The River's End

Throughout July, you’ve been reading (and listening to) the plans of the Crab, Crane, Scorpion and Mantis Clans on how to deal with the pirates plaguing the River of Gold, one of Rokugan’s most vital arteries of trade. For the past week, you’ve been voting on which of those clan’s leaders you believe has formulated the plan with the best chance of defeating the so-called “pirate prince.”

Well, now the votes have been counted, a plan has been chosen, and one clan’s leader holds the fate of the river in their hands. In the end, the winning clan received 38% of the votes cast, more than 14 percentage points ahead of their nearest challenger. The results of the vote will also have ripple effects on the upcoming Clan Wars storyline, continuing L5R’s long tradition of the fans steering the outcome of the story.

So, who has been favored to take on the pirate prince, and will their plan succeed? You can read or listen to Part 6 of the River of Gold series right now to find out…

Part 6: Yoritomo

by Robert Denton III

This man called himself the “River Pirate Prince,” Yoritomo thought. Was it a joke? Was it a name he’d chosen for himself, instead of earning it through great deeds? A true prince was many things: a leader, a general, a respected captain. Daring but not foolish. Prideful but stoic. A prince took steps to protect their most important resources. Their crew. Their ships. Their supplies. They yielded territory instead of getting trapped in prolonged battles. They decided the battlefield, the time to fight. They made decisions based on cold rationale, not the tug of emotion or desire for victory. Victory was inevitable to a true prince. There was no need to rush it along. That was what separated true rulers from mere pretenders.

So far, Yoritomo hadn’t seen anything resembling a prince in Bakuchiku. This was a man who sacrificed anything – ships, supplies, even his own crew – to save his hide. Maybe he’d been mistaken thinking that the man was worthy to join the Mantis.

But pragmatic need trumped virtue, sometimes. Bakuchiku had boats and experienced sailors, which made him more valuable as a living ally then a dead notch on a sword’s hilt. Assuming, of course, he would stop sacrificing the very reasons Yoritomo left him alive so far.

When the Great Clans learned that Yoritomo was seeking to put an end to the river pirate threat, they approached with many offers. Both the Crab and Scorpion were eager to assist, the Yasuki lord going so far as to hire him to recover their supplies. They underestimated him, thinking he only wanted gold. But the true treasure was the pirates themselves. They would be his new Golden Fleet. It never seemed to occur to either the wily trader or the Lady of Whispers that the Mantis wanted their own stake in the River of Gold.

Only the Iron Crane seemed to guess this. Only Daidoji Uji refused to lend any help. The Crane general hadn’t made any direct threats, but then, threats were beneath him. Neither of them had to say anything at all. Warrior hearts understood each other without need for words.

The Mantis vessels arrived at Friendly Traveler Village under cover of night. The guards followed instructions not to make any alarm. The assault on Bakuchiku’s boats – disguised as merchant vessels – took only a matter of minutes. Crab magistrates did not interfere; Mantis gold had assured that. The hostages were swiftly secured. No injuries. But a reunion with Itsumi would have to wait, for she had her own part to play. She and the contingent led by his first mate Kudaka surrounded the tea house that was Bakuchiku’s sanctuary.

No plan unfolded exactly as envisioned. There were too many variables to ensure that. But Yoritomo had long ago learned to trust his baked-in contingencies. What mattered were the broad strokes, and a month of careful planning, of tracking and maneuvering, had made those inevitable. He closed his eyes and pictured how it unfolded.

Bakuchiku likely awakened to the sounds of violence beyond his room. Looking out the window, he would have seen his boats burning. Yoritomo imagined him bewildered, running from room to room, finding them empty of his trusted officers. They’d accepted his offer and his gold, and he doubted they would have warned the pirate prince before abandoning him. It seemed they never really cared for him.

Yoritomo deployed his telescoping spyglass. There he was.

Bakuchiku gave Yoritomo the impression of a weasel raised by bears. The so-called “prince” had clearly decided to cut his losses, tumbling from a second story window in the teahouse, only to be confronted by waiting Mantis. The shrine keeper Itsumi jutted a finger, and Yoritomo read her lips: “Him. That is Bakuchiku.”

Yoritomo kept him centered in the spyglass. Show me something, he thought. Show me something that makes you worthy.

Bakuchiku ducked beneath three arrows and tossed a knife at his attackers. Had Kudaka not plucked the blade from the air, it surely would have sunk into a throat. He rolled out of two more arrow trajectories as a warrior rushed him. A flick of Bakuchiku’s wrist, and a tiny cloud appeared, sending the attacker to the ground, cupping his eyes. Judging from the color and tiny glints, Yoritomo imagined it must have been Spider’s Kiss, a mixture of crushed glass and powdered strychnine. Resourceful. But how many such tricks did he have left?

Itsumi rushed toward the collapsed man, flushing his face with water to help save his eyes. Admirable, but this compassion hindered pursuit. Bakuchiku took the chance to retreat, sprinting towards the docks, zig-zagging away from falling arrows. The others stayed back. Yoritomo swung his spyglass towards Kudaka, who nodded.

He collapsed the spyglass and backed away from the ship’s edge. For a moment, his hand hovered over the handle of his sword. No. Let’s do this properly. With a practiced motion, he freed the pair of crescent-shaped billhooks at his side, his kama. He crossed the blades and waited.

Yoritomo believed that the Scorpion’s tradition of wearing masks was the most honest thing about them. All warriors wore masks of a sort. In this way of life, deception was akin to survival. There were aspects to a warrior’s life that one could never articulate, things that could only be experienced firsthand. The only way to truly know what lay in a warrior’s heart – in one’s own heart, even – was to cross blades, with life and death as the stakes. Only in the heat of battle did one peel away the mask and reveal their true face.

Racing footsteps on the dock. Wooden thuds growing louder. Bakuchiku leapt over the banister. His feet stomped onto the riverboat’s deck.

Yoritomo leapt from the roof. Bakuchiku spun, engulfed in the Son of Storms’ shadow.

A clang. The kama tore a small blade from the pirate’s grip.

Bakuchiku darted a hand into his collar.

The kama tore a silver arc.

A second blade embedded itself in the boat’s mast, six feet away.

Bakuchiku rolled beneath two strikes. Yoritomo’s boot thudded into his chest. The pirate’s back struck the wall. He gasped wetly.

The clatter of a katana sheath on the deck. Morning sun glinted on brandished steel.

The man had most certainly stolen that katana. Commoners were forbidden to carry them. Yoritomo’s measure of the man rose. But only a bit.

Yortomo rained steel blows into the pirate’s defense. Each slash left Bakuchiku reeling, stumbling backward, barely lifting the sword in time to deflect the next strike. His grip weakened with each wrist-shattering blow. The Son of Storms advanced, weaving a razor web of steel, glaring and bathing Bakuchiku’s eyes with the crimson light of the reborn sun.

Show me, his mind commanded. Show me your true self! Show me why they call you the fireworks pirate, the thief-prince of the River of Gold! Show me something, anything, that proves you are worthy!

The pirate stumbled against the back banister. He wavered. Slipped.

Yoritomo kicked the man’s feet out. Bakuchiku tumbled down. His knees crunched into the deck. The Son of Storms caught his chin with his crossed blades. A breath more, and they would slide through Bakuchiku’s neck.

Sweat traced from the pirate’s chin down the razor billhook of the kama. His eyes seemed clouded at first, but then the pupils sharpened with recognition.

Yoritomo nodded. Yes, he thought. I am the Son of Storms.

I am the one you wish you were.

After a long moment, Bakuchiku lowered his head, just enough that the kama blade kissed a red line on his neck.

“You win. I cannot beat you.” With quiet resolve, he looked up at the Son of Storms.

His eyes didn’t match, Yoritomo noticed. While one was chestnut brown, the other was a deep forest green. Such an unusual color normally only ran in a noble family. Was there some part of Bakuchiku’s past, his lineage, that Yoritomo’s research had not revealed? Was there something the pirate kept secret, even from his crew?

Slowly, the pirate’s lips parted, revealing pristine teeth. A smile of concession. “If I am to die, I am glad it is at your hand, and not some samurai scum.”

And there it was. The truth. As bright and obvious as the rising sun. And just as painful to directly behold.

Yoritomo spoke. “You say this as though I am not one of those samurai scum.”

How many times did the Great Clans treat him as just another commoner? How many similar slights over the years had he endured?

Confusion flickered across Bakuchiku’s features. “But, you’re not. Not really.” Reverence flooded into the pirate’s eyes, fixated on something only he could see, something far from his grasp. “You are like me,” he breathed. “Something new. Something they’re not ready for. Something that will change this Empire.”

After a long silence, Yoritomo withdrew his blades.

Bakuchiku exhaled hard, putting a hand to his neck. He shook, as though he might break into laughter, but wasn’t sure if he could.

“You made too many mistakes,” Yoritomo said, letting his blades fall to the side. “But you show potential. I have followed your career for some time, Bakuchiku. And I have an interest in the River of Gold. Perhaps you might eventually meet that potential, if you are willing to serve a greater cause. So I will make you a similar offer to the one I gave your officers. Will you join me and serve in my Golden Fleet?”

Again, Bakuchiku gave a confused look. “My officers?”

“Yes,” Yoritomo said. “After their ceremony, most will be retainers of the Mantis Clan. I suppose you might call them ‘samurai scum.’ But I know such a thing would be revolting to you. That is why you would serve among my common sailors. That would suit you better, yes? And maybe, with time, you would rise through the ranks. Maybe even be commander of a boat, assuming you earned it through service. Such is better than death, don’t you agree?”

Bakuchiku swallowed hard. He seemed resigned. He nodded. “Yes, it is.”

He rose to his feet, then lowered his head.

A flick of the wrist. A steel flash.

Bakuchiku screamed, his gripped dagger plunging toward Yoritomo’s throat.

The kama blades spun into the Son of Storms’ grip. He crossed them and made an X. Steel rung a single note.

Bakuchiku collapsed to the deck. His head splashed into the water several feet away.

Yoritomo flicked the blood from his blades and shook his head. “Unworthy.”

Yoritomo watched the sun’s final rays gild the river in brilliant gold. From nearby, music and laughter wove a gentle din over the river. Beyond, vessels marked with a green circle floated on sunset-lit waters towards Earthquake Fish Bay, where officers would board ships for the Coastal Islands, and the harbor of Gotei City. The test would be hard on them, but if they passed, they would truly be a part of the Mantis.

He heard Kudaka’s barefoot steps and spoke over his shoulder. “I trust everyone is happy?”

“The former pirate officers are content,” she confirmed. “They have no idea what they’re in for, of course, but I think a few of them will pass the initiation. They’ll be an asset to the fleet.” From her sleeve, she produced a small letter. “Itsumi asks if she can escort her friends back to Journey’s End City. They’re recovering well from their ordeal, but she worries.”

“Of course,” Yoritomo said. “We owe her much. She delivered our Golden Fleet. Perhaps she will consider my offer to join it.”

Word would travel fast, and trade would resume along the River of Gold, just as it had for centuries. Only now, the Mantis would have a say in that trade. They would be as prolific on the river as they were at the sea. As it should be.

“A shame about the pirate prince,” he remarked. “Chasing victories in the short term, he couldn’t see the bigger picture. Again I have found that those who demand the most respect have the least of that to offer. That was his greatest mistake, I think. To treat his crew like mere commodity.”

“Or perhaps it was his ambition,” Kudaka remarked. She cast him a look rife with meaning. “Maybe we should all consider that lesson.”

Yoritomo did not reply. Kudaka was one of the few from which he would tolerate such comments. But she was mistaken, of course. It was not ambition that weakened Bakuchiku. It was the assumption that one man could own all of this – that one could grasp the river, and it wouldn’t flow through one’s fingers. But the River of Gold could not be tamed. Only respected. Its bounty belonged to everyone.

He’d learned that lesson himself. And one day, he would teach it to the Great Clans.

Don’t forget to pre-order your copy of River of Gold from Office Dog to once again decide the fate of this most favored river for yourself.