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fall!”
    The sorcerer gazed at the ceiling, reverent of himself, whose idealized life was depicted in the relief above their heads. When he looked at Ushii again, he said,
    â€œWho do you serve, samurai?”
    Ushii stood and touched the hilt of his sword, saying, “I am pledged to the defense of Lord Huan!” Strength and pride crept back into his tone. If all the cosmos came undone, still would Ushii Yakushiji feel complete, for he had bushido to keep him whole. Or so he believed. Tomoe, though unable or unwilling to act, was yet able to reason. She knew that to survive, Ushii must sever his giri from his ninjo, maintaining honor with the first and despising himself with the second. This separation of self meant insanity, and unless it were resolved, Ushii would go mad.
    The knowledge should have moved Tomoe deeply, but she felt nothing beyond simple comprehension.
    The sorcerer was cackling loudly, then stopped short. “Tomoe!” he called. “Come stand to my right. Ushii, to my left.” Ushii took up his station, squaring his shoulders and affecting his old self. Tomoe moved like a juggernaut to the right hand side of the exiled Huan. He said, “Yesterday, I spent vast stores of magic bringing forth the storm, manipulating a peasant population, and opening the door for Ushii Yakushiji to aid Tomoe Gozen. These demonstrations have left me weak. But I need not fear, for I have two fine yojimbo: samurai bodyguards. Shigeno was allowed the illusion of victory, yet he is ruined—for without peasants to till the fields and bring him tribute, he is lord of nothing.
    â€œSoon, I must sleep to regain my powers. Before I awaken, Ushii, you will execute the dragonmasters for their cowardice in the battle. They alone survived yesterday’s battle, because they ran away; and I shall replace them with a more effective army. Tomoe, you will carry me to my bedchamber, for I am presently too drained to walk. You will stand over me and see no danger befalls. I will sleep three days. On the fourth, I will return to my throne to accept tribute from all the warlords. They do not know my sorcery is for the moment spent, so they prepare even now to honor me lest the example of Shojiro Shigeno be made of them as well.”
    He looked at Tomoe and then at Ushii, and it seemed the evil man had a kind of awe for both of them. He finished, “I trust you both implicitly.”
    Then he laughed louder than Tomoe had heard before. It was the mirth of malice which cannot be defeated.
    That night, Tomoe stood over the silk-upholstered couch of the dark sorcerer of Ho. Since she placed him amidst the covers, he had not moved. He lay curled fetally, a child as old as time; and evil was, after all, ancient, yet never wholly matured.
    Tomoe’s black eyes glistened in the faint light of a single, failing candle. Ushii lay on a bamboo mat on the floor. He watched his captivated friend and the sleeping Lord Huan, with a wild expression framed by the self-inflicted scratches on his face. He asked, “Why do you never sleep, Tomoe?”
    She could not reply.
    Ushii shuddered. “How terribly you have changed!”
    Huan, in his revitalizing trance, would have been easy prey but for his intent guardian. Even were Ushii mad enough to attack his own master, Tomoe would stop him with the least necessary effort. She was not sure why she would bother, for the sorcerer merited none of her consideration. Perhaps she would stop Ushii so he could not dishonor himself, although that did not register with much importance either. Nor was she certain why she felt no inclination to kill Lord Huan herself, except that she no longer served Shojiro Shigeno and bore Shigeno’s adversary no personal grudge. She hovered above the frail sorcerer without movement, barely with thought. Not even her moist eyes blinked.
    Ushii said to her, “By the danger brought to the heimin and by keeping an army, Lord Huan has broken his