There was one more attacker
Annja whirled, expecting her final opponent to be closing the distance between them while her attention was elsewhere.
But that wasnât the case. The other man hadnât moved.
He stood watching her, hands held behind his back, like an instructor evaluating her performance.
âWho are you and what do you want?â Annja asked, and was surprised at the depth of anger she heard in her voice.
Her opponent said nothing.
âIâll give you one lastââ
She never finished the sentence.
One second her opponent was standing in front of her with both hands behind his back, and in the next he was leaping forward, a Japanese long sword suddenly appearing in his hands.
Annja just barely managed to deflect the strike as she brought her own sword up.
Where the hell had that sword come from?
It was almost as if heâd conjured the thing out of thin airâ¦.
â¦THE ENGLISH COMMANDER TOOK JOANâS SWORD AND RAISED IT HIGH.
The broadsword, plain and unadorned, gleamed in the firelight. He put the tip against the ground and his foot at the center of the blade. The broadsword shattered, fragments falling into the mud. The crowd surged forward, peasant and soldier, and snatched the shards from the trampled mud. The commander tossed the hilt deep into the crowd.
Smoke almost obscured Joan, but she continued praying till the end, until finally the flames climbed her body and she sagged against the restraints.
Joan of Arc died that fateful day in France, but her legend and sword are rebornâ¦
Ise Province, Japan
1603
Sengo Muramasa stormed about the room in a fit of rage. The furnishings around him bore silent witness to the strength of his anger; the black lacquer tea table had been smashed repeatedly against the floor until it shattered into pieces. The tatami mats had been ripped to shreds with his bare hands. The paintings on the walls had been torn down and stomped upon until the images they bore were unrecognizable. When one of his servants unwittingly entered the room, Muramasa had beat him to within an inch of his life and left him lying unconscious in one corner of the room.
The old swordsmith barely noticed the injured boy as his thoughts were on the edict that had arrived earlier that morning and the demands it had contained.
He still couldnât believe it. That bastard Tokugawa Ieyasu had actually gone through with it!
Heâd heard rumors about the shogunâs proposed stance for months, but had never actually believed he would put it into effect.
The words of the edict echoed around and around in his head.
All weapons crafted by the swordsmith Muramasa have been deemed illegal and banned from use by direct order of the shogun. Carrying such a weapon is now considered a crime and is punishable by death. Anyone caught possessing, hoarding, or transporting a weapon fashioned by Muramasa faces the same penalty.
He could not let this happen.
Deny his art? Banish his work? Never!
Already the germ of a plan was beginning to form in the back of his mind and he gave it free reign to grow and expand. He had no doubt the shogunâs men would be coming for him, to take his inventory and destroy his forge, to prevent him from creating any new blades. But with winter swiftly approaching, the mountain passes would soon be blocked and it would take months for them to thaw enough to be passable again.
Months he could put to good use.
He had just enough time to produce one final swordâthe culmination of his career. He would create a sword to be feared and held in awe in equal measure, a blade to master all other blades, one that would strike terror in the hearts of those against whom it was drawn.
He would call it Juuchi YosamuâTen Thousand Cold Nights.
Ignoring the destruction behind him, Muramasa stalked out of the house and across the courtyard to his workshop. His heart was full of feelings of anger and vengeance and Muramasa intended to use them fully.
Entering the forge, he paused a moment to say a prayer at the small Shinto shrine in the corner. The forge was a sacred place and to deny the gods their due would only ensure that his blade would come out weak and brittle. He took the time to ask for blessings and to make the proper offering. When he was finished, he rose and got to work.