Gonji: Fortress of Lost Worlds Part 14

Gonji looked at him sympathetically. "Giri and ninjo-duty and inclination-ever in conflict. Always the dilemma of the honorable man. I understand, senchoo."

The sergeant began to cackle to himself. "Just have the witch give them all one of those magical, transporting bushes. Think how cooperative theyll be when they find they dont have to climb stairs anymore!"

They shared a subdued chuckle, and Captain Salguero looked to Gonji with a sudden twinge of camaraderie that was not without a touch of sadness. He sensed hed be parting company with his old friend, the ill-starred samurai, again. Attendant upon that was the ominous feeling that it would be for the last time. Gonjis expression reflected thoughts distant and ethereal.

"Where will you be bound, then?" Salguero asked, knowing what the answer must be.

"Spend the night in Barbaso." Gonji shrugged absently. "Watch you try to explain all that weve seen to the rabble." The abrupt twinkle in his eyes darkened almost at once. "Then gather my belongings and ride on for Zaragoza. I dont think Ill be having another opportunity to set things right with the duke."

The captain sighed but nodded resignedly. There was no steering the samurai from a course hed set. He could be the most bullheaded of men, Salguero knew only too well.

"Still bound for suicide," he said. "Cervera wont hear you out. We have time. Why dont you tell me what really happened between you and Theresa-the murdered monk-the Szekelys-everything."

The samurai pondered awhile, then complied, speaking too softly for anyone else to hear. What Salguero heard chilled his blood in a way the frigid winter could not. Surely this pagan warrior had been singled out for mortal torment by the minions of Satan. It could only be Divine Providence that had kept him alive for so long.

"Do you believe what Ive told you?" Gonji asked.

"I only know that youve never lied to me before," the captain responded in all sincerity. "Either this is G.o.ds own truth, or youve saved a lifetime of lies and heaped them into this story."

Gonjis mouth twisted wryly as he bobbed his head in agreement.

"At least let me send along with you a letter to Cervera. Ill vouch for my own faith in what you claim. That will probably seal my doom as well as yours. h.e.l.l, it doesnt seem to matter anymore, Kyoos.h.i.+."

As night shrouded the land, they rode past two guard posts north of Barbaso, at which point the mercenary escort wheeled and pounded off for Castle Malaguer. The posted sentries prepared to fire on the adventurers from their fortified positions, but Salguero ordered them to hold their weapons in check. The sentries regarded him suspiciously but obeyed, then signaled ahead that the columns remnant was returning.

Discipline returned only by gradual increments to these dissipated troops: One pair cast him a sloppy salute, while the other made no effort at all.

When they entered the immediate environs of Barbaso, Salguero felt Gonjis tension as both men intuited the hostile atmosphere in the town. They shared a telling look.

"Somethings afoot," the samurai declared.

"Si. You men-look sharp," he called back over his shoulder, then added to Gonji alone: "Youd think theyd all be turned out, no?"

"Hai."

They puzzled over the eyes that peered from behind shutters and door slits as they cantered down the main street. Then as they neared the guild hall, a large contingent of citizens filed out to confront them. At their head was Pablo Cardenas. Torches flared alight in the darkened square as hors.e.m.e.n and pedestrians met and exchanged strained greetings.

"Why so somber a greeting, Cardenas? And whats this all about?" the captain called to the solicitor, whose face seemed tight and sweaty by the light of his comrades flambeau.

"Does it seem so? Im sorry, captain. Its late. The people are mostly in their beds. Im afraid...not a man here ever expected to see you alive again, if the truth be known..." His voice diminished to a mumble that ill befit his usual articulate mien. He seemed anxious, as if there were something more he would say but he could not find the tongue for it.

Father Robles ran across the street to join them from the church. "So, youve returned at last. G.o.d be praised that youre still in one piece. Is this all that remains of the troop that rode with you?"

Salguero was piqued that the priest would call attention to the heavy toll theyd suffered. It was obvious enough. And now, in view of their losses, it struck him full in the gut how one-sided their truce with Domingo would seem, however he chose to present it.

"Regrettably," he answered tremulously.

"So tell us, then," Robles went on in an accusing tone that made the captains jaw tremble with mounting anger, "did you destroy the warlock? End his power for all time? Bring us his head?"

"I-" Salgueros voice cracked. "We are tired. My men have been through much these past few days. We can best discuss the situation in the morning. A general a.s.sembly in the hall at eight bells. But Ill say this: You can sleep peacefully tonight-"

"Then you did not kill the Evil One as you were charged!" Robles stormed, pointing at him.

"What is this?" Salguero fumed, his hand groping toward his belted pistol. He heard the snick of Gonjis sword beside him, the pounding of booted feet and stamping hooves in the snow-packed lanes. Spanish troops clattered into the main street, ringing them in.

They were not of Salgueros command. He saw their colors-the elite cavalry regiment of General de la Vega, a detachment from Toledo.

"Hold your weapons, gentlemen! Drop your pistols to the street, or my men will shoot you where you sit!"

The commander clopped forward, reining in a score of yards from the jostling citizens, who now broke and scampered for cover from the impending fire. Only Robles and Cardenas stood fast in the square. The priest maintained a vindictive pose, while Cardenas appeared noticeably anxious.

But now Salguero had eyes only for the commander of the Spanish regiment, whom he recognized as Colonel Bartolome Nunez, a hard-line martinet under direct command of the Duke of Lerma. There would be no compromise with a witch under Nunezs authority. But Salguero had worse problems now.

Cold lances of loathing pierced Salguero from Nunezs bushy-browed eyes as he rode up close. His aquiline nose sniffed in evident scorn as he eyed the captain up and down.

"The celebrated Captain Salguero," he minced, "still holding his command, though his losses outweigh his victories. But thats no problem any longer. Youre relieved of command-oh, and...under arrest. Youll pardon me if I dont embarra.s.s His Majestys army further in front of these civilians by speaking-"

"What charge?" Salguero snapped.

"Que?"

"I said for what charge am I to be arrested?"

Nunez sneered. "Well begin with dereliction of duty, cowardice in the field, and-" He looked with contempt at Gonji, who sat bolt upright in the saddle, hand on sashed sword hilt. "-harboring a known enemy of the faith. But why should I go on? I owe you no explanation."

Salguero felt the sweat coursing in clammy rivulets under his garb. Fear, anger, and confusion worked through him, making him indecisive, bereft of speech. He watched Father Robles walk up beside Gonji, heard the priests words: "You say you are a man of duty. Then you must understand, this was my duty." The captain saw Gonji nod curtly, heard his single word of acknowledgment. And in that instant the samurai made his move.

Gonji kicked Tora into motion and drew his blade at the same time. He bolted past Nunez, spanking the colonels mounts flank, causing it to buck. But the intended diversion did not work. The seasoned troops drew beads on him with pistols and bows. He was a dead man.

Salguero winced, antic.i.p.ating the volley.

"No!" Nunez cried, steadying his horse. "Take him alive!"

The captain looked to his superior with hate-filled eyes, knowing the mans grisly intent. The Inquisition would have their pleasure with the infidel, if possible. But Gonji would die first, of that the captain was certain. Anguished but helpless, he stared with gritted teeth.

The cavalrymen blocking Gonjis path parted, wheeling out of the way of his slas.h.i.+ng katana. Salguero blinked-an instants beam of hope-then- Shots rang out. Tora jerked and swayed with the impact. Horse and rider crashed to the ground. Salguero saw Tora kicking and whinnying madly. And Gonji was staggering to his feet, his storied katana lost in the fall.

The foot soldiers fell on him with lance hafts, pummeling him. In seconds it was over. Salguero gaped as the bloodied, insensate form of the samurai was dragged before the colonel. He had never before seen Gonji separated from his legendary swords. A lancer now carried them as casually as he would a haversack.

But it was the wild torment in Gonjis eyes that pierced Salgueros heart. Those dark eyes that glared in disbelief at the jolting, spasmodic form of the magnificent Tora. The captain knew first-hand the tale of Gonjis adventure in separating that eerily intelligent chestnut stallion from the wild herd it had led. Knew the lore of the n.o.ble steeds valor in many battles. And now...

"So this is the notorious Gon-shee Sabatake," Colonel Nunez was saying, but his voice registered mutedly in Salgueros ears as the blood pounded in the captains temples.

There was an exploding report from a musket and a billow of black smoke. Soldiers were milling around the carca.s.s of Gonjis great steed. Tora had stopped kicking and twitching. Gonjis struggles against his captors, too, ceased at once. The captain had never before seen the infamous j.a.panese warrior slump in evident surrender. It was as though that single musket shot had killed two legends.

Salguero found himself breathing in short gasps as he, himself, was being pulled down from the saddle and led away by an armed guard. He could hear voices yammering testimony against both him and the samurai.

"Bind him well! That desperado can communicate with monsters!"

"He compacts with the Devil-he uses sorcery, colonel-"

"He fights like an animal. They say he can become one-"

Some of the voices belonged to men whom Salguero and Gonji had led to Castle Malaguer and back safely again.

"Captain Salguero took his orders from the heathen devil-"

Salguero found himself unable to think.

The captain leaned against the barred window of an old stone shop he had had converted into a stockade. He had no idea what had been done with Gonji. Unable to sleep, he had brooded and paced through the night and well into morning, alternately pondering his fate, cursing the mutineers who had turned against him, and berating himself for not having come to Gonjis aid even as the samurai had saved his life more than once in the past.

He watched the marshaling of the colonels troops and materiel, understanding their intention when he saw the barrel of the mighty cannon roll past his view of the street.

They were going to attack the witch at her stronghold, conquer Castle Malaguer by siege. End by violence all hope of the truce and the understanding of Domingo Negros mystical ways, which Gonji had helped engineer. Would the witch be prepared for them? Or would her defenses be softened by the nascent bond of trust she had formed with the outside world? Perhaps Gonji had been right about her magic having been misunderstood. Perhaps her powers could not be dismissed out of hand as the workings of the Evil One.

Perhaps they had made it possible for her mysterious arts to be destroyed along with her.

Salguero slammed his hand against the bars, spitting an imprecation from his tight throat. He moved to the small stove that was his only source of heat in the austere prison. He drew his bunk nearer the stove and warmed his numb hands and feet, blinking back tears of rage.

The lock squeaked and the door swung open. The big lancer Buey stood framed in the doorway, stooping to pa.s.s the arch. He bore a large covered tray before him.

"There he is, eh?" he said over his shoulder to the sentries. "This is the way I like him-bedridden, you know. Only this time without his little trollop!" The guards brayed a forced laugh. Bueys boorish presence often caused men to fall into line with his moods like ducklings.

"No more putting us on parade, eh, Salguero? Listen, muchachos, how about we close the door so I can be alone with...mi capitan for a few momentos, no?"

The sentries smiled cunningly, as Buey set the tray on a stool and rubbed the knuckles of one fist. Eyeing Salguero portentously, one of them shut and locked the heavy oaken portal.

Buey smiled at the captain under raised eyebrows. Salguero rose to meet his challenge, fists clenched.

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d," the captain whispered coa.r.s.ely.

"Uh-uh-first see what Ive brought you to eat."

Buey swept aside the top linen cloth to display a steaming meal and flask on one half of the tray. Casting a quick glance to the window, he plucked the edge of the linen beneath it.

"Sergeant Orozco fixed this for you himself-and something special for dessert-"

Buey wrenched the cloth aside. Two pistols lay on one side of the tray. The big lancer grinned impishly, and Salguero backed away a step in confusion, ran his fingers through his hair.

"What-?"

"You see, capitan, Orozco and me, we been thinking. Its not so good here no more. We did our best, but some...higher authorities, well, they just dont seem to appreciate us. Orozcos got this wild idea about maybe one more action before we retire to someplace quiet. Something to do with Port-Bou. If youll lead us..."

Salguero could scarcely believe his ears. The madness of what they suggested had occurred to him many times, but never had he voiced it.

"How many men? How many sympathetic?" he asked in a rush of emotion.

"Thats touchy. We know better who not to trust. But maybe eight from the patrol and another dozen who stayed here are good."

Salguero shook his head. "A score of men. Weve got to get past the flower of de la Vegas regiment."

"We have a good escape plan. Leave that to us. Just be ready to travel at ten bells of evening. What about the witch? Do we warn her of Nunezs siege?"

Salguero paced a moment, rubbing his neck thoughtfully. "No. Sh.e.l.l have to deal with it herself. Maybe shes watching through her magic viewing room. Im sorry that we may have taken her off her guard, but I do have enough loyalty left to Spain and the Holy Office that I cant bring myself to drive them into a deathtrap. Let G.o.d Himself decide the outcome of this power struggle. What about Gonji? I cant leave him to the Inquisition."

"Ai-ieeee," Buey fretted, scowling, "hes well guarded. But weve taken him into account. Dont worry-now, up with your fists."

"Que?"

"I cant hit a man who doesnt at least expect it."

Buey hit him with a short, straight left that snapped back the captains head and brought blood to his lips instantly. Salguero dazedly rubbed his mouth, streaking his hand and face. Buey took him by the shoulders and, with an indulgent look, forced him into a seat on the floor. The Ox strode to the door and pounded it with a meaty fist.

"I always wanted to do that," he said to the sn.i.g.g.e.ring sentries as he indicated the downed Salguero.

He clapped one of them on the back with a playful blow that knocked off the soldiers pot helmet.

Gonji sat cross-legged in the dank, coal-black cellar; a cold, night-blooming lotus, radiating hostility.

For a time after his capture he had gone inert, beginning the meditative process he knew he needed to facilitate the healing of his battered body, to reestablish control of his spiritual being. Then anger had inflamed his innards as pain broke his concentration. He hated the Spaniards-soldier and civilian alike-for what they had done to him. He hated their Church for what it intended to do. But most of all he loathed himself for his stupidity, for having so easily allowed himself to be taken. Experience, courage, and skill had seen him through the adventures of a lifetime almost unscathed. Now he had permitted himself to be ign.o.bly captured in a snare any callow young samurai would have avoided.

He recalled his flas.h.i.+ng thoughts at the time: He wished not to involve Salguero, who might have come to his defense if he had initiated a fight. But that had been foolish; the captain was in no better circ.u.mstances. Better that Gonji should have died honorably, a fighting man to the last. Failing that, he might have slit his own belly rather than be ridden down in his flight like some mindless game animal.

Now he was without his daisho. He could not even atone for his shame with seppuku.

And just as painfully, he was without Tora.

The gallant animal had long inspired deep affection, had been his lone companion on the road and in battle, more often than not. An inexplicable bond had existed between them. And Gonji had let him die without even being able to deliver the mercy stroke himself.

The dull pain of anguish mingled with the more poignant agonies his body suffered. His hands were bound behind him at the wrists, and his arms were lashed tightly about his sides. Fettered as he was, he could not tell whether any of his battered ribs were broken, but he could not twist his torso without sharp pain. His face felt tight and sticky with caked blood, and he believed his nose was broken. His left eye was swollen completely shut. His head throbbed maddeningly.

He spat out blood from his throat as he considered the irony of his state. Yesterday he had been master of his destiny. He had been witness to intriguing new wonders, had entertained tantalizing new hopes and factors in the puzzling equation of his itinerant life. The abrupt and complete turnabout of his karma had shocked his entire system. Now, despite his stoical training, he could not accept the change in his fortunes. He could not reconcile himself to his bleak situation. The darkness served up illusions. He kept imagining that he was in the world of dreams. Soon-soon he would awaken, his swords at his side, Tora nickering at his shoulder.

But each time he tried to convince himself of the nightmare he occupied, to awaken himself from its horrors, the sweating, puffy face of the guard would appear in greasy torchlight at the tiny door grating above the stair.

"Witch!" the soldier kept growling at him. "Your foul sorcery cant free you now, can it? Garlic hangs from the lintel, and the cross of Christ seals the door."

All through the day his tormenting warden checked and rechecked him infuriatingly. Mocking him with self-righteous vitriol, ever crossing himself in a fas.h.i.+on Gonji found insufferable, as though the samurai were one of the walking undead.

Troopers brought him food and water, setting it at the top of the stairs at gunpoint, and then crowding about the grating to watch him and taunt him.

They did not untie his hands, and evidently they expected to revel in the spectacle of their prisoner worrying at his meal like a dog. Gonji said nothing and left the meal untouched.

"Mapache," one sentry said as he gathered up the uneaten food. "What those colonists across the sea call racc.o.o.na! An evil racc.o.o.na-thats what you look like! They said you could transform yourself into an animal."