The cart lurched over another rut. Jin's shoulder slammed against the wooden slats, sending fresh pain through bruised ribs. Beside him, Katsuo sat with his back against the opposite wall, wrists bound with thick rope, eyes closed but not sleeping.
"Twenty Mongols," Katsuo murmured without opening his eyes. "Four on horseback. Sixteen walking alongside."
Jin tested his bonds again. The rope had loosened slightly from the cart's constant motion, but not enough. "You've been counting."
"You haven't?"
"Eighteen," Jin corrected. "The outriders split off an hour ago."
Katsuo's eyes opened. A ghost of a smile touched his split lips. "Better than I expected from someone who fights with honor."
The cart wheel struck a stone. Both prisoners bounced, chains rattling. Through the gaps in the wooden walls, Jin caught glimpses of forest pressing close on both sides. Mountain pine and oak, thick underbrush. Good cover, if they could reach it.
"The driver's getting careless," Katsuo observed. "Letting the horses pick their own pace."
"Tired. They've been marching since dawn."
"Tired makes mistakes." Katsuo shifted, testing his own ropes. "Mistakes make opportunities."
Jin studied his unlikely companion. Three days in Targutai's camp had taught him things about the scarred rōnin. The man missed nothing. Catalogued every detail. Turned information into advantage with disturbing efficiency.
"What are you thinking?"
Katsuo nodded toward the cart's front corner, where a torch bracket held burning pitch-wood. "Fire spreads."
Jin followed his gaze. The torch flame danced inches from dry straw scattered across the cart floor. Straw that would catch. Spread to the wooden walls. Create chaos.
"We'll burn too."
"Better than whatever Targutai has planned." Katsuo began working his bound hands toward the cart's side. "Unless you prefer slow death to quick risks."
The cart hit another rut. This time Jin was ready, used the impact to shift closer to the torch bracket. The flame guttered in the evening breeze but held steady.
"On my signal," Katsuo whispered.
"What signal?"
"You'll know."
A Mongol voice shouted from ahead. The cart slowed, wheels grinding over loose stones. Jin heard hoofbeats approaching—the outriders returning.
Katsuo's bound hands found the cart's wooden latch. His fingers worked at the iron mechanism. The sound covered by creaking wheels and horse snorts.
"Now," he breathed.
Jin rolled toward the torch. His shoulder struck the bracket hard enough to jar the burning wood loose. It fell into straw that caught immediately, flame racing across the cart floor like spilled oil.
Katsuo kicked the latch free. The cart's back gate swung open.
Shouts erupted outside. The driver hauled on his reins. Horses whinnied, fighting the sudden stop.
"Go!" Katsuo threw himself through the open gate, still bound. Hit the ground rolling as arrows whistled overhead.
Jin followed. Landed hard on his side, came up running despite the ropes around his wrists. Fire consumed the cart behind them, sending Mongol soldiers scattering from the sudden blaze.
A curved sword swept toward his neck. Jin dropped, rolled under the blow. Came up behind the Mongol, drove both fists into the man's kidney. The soldier folded.
Jin's teeth found the knot securing his ropes. Pulled and twisted until the hemp gave way. His hands came free as another Mongol charged.
Twenty yards away, Katsuo fought three soldiers simultaneously. No weapon, hands still partially bound, but moving like water. He ducked under a spear thrust, grabbed the shaft, used it to trip a second attacker. The spear's butt-end caught the third soldier in the throat.
Jin scooped up the fallen Mongol's sword. The weight felt wrong—too light, curved instead of straight. But steel was steel.
He cut down the soldier rising behind Katsuo. Their eyes met across the melee.
"Behind you!" Katsuo shouted.
Jin spun. A Mongol archer had found clear line of sight, arrow nocked and drawn. No time to dodge.
Katsuo's stolen spear took the archer in the chest. The man toppled backward, bow clattering against stones.
"Move!" Jin pointed toward the forest. "Before more come!"
They ran. Behind them, the burning cart sent smoke spiraling into the darkening sky. Mongol voices shouted orders, coordinating pursuit. Hoofbeats drummed against earth.
The treeline swallowed them. Pine branches whipped at their faces. Roots caught their feet. But the forest was cover, concealment, a chance to breathe.
Jin stumbled over a fallen log, caught himself against an oak trunk. His lungs burned from the sprint. Beside him, Katsuo leaned against a boulder, breathing hard but scanning their backtrail.
"They'll follow," Katsuo said.
"How many?"
"All of them. Targutai doesn't strike me as someone who accepts losses gracefully."
Jin wiped blood from a scratch on his cheek. The Mongol sword felt alien in his grip, balance all wrong. He needed proper weapons. Food. Water. Information about enemy movements.
"Why did you help me?"
Katsuo met his eyes. "You helped me first."
"That was survival."
"So was this." Katsuo pushed off from the boulder. "They would have killed us both eventually. Separately, we die. Together..."
"Together we might live long enough to kill each other properly."
Katsuo's laugh held no humor. "Exactly."
Voices echoed from deeper in the forest. Their pursuers had split up, begun systematic searching. Time to move again.
They picked their way through underbrush, staying low, avoiding game trails that might be watched. Jin's training told him to seek high ground, establish defensive positions. Katsuo seemed to prefer shadows, concealment, striking from unexpected angles.
"Your style," Jin whispered as they paused beside a stream. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"
"Everywhere." Katsuo cupped water in his hands, drank. "Bandits don't honor formal dueling rules."
"You fought bandits?"
"I fought everyone." Katsuo's scarred chest caught moonlight filtering through pine boughs. "Bandits. Soldiers. Samurai who thought my disgrace made me easy prey." He straightened. "Survival teaches harsh lessons."
Jin drank from the stream. The water tasted of pine needles and mountain snow. Clean. Cold. Nothing like the bitter stuff in Targutai's camp.
"This changes nothing between us," he said finally.
Katsuo spat into the dirt. "I wouldn't want it to."
"When this is over—"
"When this is over, we settle our differences." Katsuo's hand found a sharp stone, tested its edge. "But until then..."
"Until then, we have the same enemies."
They moved deeper into the forest. Behind them, the burning cart painted the sky orange while Mongol voices grew more distant. Ahead lay darkness, uncertainty, and the beginning of something neither man wanted to name.
An alliance born of necessity. Tempered by mutual hatred. Strong enough to survive, if they could survive each other.