The Twilight War by Simon Higgins Page A

solution was to split them up, fight them in small groups or as individuals. Carve up the battlefield, so that their numbers counted for nothing. … sun-blinded in my nets.
    Moonshadow’s eyes lit up. So the key to Eagle’s plan was to ‘sun-blind’ the enemy, reduce their field of vision. If that happened, they’d be confused, off balance, since they lacked detailed knowledge of … our territory. Our nets ! Sun-blinded in my nets. He looked to the damaged ceiling. It was a daring, inventive ploy, but there was one very big catch. Sunrise was still a long way off, so what could they use to blind –
    Heron’s free hand streaked from her kimono and whipped the air. Long fingers flashing, she quickly turned a circle. Moonshadow saw the torinoko , the small percussion activated smoke bombs – a Heron specialty – fly to all points of the compass, into the ranks of the encircling Fuma.As the tiny missiles bounced and rolled they went off, plumes of smoke erupting from each in rapid succession.
    The archive speedily filled with twisting banks and surging columns of billowy white smoke that bled into one another at a surprising rate. Heron’s hand cuffed left and right, hurling more torinoko until she and Mantis vanished inside an ever-growing miasma of smoke. The startled Fuma drew their blades, their sense of easy victory swept away. Several began turning quickly in classic shinobi defensive circles.
    Through the blinding pale smog, Eagle hoarsely bellowed, ‘Attack!’
    Then came a close ring of steel on steel, followed by a grunt of pain and a thud . Loud sword swishes and more impacts quickly followed. Mantis was wasting no time.
    Moonshadow raised his own sword. This was it; their final, most frantic gambit. As one, the core of the Edo Grey Light Order would now win. Or perish before dawn.

 
    The great room was obscured, its entrances, aisles and other features swallowed by the enormous, hungry cloud. Moonshadow’s sharp eyes probed the haze. Where were Heron and Mantis? Back to back on the same spot, or had they been forced to move?
    Black smoke from the fires merged with the white smoke cloud of Heron’s torinoko, tinting the cloud with dark, jagged brush strokes. Air currents and breezes from human movement collided, making sections of the battlefield reappear at random, smokeless pockets that bloomed, drifted, then abruptly collapsed.
    Moonshadow plunged into a high smoke bank looming before him. The din of combat filled his ears: swords shinged and clanged, unseen shuriken – black, star-shaped iron throwing knives – swished as they flew by. Battle-cries and shouts broke the thick air. Moonshadow could see nothing. Panic snatched at him, but with a snarl he forced it off.
    Suddenly he made out the silhouette of Heron inside an air pocket just paces to his left. A ninja burst from the wall of smoke that Heron faced and, with a single lightning stroke of her weapon, she cut him down. As Moonshadow opened his mouth to call her name, he sensed movement in the smoggy air above him. Evade, quickly!
    Too late! Feet landed on his shoulders and he staggered to one side, swinging his blade upat whoever was balancing on him. A dull thunk told him his sword was being parried by an iron weapon. The attacker leapt from his shoulders, kicking him in the side of the head on departure. Sent tumbling to the floor, Moonshadow snatched control of his momentum and rolled, desperate to escape his skilful airborne enemy. A vague impression said he was heading for the open shoji that led to the north-south corridor. A far stronger instinct warned that he was also hotly pursued.
    Moonshadow tumbled through a thick bank of dirty smog, emerging to crash into the north-south corridor’s shoji doorframe. As he bounded to his feet, a dark shape flashed through the haze behind him. Powerful hands seized his wrist. Twisting his sword arm into a nerve-stretching lock, the