Scrambling towards his brother, Masazumi burst out of the trees and hurtled towards him.
"Mitsunari!" he cried. "It's a trap! We must retreat—"
Something thudded into his neck. He froze, expecting to bleed to death right then and there. No, he wasn't ready to die, not like this. Then Mitsunari was before him, yanking out the object.
It was a dart.
Masazumi sprang forward, ramming Mitsunari aside just as another dart whistled through the air and struck him instead, once more in the neck.
"Onii-sama..." Mitsunari's eyes were huge.
Pulling out the dart, the older Ishida grasped his brother's arm. "Let's go!"
Together, the brothers crashed through the trees, yelling at their soldiers to retreat back towards the main force. Arrows whistled past them, hitting some of their men, but not one struck anywhere close to the two.
Either they were lucky, or the archers were missing on purpose. And he didn't want to think about what was in the darts. If it was poison, he'd just taken two rounds of it, and if it wasn't lethal it most certainly would be now.
His vision blurred, then doubled. Stumbling, he lost his footing and crashed into the ground. It felt as if the air turned into lead. He could barely move and the overwhelming urge to close his eyes attacked him.
"Onii-sama!"
No. He must not sleep. He must not sleep. Must not sleep...
Heaving himself upright, he struggled to rise but couldn't, too sluggish and too tired.
"Onii-sama!" A hand shook his shoulder. "Come on!"
Mitsunari flung one of his brother's arms around his shoulders, dragging him to his feet, but Masazumi's legs went limp and they fell over in a heap.
"It's useless." Masazumi's speech slurred. "Run! Get back to safety!"
"Don't be ridiculous!" his brother screamed at him, tugging at him. "Get up! We're going back together, do you hear me? I'm not leaving you!"
Trying one last time to rise, the older Ishida's legs twitched uselessly and would not obey. It was frightening. He could still feel them but they wouldn't budge.
"I'm paralyzed," he said.
"Then I'll carry you!" His brother leaned forward, grabbing his arms.
A dart sprouted from Mitsunari's thigh, and with a hiss of rage he threw it aside.
"Listen to me," Masazumi rasped. It took every effort to find the words and speak his thoughts. "You have no choice now. You need to go, before the tranquilizer overtakes you and you collapse. It hit you in the leg so it will take some time to travel to your head, unlike me."
"No! I can't—I won't leave you!" The younger Ishida's voice quivered violently. "We're going back together! I'll carry you!"
"I'm too heavy! If you carry me you won't make it to safety before you collapse, and then they'll have us both! If that happens, they win!"
That gave Mitsunari pause.
"Go! Move it!" Masazumi lashed out at him. "I promise you I will survive, and we will meet again no matter how long it takes! Do this for me and save yourself! You are the Left Arm and you cannot be caught by the enemy!"
"You idiot! We are the Left Arm! Without you, I—"
"Mitsunari!"
His younger brother looked at him then, tears streaming down his face, and he fell silent.
Leaning down, Mitsunari pressed his lips against Masazumi's cheek, before taking his hand and squeezing it in a death grip. Then, the younger Ishida sprang to his feet and ran. A few steps along, he looked back one last time before sprinting away into the trees, head down.
Masazumi lay there and watched, until the white glint of Mitsunari's jinbaori was lost in the woods. His body relaxed and he let his head sink to the ground. His cheek was still damp with Mitsunari's tears. A strange calm, perhaps even happiness, filled him. Just now they had spoken more words to each other than they had in weeks. And most of all, despite everything that happened, Mitsunari still loved him deeply, as he always had in happier times.
If his life were to end within the next moments, he would have few regrets.
Footsteps surrounded him. Squinting, he tried to make out the shapes but it was increasingly difficult with the blurry vision and his ability to comprehend slipping away into a fog.
"By the gods, he's still conscious!" cried a voice.
"What a monster!" agreed another. "He took two darts! That's enough tranquilizer to knock down a horse and yet he's still...what's wrong with this man?"
"Is it too much? Will he die from it?" asked one.
"Doubtful. The tranquilizer was carefully measured, even taking into account accidents like this."
Masazumi couldn't fight anymore. The urge to sleep was overpowering. So he let his eyes roll up and closed them.
His captors continued their chatter. "Thank goodness. He's asleep."
"What about the other one?"
"I don't think we can catch him. He's too far away. Any further and we'll walk right into the Toyotomi. We'll just have to present this one to Okimoto-sama."
Their voices faded away into incomprehensible babble, then silence.
#
Masazumi drifted in and out of consciousness. Glimpses of iron bars, interspersed with periods of unknowing darkness. He lost track of time. Then, clarity returned.
Still groggy, he lifted his head and examined his surroundings. He lay on a thick pile of straw, a blanket tossed over him to keep him warm. Cold iron bars loomed around him, providing just enough room to sit up if he desired. Blinking, shaking his head to clear out the fuzz, he rolled over with great effort and looked beyond the cage. It was night, and a crowd of men dressed like villagers gathered around cooking fires, talking.
Then he remembered. Two darts of tranquilizer. Telling Mitsunari to run and save himself. Mitsunari, kissing him and squeezing his hand, a gesture of love and farewell.
"Oi," said one of the men, having heard the rustling straw. "He's awake."
A group tiptoed up to the bars to investigate. He put his head down and shut his eyes. Maybe if he pretended to be exhausted from the tranquilizer they would leave him alone. Men were cruel and he didn't want to encourage them.
"Maybe two darts was too much," one said.
"Nonsense! Don't you remember how he refused to go down? This man is awake through sheer force of will."
"Look, he's drifted off again."
"Fine by me. Less trouble for us if he stays quiet. Besides, Okimoto-sama will kill us if he's hurt."
His heart drummed. Okimoto. Mouri Okimoto, the man he met so long ago. Was this entire trap orchestrated by him? Was it coincidence, or fate?
So these men were all Mouri soldiers, and part of an elaborate plan. One they had executed successfully, considering they had deceived the Toyotomi and managed to catch him. But what were they hoping to accomplish?
Thick cloth swished over the cage, muffling all sound. The men had covered the wagon with a large sheet, presumably to protect their prisoner from exposure. It was better not being able to see them. Reaching back with a wobbling hand, he straightened out his blanket and huddled underneath. Then he bunched up some of the straw near his head to use as a makeshift pillow.
Remembering his legs, he wiggled his toes, then his feet, then shifted them. He could move again. That was a relief.
The soldiers might have spoken more, but Masazumi fell asleep again. When he next woke, the cage moved, bumping and rattling along the road, and the musty smell of horse told him that the Mouri soldiers were transporting him across a long distance. He did not have much strength or coherence for anything other than sleeping, and spent most of the journey doing just that. The only time he moved was when the soldiers took breaks and prodded him out of the cage so he could take care of personal hygiene or eat.
It wasn't until they reached the Mouri's base of operations, deep in the heart of Aki, that the last of the tranquilizer lost its potency. They trundled through a castle town. Peering through the gates, he searched for any signage, which he didn't find until they reached the castle itself. Kouriyama Castle. A shudder ran down his spine. The lair of the Mouri. Surely there was no escape for him now if they had brought him this far.
The cage halted in the courtyard, and a group of soldiers opened the door, never taking their eyes off the prisoner. Two of them stuck their spears in from outside, crossing them at his neck, allowing their comrades to slip in and tie his arms behind his back.
The Mouri soldiers dragged him to the courtyard of the castle. There, two figures waited, their ostentatious helmets glimmering in the light. One was dressed in white with red accents, and the other in green.
A shove hurled him to the tiles at their feet. Snarling, struggling to his knees, he glared up at them. He and the man in white were already acquainted, but the other…if he had to guess, perhaps it was the younger brother, Mouri Motonari, known for his tactical prowess as well as the ruthless use of his soldiers. The stories claimed he'd never lost a single battle during his career.
"So you've fallen into our hands again," Mouri Okimoto remarked. "You must be a very lucky man, Ishida Masazumi, or a very unfortunate one."
"Any luck I had has run out," he retorted. "I know you're not letting me go this time."
"You're correct," Motonari said. "A worse fate is waiting for you. My brother is in charge of interrogations. When he's finished with you, you will regret not killing yourself before you got here."
Masazumi set his jaw. Torture. This Okimoto—he could do anything. For the first time in a long while, the Ishida warrior's confidence wavered. He did not know how long he could last while suffering through the atrocities administered to him. He feared breaking under the pain.
Mitsunari's smiling face flashed behind his eyes. No, he must be strong. He must see his brother again, or at the very least hear his voice if these vipers decided to put out his eyes.
An older, more serene voice cut between them. "What do we have here?"
Striding towards them was yet another Mouri strategist with an elaborate helmet, dressed in deep crimson armour. Masazumi looked up into a mismatched gaze—one eye green, the other brown—and fear kept him from speaking. This older man was none other than one of the most powerful daimyou in the west, the head of the Mouri clan, Mouri Hiromoto himself.
"A rare catch," Motonari said. "He is one of the elite Toyotomi warriors. One of their precious living war machines, to be precise. Ani-ue caught him once before."
"I see." Hiromoto cocked his head as he examined the helpless Ishida. "Considering the situation, he can't be allowed to return to the Toyotomi. He is much too valuable."
"Are you thinking of using him for negotiations?" Okimoto asked.
"Yes. It would give us a tremendous advantage." A boot nudged Masazumi's shoulder and he growled. "They will do anything to get him back. Of that, I'm certain. I've heard stories about the prowess of Ishida warriors. They are more valuable assets than the best mechanical weaponry. In fact, no amount of gold could equal their worth."
"You just sit around and think about how you're going to use me," Masazumi snapped. "I'll escape, mark my words!"
In response, Hiromoto looked down at him with infuriating pity. "Do you hear that? He thinks he can escape."
"Hmph!" Motonari turned away. "Useless bravado."
"I'll humour you, Ishida." The Mouri patriarch turned towards the soldiers and held out his hand. "Give me his sword, then cut his bonds."
The men obeyed, and retreated as fast as they could after they cut Masazumi free of his ropes. Rising to his feet, he shook himself, eyes darting around his surroundings, searching for possible openings. But with archers stationed everywhere, making a run for it might result in death. Setsuna could only get him so far—he couldn't stay in the other dimension long enough. Triggering Kyoukou wouldn't help either. In the time he needed to awaken the power, he would be dead.
Hiromoto tossed the sword towards him, and he caught it. The familiar weight brought some relief.
"You want to escape, correct?" the strategist asked. "I'll give you a chance. If you can defeat me, then I'll allow you safe passage back to the Toyotomi. If I best you instead, you'll have to remain here as our prisoner."
Slay the lord of the Mouri? No, it wasn't possible even for him. But he had no choice.
"Ha!" Masazumi tossed his head. "Even if I win, I don't expect you to keep your word. How do I know this isn't just some sadistic game? A game I can't win?"
"Please, young man. Do you expect us to make it easy for you? You'll just have to accept my word."
"All right then." He hunched over with a poisonous grin. "Think you can keep up, jiji?"
It was a rude way to refer to an older man. Extremely rude.
"Otou-chan," Okimoto said uncertainly.
Hiromoto slipped his ringblade over his head in a battle-ready position, his eyes cold and unforgiving. "I'm surprised a rash, bold boy like yourself has lasted this long. Come on, then."
That was what Masazumi wanted—for Hiromoto to believe that he was overconfident and brash, and in turn underestimate him. The strategist was perhaps as old as Masatsugu, and Masazumi to this day had never won a sparring match against his father. He needed every advantage he could get for this fight.
Circling the strategist, he plotted his attack. His opponent turned with him, unshakable, and not intent on making the first move. Breathe. Be calm. That ringblade provided a complete circle of defense and it would be easy to perform a counterattack with that weapon. One wrong move would result in an injury. He needed to surprise Hiromoto, pressure him, and a series of fast strikes aided by setsuna would be best. Speed, just like how Mitsunari would do it.
Masazumi leaned into a sprint, rushing Hiromoto head-on but at a slight angle, and lashed out with his sword. As expected, Hiromoto chose to parry it, and this allowed the Ishida warrior to keep his momentum. Entering setsuna, Masazumi whizzed towards his opponent from behind. Sparks scattered as their weapons clashed, the strategist spinning to meet his attack—barely.
Masazumi flitted in and out of setsuna, launching a vicious assault from different angles, and although it seemed Hiromoto couldn't quite keep up, he always managed to block perfectly. Trying to trip him up, Masazumi swept past him, aiming low at the legs, but his opponent leaped out of the way. Dragging a hand against the ground, he spun while retaining his speed and called upon setsuna once again, rocketing through the air at the other man's backside.
His blade sang, and this time there was no ringblade to meet it. But instead of tearing through flesh, his sword merely passed through Hiromoto as if the man was made of air. Eyes widening, only when Hiromoto's image flickered did he realize his mistake.
The decoy exploded, blinding him with a flash of red light and throwing him backwards, his whole body aflame with an itching, burning sensation. A pit opened in his stomach.
Masazumi didn't hit the ground. Instead, he slammed headfirst into something that pulsed with energy and another round of itching flooded through him again, sending pain and sparks crashing through his skull. The light barrier hurled him forward and he struck the tiles, bouncing before rolling to a stop.
Still disoriented and his vision a mess of swimming spots and waves, he struggled to get up. Boots clicked delicately across the ground towards him. A heel ground into his shoulder, pushing him over onto his back. His sight cleared, revealing Hiromoto standing above him, ringblade raised.
He's not even breathing hard after all my attacks.
The arc of metal descended. It bit into the earth next to Masazumi's head. Then the boot jammed into his neck, nearly cutting off his windpipe and sending painful pressure blazing through him. Scratching at the boot, he struggled in vain, trying to keep his focus.
"I win," Hiromoto said. "You remain as our prisoner."
Masazumi gurgled in response, eyes bulging, and clawed harder.
Narrowing his eyes, Hiromoto applied even more pressure, causing the defeated warrior to choke and stop struggling. "Look what you've done. Now I need a new boot."
"He deserved that for disrespecting you. What shall we do with him in the meantime?" Motonari asked.
"Okimoto can do whatever he pleases with him."
"In that case, can I make him my servant?" Okimoto spoke with the tone of a child begging to keep a stray dog. "I quite like the idea and I'll make sure I get everything out of him. Please, Otou-chan?"
"Try to be serious!"
"I am being serious! Look at him, he's a wonderful specimen, the perfect example of deadly combat skill. It would be a waste to mutilate him through torture. Besides, if we could put him to work for us, why wouldn't we? It's not every day we can catch someone like him."
"Ignore him, Chichi-ue," Motonari remarked. "He's just being stupid again with his whims and fancies."
"Shut up, Nari-chan!"
"Your brother has a point, Motonari. It would be a waste to treat him as a prisoner, or to harm him." Hiromoto heaved a sigh and stepped away. "Do what you like, Okimoto."
With the pressure gone from his neck and his airway open again, Masazumi went limp, wheezing for breath. A pair of hands grabbed him under the arms, trying to lift him. The voices faded into incomprehensible mumbles, and the world went dark.
