Free The Disfavored Hero by Jessica Amanda Salmonson

Huan’s manipulation of her strength, deeper seeds had been sown for the harvesting of her head. Once, and not so long ago, a prince had come to Tomoe and entrusted her with an important mission. She was to travel to the Celestial Kingdoms and seek out a renegade swordsmith from Naipon. It had been a successful venture, and she had performed all but one part of the Mikado’s will, as outlined by the prince. Against what she was bidden, she had saved two of the slain smith’s finest swords, neglectful of the command to destroy them all.
    The mission in Ho had changed her in many ways, she knew. She combined samurai training with mainland ki’ung fu. No school taught her unique style, and none would do so unless Tomoe herself became a master of a school, and even then it might prove difficult to acquire students. None emulated her, for there were those who whispered, “The style of Tomoe Gozen is an evil style.” Yet Tomoe was perfectly committed to the seven virtues and all the tenets of bushido, so that none dared say she was renegade, for she was not. Even to insult her methods led inevitably to a fight to preserve face, a fight without quarter, and thereby death came to Tomoe’s detractors. Those deaths upheld her honor, and the honor of her style, so that she continued to fight with two swords. All the same, Tomoe knew she would be forgiven less easily if she ever strayed from the Way, for not all samurai were devoid of jealousy, and some would declare her a malignancy if given the opportunity.
    The last month had given detractors ample opportunity.
    But Tomoe was not for a moment convinced that her enemies were motivated as much by truth as jealousy. She perceived how the things she had learned during her campaign in Ho had made her mightier. The ill words of her enemies reached the Mikado, that was clear, and although the Mikado was all-wise, she would not believe her style corrupt.
    â€œI am guiltless!” cried Tomoe from her perch. Her hand clutched a slender root, so that she was in a most precarious state. Ugo’s longsword wavered hypnotically, waiting for her to fall.
    â€œThere are those who say,” Ugo Mohri began, “that Tomoe Gozen does indeed have two souls—her own, and that of Jingo the ancient amazon. Therefore fate necessitates that she wield two swords in order to bear the burden of her mightiness. A wonderful story!”
    He laughed at her.
    The root to which she clung tore a little ways from the cliff, and Tomoe raised her feet lest the executioner cut her tendons.
    â€œYou think you have doubled the might of your spirit, but you have only cut it in half.” To punctuate the statement, he swung his gleaming blade. “You think the philosophy of Ho has strengthened you, but it has not.”
    â€œNo one has bested me!” she said, the boast sounding silly given her position.
    â€œCome down to me and duel.”
    As if by his command, the root broke in her grip. He stepped aside to let her land safely. Her swords flashed to her hands before she had struck the ground.
    In a swift flurry of motion, she strove in a murderous fashion, but Ugo Mohri evaded her cuts, and laughed at her again. His sword moved only once, effectively slicing the armor of her shoulder so that it hung loose.
    â€œYour soul is divided, not doubled,” he said again. “You still have one soul, but it has become like the eyes of a bird. I can approach you through the middle. You cannot see me.”
    It was infuriating that he should lecture her, like her master of the samurai school. Another flurry of assaults met no result, and the woman shouted angrily, “No one defeats Tomoe Gozen!”
    Ugo replied, “Ugo Mohri defeats Tomoe Gozen.”
    Proud of the synthesis of sword maneuvers she had devised and practiced, Tomoe could not believe hers was an evil style. The honor of her weapons was at stake, and she fought with intense ferocity, the while saying,