Free Gonji: A Hungering of Wolves by T. C. Rypel Page A

grumbled to the chuckling soldiers.
    They rode toward the square, the French adventurers linking with them at a crossroads, their column in a disciplined formation that would have done a drill team proud.
    Armand Perigor fell into a canter beside Gonji, clucking and shaking his head to see the new armor.
    “Bonjour, Gonji-san.”
    “Ohayo, Armand-san.”
    “That is the celebrated ‘bullet-proof’ armor the military raves about?”
    Gonji nodded, flushing a bit, though maintaining his dignity with an effort.
    “With all due reverence, that is dogshit of a most putrid order,” Perigor judged archly. “You best not place too great a faith in its claims.”
    “Hai.”
    “My men have done their best to separate the wheat from the chaff in your noble company.” Perigor flicked his head back toward the column. Gonji followed his gesture, saw bruises and black eyes, lumps and cuts on the faces that met his gaze steadily.
    “Ah, so desu ka? And the result of their judgment?”
    Perigor shrugged. “They may have chased off the most useless dregs. I suppose we’ll be hearing about it from the officious lieutenant. There was a nasty incident or two involving the garrison troops.”
    “Splendid.”
    “What a canaille you lead,” Perigor observed. “A pack of dogs. A rabble cloaking themselves in boasts and the comfort of numbers. Poor defenses against the Farouche Clan.”
    “They’re all we have,” the samurai replied. “Simon Sardonis is back with us, lurking somewhere on our fringe. There’s an urgency in his need that makes any further delay out of the question.”
    “But another week—a few days—just to organize this mad crusade—”
    “Iye,” Gonji said firmly. “You’ve no doubt seen, as I have, that too much preparation against an unknown enemy can often be purely a waste of time, neh? Useless speculation. I’ve seen many amazing conquests born of spirit alone.”
    To see the look in Perigor’s eyes, as Gonji pulled his mount out of line to allow the column to pass him, the samurai felt a mixture of pique and guilt. What he had spouted had been the most questionable blather, unworthy of any accomplished tactician who had it in his power to see that no such fatuous heroics were necessary.
    Yet he curiously found that he was more eager to defend his improper planning—which his own father would surely have condemned—than he was to set it aright. And further, he was unwilling to examine his own motivations, even in the privacy of his mind, preferring to get on with the venture.
    He motioned for the French, Spanish, and Italian detachment to move on to the square to link with the rest of the company as they encountered a small squad led by Lieutenant Noyes, who cast Perigor an ugly glance as he rode by.
    “Determined to have those scoundrels along?” Noyes asked, frowning to see Gonji’s affirmation. “Watch them closely. There’s a reward on every carcass among them you bring back. One cavalry column under Sergeant Villiers goes with you. They’re at the fountain. Here are letters of transit that will see you to the Burgundian marches. And a copy of my own troop’s orders. Here is a letter, under my own seal, to the duke of Burgundy—Duke Cordell de Plancy. He’s a doddering old fool these days, by all accounts. He’s allowed his son-in-law’s family free rein over the province. You’ll find it a unique system of nepotism, I think, even for France.”
    Gonji returned Noyes’ nervous smile in a more confident fashion, then asked, “Lieutenant, exactly what is it that you expect your troop will help me achieve on this expedition to Burgundy?”
    Noyes licked dry lips and shouldered back the numbing cold. He trembled a bit as he responded. “To stop Catholic and Huguenot alike from killing each other in the name of Christ. They still do that up there, we all know.” An edginess crept into the man’s eyes.
    “And under whose aegis do I ride?” Gonji pressed. “By whose authority?