Generation after generation was born and buried at sea, but the descendants of the chosen ones never lost hope, and gradually they grew stronger. They kept the memory of their once-glorious past alive in the minds of their children, made eyes dulled with hunger, sickness and resignation sparkle with tales of heroic deeds by bold, fearless samurai for whom the thought of death was 'as light as a feather'.

They also handed down precious knowledge of the world that had been, and the skills that would be needed to build a new one when the earth had begun to heal.

Above all, they pa.s.sed on the code of bushido; the spiritual laws which governed the thoughts and actions of the Warrior and set him apart from ordinary humankind.

And they entrusted to them a sacred task: to root out and destroy the Dark Light and banish it from the world for ever.

It was a task that the Sons of Ne-Issan had never abandoned. On the establishment of the first Shogunate, it had a.s.sumed the form of an edict. The Dark Light was the greatest enemy of mankind; to seek to recapture it was the greatest crime. Successive rulers of Ne-lssan had carried on the fight with crusading fervour and the present Shogun was no exception.

Yoritomo knew that if the rumour proved to be true, then those involved would have to be ruthlessly eliminated. But how widespread was the conspiracy?

Prior to Toshiro's return, the Min-Orota had been regarded asfudai loyal allies of the Toh-Yota. It was an extremely delicate situation.

With the forces in the opposing camps so finely balanced, the Shogunate could not risk making any overt moves against the conspirators - if that was what they were. Even if he ordered his brother-in-law, the Consul-General, to commit seppuku - as family honour demanded - it could, given the present climate of intrigue, have unforeseen consequences.

No ... The insult to his sister and his own house would be avenged but at a time of his own choosing.

For the moment, it was wiser to let the pot simmer.

CHAPTER THREE.

Once again, Toshiro Hase-Gawa had demonstrated his remarkable flair for information-gathering, drawing together the loose strands from his network of agents and informers: eyewitness reports, tell-tale doc.u.ments, pillow talk, drinking-den gossip and bath-house rumour.

But the picture the herald had woven for the shogun was seriously flawed. Domain-lords Yama-s.h.i.ta and Min-Orota had entered into a covert alliance, they were contemplating the construction of devices to recapture the Dark Light, and Consul-General Nakane TohShiba was involved in an illicit s.e.xual liaison. But Yamas.h.i.ta was not in league with the Federation or its agents.

Toshiro had drawn the wrong conclusion from the information presented to him. The scenario he had constructed was based on one fundamental error: his a.s.sumption that the love-object - Clearwater - was a long-dog.

It was a mistake which Toshiro could not be blamed for making. Like most Iron Masters, his knowledge of Mutes was limited to those he had encountered in Ne-Issan; dull-eyed slaves who were fed and watered like cattle and who worked better under the whip. They were primitive outlanders whose place in Iron Master society was on a par with field-oxen and, at times, they were accorded even less consideration.

As a samurai and Herald of the Inner Court, Toshiro was bound by strict social conventions. It was unfitting for him to converse with such individuals, he could only give orders. And, had he owned slaves, those orders would have been transmitted through an intermediary.

As a result, he knew next to nothing about their customs and traditions or their unfettered mode of existence in the vastness that lay beyond the waters of the O-hiyo and Mei-sun. In particular, he was unaware of the existence of 'super-straights'; Mutes whose bodies were not only straight-boned and smooth-skinned but who were also clear-skinned like long-dogs and the Sons of Ne-Issan.

He was not alone.

Lord Hiro Yama-s.h.i.ta had made exactly the same mistake some months before - despite the fact he knew more about the Plainfolk than anyone else in Ne-Issan.

Over the years, Yama-s.h.i.ta had ama.s.sed a considerable body of information about the nomadic Mutes, but only senior members of his own family had access to it.

The annual expedition by the wheelboats across the Great Lakes was one of the many enterprises that had made the Yama-s.h.i.ta rich and powerful.

The Mutes were not only a source of cheap labour; the goods they supplied helped to feed and clothe their captive brethren. The facts at his command were trade secrets; knowing his clients' strengths and weaknesses enabled Yama-s.h.i.ta to extract the most favourable rates of exchange, and the rivalry between the various clans usually meant his trade-captains got the best of the bargain.

Unlike the majority of Iron Masters, Yama-s.h.i.ta did not despise the Mutes, even though he personally found their disfigured bodies somewhat repugnant - in particular, their hairy armpits and bushy s.e.xual organs.

But, despite their bizarre appearance and their lackadaisical approach to hygiene, they possessed a certain n.o.bility and, in their natural state, were strong, fearless individuals with their own code of honour which, in many ways, paralleled that of the samurai. They also had sufficient good grace to recognise and defer to a higher authority namely himself and his entourage and the wit to realise that the continuing exchange of goods and people for arms and artefacts was a profitable enterprise for both parties.

The picture they presented to outsiders was that of a largely untutored race endowed with a certain low cunning, but with more brawn than brains. However, there were some Mutes - notably the wordsmiths - who displayed a keen intelligence and an unexpected degree of subtlety.

The individual named Mr Snow, the wordsmith of the clan M'Call, was one of them, and it was to him that Yama-s.h.i.ta had turned for help in acquiring a flying-horse.

The domain-lord was also familiar with the unsubstantiated claims that certain Mutes possessed supernatural powers: mysterious gifted individuals known as summoners and seers. The Iron Masters, who worshipped at shrines dedicated to AmeratsuOmikami, believed that the world of nature was permeated by the spirit-world - the realm of the kami - but Yamas.h.i.ta treated the stories of Mute magic with derision.

In his view, the Mutes posed no danger to the Iron Master.

Despite their vast numbers, the fragmentary nature of the clan system and the traditional hostility with which the rival factions viewed each other made it impossible for them to mount a large-scale military action against their benefactors in the east or their enemy in the south.

The Plainfolk were fiercely territorial but they were not empire-builders. That was why it was safe to supply them with rifles.

Their implacable hatred for the long-dogs, and the guerrilla tactics they employed, were ideally suited to counter the probing advances of the Federation's overground war machines.

Yama-s.h.i.ta sometimes wondered if the Plainfolk realised they were being manipulated, but it never occurred to him that they might also be inspired by a sense of destiny. He had never heard of the Talisman PropheCy but, had it been brought to his notice, he would have given it short shrift. His curiosity about the Mutes was blinkered by the innate belief in his own superiority and that of the system he represented. In his view - which was shared by all Iron Masters from the Shogun downwards - there was nothing to be learned from the Mutes, one could only learn about them.

Yama-s.h.i.ta was not an anthropologist, nor was he a student of comparative religion; he was engaged in resource-management.

This selective garnering of information meant that Yama-s.h.i.ta, like the Herald, was completely unaware of the existence of 'super-straight'

Mutes. He was thus fated to draw the same wrong conclusion and, when the news of Clearwater's unexpected transformation from multicoloured Mute warrior to unblemished long-dog reached him at the end of January, he had shared the Shogun's present sense of betrayal.

In the case of Yama-s.h.i.ta, his anger had been directed against two targets: Mr Snow, for attempting to deceive him, and the Consul-General for his weakness and stupidity. When Kiyo Min-Orota had informed .him of what had taken place, his first impulse had been to have Clearwater dispatched by an a.s.sa.s.sin, but Kiyo had rea.s.sured him that, when all the circ.u.mstances were taken into account, neither of them could be accused of complicity.

On reflection, Yama-s.h.i.ta had agreed but, like the Shogun, he now found himself on the horns of a dilemma. The concealed presence of the female long-dog was simultaneously an unwelcome embarra.s.sment and a heaven-sent gift. The Consul's inexplicable desire to tup females from the lower social orders had finally rendered him vulnerable to blackmail. The man was a degenerate clown but his high-level connections, through his marriage to one of the Shogun's sisters, made him a valuable p.a.w.n in the dangerous game that was now afoot.

Mr Snow, the obliging wordsmith, was another problem entirely. What game was the sly old lump-head playing? Since it was he who had undertaken to deliver a flying-horse in exchange for a shipment of rifles, it followed that he must be party to the deception. Did that mean he was in league with the Federation? If he was, the request by the disguised female long-dog to be returned to the M'Calls with the cloud warrior when he had accomplished his task now made sense. She and her

50.

partner were obviously expected to report on all they had seen: the craft skills of the Iron Masters and their ability to adopt new techniques, the methods by which they would power the flying-horses, and their mastery over them in the air. No wonder the cloud warrior had requested that he and his escort be allowed to remain together. It was a clever ruse, but no Mute or renegade Tracker who had entered Ne-lssan had even emerged to tell the tale - and this impudent pair would share the same fate.

But one important question remained unanswered: why would the Federation voluntarily hand over the secrets of flight to a potential enemy? The gift had, admittedly, been delivered in the guise of damaged goods, but that merely lent plausibility to Brickman's claim to have built it from salvaged bits and pieces while held captive by the Mutes. Despite its somewhat battered appearance, the craft was still capable of carrying two people through the air, and it had arrived bearing two objects of immense value: a rider who was eager to explain in detail the function of every part and the theory behind its design, and a working example of an engine powered by the Dark Light.

To Yama-s.h.i.ta - a born entrepreneur - this had proved too good an opportunity to miss. After hiding it away, he had used considerable ingenuity to fake its destruction under the watchful gaze of the Shogun's representative in a spectacular bonfire containing crackerjacks and several concealed charges of gunpowder.

The mistake over Clearwater's true ident.i.ty - which was later to lead the Herald, Toshiro, into believing that Yama-s.h.i.ta might be in league with the Federation prompted the domain-lord to evolve his own elaborate scenario around Mr Snow. In Ne-Issan, no one attained the position of power that Yama-s.h.i.ta enjoyed without being ruthless and cunning - and he was no exception.

Like most domain-lords, he had a naturally suspicious mind and a penchant for labyrinthine conspiracies. He was certain that Mr Snow had not expected the female long-dog to reveal her true colours. And there was no way the wordsmith could have known she would be placed in the custody of Nakane Toh-Shiba, nor could he have foreseen what was to follow.

So what had been intended? Was the delivery of the craft with its intriguing engine and its obliging rider an attempt to solicit further interest as to what other items might be on offer? After years of trading with the Mutes, Yama-s.h.i.ta was clearly a person one could do business with. And his wheelboats offered a secure delivery system for goods and people. Was it possible that the Federation was seeking to make contact with him via Mr Snow?

To respond to such a move would be high treason. It was also high treason to flout the sacred edict concerning the Dark Light. But Yama-s.h.i.ta did not see himself as a traitor. He wished to preserve Ne-Issan - but not necessarily in its present form. Peace and prosperity were not enough. Yama-s.h.i.ta wanted progress. To achieve it, he would have to become Shogun. That meant displacing the Toh-Yota. If the knowledge that lay behind the Federation's war machines could help him do that, then, under the right conditions, he might come to an arrangement. And when he had achieved absolute power, he would use that same knowledge to defeat the long-dogs, destroy their underground kingdom and remove all trace of their presence from the face of the earth.

Yama-s.h.i.ta knew that any kind of deal with the Federation was fraught with danger, but he was already running an immense risk in contemplating the capture of the Dark Light. He was not even sure if he had the courage to translate such thoughts into action. Were he to do so, he would be forced to obtain the devices used by the spinners and weavers. These forbidden objects, and the materials from which they were made, could only be brought into Ne-Issan when his position was una.s.sailable.

In the meantime, there was no harm in keeping his options open. He would keep his word and deliver the promised shipment of rifles to the M'Calls. He would not seek to punish Mr Snow or his clan for attempting to deceive him; he would not seek to reproach him or even ask for an explanation. He would simply bring the old fox and the female long-dog face to face and watch what happened when he saw the change in her dress and appearance and heard, from her own lips, that she and the cloud warrior were being well treated and that neither yet wished to return to the Plainfolk.

From the moment he set eyes on her, Mr Snow would bereft in no doubt that he, Yama-s.h.i.ta, the most powerful domain-lord in Ne-Issan, knew everything. But the wordsmith would be able to read nothing from his face, for that would be hidden behind a black and gold mask.