Beyond the Fuma ninja, the writhing wall of dirty smoke surged, then parted around a deep-chested, broad-backed animal. Moonshadow’s gaze darted to the muscular canine form rocketing low across the floorboards.

At his side, Snowhawk gasped and broke into an excited grin. ‘Motto-san!’

He glanced at his master. Bright green energy sparkled in Eagle’s eyes. The warrior’s face remained impassive, and no wonder. Eagle seemed to be channelling all his remaining ki, his life force, into controlling the mighty wolf-dog.

In the middle of the Fuma skirmish line, a ninja turned as if sensing danger. Too slow! Motto accelerated into a great leap and rammed the Fuma at chest height, knocking the wind from his lungs and the sword from his hand. The ninja flew backwards, head striking the floorboards with a loud thunk. Turning on the spot, Motto sunk his fangs into the calf muscle of the next ninja in line. Bellowing with pain, the ninja raised his sword to strike at the dog. But before he could, a blurry, shrieking missile spun out of the smoke wall onto his head. The startled Fuma panicked, dropped his weapon and started clawing madly at whatever was wrapping itself around his face. His attacker responded with an angry, high-pitched screech, its pointy head turning fast as it clawed and bit.

Moonshadow beamed at the ever-contorting face of Saru, Brother Badger’s monkey. For the first time in its life, the wretched little beast was proving truly useful! Saru wrapped his tail around the ninja’s neck, then launched himself for the shoulders of the next man in line. At the same time, Motto released that ninja’s leg and the wounded Fuma staggered sideways, dragged and strangled by the monkey’s long tail. The desperate man snatched a shuriken from his jacket, gripped it like a knife, then cuffed wildly for Saru. With perfect timing the monkey released his tail-choke to leap, shrieking and biting, onto the next ninja. The Fuma skirmish line broke and the uninjured jumped away, one man turning fast circles, terrified now of animal warriors lurking in the smoke.

The pupils of Eagle’s eyes now positively shone with the eerie green energy of the Eye of the Beast. Moonshadow shook his head in awe. So even while wounded, the master could control two animal agents and coordinate their joint attack!

A rumble of thunder made Moonshadow glance up. The smoke was finally dissipating, shrinking into large, drifting banks of filthy smog. A sharp hiss drew his gaze back into the archive, to a swordless ninja who staggered, hunched over, clutching his bloodied face. Behind the man, a low, sleek form flitted towards its next target.

‘Banken-san!’ Moonshadow grinned. He looked back at Eagle with astonishment. A nasty wound, blood-loss and poisoning, yet the master actually controlled three beasts!

A Fuma ninja landed beside Snowhawk, raising his blade quickly to hack at her. With a ringing sword she blocked his powerful downward cut, giving Moonshadow enough time to dart in and jab the man’s leg with the tip of his sword. As the ninja crashed to the floor, Moonshadow heard a swish and out of the corner of his eye caught a fast-approaching blur. An incoming shuriken, skilfully aimed!

He tried to snap his head clear, but the iron star clipped his temple hard before spinning away into a smog bank. Moonshadow slapped his hand to the impact site: the shuriken’s imperfect, glancing strike had broken the skin but failed to penetrate his skull.

Nonetheless, his head began to ring. He swayed on the spot, covering the small wound with one palm. Moonshadow shook his head and it went from ringing to pounding. He forced his eyes open. Unless that shuriken was poisoned, its cut was of little concern. But his skull had just taken a blow to its thinnest, weakest point …

Dazed and confused, Moonshadow rubbed his eyes. He heard Snowhawk fighting bravely, backed by the animals under Eagle’s control. Every sound blurred into echoes. He blinked rapidly, looking though the open shoji and into the archive. Ragged and exhausted, Heron, Mantis and Groundspider fought on, enemies circling them relentlessly, darting through the shrinking smog banks. He saw Heron’s naginata drive Kagero back, then the floor seemed to pitch and everyone began to move strangely. Moonshadow frowned. Now he was seeing things at half their usual speed. A bad sign!

Drowsiness rolled over him and his legs buckled. Moonshadow fell heavily just paces from Eagle. Eagle’s head sagged and through bleary, slowed vision, Moonshadow saw the great warrior lapse into unconsciousness.

As he turned his pounding head left and right, searching for Snowhawk, Moonshadow’s distorted vision began to tunnel. Motto and Saru flashed across his collapsing line of sight, then, as if looking up out of a well, he saw her. Fuma enemies surrounded Snowhawk, but she wasn’t fighting, she was just standing there. What was going on?

A slightly built ninja stood before Snowhawk, not attacking, but loosening the scarf over his mouth. Moonshadow peered hard: the ninja was a woman. A hard-faced, mature kunoichi, speaking slowly as she stared at Snowhawk. Her echoing words seemed to belong to some guttural barbarian language.

Snowhawk gaped back at the woman, then her sword hand wilted and dropped completely.

His vision shrank again until all he saw was Snowhawk’s face: it twitched with what looked like confusion, then a gleam of hungry recognition lit her eyes. Had this ninja’s words struck some chord deep inside Snowhawk, or was she falling prey to a type of kunoichi hypnosis, the very Old Country science at which she excelled?

The unfamiliar ninja woman stretched out her hand towards Snowhawk …

With a determined growl, Moonshadow rose, only to immediately fall back down. His head hit the floorboards and blackness enveloped him. Through it he heard the nasal call of a conch shell trumpet. Digging deep into his willpower, Moonshadow forced himself up, out of the pit of his swoon and back into the heavy air and smoky light. He wrenched his eyes open. The pounding in his head had receded. His legs still felt weaker than wet tofu, but at least he was able to raise his head. He squinted. Where was –

Both Snowhawk and the unfamiliar kunoichi were gone.

Why was the archive suddenly so quiet? He listened, momentarily wondering if the next sound he picked up would echo as before. Then it struck him: all sounds of combat had ceased. Was the battle finally over? The ceiling still burned but a new, most welcome sound was steadily drowning out their crackle: the muttering of rain on the roof. He listened to it fall and smiled. The weird echo effect had stopped. His vision was clearing fast, too. Letting out a relieved sigh, Moonshadow struggled up onto one elbow.

Surviving boundary guards and household staff were spilling into the archive from the north-south corridor, many armed with smothering rugs and wooden pails that sloshed with water. Moonshadow sat up, rubbed his aching neck and looked around.

Clearly, it was over. Aside from those slain, the Fuma had departed, many no doubt with substantial wounds. He glanced at the expanse of wooden floorboards. The pieces of the cannon still lay there, but the Fuma captain himself had vanished. Had he lived to drag himself away, or had the surviving Fuma carried off their leader’s body? There was no sign of Kagero herself, but one of her fans lay open in the doorway. Nearby in the corridor, Eagle lay unconscious, curled on his side, his breathing laboured. A stained field dressing covered one shoulder. His eyelids were twitching fast.

Mantis, his clothing hacked almost into rags, crouched on the floor just inside the archive. A half circle of black-clad bodies lay around him. Banken was relieving an itch by rubbing her flexible back along the sandals of a fallen enemy.

Heron, sweat-drenched and messy, knelt behind Mantis, calmly sewing up a slash-wound in his back with a needle and thread. She looked bruised and wrung out but otherwise unharmed, much like Brother Badger. He stood beyond the crescent of fallen enemies, a charcoal-smeared Saru on his shoulder. Badger was carefully winding a bandage around Groundspider’s thick right arm. The monkey caught sight of Moonshadow and bared its teeth mockingly. Groundspider’s face was streaked with grime, ash and blood, and a fresh duelling wound angled down his neck. Motto lay behind him, powerful legs splayed out, chin to the boards, snoring. Moonshadow gratefully closed his eyes. Each Grey Light agent was accounted for, and their animal warriors had also survived.

Wait! What about Snowhawk? He felt his throat constrict. Surely she had not fallen while helping to secure victory – and life – for the rest of them?

‘Aw, you’re back!’ Groundspider forced a weary grin. ‘Pleasant sleep?’

‘Where is she?’ Moonshadow shouted impulsively. The panic he head in his own voice fanned his dread.

Groundspider hung his big head as he answered. ‘One of the enemies surrounding her gave a signal … he blew a battle conch. Then all the Fuma just … left.’ The giant peeped at Heron, then stared at the floor. Moonshadow sensed what he was about to hear from her lips. His shoulders fell. There was a long pause before Heron turned her head to him.

‘I saw Snowhawk leave with the Fuma,’ she said gravely. ‘She went willingly.’