turned, and he could see that it was his brother, Hidemune, noticing him.

At first Hidemune’s expression was one only of disgust, which Kazuchiyo had been on the receiving end of many times before. But then something gave him pause, and he tucked both arms into his robes as he approached. “Kazumune,” he called.

Kazuchiyo obediently stopped. “Brother,” he greeted, and he bowed. “I was just heading into town?”

“What for?” Hidemune eyed him with suspicion. “Why not send a servant if you have errands?”

“I was going to offer prayers at the Ishiyama Shrine,” Kazuchiyo answered easily enough. “For safe travels on our journey.”

“Your journey is weeks away.” Hidemune jutted his chin back toward the castle. “Come train with me, little brother. I’m in need of the exercise.”

Without waiting for an answer, he headed back into the compound interior. Kazuchiyo cast the window one last glance, but he had no choice but to abandon his mission for the time being.

Hidemune led him back up the path toward the lower keep. They passed a servant on the way, who skittered off after receiving a few whispered instructions from his master. It tightened Kazuchiyo’s nerves. A few boys were already in the broad, wooden-floored practice room going through their kata when the pair arrived, but they were quick to move to the sides. All eyes were on the two brothers.

“I’m not well dressed for this,” Kazuchiyo said, careful to keep his voice as neutral as possible. Already his mind was hard at work, calculating just how much of his skill was wise to show before his bitter elder brother.

Hidemune gestured to the trainees along the wall. “Lend us your wraps,” he said, and a pair of them hurried to comply. With deep bows they handed over their straps, and Kazuchiyo accepted, using them to tie up his sleeves before removing his sandals. By the time he had selected a wooden practice sword from the racks Hidemune was already taking to the center of the floor.

A palpable tension came over the hall as Kazuchiyo joined him. It was not his first time going through training with his brother, with varying experiences—he had very few means of predicting how Hidemune’s current mood would affect this session. Even so he refused to falter in front of even the young trainees, and he kept his chin high as he moved to take his stance.

“You’re not worried about this excursion of yours, are you?” Hidemune taunted as the two of them braced their feet in unison, one in front of the other, their wooden swords aimed ahead of them.

“I’m not worried,” Kazuchiyo replied.

Each of them raised their swords above their head slowly, in total control. With deep breaths they lunged forward, feet smacking loudly against the wood, swords cleaving the air. The tip of Kazuchiyo’s sword traced an elegant arch and stopped exactly where it had started; Hidemune’s dipped a few finger widths lower before snapping back to the proper position. Even an untrained eye would have easily noticed the difference between Kazuchiyo’s effortless efficiency and the elder’s brute carelessness. Luckily, it neither took a trained mouth to keep it to oneself, and their spattered audience made not a sound.

“You haven’t left Gyoe in years,” Hidemune continued to press as they drew their feet back in and returned their swords over their heads. “Sakka’s countryside is vast. I hope you don’t get overwhelmed.”

“I won’t be overwhelmed,” said Kazuchiyo, and they lunged again.

They went through a set of ten in similar fashion and then changed stance, poised for a lateral strike. As they continued the exercise, the far door slid open, and Kazuchiyo’s heart skipped as the Lady O-ran entered. She was simply dressed that morning, one robe pulled up over her head to serve as a veil. In her youth she had been lauded as a great beauty, but an adulthood of bitterness and pride had pinched her sloped features into jagged crags, and her once lovely, dark eyes were squinted in perpetual irritation. She watched her “two” sons moving in unison throughout the exercise with a predator’s unfaltering glare.

Hidemune stood taller in her presence, though it did very little to correct the poor form of his strokes. “I hear you’ve spent a great deal of time with Lady Satsumi lately,” he prodded.

Even a lowered voice would carry to O-ran’s ears given the echoing space of the chamber, and a raised one would only strengthen Hidemune’s unspoken accusation. Kazuchiyo remained as even-toned as he could as he answered, “Lady Satsumi and I are fond of each other. I wanted to share with her my condolences for her latest miscarriage.”

Both of them lunged in the final move of that set, their swords slashing. As they moved again into the next stance, Kazuchiyo glanced to his brother’s hands: tight and angry around the grip. He adjusted his footing just slightly to prepare his defense, should it become suddenly necessary.

“How unfortunate for her,” Hidemune grumbled.

“I should offer my condolences to you as well, Hidemune,” said Kazuchiyo, because sometimes a man can hold his patience only for so long. “You might have been a brother again.”

Hidemune pivoted and swung toward him. His swordplay was not refined but he had enough weight to put strength into it, and Kazuchiyo would not have been able to parry if not for how prepared he was. It only took the proper angle to divert Hidemune’s blade, and then he hopped back, out of range.

The surrounding trainees held their breath, and when Kazuchiyo spared them a glance, he realized there were more than had been there a while ago. O-ran continued to watch with an eagle’s eyes and General Waseba was in the process of joining her. Apparently word was spreading.

Hidemune straightened up, though now that Kazuchiyo’s guard was up he had no chance of landing a strike. “Or maybe an uncle,” he said.

Kazuchiyo was less prepared for that than he was for the bokken, but his face remained unchanged. “You only embarrass yourself inventing gossip.” He moved to the next position: sword held low and angled, along his right side away from Hidemune. “Lady Satsumi is devoted to our father.”

“Are you?” Hidemune retorted, reaching so desperately for any possible barb in lieu of genuine wit. He followed Kazuchiyo’s example in taking up the new stance, thinking incorrectly that he was at an advantage. “I’m sure you’re looking forward to being outside of Gyoe’s protection with him.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done to offend you, for you to make these insinuations against me,” said Kazuchiyo. “But whatever it is, I humbly apologize.”

The wood creaked beneath Hidemune’s foot, and again he turned to strike. He had a clean opening that any skilled swordsman should have easily exploited. But therein was the point; anticipating him, Kazuchiyo moved at once but far swifter, the slice of his sword catching Hidemune’s at its most vulnerable point. The clashing wood echoed across the chamber, and Hidemune’s sword was flung from his grip, clattering to the floor several meters away.

“If you wanted to spar,” said Kazuchiyo, gathering himself, “you could have honored me by saying so.”

Hidemune stood dumbstruck. Their audience gaped and long seconds passed of utter silence. Then Hidemune’s temper flamed to life, and he turned on Kazuchiyo with a scowl twisting his wide face. He took a step forward as if meaning to try again with his fists alone. “You disrespectful—”

“Kazumune!” Mahiro bellowed from the sidelines, and both men startled as she marched out onto the floor. How she had managed to hide her entry from them was almost as much of a shock as their confrontation. Without care or hesitation she flung her arm around Kazuchiyo’s shoulders and hauled him off his feet, carrying both of them to the floor in a tangle.

“I’ll spar with you!” Mahiro roared before breaking out in laughter. She hooked her arm through his elbow with enough force that he was forced to drop his bokken, not that he would have preferred to keep it. He was too startled to do much but follow her lead, and they grappled like children.

“Ridiculous,” Hidemune grumbled above them. Abandoning his sword, he yanked the ties off his sleeves and stalked from the floor. Kazuchiyo tried to watch him leave to see if he might say something to Lady O-ran, but Mahiro captured him in a headlock, and by the time he slipped free both of them had departed with General Waseba.

Mahiro let him go, though clearly without any intent of leaving him be. “Get those boys back out here!” she said as she snatched up the ties Hidemune had abandoned. She fastened her sleeves back and motioned impatiently for their onlookers to join. “If you’re going through your kata, you might as well see how it’s done right. Come on, now, form ranks! I haven’t got all morning!”

The others hurried to comply, returning to the rows they had been training in before the interruption. Kazuchiyo took a bit longer in joining them as he swept back the locks of hair tousled by Mahiro’s wrestling. It was not until he picked up the wooden sword again that he realized his hands were shaking just slightly, and all at once it occurred to him the terrible risk he had taken in provoking his temperamental brother. Certainly he and his mother would find their own way of retaliating for their embarrassment. It made him afraid for the tiny bead pressed to his wrist, throbbing along with his heightened pulse, and he smoldered with anxiety and bitterness for the hundreds of petty abuses he had suffered at their hands.

Then Mahiro thumped him on the shoulder, and he let the emotion flow out of him. He joined the younger pupils, and under Mahiro’s instructions, started the series of exercises again.

The indomitable Mahiro worked them like mochi, hours later at last allowing them to retreat, groaning, toward the bath house. But she did not release Kazuchiyo as easily as that, insisting that he join her for a trip to the stables. Exhausted from the exercise of both body and mind, he had no means to refuse. In truth he appreciated her distraction more than he could yet admit, and a drink of saké from the gourd she perpetually carried on her person almost as much.

“She’s the most magnificent steed in Shuyun,” Mahiro said as she greeted Suzumekage in her stall, who was just as eager to greet her. They rubbed noses and snorted happily like beastly sisters. “Isn’t she, Kazu? She’s itching to go west as much as I am. She’s never been so deep in those forests.”

“You’re well matched,” Kazuchiyo agreed. “Fortunate, as they say she won’t allow anyone else to ride her.”

“Because I spoil her,” said Mahiro, scratching beneath Suzumekage’s chin. “And she’s just as bloodthirsty as I am. It would be a waste for anyone else to ride her.” She gave her a hearty pat and then led Kazuchiyo deeper into the stalls. “She could use some grooming, but first I want to introduce you.”

Kazuchiyo followed, curious. “Introduce me?”

Mahiro stopped in front of a different horse, which immediately moved to the front of the stall to greet her as well—her fondness for animals had always been well-reciprocated. It was a tall male with cloudy gray hair, darkening around its muzzle and legs. As Kazuchiyo approached, the animal regarded him with what he perceived to be pleasant curiosity.

“This is Hashikiri,” Mahiro introduced happily, encouraging Kazuchiyo closer. “Adorable, isn’t he? He’s young but he’s the fastest little shit I’ve ever seen. Other than Suzumekage, of course. But he’s got to come close if you’re going to keep up with me.”

Kazuchiyo held out his hand, letting the horse sniff and then nose at it, looking for treats. He wished he had some to offer. “Excuse me?”

Mahiro rolled her eyes, though she was grinning. “He’s yours! He’s my gift to you. You’ll need a horse of your own if we’re leaving Gyoe, you know. We’ll break the two of you in together.”

Kazuchiyo blinked at her in surprise. “You’re giving him to me?”

“You need a horse,” said Mahiro impatiently. “And he’s mine to give, so I’m giving him to you.” Seeing Kazuchiyo’s continued misgivings, she finally surrendered, “Yes, I have approval from Father. Do you want him or not?”

“Yes,” Kazuchiyo said quickly, embarrassed that he was letting paranoia dampen his enthusiasm for the gift. “Yes, he’s beautiful.” Kazuchiyo patted Hashikiri’s forehead gingerly and was relieved that he did not seem to mind. “But I don’t have much experience with horses.”

Mahiro’s grin returned in full force. “And I have three weeks to teach you,” she said. “We start in the morning.”