not allow him that dignity. So he bucked and twisted, and only managed to grind blood-soaked ropes against raw skin. He thought his skin was already as hot as it could get without actually catching fire, but the raw patches burned hotter still. It was as if the flames could smell his blood. They had a taste for it.
At last he could hold his breath no longer. He inhaled through his nose and singed both nostrils. It was not enough air. He inhaled through his mouth and burned his throat. Now the smoke shoved its fist down his gullet. Coughing expelled what little breath he had left. He grew faint. His legs gave out. He sagged from his tormented shoulders; he’d long since lost feeling in his hands and wrists. So much the better; at least they would not make him suffer when they burned.
A black devil crept across the floor. Daigoro did not know what else to call it. It clambered out of the smoke, shapeless and steaming, faintly reminiscent of a manta ray. Then it sprouted a human hand. The hand seized Glorious Victory Unsought by the grip and ripped her out of the floor. The devil rose to its full height and enveloped Daigoro in blackness.
Cold, wet fabric pressed against Daigoro’s forehead. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever felt. He risked taking a breath, and though the air remained hot and foul, it was not quite so cruel as before. Daigoro closed his eyes, relishing the cold before the fire sapped it away. When he opened his eyes again, to his great surprise he found himself face-to-face with Oda Tomonosuke.
Oda had draped the two of them under a sodden blanket—or something like that, anyway; Daigoro’s head was spinning too fast to make sense of everything. He was only sure that he was still alive, and that he had Oda to thank for that. But instead of thanking him, all Daigoro could say was, “Why?”
“Honor.”
Daigoro did not understand. Oda fixed him with eyes hotter than the fire. “You were right. I could not stand by and let him kill you. Not like that.”
“So you . . .”
“Set fire to the house. Yes.”
Daigoro struggled to make sense of that. Oda had left holding a torch and come back without it. He’d stayed by Shichio’s side long enough to see Daigoro bound hand and foot, but left as soon as he saw what Shichio had in store for him. Had he stayed out of sight long enough to set the building ablaze? Daigoro couldn’t remember. He’d lost all sense of time.
As those thoughts swam confusedly in Daigoro’s mind, a careful swipe with Glorious Victory freed his legs. His bonds had strangled all feeling out of his feet, and now they were not strong enough to hold his weight. Oda learned that as soon as he cut Daigoro’s hands free. Together they fell to the tatami, and for the first time in an eternity, Daigoro caught a breath of clean air.
Raw heat pummeled him from above. Blinding light seared his eyes even through lids pinched tight. Then the world grew dark and wet, and if not cool, then at least not hot enough to kill. Daigoro opened his eyes to see Oda turtled above him, taking shelter under the wet cloth. “The sword comes with me,” Oda said. “As do you. We will fight, with no interference from that simpering pansy. You will kill me or I will kill you. That is how this ends.”
“Agreed.” No one had ever struck a fairer deal. “Oda-sama, I once asked you if you are a samurai or a coward with a topknot. You have proved your mettle, my lord. Let no man call any Oda a coward.”
Oda scowled. He had no patience for praise from the boy who had killed his son. “Can you stand?”
Daigoro tried and failed. “Soon, I think.”
“Make it sooner.”
Outside their dark little world, the fire roared like a dragon. Something heavy moaned like a falling tree. Whatever it was, it cracked, and then the whole floor shuddered. Flying embers pelted Daigoro’s legs, and he realized he could feel his feet again.
He curled himself into a ball under Oda’s huddled form. His feet were shot through with pins and needles, incapable of supporting his weight. He decided they did not need to. He gave Oda a nod, then got to his elbows and knees and crawled toward the pool. Oda moved with him, a human turtle shell.