Free The Ronin and the Green Maiden by Travis Heermann

Ken’ishi pulled his coat tighter around him against the chill of winter. Clouds the color of sodden ash hung heavy in the sky, and the cold, wet wind seeped into his limbs in spite of the warmth of Thunder under him. Still a novice horseman, he wondered how long before his backside would become accustomed to the lacquered wooden saddle.
    A woodcutter at the last crossroads had warned him the recent massive typhoon had caused a landslide that had obliterated the most direct road to his destination. His path now took him up a less-traveled road, into the more rugged reaches of the mountains, and added at least a day of travel time.
    The weight of Silver Crane’s scabbard against his thigh and the rattle of arrows in the quiver on his saddle formed a great comfort. The path before him seemed to grow wilder with every passing ri. Brooms of pine needles edged ever closer to the road. Undergrowth encroached upon the dirt path that wound through the mountain pass and down into the river-ribboned valley below. Cold mist hugged the mountain sides like wisps of shredded silk. Monkeys screamed in the canopy, taunting travelers with raucous gibbering. Half of the mountain lay behind and above him, and the other half lay below him as he made his way toward the river in the valley’s crease.
    He rounded a corner and reined up at what he saw.
    A warrior stood in the middle of the road, standing as tall as the stallion, fully head and shoulders taller than Ken’ishi.
    The man’s palms clasped the hilt of a nodachi that stood to his chin, point down in the earth before him. One set of great callused knuckles flexed around the others. A dark, hooded gaze rose from the ground, fierce and glittering as it met Ken’ishi’s. The rest of his face was concealed behind an emerald-green iron menpo with the countenance of a fox. Long hair hung unkempt over the man’s meaty shoulders like a great mane. A threadbare robe of forest green was festooned with pine needles and bamboo leaves as if he had been rolling on the ground.
    “Who goes there, samurai?” the man said.
    “I am Ken’ishi, a ...” He had almost said ronin . “A vassal of Lord Otomo no Tsunetomo. In the eleventh month, I fought with the defense forces in Hakozaki and single-handedly slew over fifty barbarian invaders. I am the slayer of the demon bandit Hakamadare. Who are you?”
    “Whither are you bound?”
    “I am traveling to my lord’s estate to begin my service.”
    “You are on the wrong road.” A grim menace rose in the man’s voice, pregnant with meaning.
    “I have no choice. The storm closed the main road.” Ken’ishi frowned and placed his hand on Silver Crane’s hilt. “And you have not given your name, warrior.”
    “My name is not important. All you need know is that this is my domain, and you shall not pass without a test.”
    Wind moaned across the misty mountainside, filling the silence between them.
    The stallion snorted and shook his head.
    Finally, Ken’ishi eased the horse backward. “A test?”
    “A duel.”
    Ken’ishi stiffened for a moment, then narrowed his eyes, stretching out with his awareness to encompass the massive boulder of a man blocking the road. Legs thick as tree trunks, arms corded with muscle, a deep powerful chest, and a sword worn from battle. The man stood with the immobility of a stone.
    Sliding to the ground, Ken’ishi clamped his left hand around Silver Crane’s battered scabbard. “Very well.” He saw now that his nose met the level of the man’s breast bone. “If this is your wish.”
    “You speak as if your victory is a foregone conclusion.”
    “I fear no man in a duel.”
    “Oho!” The man’s eyes smiled. “A brave warrior then!”
    “Yes.”
    “A powerful warrior.”
    “Yes.”
    “A virtuous warrior.”
    “What are you playing at?” The challenge in the man’s voice grated across Ken’ishi’s nerves. “Do you dare to impugn my honor? I had no wish to slay you, but now—”
    “Oho! A