Shichio tried to cry for help. A hundred flaming arrows shot through his arm, silencing him instantly. The shinobi had total control; Shichio could not even express pain except in the way his tormentor allowed him.
For Shichio this was not a wholly alien experience. He had introduced many lovers to the delights of domination and surrender. But this was a perverse corruption of that. Taken with a certain sense of play, there was pleasure to be found even in the sharpest pain. But not in this. This was sheer coercion, brutal in its simplicity.
“Let me go,” he whimpered. “Pl-please.”
Just like that, his arm was his own again. As hellish as the pain had been, he was surprised to see no outward signs of injury. He’d half expected to find bloody tendons dangling out, finger bones jutting randomly like thorns from a bramble. The shinobi, on the other hand, seemed to have taken no notice of the entire exchange. He sat just where he was before, stone-faced, unblinking.
Shichio scrambled away from him, groped for his upended writing desk, and placed it back between the two of them. Too late he realized he’d left the coin chest on the opposite side of the desk. Then he decided he’d rather let the shinobi walk away with the money than get close enough to take it back. “So,” he said, holding his wrist. “Your masters have forbidden you from killing the whelp. Was that your meaning earlier?”
Yes, pain is so wonderfully clarifying, Shichio thought. He would not dream of saying it aloud. It scared him a little just to have thought it in the shinobi’s presence. Hastily, as if to drown out his own thoughts, he said, “Something personal, but not loyalty. Not allegiance. You’re entirely too mercenary for that. . . . Ah! He paid you. Neh? He foresaw this conversation. He paid you in advance not to kill him.”
The shinobi dipped his chin in a tiny bow.
“Damn that boy.” And damn me too, Shichio thought; have I become so transparent? “Damn, damn, damn.”
Just this once, he wished he had his mask. It tended to focus his thoughts when it came to plotting a murder. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, he had to admit this latest move was predictable. No one was better suited for a successful bear hunt than the beast who sat in Shichio’s study. He had studied Daigoro, traveled with him, fought with him. It was not so hard for Daigoro to foresee the threat he posed.
“There must be another who can kill him,” Shichio said. “Of all the Wind’s assassins, one of them must be the best. Who is your canniest, deadliest fighter?”
“The warrior eternal.”
The man spent no time at all thinking about it. That was encouraging. “Who is that?”
“Not who. What. An ancient title, held only by a few.”
More encouraging yet, but Shichio was still unconvinced. “A title is little defense against Glorious Victory. You’ve seen the Bear Cub fight. He is a force of nature. What makes you think this warrior can stand against him?”
“The warrior eternal is protected. Relics. Weapons. Protective magics. The innermost secrets of the Wind.”
Now that’s just what I’m in the market for, Shichio thought. But he might get a better price if he didn’t mention that aloud. “It’s not enough. The mightiest warrior alive is harmless if he has no one to fight. He needs an opponent. Tell me where the Bear Cub is and I will hire this warrior eternal.”
“Stupid question.”
Shichio felt his anger spike, and he doused it just as quickly. His wrist had not forgotten its pain. “Pray tell,” he said as sweetly as he could, “what makes that a stupid question?”
“Meaningless. Ask the question that matters.”
How long must I endure you sitting here? That was the question he wanted to ask. Or, how long would you survive in a cauldron of boiling water? How many cuts would it take to kill you on my table? But those questions would not get this woolly brute out of his sight, nor would they locate the Bear Cub any sooner—
Oh, very clever, he thought. The question that matters. “You don’t know where the Bear Cub is. Even if you could tell me, he’d be gone by the time I got there. But you know where he’s going, don’t you?”
The shinobi slid the chest away, and at first Shichio thought this was a signal that the man