Free The Lord of the Sands of Time by Jim Hubbert Page A

to the ground with almost comical zeal. Takahikoné merely dipped his head and strode brusquely toward Miyo. The Messenger whispered, “I’ll speak to him.”
    “No! The common people cannot hear the voice of the god,” said Miyo. Naturally, otherwise her authority would evaporate.
    Takahikoné strode up, dropped to his knees in the mud alongside Miyo and called out in a commanding voice, for all to hear. “I am Lord Ikima, Takahikoné of Yamatai. You will forgive my insolence in addressing one so intimate with Himiko our queen. But as she is our queen, I beg you not to place her alongside you, but to return her to us.”
    Miyo suppressed a scowl. She might have expected this. If Takahikoné’s aim was to reproach her indirectly, she could repay him in his own coin here and now, using the pretense of speaking for the Messenger. But Takahikoné had ignored her and addressed the Messenger directly. This required a direct reply. His gambit was in itself an act of insolence toward Miyo, but with his words he had paid her homage. His greeting could not be ignored.
    “Ikima…” Miyo groped for words, anything to create a delay, but the Messenger stopped her. As she turned to him, he winked. With a flourish, he drew the sword from over his shoulder and presented it to her.
    The instant Miyo grasped the hilt of the heavy blade, it shone with a glare like the risen sun. A mighty voice, neither male nor female, began to declaim in ringing tones.
    “Know this, Himiko Queen of Yamatai! Guard against discord, strive for unity, turn aside antagonism and mistrust. For your realm stands in peril!”
    Takahikoné’s jaw sagged with astonishment. If this man with mettle second to none was affected thus, it was no surprise that the rest of the host were unable even to raise their eyes from the mud. Miyo too was awestruck, but not too much to notice the Messenger’s dry smile, hidden from the others by the sword’s brilliance.
    Even before the light faded, a commotion rose from the direction of the palace gate. They could hear a horse neighing as it was reined to a halt. A lone soldier rushed into the forecourt and stopped, struck dumb by the scene before him. Miyo quickly spied him among the rest, called to one of Takahikoné’s captains and sent him to question the man. The captain returned, looking thunderstruck, and began conferring with Takahikoné.
    “At the Tsuge border crossing? Kukochihiko, that scoundrel!” Takahikoné’s face was dark with rage.
    “There was an attack,” said Miyo. Takahikoné started at the sound of Miyo’s voice, turned about, then instantly assumed a calm visage. He nodded.
    “Mounted soldiers and peasant footmen from the east, from Kunu. They press over our borders, spreading chaos.”
    “This is why the Messenger favors us with his presence.” Just then the light from the sword faded out. Miyo’s words were heard by everyone present. They looked up with open astonishment. Miyo had known this was coming, but she could only marvel at the sword’s ability to guess the timing of the soldiers’ arrival to the day and minute.
    Takahikoné’s eyes narrowed, as if he suspected some trickery. Miyo checked her urge to smile. She had the upper hand. There was nothing to be gained by pressing the point.
    “Prepare for battle, then.” Miyo took the Messenger by the hand into the Great Hall. As if a spell had been lifted, the host began to stir. Takahikoné’s bellowing for his captains rose above the tumult of voices.

    To Miyo’s surprise, it was Takahikoné himself who proposed that the Messenger be at the head of the troops, and furthermore, that Miyo should attend and assist him. She wondered if he had already accepted the Messenger’s authority, but things did not smell quite right.
    “Lord Ikima has appointed Takahaya, Hayato of Kumaso, to lead the army. The captains are all his compatriots.” Kan brought news overheard from the ministers. These Hayato warriors from Kumaso had sworn an