The Rivalry of Three Swords

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The Rivalry of Three Swords

Arthur Doler & Arwen McNierney


"Winter Court is when you spend three months trapped in a small castle with people you hate and try not to kill each other." -- Ikoma Kenji


In the middle of Dragon lands, there is a volcano known as Fire Tooth Mountain. Built upon its slopes and into its side is Kyuden Agasha, the home of the remaining Dragon shugenja. To the east of Kyuden Agasha, the land flattens slightly before jutting up again as Tetsu Kama, Iron Mountain. Tetsu Kama Mura is carefully tucked behind the mountain, out of sight of the peasant road and samurai just passing by. The village is located very near to an incredibly productive iron mine, which has supplied the Dragon with iron since the first Agasha communed with the Earth kami and discovered it. Tetsu Kama Mura has a small castle, but the village is meant for industry, and it shows in every building and in the haze and dirt that hangs in the air from the smelting of the ore. As a result, Tetsu Kama Mura is one of the most boring and horrible places to spend the winter one could ever think of.

Thus, Winter Court at Tetsu Kama Mura is not what one would consider a prestigious assignment. Newly-minted bushi and disgraced courtiers are common sights in the snowy drifts and freezing winds that blow down the streets. In the year of the Empire 1137, Tetsu Kama Mura became the stage for a drama between two young samurai, each budding masters of their craft. So in the manner of plays, we must set the scene - the anteroom of the castle of Tetsu Kama Mura. The players we see are two groups of samurai: one a delegation of Crane, and one group of Dragon, many of whom were assigned to nearby provinces year round. They are performing introductions, as the Crane have just arrived and are presenting themselves.




Doji Masami stood, bowing and responding politely to their hosts’ introductions as she massaged her trembling fingers beneath her sleeves. Whatever else Tetsu Kama Mura was (and she could come up with many adjectives already), it was cold. Cold and dirty, though at least the nastiness lessened inside the castle. Masami genuinely wished nothing more than to take a hot bath and settle into a steaming pot of tea. But it was her first winter court, not to mention her first foray into Dragon lands, and she was intent on not showing weakness to her own clan or, worse, disrespect towards her hosts.

The list of names - how could there be so many sent to such a dreadful village? - was fortunately approaching an end, and Masami could feel her spirits lifting at the thought of the tea soon to follow. The head of the Dragon delegation was gesturing now, and a ripple could be seen from the back as the last stepped forward. “Finally, may I introduce to you, Mirumoto Sai.”

There was a rippled gasp through the Cranes as the young Dragon stepped forward, and Masami barely managed to hold her breath. His face and neck were marred by terrible pinkish-white scars, those broken on his cheek with a blotch of rusty red which resembled something straight from the Shadowlands. It was all Masami could do to not look away and yet not stare as the courtier continued: “A true prodigy of the Mirumoto school, he excels at all they teach, especially the art of the sword. We are blessed to have such talent grace us this winter court.”

Prodigy? Masami looked Sai over again, this time ignoring his burns. Tall - a definite reach advantage there - and lean but not too muscled. He was probably quite agile. He held a natural grace, like a tiger perhaps, even as he worked himself back into the crowd. Sai was probably an excellent- “You say he’s good at dueling?” a deeper voice said from nearby, and Masami’s head turned. Doji Haranobu, her great-great-great etc. grandfather (who happened to be glowing - his return to their realm was another story altogether) had elected to speak. “Yours is not the only young talent. My yojimbo, Masami-kun, is rightly proud of her accomplishments, and I expect her to go far." Masami blushed slightly, both at her grandfather’s choice of honorific and his recognition. "Sai-san should watch himself, or he may end up with an unfortunate scar."

Mirumoto Sai’s ears burned at the comment, but he swallowed the anger as he’d learned to do since his accident. His mind turned to the rest of the Doji’s comment. A talented duelist? Here in Tetsu Kama Mura? As he reached the back of the crowd and was once again hidden from view, the obscured hands of the courtiers finally stopped propelling him, and he was able to turn around and look at the samurai-ko who had been named. Like many Crane, her movements were simple yet elegant, which spoke of her heavy training in iaijutsu. She looked almost fragile, which meant she probably worked from speed, not power. But she was a swordswoman, and she was here. In the time since Sai had been assigned to Gaien province after his gempukku, the most interesting thing that he had been allowed to participate in was the odd hunt for a peasant bandit - at the very least, it wouldn’t be a boring winter.

A murmur passed through the Dragon courtiers. A duelist? The moment hatched a dozen schemes, but the rest fell quiet when Kitsuki Tomaro, the ranking courtier there, spoke. “Fortuitous news indeed, Doji-san! I often hear from the bushi that winter courts are the worst part of the year, and that they would rather hibernate through it! But with these two here, I’m sure we shall see many exciting displays of skill.” General assent was issued from both sides of the room, and then the conversation moved on, the two groups making their way further into the castle. As the room cleared slightly, Sai caught another glimpse of Masami, and she was looking back, politely but cautiously. Yes, this might actually turn out to be an interesting winter after all.




The wan winter sun filtered through the windows in the room, abating none of the chill from the stone blocks the room was made of. It seemed to be crowded, but most of the people in the room were crowded around the edges, encircling a pair of samurai. Sai and Masami faced each other, their hands on their swords, faces impassive as a courtier announced their names and the rules of the duel: live swords, to first blood. Nothing surprising or untoward - it would be a true test of skill.

Sai’s eyes took in his opponent, gauging her stance, her form, her sword. His Mirumoto sensei had taught him that all these things were connected as part of a larger whole, and that only by seeking to understand them in this context could they properly be understood. Masami revealed little in her motions, her eyes examining him in the same manner, not flinching away from his scars.

Masami kept herself from smiling as she took in Sai’s stance. In the moment of the duel, all else falls away, and she’s never gotten used to the pure thrill that moment brings. Her opponent was, predictably, assuming the classic Mirumoto dueling stance - but it felt different, somehow, in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Still, she could tell that he was very skilled, and the barest moment of weakness would determine who struck first.

After what seemed to observers like an eternity, Masami’s sword flashed out of her scabbard, and an instant later a ragged cut appeared on Sai’s unscarred cheek. The crowd made a collective gasp.

Doji Masami sheathed her sword and turned, barely registering the gasps of the crowd. Her first thought, elatedly, was that she had won: she had bested a duelist who was likely more talented than she. Her second was one of shock as she saw the cut: she actually had not intended on cutting his face. He must have read that she was about to strike and adjusted his stance in an attempt to best her... and she hadn’t noticed. Masami’s pale face turned even paler as she realized the wound might scar, and she licked her lips, trying to think of what to say. “Mirumoto-san...” Her voice faltered, and she bowed. “Thank you for the duel.”

Sai’s senses registered the cut even before he felt the pain. She had cut him, and she had cut him on his face! An insult to any duelist, but Masami’s strike had hit his unburned cheek, and badly enough for him to feel the blood dripping down it even now. She had clearly meant to enrage him, likely encouraged by the spirit courtier she called “grandfather” - Sai would react with rage, and the Dragon would lose face, and whatever agreement was under negotiation would do poorly, and he would be to blame. No, to react would not do. It was just another insult, from another samurai who thought his scars made him less than human. So he would simply have to prove himself a samurai, and prove himself her better... somehow. He returned Masami’s bow.

“Thank you, Doji-san. Please do not mind the cut. I have so many scars, another one will make little difference.” Sai was unable to prevent a slight hint of bitterness from creeping into his tone. He straightened, spun around, and headed for the door - the crowd along the edges pushed themselves closer together as he passed, giving him plenty of room. Masami remained where she was, color returning to her cheeks as she watched his retreating back.




“I would like to know more about Doji Masami, if you could indulge me.” Sai had trapped a poor Doji courtier simply by sitting down at his table, between him and the rest of the room. The Doji’s eyes flickered between his meal, the rest of the room, and Sai’s face, seemingly uncertain where to look to confer the least insult.

“Ah, certainly, Mirumoto-san... what would you like to know?”

Sai calmly sipped at his tea, politely ignoring the courtier’s distress. “Is she acclaimed as a good duelist in Crane lands?”

“Ah, not acclaimed, as such, but she is certainly very talented. Her grandfather tells us so often, and she has a very good record at her dojo.” A servant came around with more tea, and the courtier took the opportunity to bury his nose in his cup.

Sai allowed him a moment, then asked, “So she is used to winning?”

The courtier was very focused on his tea - so much so that Sai’s comment caused him to inhale a bit of it. After a bout of coughing, the Doji finally managed to enable himself to speak. “Ahem. O-of course, Mirumoto-san, Doji Masami is very talented, and so she has tasted victory often. The entire Crane could rightfully be proud of her performance, and as her renown grows, I am certain they will be.”

The comment caused Sai to frown. Talented, with the likelihood of growing ever more popular as she grew in skill. Lauded by her clansmen, not trotted around like a Unicorn show pony and then pushed back into one of the practice rooms where nobody would see her. Had she simply been trying to put him in his place when she struck his face? A burst of anger fueled by pride clouded Sai’s vision for a brief moment. When it cleared, he found the courtier nearly cowering against the wall, for Sai’s mouth had formed into a snarl, and when combined with his scars, he surely looked demonic. Sai quickly composed himself.

“Thank you for the information, Doji-san. I will leave you to your dinner.” The Doji nodded weakly, and Sai rose and began walking out of the room. He would not allow her to shame him. He simply would not.




It has been a few days since the duel where she’d cut the Mirumoto’s cheek, and Doji Masami was on a mission. She’d been trying to track him down over the course of the day, but the Dragon turned out to be strangely elusive - one would think he’d be easy to spot, with his distinctive features, but even in the tiny castle there were plenty of places to hide. Or so Masami surmised, as she never felt the need to investigate previously. Now, with a meal of rice and pickled vegetables in her belly, she was resuming her search.

Fortunately, Sai didn’t have much lead on her; she had seen him during dinner, but he disappeared before she could untangle herself from the courtiers’ conversation. Still, she managed to leave shortly after, and followed what she thought was his most likely path. After some wandering, she slid open the door to one of the dojo’s bare practice rooms to find Mirumoto Sai inside.

He was performing a kata as Masami stepped in, sliding the door gently shut behind her. She folded her hands beneath her sleeves. Sai’s form seemed spot on, though there was some anger there - she could see it in his lines - but it was nevertheless controlled, which would make him formidable on the battlefield. His natural grace was far more evident here, too, than it was earlier, and she could see him adjusting to prevent any missteps without apparent thought. Perhaps Sai was as much a prodigy as the Dragon claimed... perhaps her victory was a fluke- Masami stopped that train of thought. She’d worked hard to overcome her physical shortcomings, and she would continue to succeed.

Sai slowly lowered the practice sword, then tucked it away properly in his obi. With a deep breath he turned to Masami, an unreadable look on his face. “Doji-san. Can I help you?”

Masami bowed low. “Mirumoto-san. I was wondering...” She hesitated; saying what she wished right now would no doubt come across as both sudden and offensive. She needed something else, to build some trust and guarantee further privacy. A chill breeze worked its way under the door, and she shivered slightly as the answer came to her. “I was wondering if you would care to join me for tea.”

Bowing in return, Sai considered her intent, but deemed it irrelevant. It would be rude to refuse. “Certainly. Please allow me to find us a space.”


Doji Masami cleaned the bowls with practiced motions, focusing on her task and calming her nerves in the process. Tea ceremony and iaijutsu... those were just two of many tasks that shared the same motions, the same reverence, and sometimes even the same purpose. It was fortunate, she allowed herself to reflect as she filled the pot with boiling water, that her early grooming to become a courtier had not been yet another thing to hinder her on her path to learn the art of the sword. So it was now, as she worked through the ritual with the scarred young samurai before her.

The tea poured and presented, they drank: Masami with her eyes cast downward, perhaps in thought, and Sai with an impossible to decipher expression. Time passed wordlessly - Masami couldn’t tell how long - until her tea was nearly gone and she felt it was time to speak. “Mirumoto-san,” she said, her eyes still cast downward so as not to distract herself, “I appreciate your taking the time to spend with me. If I can, I’d like to have a little more of it, so I may offer an apology.”

“An apology.” Sai’s voice was flat and his hands tightened around the bowl. “If I may ask, Doji-san... for what?”

“That cut. I didn’t intend to cut you there.” Masami finally looked at Sai, trying to demonstrate sincerity through both action and voice. “Not your face - it was an accident. I truly meant no offense, Mirumoto-san.”

Sai slowly raised the bowl to his lips and sipped. As he lowered it, he smiled slightly, and something flashed behind his eyes. “Since I received my scars, Doji-san, I have noticed something curious - people seem to think they must affect my wits as well. This must be what you think, for how else am I to believe that a swordswoman of your lauded skill would have such an accident?” He set down the bowl with a thunk. “No, I believe you made your cut as intended, and now you have reconsidered your actions because you realize I am your equal... or better.” He stood, and bowed. “Thank you for the tea. In return I will offer a warning. I will prove myself to you and everyone at this winter court.”

“Prove yourself?” Masami’s voice rose a touch, and she fought to keep it from becoming shrill. “You have nothing to prove. Whether I won that duel or not, you are the one hailed with potential. A prodigy, they called you. If that is so, than any luck I had that evening matters not a bit.” She set her own bowl down, though far more sedately than Sai had before, and clenched her hands beneath her sleeves to hide their trembling. “And now you rebuff my apology with sarcasm and disbelief. You are very close to calling me a liar, Mirumoto-san.”

“Then I apologize for anything I might have said to offend. Instead, let the truth come to light when our swords meet, as is proper.” And with that, Sai walked out of the room.




Masami delicately picked through her meal. One thing that could be said for Tetsu Kama Mura was the relative lack of meats, but fish in all forms still found its way into daily meals. Even now, her soup was set aside (though not so far as to offend), and she was careful to avoid any rice that touched the pieces of dried fish served to her. As she did so, courtier talk swirled around, but she could not get her mind off of Mirumoto Sai. His words still stung: he had called her a liar and mocked her, talking about her “lauded skill” when she knew full well that she wasn’t lauded by anybody except Grandfather Haranobu (with great reservation) and her sensei - and he only because he understood how she had struggled. And then, when she offered Sai the chance to make a proper apology, he couldn’t even do that! Masami shook her head and tried to focus on the conversation, so as not to appear discourteous, but she was unable to avoid quick Kitsuki eyes.

“Is something the matter, Doji-san?” a courtier asked, and Masami frowned.

“Nothing of immediate concern,” she replied softly, and then she realized the courtier was a Dragon. “I was simply thinking about Mirumoto Sai, and the puzzle he presents. What is his story?”

“Ah.” The Dragon cleared his throat, looking slightly ill at ease, but he pressed forward nonetheless. “He gained those scars in a fire.”

Masami shook her head. “I’m sorry, perhaps I was being unclear,” she said, trying not to sound impatient. “I meant to ask about his skills, as a bushi.”

“Oh, well,” and now the Kitsuki was far more at ease. “He is a natural talent, as Tomaro-sama stated before. Even after a long recovery from the fire, he has managed to complete his gempukku on time.” The courtier glanced up, suddenly distracted. “Excuse me, Doji-san. I have other things to attend to, if there are no further questions?”

“No,” Masami said shortly. “None.”

The Dragon stood and moved off to talk with one of the servants. He was barely out of earshot when the others at the table, all Cranes, started talking softly with one another as Masami once again fell into a silent reverie. Only the mention of Mirumoto Sai’s name caught her attention.

“I heard,” one of her tablemates said in hushed tones from behind her fan, “that a monk from each of the Three Orders predicted his birth.”

“He has a destiny, if that is true,” a young courtier commented from across Masami. He glanced to the corner where Sai sat, then quickly turned his attention away. “Looking at him, he probably knows it.”

Masami’s fingers began to shake, and she lowered them from her chopsticks as the courtiers’ words sunk in. Mirumoto Sai no doubt believed that her victory in the duel was sheer luck, and proving himself the better of a frail, pretty Crane groomed more for court than for battle would be a simple task. Masami frowned slightly. She would not give him that luxury. She would show him and his clan, as she was showing her own family, that determination and skill could overcome a lack of natural ability - or even an abundance of it. Masami sipped her tea, her hands now steady as her resolve strengthened. Yes, she would work twice as hard as he ever could, and that would be the deciding factor. For every step Sai made, she would be two ahead. He would learn to respect her.




If anything, the large open room had gotten colder since Masami and Sai’s duel, as the depths of winter settled their snows around the mountain village. But as a spectator, it was easy to forget the temperatures - as the Mirumoto and the Doji faced each other in preparation for a skirmish, holding practice swords, they seemed to radiate their own heat from their fierce glares. Around the room, courtiers looked at each other uncertainly. This wasn’t just the excitement of competition; something else was at work with their respective champions.

With a flash of the wooden blade, Masami swung first, but her strike was parried as Sai began his complicated dance of swords. Her arm stung as one of his swords landed a blow - she responded with a swift cut at an opening in his guard. Her sword hit what seemed to be its target, but Sai showed no signs of being wounded. Instead, he stepped back, and Masami found herself staring directly at an oncoming practice blade! Her reflexes, honed through many hours of long training, brought up her sword in response, but slightly too late. Sai’s sword was slowed, but the force of the swing let it smack into Masami’s cheek.

Both combatants drew back, but the momentary lull in the battle was broken as Masami changed her stance slightly and swung out at Sai’s leg. To her shock, her strike went wide - Sai had clearly shifted himself in response to her motions, and was now swinging again, aiming for ... her hand! A burst of pain exploded in her sword hand, which reflexively opened. The clatter of the practice blade on the stone floor seemed especially loud in the stillness of the room.

Masami reached for the sword - then hesitated, seeing Sai’s ready stance. She bowed her head; there was no sense in continuing what was clearly a losing battle. Though she hadn’t noticed before, her cheek was throbbing and aching, and she did not need to try to close her hand to know that she couldn’t quite do it - not at the moment, anyway. “I resign,” she said. It was barely more than a whisper, but her words cut through the air as though she had screamed them.

Sai pulled his swords back to ready position and looked levelly at Masami, allowing her to retrieve her sword. The scarring of his face made his expression hard to read, and silence completed the disguise of his true thoughts. When Masami had regained her weapon, he bowed to her.

Masami’s cheeks burned as she picked up her sword. So, this was how things would be. Sai really did have skill, to have been able to disarm her so, and match her strike cheek for cheek. She bowed, already reflecting on the fight... and planning the next one. For if a single set back had ever deterred her, she would have never even held a katana. “Thank you for the match,” she said, trying her best to maintain a calm composure. “Perhaps we may have another in the future.” The request did not come across as such; it was closer to a demand. “Whenever you feel you are ready, Doji-san.”

Doji Masami glanced up, stealing a look at the Mirumoto’s face. While he clearly was trying to remain impassive, an effect helped by those hideous scars, she could swear she saw a look of smug satisfaction in his eyes. She bit her tongue to keep herself from demanding a rematch immediately and simply nodded, turning and sweeping out of the room.

As Winter Court continued, Masami and Sai sought every excuse to pit themselves against each other. While the other bushi tired of duels and skirmishes, the two held “exhibitions” until the very limit of propriety. Sai was clearly more skilled with skirmishes, and Masami with dueling, but they won enough of each that neither could claim their victory definite and their respective promises to themselves fulfilled. When it was no longer polite to fight with swords, their battle moved to the courtier’s competitions: Kemari (Masami’s win), Sadane (Sai’s win), and Letters (inconclusive). When these ran dry they threw caution to the wind and began to compete in whatever they could come up with: tea ceremony performance (Masami), scaling the interior walls of the village (Sai), hunting for rats in the kitchen (Masami), Go (Sai), impromptu samisen compositions (Neither, but all present agreed the listeners were the losers), speed poetry (Masami), pontification upon the Tao (Sai), ikebana with the few preserved flowers available (Masami), and standing outside in the cold. Sai persevered in this last contest, but the prolonged exposure to the elements caused them both to fall ill, neither recovering until Winter Court was nearly over.




The cold had broken, and the snows were melting. With the coming of spring, the roads were once again passable, and Winter Court was over. The Dragon contingent and the Crane delegation were once again in the anteroom of the castle, bidding their farewells. This time, however, as the main groups made short polite speeches there were many glances at a smaller leavetaking happening off to the side.

Mirumoto Sai and Doji Masami faced each other evenly, the former gripping his daisho perhaps a bit harder than normal, the latter with her fingers pressed tight about a fan. Both had recovered enough from their illness to be able to function, but Masami was clearly still pale. She turned her head to one side and raised her fan to hide a sneeze, then addressed Sai: “I suppose this is where we part ways, Mirumoto-san.”

“You make it sound as though our paths will never cross again, Doji-san.” Sai’s voice had a light tone to it, but it was belied by the look in his eyes.

Masami bowed her head. “A point to you,” she replied with a gracious sniffle. “We will meet, if fate deems it so.” She took a moment to sneeze again. “You’d best be prepared.”

Sai nodded in return. “I will be ready to continue our competition wherever and whenever we meet again.” He paused, then added, “Propriety allowing, of course. But it will continue.”

Masami smiled - just a touch. “Of course.” She bowed again, then turned and headed, sneezing, for the rest of the Crane delegation. Doji Haranobu, her grandfather, stood a little closer than the others. He nodded at her approach and fell in step behind, effectively shielding her from the Dragon’s eyes.




Thus the lights fall on our play. But this is hardly the finale; it is merely the first act of many such meetings, all part of one of the most strange and intense rivalries the Empire has seen in many a year, played out in villages and cities across the land. If you’re lucky, you might get a chance to see them compete as they continually try to surpass each other. But if not, you will simply have to make do with my tales.