InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Lord of the West ❯ The Hanryu Quest: Into the Mountains ( Chapter 12 )

Warning: Contains vague spoilers for the third Inuyasha movie. No majorly important spoilers, mind you, but I still felt obligated to warn. “Chichi-ue” is an affectionate term for one's father. “Daiyoukai” means “Greater Demon”---which is what Inuyasha's father was. Supposedly these are the oldest and strongest demons.

 

This is going to be a pretty dark and violent chapter. Hold onto your chibi plushies . . .

 

{+} {+} {+} LORD OF THE WEST {+} {+} {+}

 

{+} Chapter 11: The Hanryu Quest: Into the Mountains {+}

 

The Feudal Era; The Night of Inuyasha's Birth

 

After the night his father died, Sesshoumaru shed no tears. It was so cold that had he done so they would have frozen before they could slide down his proud face. But that night, he was beyond tears. The one thing in the world that he had loved had passed on to the next, where he could not follow.

 

“Protect them?” he whispered, slipping Tenseiga into its sheath and turning away from his father's corpse. “Love them?”

 

His father, grievously wounded from a battle with the dragon Ryukotsussei, had gone flying back to Reiyama against Sesshoumaru's admonitions. Word had reached his ear that the Tatesei princess, Iyazoi, was about to give birth, but had been captured and taken from his palace to the city. And the Inu no Taishou had fought there against a warrior named Setsuna no Takemaru, buying time for Iyazoi to escape the city with her newborn son. But the battle had claimed his life…and then the Wise had nearly claimed his soul.

 

“Love them?” Sesshoumaru whispered, bitterly.

 

He walked aimlessly through the wood beyond the field of slaughter. The Wise had long since deserted the field, secreting the souls of the Inu Youkai to the depths of their Temple, there to bind them into servitude. Now the human jackals crept in behind them, robbing the corpses of clothing and weapons and finally harvesting the very bones to carve their pillars and to sell as relics.

 

Love them? His throat closed off before he could speak aloud---only his lips moved.

 

He did not know where he was going, or what he planned to do. There was so much hatred coursing through his blood that he could not think clearly. He was scarcely aware of himself---of the pain from his own wounds, or the hunger that weakened him. As he ascended the wooded slope, the world was flickering in and out of focus. The shadows of the trees lengthened and grew taller, seeming to bow over him as if they would crush him. It was not melted ice that dripped from their overhanging branches, but blood.

 

Then, mercifully, his memory faded to gray for a while.

 

He did not return to himself until he stood atop the mountain overlooking the palace, his home. Red mist seeped into his field of vision, like winter clouds across the moon. Then he rose from the snow-capped peak, forsaking man-shape for a demon's flesh.

 

That night, he hunted as he had never hunted before. Wholly lost to savagery, he became like a mindless beast, without thought or reason, lost in the depths of his own senses. For many days, he hunted in this state, heedless of the cold, or the driving winds, or the blood that stained his white fur crimson.

 

When he returned at last to the valley he called home, he could not remember how many he had killed. He remembered blood and flight and the crunching of bone between his jaws, but to him the cries of man and beast seemed to blend into one at the moment of death. He slid back into man-shape, landing on his knees in the snow that blanketed his father's garden. His clothing was torn and dyed crimson, and his limbs trembled with exhaustion. Yet he glanced up and saw the tiny light glimmering in the palace window nearest him, and suddenly he found the strength to push himself to his feet and stagger toward it. His heart, numbed by sorrow and death, now clung desperately to the wild hope that he would find some survivor of the massacre there in the palace . . . though the Wise had attacked the palace first and taken the souls of the women and children long before they met the Inu Youkai warriors in battle . . .

 

Panting, Sesshoumaru stumbled onto the wooden terrace and flung open the sliding panels so hard that they snapped free of their hinges. He plunged into the torch-lined halls, glancing fervently this way and that, hoping to catch some glimpse of the one who had lit all the lights in the windows. Of course, in the back of his mind, beneath the layers of pain too great to bear, reason told him that the imps that served the Inu Youkai had lit them, and that he would find no one here.

 

But at this most poignant of moments, tormented by unreasonable hope, Sesshoumaru could not bear to listen to reason. He practically flew down the halls, following with his keen nose the scent of the Inu Youkai. It was faint . . . so faint . . . but there.

 

“Yes,” he whispered feverishly, turning a corner and heading for his father's chamber. “There. It is there. Chichi-ue . . .”

 

A lone figure sat upon the chamber's bedclothes, wearing a cloak made from black fur. His father had taken this fur from the pelt of a Wolf Daiyoukai whose clan broke a treaty and made war on the Inu Youkai.

 

Sesshoumaru stopped short at the sight of it.

 

It was draped over the slender shoulders of Iyazoi, the Tatesei princess whom the Inu no Taishou had taken for his bride. She sat with her back to him, and did not see him, but she heard the hiss of steel as he drew the long dagger from the sheath belted around his waist. She did not cower or cringe, but straightened and turned to face her death with dignity.

 

Sesshoumaru froze.

 

Her face was haggard and marred by tear-streaks, yet this in itself lent her a bold and terrible beauty that he could scarcely bear to look upon. For a moment he held the dagger poised above her head, eyes wide and maddened. Then, gradually, his blood slowed and he remembered speech.

 

“Ningen,” he whispered, moving toward her with a slow and measured tread, “you have brought this upon us. And yet . . . you are alive . . . when my kinsmen are dead . . .”

 

The princess offered no defense, and made no move to flee him. The dagger caught the firelight as he lifted it, reflecting a thin red line across her face.

 

`Justice,' his senses sang to him. `This is justice. Take it!'

 

And yet . . . strangely enough . . . his nose caught the faint scent of the Inu Youkai. It did not seem to be coming from the black fur cloak. Then Sesshoumaru's eyes narrowed, for he heard beneath Iyazoi's shaky breathing the soft, small breaths of another in the room. The princess saw his eyes widen in surprise, and knew what this meant. Her slim white hand darted across the stone floor, strewn with bits of broken pottery, and found among these a long and jagged piece. This she raised in front of her, brandishing it and suddenly regarding him with all the fierceness of a beast defending its young.

 

Sesshoumaru moved around her in a blur. By the time she had turned on her knees to follow his movement, he was already crouched over the child lying on the cushions behind her. Roughly, he flung aside the mantle that she had thrown over her son to conceal him.

 

He found himself looking into a tiny face like a mirror of Iyazoi's, with eyes the amber shade of his own. Atop the infant's head, between two tiny dog ears, was a tuft of silver hair---the mark of the Inu Youkai Line.

 

“Inuyasha,” the princess whispered, her gaze moving from Sesshoumaru's cold face to the child's frail, tiny body, to the dagger hanging over her son by the thread of his half-brother's sanity.

 

Fortunately for them all, the Lord of the West had left behind one last measure of protection for his sons.

 

A mighty pulse rattled Tenseiga in its sheath.

 

A wave of light swept out from the blade---blinding and brilliant as a summer sky. It expanded outward until the room was filled with it, outshining even the fire in the hearth and the torches lining the walls. Then it flew backward, drawn inward to Sesshoumaru's body like a star imploding. He fell back, dropping the dagger and clawing at his eyes, fearing that he would go blind from the sheer brilliance. The sword's light condensed to liquid flame, forming a second skin around him. Dimly he was aware of Iyazoi edging away from him, clutching the baby to her breast. He could do nothing to stop her---Tenseiga's power held him helpless in its thrall, and he pitched backward onto the floor.

 

He never felt his head strike stone. Instead, he seemed to fall deeper, beyond the floor---not merely into senselessness, but into an enfolding warmth that reminded him vividly of the times his father carried him . . .

 

When he awoke hours later, on the floor, he was still warm. Some part of the dream lingered, settling warmth into his bones, whispering his name.

 

`Moriatae . . .'

 

Sesshoumaru sat up, reaching out with desperate hands for someone no longer there. For a moment, he sat there mutely, staring at his empty hands, and then at the empty darkness of the chamber beyond, where the long-dead torches hung. Ashes fluttered gently to the ground beneath them, like black snow. Then he noticed the bloodstains on his hands, and everything that had occurred the night before came flooding back to him in a rush so violent he nearly blacked out from it. He slumped forward, clutching his head, breathing in the sharp, metallic odor of the blood drying on his clothes.

 

He understood now what had transpired. When he had left the Tatesei field of battle, he had been wounded deeper than he realized. All night long as he bled---even in demon form; even as he dealt death out to others---Sesshoumaru had been dying slowly. And in his father's chamber, with his last ounce of life's strength, he had tried to deal out one last death to the ones who deserved it most.

 

But instead . . . Tenseiga had acted, drawing him into the depths of healing sleep, before he could die.

 

His father's love, at that crucial moment, had saved both of his sons.

 

“Damn you, Chichi-ue,” Sesshoumaru whispered, pushing himself onto his knees. “I never asked for your mercy. I'll find him again. I'll find her. And I won't rest until the blood price has been repaid in full . . .”

 

{+} {+} {+}

 

The Feudal Era

 

To Kagome, all time seemed to stop in that instant. The world froze and went still---even the snow ceased its soft fall upon the garden. Just as she stepped beyond the trees and into the clearing, she saw that Tokijin---Sesshoumaru's sword---was buried to the hilt in Inuyasha's stomach. Paralyzed with horror and shock, Kagome's bow fell from her hand and hit the snow.

 

The sword-blade was long; it had also pierced through Inuyasha's back and exited his body.

 

Upon its point, Irusei was also impaled.

 

His hands---which he had been reaching forward as he approached the dueling brothers---were full of fire.

 

Now his arms lowered slowly, and the flames cupped in his palms flickered and died.

 

Time resumed its flow.

 

Irusei expelled a shaky breath, and his hands flew to the blade through his belly, bloodying themselves as he grasped hold of it, for Tokijin's kehai was like a thousand tiny knife-blades to the touch. As his men watched in horror, Irusei lurched backward, wrenching the point from himself. He staggered backward into the arms of those warriors nearest him, who caught him before he fell.

 

Inuyasha attempted to speak, but the sword was pressed against his diaphragm inside him, and he only managed to draw in a long, tortured breath.

 

Miroku was the first to speak.

 

“Inuyasha!” he cried, practically flying toward the two brothers.

 

The monk's expression was fierce---it seemed that he planned to attack Sesshoumaru while Tokijin was still held fast by Inuyasha's body. He raised his staff over his head, and with lightning speed struck the white demon full in the face.

 

“SEIBAI!” Miroku shouted, in a voice that resonated even above the ensuing din. Kagome could feel the force in that spell resonating in her very bones.

 

She watched it all as if in slow motion---Miroku's dark robes billowing out behind him as he moved; the staff's descent . . . and, strangely enough, Sesshoumaru's expression of vague surprise, directed not at the blow aimed for his head but at the sword in his hand.

 

Then the staff struck him, and light crackled between metal and skin like an electric charge. Yet at the same time, the other sword Sesshoumaru wore at his waist sent out a brilliant blue pulse, which expanded up and outward to meet Miroku's spell. The force of clashing powers---holy and demon-born---caused an explosion that blew all three of them away from each other. Miroku was flung back the hardest, landing against the trunk of a tree. A pile of snow, shaken from the tree's branches by the impact, half-buried him. Sesshoumaru flew backward and landed in the stream behind him. Rin ran to his side, crying out in fear. Inuyasha flew backward as well, too weakened from his wound to prevent it.

 

“Inuyasha!” Shippou cried in horror.

 

With a massive pop, he reverted from parka form to that of a giant, balloon-like thing with eyes, which zoomed forward. The Kitsune managed to arrive just in time between Inuyasha's hurtling body and a tree bristling with low, jagged branches. The hanyou bounced off of Shippou's rounded form and landed so hard in the snow that he practically disappeared beneath it.

 

Kirara had started toward the Inu Youkai brothers at the same instant Miroku began his attack on Sesshoumaru, snarling and intending to separate the white demon from his sword herself should the monk's attack fail. However, the enormous demon suddenly found herself arrested mid-leap by the press of a blade at her throat. Slowly, she lowered into a crouch, growling deep in her chest. The blade followed, not allowing her to move another inch forward.

 

Meanwhile, Shippou had not yet transformed back into his Kitsune form. Instead, he was trying to use his enhanced size to block the Tatesei soldiers trying to get to Inuyasha. They were stabbing at him with their blades, attempting to skirt his large, round body and clearly intending to kill the hanyou while he was down.

 

Something in Kagome's mind finally snapped awake. The fetters of shock that bound her body unlocked, and she rushed toward Inuyasha and Shippou.

 

“No . . . no . . . no . . .” she breathed, over and over again, like a mantra.

 

The Tatesei warriors arrested her attempt to reach her friends, crossing their blades before her to block her path. In her shock she would have hurled herself against them regardless, but one of the men caught her around the waist and flung her backward, away from the immediate vicinity of the fight.

 

`This isn't happening,' she thought, pushing herself to her feet where she had fallen in the snow. `This isn't HAPPENING. This wasn't supposed to happen HERE. This ISN'T how it HAPPENED . . .' Her mind was a maelstrom of confusion; of blood, rushing in her ears. `Inuyasha's going to die HERE . . . and I can't stop it . . .'

 

Her lone bow would do her no good against forty men with bows and swords of their own. What little strength she had in her body would do even less good.

 

But if she did nothing, Inuyasha would die.

 

Pushing herself to her feet once more, Kagome began to run.

 

Sango's voice, and a warrior's blade pressed against her belly, stopped her dead in her tracks.

 

“DON'T KILL HIM!” Sango shouted.

 

With one hand, the demon-slayer flung her Hiraikoutsu into the midst of the Tatesei warriors attacking Shippou. Snow sprayed outward in every direction from the place where it struck the frozen earth. Men scattered as well, flinging themselves out of the way to avoid being struck.

 

With her other hand, Sango pressed a sword against Kirara's throat.

 

“Don't kill him!” she repeated. Some of the warriors hesitated, turning toward her.

 

Kirara's growl died in her throat. She tried to glance up at her mistress in confusion, but Sango held the sword too firmly at her neck.

 

“He knows where the Dragon lies,” Sango declared above the din of clashing metal. “He KNOWS!”

 

The warriors who heard and understood her words backed away from their intended prey, glancing questioningly down at their fallen leader.

 

“Let her speak!” Irusei cried hoarsely. He sat on the frost-hardened ground, leaning against the supportive arms of one of his comrades. Blood seeped through the creases in his armor, staining the fabric of his green haori a shade as dark as the soil beneath him. “She is one of us!”

 

Dazedly, Kagome staggered back a step, away from the blade leveled menacingly at her stomach.

 

“Sango . . . ?” she murmured, eyeing the sword at Kirara's throat in confusion. “Sango, what are you . . . ?”

 

“His father, who sealed the Dragon, has passed on the secret to his son!” the demon-slayer shouted. “Inuyasha is the key! The hanyou is the key!”

 

“What?” Kagome asked, staring at Sango in shock. “Sango, what do you mean, `the key'?”

 

If the demon-slayer heard her, she didn't bother to answer. Her black-eyed gaze spanned the crowd of Tatesei warriors with cold appraisal that bore an eerie resemblance to Irusei's.

 

“Who the fuck . . . are you calling . . . `hanyou'?” Inuyasha called weakly.

 

“Inuyasha!” Kagome exclaimed. Her head lifted, and hope filled her---he was alive, and still able to speak. “Let me go to him,” she pleaded, turning toward Irusei, but he ignored her. She turned her imploring gaze upon Sango, but the demon-slayer refused to look at her.

 

With a pop, Shippou deflated, returning to his regular shape. He was shaken and covered with scratches, but he did not seem to be harmed beyond the exhaustion from maintaining the transformation spell for so long. The Tatesei warriors allowed the Kitsune to approach Inuyasha, who was lying on his back in the snow, sensing that he would be of little help to the injured hanyou.

 

“Speak,” Irusei bade Sango. “I wish to know why you claim the hanyou, bearing mixed blood of Inu Youkai and Tatesei, is the `key' to the Dragon's resurrection. I judged it wiser to destroy him, for it has been prophesied that a hanyou of such blood will bring doom upon Reiyama. Had I known two years ago who Inuyasha really was, I would have killed him sooner. Had the white demon not attacked us both at that instant, I would have killed him a moment ago with the Dragon's flame.”

 

The pile of snow that had fallen over Miroku shifted as the monk began to revive. He groaned, reaching one arm up to tentatively explore the back of his head.

 

“I can't say exactly,” Sango admitted, frowning. “But consider this: Inuyasha has within him both the blood of the Dragon and the one who sealed it. Sealing a creature so powerful is a complicated spell, requiring elements of both the one casting it and the one being sealed. Even my father, the leader of the demon-slayer's village, required a priest's power for such things because he couldn't do them himself.”

 

“Irusei-sama?” One of the warriors holding the wounded hanryu leaned down to look into his face. “What would you have us do?”

 

Kagome held her breath.

 

“Sesshoumaru-sama,” Rin whimpered, her small body bent over the demon lord's. “Please wake up . . .”

 

“We bring him with us,” Irusei decided, breathing hard as he attempted to push himself to his feet.

 

“Irusei-sama, you mustn't---” the warrior holding him protested, but Irusei shook off his arm and managed to rise into a standing position. “The wound . . .”

 

“The Dragon will heal me,” Irusei told him impatiently. “In the meantime, we will make the journey to where the Dragon is imprisoned. We will bring the hanyou and the Seer. The Seer knows more than she willingly reveals. She will know the way to use Inuyasha, if he is of any use at all.”

 

“Hey!” Inuyasha croaked. “No way in hell is anyone going to use me!” But everyone ignored him.

 

“And afterward?” Kagome asked sharply. “Will you let him go afterward?”

 

Irusei spared her the briefest of glances.

 

“Once the Dragon is freed, you may do as you wish,” he told her. “Nothing that you do will make any difference after that.” To his men, he gave the order, “Make a sling to carry him.” Then he turned to Sango, who still held Kirara at bay. The demon-cat's growl rose in volume at his approach. “Did Inuyasha tell you the Dragon's location?” he asked, eyeing Kirara warily.

 

Sango nodded.

 

“Inside the mountain you call Reiyama,” she answered. “Beyond that, I can't say. It may be contained in some kind of cavern or chamber there, or perhaps the Dragon is embedded in the rock itself. That is where we'll have to rely on Suiton.”

 

“So that's it, then?” Kagome blurted out, staring at Sango in disbelief. “You're just going to join them, just because your eyes have turned black? You're going to let them take Inuyasha?”

 

Sango gazed at her levelly.

 

“Yes,” she replied curtly. Then she reached into a pouch at her side with her free hand, withdrawing a handful of some strange-looking leaves with purple veins running through them. Addressing one of the warriors standing nearby, she nodded toward the sword in her other hand. “Hold this. Keep her from moving.”

 

The instant the man took over her position, Sango darted around Kirara's side, reached under the demon-cat's belly, and shoved the leaves beneath the bandages there and into the wound. Kirara's immediate reaction to snarl and thrash. Her massive body bucked so violently that the warrior holding the sword at her throat was knocked aside. She whipped her head around to snap at Sango, heedless of the fact that the demon-slayer was her mistress. Sango leaped backward, the snapping jaws missing her by a hair's breadth.

 

Kirara yowled in anger, turning this way and that, but she was surrounded on all sides by spears and sword-points. The Tatesei warriors jabbed at her to hold her at bay, but they could not get close enough to do any real damage without braving coming within range of her claws.

 

“Sango . . .” Kagome breathed in horror. “Please . . .”

 

Under Irusei's supervision, the warriors fashioning the sling to carry Inuyasha had made short work of it. Then they moved toward him, intending to lift him onto it, and found their way blocked by Shippou.

 

“No!” the Kitsune cried, standing spread-eagled between the hanryu and their prey. “Leave him ALONE! FOXFIRE!” With this last pronouncement, a rush of green flame appeared in front of him, causing the warriors to draw back.

 

But Irusei stepped forward, into the flames, and waved one hand through them sharply. To Shippou's horror, his foxfire dissipated like smoke, melting into the cold night air. Once again the Tatesei warriors approached Inuyasha, who by this time seemed to be in a very bad way. He no longer offered any protest, but stared up at them dully as they reached for him.

 

“DON'T TOUCH HIM!” Shippou howled, and launched himself at the nearest hanryu, sinking his needle-like fangs into the man's outstretched hand as hard as he could. Swearing, the man began beating the Kitsune with his free fist.

 

Yet Shippou alone could not hold ten men at bay. He was unable to prevent them from lifting the injured half-demon onto the crude travois, which they had fashioned by lashing their cloaks and spear-shafts together.

 

Kirara turned slowly amid the circle of warriors, searching for an opening through which to break free of them. Yet her movements were growing sluggish, and her fierce eyes were taking on an odd, glazed look.

 

“Poison,” Sango told the warriors tersely as she yanked her Hiraikoutsu free of the frozen earth. “From the herbs. She'll drop soon. Then it will be safe for us to leave.”

 

The warriors hoisted the travois up onto their shoulders, looking now to Irusei for the command to march. Irusei himself appeared to be in a bad way, looking quite pale and haggard. He turned toward Sango, glancing at her questioningly.

 

“I will go with you,” she told him grimly.

 

Slowly, Kagome bent down so that one knee touched the snow, and one hand grasped hold of her bow. Slowly, she rose, her other hand moving mechanically to draw forth an arrow from the quiver strapped across her back. She was not sure whom she intended to shoot---the men surrounding Kirara or the men carrying Inuyasha . . . or Sango. In the end, she reined in her emotions and aimed for Irusei's back.

 

A firm hand caught the wrist notching the arrow and forced it to lower.

 

“No, Kagome,” Miroku whispered in her ear. “It won't help. We have to let them go.”

 

Kagome glanced over her shoulder at him in outrage, attempting to wrench her wrist free of his strong grip. Blood was trickling down the right side of his face, from somewhere under his black hair.

 

“What are you saying?” she hissed. “You want me to just let them do this?”

 

But the monk only wrapped his other arm tightly across her chest, effectively immobilizing her.

 

“We have to let them go,” he repeated, this time with peculiar emphasis on certain words, implying that he had a rational reason for preventing her from shooting.

 

The man whom Shippou was biting caught the Kitsune in the forehead with his fist, knocking him aside into the snow.

 

Kagome wasn't the least bit inclined to listen to rationale right now.

 

“Let me GO!” she protested, kicking at his shins with her heels and thrashing against him. “Let me GO!”

 

Miroku refused to budge.

 

Amid the ring of warriors, Kirara finally fell---dropping like a stone, her orange eyes already fallen shut before she hit the ground.

 

Then, with Sango in their midst and Irusei limping along beside her, the hanryu bore Inuyasha and their Seer away into the trees.

 

Miroku held Kagome for a long time---until the warriors had long passed from view. When he finally released her, she turned and slapped him hard across the face.

 

{+} {+} {+}

 

When the crunch of Tatesei boots in the snow had grown faint and ultimately vanished, Sesshoumaru stirred and pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Sesshoumaru-sama!” Rin cried exultantly, flinging herself against his chest.

 

The white demon caught hold of her and pushed her firmly to the side, peering off in the direction the hanryu had taken. He was still unable to catch their scent over the sulfurous odor of the onsen, but he knew that once he left the garden he would be able to follow their trail from miles away.

 

`They will lead me to the Dragon,' he thought, a slight smile playing upon his lips.

 

“Sesshoumaru-sama!”

 

The urgent note in Rin's exclamation compelled him to tear his eyes away from the path his quarry had taken.

 

The girl Kagome stood not ten feet away, with an arrow notched in her bow. Sesshoumaru knew her name---heaven knew Inuyasha could never seem to shut up about her. The arrow was aimed straight for his face.

 

“Stay back, Rin,” he murmured. The little girl obeyed, but she didn't move far. As always, she was reluctant to leave him. Then his calm, cold gaze settled once again on the girl and her weapon. “Kill me, and you will never see him alive again.”

 

Tears streamed down Kagome's face, but her expression was hard and determined.

 

“You would kill him yourself if you had the chance,” she snapped. “This is your fault.”

 

Yet Sesshoumaru noted with satisfaction that she hesitated to shoot. He was no fool---he knew she was weak where Inuyasha was concerned. Love made her weak.

 

“I was preparing to fight the Tatesei, to prevent them from taking the Seer,” he told her icily. “Then you came---of your own free will, with them. The moment Irusei learned that Inuyasha was a half-breed, he began summoning the Dragon's fire into his hands. He would have killed Inuyasha immediately for the danger he posed, and I moved to destroy him before his flame could fully manifest.” Sesshoumaru paused, glancing away as if the rest were of no consequence. “The hanyou interfered, and so my sword tasted the blood of both.”

 

“Kagome . . .” The human monk that Inuyasha traveled with moved to stand beside her. He seemed unsteady on his feet, and kept rubbing at the side of his head. “Doing this won't help.”

 

Sesshoumaru's eyes narrowed---he had not considered the monk. If Miroku followed the Tatesei into the mountains to rescue Inuyasha, he could conceivably defeat the Dragon single-handedly by drawing it into his accursed hand. By every rationale, he knew he should kill the monk now, before such a risk could become possible. His eyes darted across the snow and he located Tokijin, which lay on the ground a good twenty feet away. Inuyasha's blood, and Irusei's, stained the surrounding snow crimson, yet the blade itself shone all the brighter. His enemies' blood never tainted Tokijin---the sword absorbed it hungrily.

 

But there was also the chance that the monk would draw him into the Wind Tunnel if he attacked them here . . .

 

“It may not help, but it'll make me feel a lot better,” Kagome murmured. Yet if anything, her flow of tears increased, and Sesshoumaru knew that she wouldn't shoot.

 

“I will pursue them into the mountains,” he told her coldly. It was not a lie. “Inuyasha will not die by my hand.” This was not a lie, either. He was going to take the Dragon's power---Inuyasha could live if he chose or die if he chose. `Father chose him,' Sesshoumaru thought darkly, `but when I have become powerful beyond anything living on earth . . . that choice will no longer matter.'

 

Then there came the twanging of a bow, and Kagome's arrow shot forth.

 

END OF CHAPTER 11

 

Yamisui: Tsk, tsk. There Sesshoumaru goes again; underestimating Ningen.