From atop the hill, the watch fires glittered like stars on the plain. The chill breeze whipping at the clothes of the two men standing there didn’t seem to trouble the sleeping armies. They all knew that tomorrow was going to be a great day for war.

‘Very well, tonight. Are you sure he knows nothing?’

‘Quite sure, Kiko is away on business, and you can imagine where the attention of the shinobi lie,’ he said, nodding to the encamped army below.

‘The you shall receive your due tomorrow, in the temple. Make sure you are there at sundown, if you live to sundown.’

‘I shall be,’ he said, handing over a small parchment tied with a red ribbon. Satisfied that his job was done, he turned and walked away. His accomplice stood for a few minutes more, looking almost wistfully down into the valley. He idly wondered why the armies were both encamped in the valley. Even he knew that if you had a hill at your back, you should be on top of it. Not that it would make any difference to the outcome. He tucked the parchment away, and quietly trotted down to the sentries. The shadow of a bush on the hill slipped away, moving like liquid night.

At the entrance to his tent, the man stopped, called short by someone.

‘Halt there, Toshu. You are abroad late tonight.’

Turning slowly, with the merest hesitation, Toshu looked at the man who had hailed him. He smiled falsely, because he saw the man wore the armour of a samurai.

‘My daimyo wishes his weapons ready for first light.’

‘A strong leader, indeed. I think you would do well to be well hid at first light, Toshu. It will be a time for honourable death.’

‘I shall be serving my lord, as I am sworn to.’

‘As will I. You may go, Toshu.’

‘My thanks,’ he said, bowing. The curtain of the tent rippled like a wave as he drew it back, and he had to sit in silence for some minutes before the shaking stopped. He drew a breath, and looked past the red dyed silk of the tent at the sleeping man lying in darkness. Like any other man now, in sleep. Night was the great leveller. Night was also the time of deeds left undone in the light of the day. Monkai should be back at his post by now, and the switch should have been made. The shaking returned, and he silently prayed to Buddha to save his place in paradise. Time would be the judge, he hoped. He didn’t like his chances if it fell to one of the many samurai to judge him.

He raised his eyes from prayer and almost lost his composure. A man was sitting with him, although he had heard no one enter. He was not surprised, because the man was dressed for death, in the dark garments of a ninja. Only his eyes were visible, and they narrowed as Toshu almost cried out.

‘You will replace this,’ said the man, throwing a small scroll into his lap. ‘And you shall leave. Tonight.’

‘But they will all die!’ hissed Toshu, fear of the assassin forgotten as his plan was foiled.

‘But you will not.’

‘Then you do it. I will pay you to kill Mishimoto Ikari. This cannot be left to happen!’

‘You couldn’t pay me half what I would ask. Ikari will be Shogun tomorrow.’

‘Then kill me now. I would rather die than live under his Shogunate.’

‘Killing you is even less appealing than killing him. You are nothing, Toshu. Japan will be united, who are you to stop that?’

‘I am no one. But I am a no one who could do it here and now,’ he said, pulling a thin knife from his belt. The ninja tensed slightly, his eyes flicking back and forth.

‘You can’t kill him. If you do, you know what will happen.’

‘Akira Hojo will be shogun. That is what will happen.’

‘No. I will use all of my considerable skill to see to it that you live while they kill you. After you are dead Ikari’s heir will take his place.’

‘He has no heir, you should know that. His only son committed kanashi last winter after Ikari ordered the execution of the families of all the men in armies who opposed him.’

‘Very tyrannical, I’m sure. He never gave that command, and his son is alive and well, living in hiding as insurance against just such foolish attempts as yours.’

‘You are a paid courier of lies, I do not believe you. Upon his death no one will rise.’

‘Very well, if you do not believe me, then strike. I have a piece of advice. A swift strike through the neck is adequate to silence any protest.’ The ninja sat back, looking nonchalant.

Toshu advanced on the sleeping form, staring down at the face he had served without question for his entire life. He knew now that he had been afraid to ask the question. Offering a quick prayer, he drove the sharp knife through the neck of the sleeping general.

Seeing this, the ninja rose, and calmly dissembled Toshu. He had to make it look like Toshu had committed hari-kari after his act of violence. The tent was empty once more.

At first light the armies were arrayed on the field of battle. The death of the daimyo during the night had enraged the samurai in the army. A competent leader came forth, and armed with the battle plan found in the daimyos tent they went to war. It was merely unfortunate that Toshu had slain the daimyo, and no one could see what he, or anyone else, had gained from his treason.

The army of Hojo was ready for a tough fight. They knew that Ikari had been a master of the Art of War. So Akira Hojo was most surprised when the opposing army arranged themselves in exactly the formation that his own force was deployed to deal with. Though he was wise, Akira put this down to luck, and never considered the hilltops to his back.

As the fanatical samurai clashed with the superior tactics of Hojo the valley became a scene of carnage. Just as Hojo’s troops were gaining the upper hand, a noise like thunder shook the trees on the slopes. From the hills all around the Hojo army hundreds of horsemen fell upon the rear of his army, shattering the already tired defence. They swept through, mulching the dead under hoof until only horsemen stood alive in the valley. The victory came as a surprise to everyone except the Daimyo of the Oda clan, and a ninja.