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L5R Short - Among the Snows
Set during the Khan's Ride on the Capital, early in the campaign.
The snow fell gently over the landscape, it should have been beautiful, it should have been silent. The ragged Lion line dressed itself, readying yari and naginata. The attempt by the Moto outriders to push them aside had failed, the ground in front of the Lion was torn by hooves and stained red with the blood of horses and bushi alike. Shouts of dying men and cries of pain rent the day.
Several of the Lion samurai had not survived either, their bodies had been pulled aside and were slowly vanishing under the falling snow. Several others had quickly bandaged their wounds and awaited the next attack. The Lion force was too small to stop the Unicorn advance, too small to even slow them for long. But they could not run. All they could do was sell their lives dearly, for honor demanded.
Stomping her feet to keep the circulation going, Matsu Moe watched the Unicorn forces shift. Emerging from the main body of the Unicorn came a unit riding in perfect order, their banner, an unmarked purple, snapping in the wind. “Battle maidens,” whispered Moe, gripping her naginata tight.
A herald, resplendent in black and purple armor, rode ahead. “Brave Lion,” she called, “we of the Utaku ask you to stand aside. This pass will be cleared for the Khan by my sisters, but you need not die. You have proved your honor and your bravery on this day. Step aside and let us pass and you will live to serve your Lord another day.”
The commander of the detachment, a grizzled Ikoma Gunso with one eye and only three fingers on his left hand stepped forward and bowed to the herald. “Utaku-san, you honor us with your words, but we will not stand aside. I regret that you will have to honor us with a samurai’s death as well. Know that Ikoma Murayama and the 5th Guntai grant you the honor of a death on Lion blades when you come.”
The herald nodded, expecting nothing less. “We welcome the honor you show us, Ikoma-sama. We give you five minutes to seek your peace with the ancestors then we will clear you from the pass.”
“Hai,” replied the Ikoma. As the Utaku rode back to her sisters, the Gunso looked over his command. “Eat and drink my friends, no need to conserve the supplies now and we might as well die with full stomach,” he grinned.
True to their word, the Utaku came forward precisely five minutes from when the herald had returned to communicate the Lion’s reply. As the Utaku approached, their mounts moved from a walk to trot to charge. The few remaining Lion arrows fell among them but did not break their line. Grimly, the Lion waited. Moe’s legs felt like water, but with her cousins beside her and her ancestors looking on, she did not flinch. With a mighty cry of “Lion!” they leapt forward at the moment, countercharging, the last thing the Utaku expected. Lances crossed yari, naginata cut through wood and flesh as the neat order dissolved into a dozen small life or death struggles.
Moe’s naginata cut through the foreleg of a beautiful Utaku steed, praying for forgiveness as she did so. The falling horse tore the naginata from her hands as the rider rolled off of the tumbling mount, shouting in rage. Moe turned to face her next foe, her hand reaching for her katana. It was already too late. A lance was driving towards her. All she could do was to meet the eyes of the samurai-ko who was to end her life. The pain in her throat was intense, like an exploding star, and mercifully brief.
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