By Matthew Pegg

The tiny line of women and children moved up the mountain pathway, perilously slowly. Mothers clutched older children to them while babies were strapped into makeshift slings on weary backs. Faces were lined with exhaustion and shock.

The rear of the pitiful column was brought up by a grizzled old warrior rabbit. His ears were tied with a ragged bit of cloth and an old scar over his right eye stood out a livid red against his grey-white fur. He was old but his posture was straight. This one had been a soldier. Never a leader of men, he had been too independent for that. Never an eager follower either. Now he wore the plainest of kamishimo but any other ronin would recognise him for what he had been.

The warrior glanced behind him worriedly. They were going too slowly. He could still see the smoke rising from the devastated village in the valley. The bandits would search for survivors who could identify them. Their trail was obvious. They would be found. And then his charges would die.

"Faster!" he urged them. And for a few moments the column picked up their speed. Then they settled back into the shocked shuffle which seemed to be the only pace they could maintain. He surveyed the terrain. The path curled up the side of the mountain and then turned though a high rocky pass which would take them into the lands controlled by the Tenaka clan. The bandits wouldn't follow them there. That was an advantage. The disadvantage was that the pass had only the one route. There was no chance of misleading or hiding from a pursuer.

He thought that he had left all this behind, the endless battles, fighting for one master or anothe, trying to maintain his personal sense of honour, even when the right and the wrong was not clear. It had been easier when he was younger. But as his friends had died or been lost he came to question his way of life.

As an old man he had settled down in anonymous solitude in a small house on the outskirts of the remote mountain village. With no wife or children, his twilight years had lacked joy, but they had been peaceful. Until now. Until the bandit raids which had plagued the region reached his village.

The attack had come at daybreak. He had been woken by the sound of screams and galloping horses. He had snatched his katana from the chest where it had slept for years and dashed out of the house. Bandits on horseback were galloping through the village. Already buildings were on fire. Sleepy men, armed with nothing but rakes and flails were cut down. Children and woman were trampled by horses or speared by laughing bandits.

The old warrior was swept up by a panicking crowd of children and mothers and whirled away helplessly down the street.

A moment later they halted. Two bandits on horseback blocked the end of the street. Surrounding them were sprawled the bodies of many dead villagers. Their spears were lowered. The villagers turned to surge back the other way but the other end of the street was blocked as well. A bandit on foot stood there. The riders started to walk their horses towards the villagers in a leisurely fashion, relishing their fear. The old warrior drew the katana and pushed his way to the rear of the group towards the lone bandit on foot. "If you are weak make your enemy think you are strong. If you are strong then make him think you are weak." The advice he had been given so many years ago came back to him. Suddenly he screamed, a thin, high-pitched cry of panic and fear. He broke out of the group and ran towards the bandit, seemingly in panic, his Katana held back against his forearm and concealed by his flapping robes. The bandit laughed and moved to block his way, whirling his sword mockingly, expecting an easy kill. At the last moment Usagi's simulated cry of fear became a roar of fury and he reversed the blade, plunging it into the bandit's throat.

Without pausing he swung around, pulling the blade free and ran back towards the panicked villagers. The foremost of the two horsemen had lowered his lance and was charging the group. The old warrior was separated from the horseman by the villagers. He saw that he wouldn't be able to push through them in time so without thinking he hurled his sword through the air. The muscles in his back cracked with the effort.

"You fool," he thought, "You've thrown away your chance of survival". But the sword clove through the air like a silver star and plunged into the bandit's open mouth. The horse reared and the man tumbled to the ground, his mouth spouting blood.

The villagers were running towards the old warrior but now the third bandit was galloping after then swinging his sword like a scythe. The old warrior was unarmed but he ran through the panicked children towards the remaining threat.

At the last second he dove beneath the bandit's blade and through the horses legs. A hoof caught his a stinging blow to the shoulder but his momentum carried him on and he rolled beneath the horse and out the other side. The bandit cursed and wheeled the horse around, chopping at the old warrior's head. He evaded the blow and dived for the body of the first horseman where the katana still jutted from the dead grin. The hilt slapped into his hand and the blade flashed free. The bandit's horse pulled up short. There was a moment of dead silence. And then the bandit toppled slowly from his saddle to sprawl in the dust.

After that he had lead the group from the village, evading the other bandits who were piling up valuables and corpses in separate heaps in the town square. They began the slow climb into the mountains and left behind the laughter of the bandits, the crackling of burning houses and the occasional scream as a concealed villager was found or trapped by the flames.

Finally they reached the turning from the mountain path into the pass through to the Tanaka lands. Sharp peaks surrounded the winding pass and the ground was uneven and strewn with boulders. The old warrior called a halt and his charges sank to the ground exhausted. Perhaps he was wrong? Perhaps there would be no pursuit. He could see no one on the path. He sank to the ground himself, his back against a rock. He became aware of a multitude of aches and pains: the back muscles he had strained throwing his sword, the place where the horse had kicked him. He wasn't young any more.... he wasn't even middle aged any more!

He caught sight of a small rabbit sitting near to him, trying to hold back tears.

"What's your name?" he asked gently.

"Yoshi," gulped the rabbit.

"We'll be safe now. No need to cry," he said, comforting with hollow words.

"They k-killed my father," the little rabbit sobbed.

The old rabbit said nothing. He didn't know what to say.

"They burst into the house and he tried to fight them but they j-just killed him! I was there and I didn't do anything. And then I just ran away. I'm a coward! It's all my fault!"

"No it isn't!" said the old warrior fiercely, "It's the bandits' fault. Your father died trying to protect you. You did what he wanted, you stayed alive!" The child stared at him. The words, however true were not much help. The old warrior stood up wincing. "Warriors don't run away," he said more to himself than to the child, "All you did was make a strategic retreat." Yoshi gazed at him wide eyed as he went to look down the path once more.

In the distance a slight haze of dust rose from the path. He could see the bowed heads of the bandits as they laboriously followed the trail left by the refugees. They would be there in ten, perhaps fifteen minutes. He counted fifteen heads. Too many, too soon!

"Run," he ordered and the children and women staggered to their feet and began to limp away up the pass.

"I must buy them some time," he thought.

Ten minutes later the bandits turned of the path into the gully to be met by a lone warrior with grizzled fur who was sitting in a leisurely fashion with his back against a rock. An unsheathed sword rested across his lap. He greeted them with relaxed smile and pointed back down the path with his sword. "That is the way back," he remarked.

A burley warthog pushed to the front of the group and glared down at the warrior.

"Get out of my way scum," he snarled, "We're hunting and the likes of you aren't going to stop us."

"By all means try to get past me," the warrior said, still in a pleasant voice, "But I should warn you that this path leads to the lands of the Tanaka clan. I command their forces and currently there are thirty arrows aimed at your heart. So feel free to pass by... and take the consequences."

The bandit leader stared at the smiling warrior. Then he surveyed the rocky outcroppings on the slopes calculatingly. He couldn't see any bowmen but they could be concealed there.

"I think you're lying," he grunted finally and took a step forwards.

"Attack!" screamed the old warrior suddenly leaping to his feet and sweeping the blade before him. It sliced through the warthog's neck before he could move.

"Attack them men! Fire!" screamed the old warrior dashing straight at the other bandits. Surprised, panicked and suddenly without a leader the bandits turned, tripping over each other to escape from this ferocious samurai and fled down the mountain path. Two more bandits fell to the warrior's sword before they could retreat to safety.

The warrior wiped the blood from his katana. He had surprised them but they would soon realise that no arrows had been fired and that therefore he must be alone.

He made a decision and started to lope away up the pass. The path was too wide at the top to make a good defensible position. He needed to find something else, another surprise.

A hundred yards up the pass he paused. there was a movement among the rocks to his right, a flicker of black and white fur. The katana hissed from its scabbard. A small scared face peered out. It was the child, Yoshi. "What are you doing here?" the old warrior spat in exasperation. "I came back. I wanted to help. I'm not a coward!" the boy said stoutly. There was no time to argue. Gazing at the ground which was loose and sandy Usagi had another idea.

"Very well. There's one thing you can do. You do it, and then you run after the others and don't turn back!"

"What is it? asked the youngster eagerly, scrambling down from his hiding place. "I want you to bury me," said the old warrior and nearly laughed out loud at Yoshi's alarmed expression.

Five minutes later the remaining twelve bandits marched cautiously up the pass. They had been unnerved by the old warrior's attack and the death of their leader. They had wasted time ascertaining that the bowmen didn't exist and more time haggling over who would lead them now that the warthog was dead. Finally they angrily regrouped to track down the old ronin and get their revenge for the humiliation they had suffered.

Toiling up the path they saw no trace of their opponent. At a place where the ground was loose and sandy and the boulder strewn slopes offered some possibilities of concealment they stopped to survey the area.

"Where can he be?" growled the hard bitten hound with an eye patch who was their new leader.

"Probably ran off," suggested a small shifty looking cat, "We're too many for him to face."

At that second the ground beneath their feet seemed to explode and a familiar figure leapt upwards in a shower of sand, impaling the cat on the blade of his katana. The surprise gave him a moment to stab backwards catching another bandit in the chest. Two of the remainder dragged swords from belts and slashed wildly at their enemy's head from either side. They had a second to register surprise as the warrior threw himself to the ground and their wild blows sliced into each other.

The old warrior broke into a run with the rest of the group in hot pursuit. Eight left! Eight to dispatch! His muscles roared in protest but he ignored their complaints.. The bandits must not catch him and they must not get past him or the straggling group of refugees were as good as dead. He had to buy them time. He pulled away from the group of bandits a little and then whirled around, the katana singing through the air again. The leading bandit couldn't stop himself and ran onto the blade, impaling himself. The warrior let the impetus of his swing carry him round to pull the blade free. One of the other bandits was close enough to aim a blow which scored a red hot line of pain down his back.

Again the old warrior ran for his life. And for the lives of the villagers up ahead.

Soon the path narrowed and two gigantic spires of rock towered up like gate posts. He was unable to run further and so there, between the rocks he turned to face the snarling pack of bandits and to make his stand. His pursuers had at last learned the value of caution and they fanned out warily gazing at their enemy.

"Surrender," called their leader, "And we won't harm you!"

The old warrior laughed derisively. "Turn back," he offered, "And live!" There was clearly nothing to be gained from talk.

Three of the bandits attacked together. The force of the assault pressed the warrior back between the rocky spires but there he had the advantage. In the cramped space the bandits got in each other's way.

The first died from a thrust to the belly.

The second aimed a blow at Usagi's head but the old warrior caught the blade with his and deflected the blow. Then it became a battle of attrition where each fought for advantage and failed. It was clear that the one who tired first would be the loser and inexorably the younger bandits were forcing the old ronin back.

"You shall not pass," he said through gritted teeth.

He let his sword dip and one of the bandits took the bait and thrust for his chest. The old warrior enveloped the blade with a corkscrew motion which blocked the bandit's sword and carried his own forward into the attacker's chest. The bandit's eyes widened in shock and he fell backwards fatally entangling the feet of his companion. A moment later the third bandit was also dead.

The old warrior leaned against the rock panting with the three bodies huddled at his feet. A cut crossed the old scar and blood dripped into his eye.

The remaining bandits looked at each other uncertainly. The cost of facing this indomitable ronin was just too high. Then the leader gestured to one of the others. From his back he produced a short bow which he began to string. The old warrior realised his danger and called to them. "Come fight me face to face! Are you such cowards that you dare not face one old man?" "Why should we take the risk?" asked the leader, "When we can kill you safely from a distance?"

The warrior turned to run. If he could find a hiding place before the bow was strung then he might stand a chance. But his legs failed him and he staggered to his knees. Something hit him like a blow from a fist. Looking down he saw an arrow head protruding from his chest like the strange result of some macabre magic trick. He nearly laughed out loud. The next arrow caught him in the shoulder and punched out under his collar bone. His sword arm went numb and the katana fell from lifeless fingers to clatter on the rocks.

"So this is the end." he thought, "Not a bad cause to die for. But I have failed. They are not safe yet."

The third arrow hit him in the lower back, the barbed head protruding through his stomach. His legs lost all strength and he slid down the rock to lie sprawled on the scree. The pain was an ocean but it seemed to be curiously distant.

The head bandit gestured to the bowman who carefully unstrung his bow. The four remaining bandits walked carefully between the rocky spires to where the old warrior lay. His eyes were open but glazed.

The leader kicked him in the leg but he didn't move.

"Dead!" he pronounced, "Now lets get after those villagers. The leader took one step past the body and he felt something grasp his ankle strongly. He looked down and saw the old warrior's hand grasping his leg. Life and intelligence flared in the rabbit's bloodshot eyes.

"Why won't you die?" growled the dog, attempting to shake off the grip. Unervingly the old warrior started to laugh, a ghastly, wild, hollow laughter which reverberated from the rocks creating a weird cacophony. Blood drooled from the warrior's lips but his voice was supernaturally strong. "I can't die, because I'm already dead!" he snarled. "I died a hundred years ago defending this pass and now my undead form guards it still! Hack me to pieces and I shall return again. And again!"

The leader sprawled painfully onto the rocks, terrified and unable to shake off the steely grip. The old warrior pointed a finger and glared at the other three. "You are doomed!" he intoned. Their nerve broke and they ran, away from this apparition, away back down the pass.

The chief bandit tried to break away but the old warrior wouldn't let go. He dragged himself painfully up the bandit's body and glared into his eyes. "Now I shall show you hell!" he spat and clasped the leader strongly to his chest. The three arrows protruding from his body bit into the bandit whodied gazing into the bloodshot eyes of the indomitable old warrior.

The final ruse had worked but the old ronin couldn't feel his arms and legs any more and he knew death must be upon him. When he heard a thundering sound coming towards him he wondered if this was the end. But a moment later something jumped over his body and another and another. He saw that it was horses, ridden by men bearing the badge of the Tanaka clans. The horsemen galloped down the pass after the last few bandits. Another horse stopped and someone dropped to the ground. As the newcomer lifted his head he saw that it was Yoshi. The boy knelt by him, tears in his eyes.

"Are they all safe?" whispered the old warrior.

"Yes they're safe," said Yoshi, "You saved us all!"

"And you got help," smiled the warrior. He pointed to his katana wedged in the rocks. Yoshi bought it to him and tried to place it in his hands. The warrior shook his head. "Its yours now," he whispered, "Use it well." Yoshi's eyes widened gazing in disbelief at the gift.

"And one piece of advice," added the dying ronin. Yoshi moved closer to catch the words.

"If you are weak, make your enemy think you are strong," he intoned, "And if you are strong, make them think you are weak."

With that the old warrior's head fell back and free at last, his soul fell into the sky.

Yoshi stood for a long time, staring down at the warrior who had saved his life, pondering his last words and holding the gift of which he hoped one day to be worthy.