Risuko by David Kudler

When we scattered their charge, they ran back here, more interested in looting their own villages than defending their province.”
    Lady Chiyome looked down at the corpses with a look of utter contempt. “Ruffians,” she said, and her tone made it clear that this was the lowest term she could have used.
    Then she glanced over toward the stable door. Mieko sat, still cradling stony-faced Kuniko’s head in her lap; she was not crying, but her face was blank with grief. The larger of the Younger Brothers shook his head, and Lady Chiyome gave something halfway between a grunt and a sigh.
    Staring at the tableau, Lieutenant Masugu’s mouth opened and closed. “Poor... I’m sorry.” He turned back to Chiyome. “She... died well.”
    â€œShe did.”
    What had Kuniko been doing out there? What had she been doing arming herself with the long glaive? Fighting well, clearly. Dying well.
    Masugu gave an embarrassed wince and looked around at all of us. His eyes lit on Aimaru, Emi, Toumi and me standing there, still dressed for bed. “What are these?” he asked, a look of curiosity sharpening his frank gaze. “New shrine maidens?”
    â€œOf course, Masugu,” said Chiyome -sama . “The gods must be honored even in such times as these.”
    I blinked. Shrine maidens ?
    Chiyome -sama got a sly look on her face. “Lieutenant Masugu, let me introduce three young samurai maidens: Tarugu Toumi, Hanichi Emi, and Kano Murasaki.” A little confused to hear my rank and formal name, I bowed politely, if stiffly. I could see the others do the same to my left.
    â€œKano...?” Masugu looked at us as if he were trying to think where he’d met us before. Then his brows sprang up, and he gave a sharp whistle of surprise. “Quite a pack!” he said. Then he jerked his thumb toward Aimaru. “Who’s he? Go-Daigo’s heir, come to life again?”
    Lady Chiyome gave her thin smile. “No, he’s just a spare.” She glanced over toward where Mieko continued to rock Kuniko’s head in her lap, while the two Little Brothers stood, looking impassive as statues. “Much needed spare, it seems,” she sighed.
    The Takeda samurai rubbed the top of his head through the cap, and looked around at us. “Chiyome -sama ,” he said, “we’ve come from the Mountain to bring you and your, um, cargo back to the Full Moon. Would you do us the honor of allowing us to escort you out of the battle zone?”
    Lady Chiyome peered around at the scene, her acid gaze washing over the inn, now even more sad than it had been the day before, and our company, none of us even dressed for the day yet. “We will leave as soon as I am changed and packed,” she proclaimed. Then she strode back toward the inn and her room. Mieko fell in silently behind her, and we all prepared to leave.
    â€”
    As quickly as our hands and feet could manage it, we were back in the courtyard. Lieutenant Masugu’s troops now flooded out the inn-yard gate, an ocean of them, all on sleek black stallions, all with red Takeda flags on their backs. The horses’ steaming breath was a glowing fog in the now-bright morning light.
    The Imagawa corpses were all piled to one side of the courtyard.
    In front of them, on a rough wooden platform, Kuniko’s body lay wrapped in a dirty white shroud.
    It felt odd. I had barely met the woman, had only known her for a day. I hadn’t liked her very much. And yet I mourned her death far more than those of the pile of dead soldiers.
    Lady Chiyome stood before the old couple that owned the inn. She handed the woman a small, heavy bag. “Let the proper rites be said for my woman.” Then she looked to the broken door and sniffed. “And use what is left—what is left , mind you—to clean this place up.”
    The old couple muttered their thanks and promises, and touched their grey heads to the