L5r - scroll 04 - The Phoenix by Stephen D. Sullivan Page A

south, being careful to stay out of sight. The Lion are sitting on their haunches, happy to let Hoturi destroy his own people. They sweep in behind the undead army, picking over the scraps like vultures. They've hated the Crane for so long, it's poisoned their judgment."
    "Matsu Tsuko would let the world go to Jigoku if it would rid her of her enemies," Ishikawa said.
    Kiaku nodded and sighed. "Hai. I think so, too. The Crab feel the same way. They're holed up behind their walls, massing for war.
    "You rode that far south?"
    "I needed to."
    "In Shinsei's name, why?" Ishikawa asked. "Why did you go on this crazy errand?"
    "I needed to see for myself what was happening. I'm tired of court; tired of the empress' intrigues; tired of rumors and secondhand reports; tired of these white walls. I want to do more."

"As do I," Ishikawa said. "But it's futile. Our duty is with the emperor. Unless Hoturi marches against Otosan Uchi itself, there's not much we can do."
    Kiaku looked at the grass. The thin blades had already begun to turn brown and brittle. "Not much we can do as long as we stay here," he said. He sighed. "Sometimes, I think the Unicorn have the right idea."
    "The Unicorn?" Ishikawa scoffed. "I think they'd rather protect peasants than defend Otosan Uchi."
    "Can you blame them?" Kiaku asked. "Peasants tend the land, make the earth grow, harvest the food, weave the cloth. What do we do here except wait for orders from a dying boy, or dote on the whim of an empress nursing her hatred for those who killed her husband and son?"
    "Careful," Ishikawa said, his hand unconsciously stealing to the hilt of his katana. "That kind of talk could get you executed."
    "I know it," Kiaku replied. He reached up and plucked a shriveled cherry from a nearby tree. "But hatred bears bitter fruit," he said. "We all need to remember that—even the empress. Especially the empress." He put the cherry to his lips and quickly spit it out. "Ugh! This fruit is rotten, too."
    By silent agreement, the two men began walking again.
    "In all my time on the road," Kiaku said, "I never felt much hope that these wars would end. The only one who's really fighting the enemy is Toturi the Black. He doesn't have many men, and they're mostly ronin, but at least he's free to act as his conscience dictates."
    "Free to act without honor—and deservedly so," Ishikawa said. He turned and spat. "The emperor was right to cast him out."
    "Perhaps Toturi seeks to make up for his mistakes," Kiaku said thoughtfully.
    "He can't make up for them," Ishikawa said angrily. "He should have been there when Hantei the 38th was murdered. If he'd done his duty, maybe the empire wouldn't be in thrall to a sick boy and a scheming Scorpion. When Toturi was needed, he was nowhere to be found."
    "You give him no credit for restoring the throne?" Kiaku asked.
    "Not much," Ishikawa said. "If Kaede and I hadn't spirited the boy emperor away ..." A faraway look came to his eyes, and his anger faded.
    "Hai," Kiaku said. "Things would have been very different. Perhaps Toturi would still sit on the throne. And if he did, who is to say whether we would be better off? But ask yourself this, Brother, if you had lost your honor, as he has, would you still fight for the empire as Toturi does?"
    Ishikawa frowned. "That's a foolish question."
    "Not so foolish," Kiaku said. "I've been thinking about it quite a lot."
    "Then you're wasting your time," Ishikawa said. "Our duty is here, with the emperor."
    "And with Kaede?" Kiaku added, raising his eyebrows.
    "When the two coincide, yes," Ishikawa said testily.
    "But if the two were to conflict," Kiaku asked, "which would you choose?"
    Ishikawa stopped and turned away, facing the withering cherry trees rather than the broad ocean before them. "That's not something I think about," he said.
    Kiaku came and stood next to his brother's shoulder. Looking into the distance, past the mighty waterfall and out to sea, he said, "But we must think,