The Dragon of Jin-Sayeng

by K. S. Villoso

  “The Lord Ikessar isn’t a big baby,” Khine said, shaking his head. He leaned over the railing. “More like an awkward teenager after a growth spurt.”

  While Khine was looking away, the girl took my hand and pressed the piece of paper in it. I felt something hard inside, almost like a bone. A bone, covered in flesh.

  I felt as if my blood had turned to ice. I walked to the other end of the rooftop, pretending something in the street below caught my eye. In truth, I was unwrapping the object. I forced myself to stop thinking as I stared at the finger, at the clean cut of bone at one end. It reeked of spirits.

  The paper was a letter.

  Kaggawa doesn’t have your son, it said. Go to Burbatan if you want him back.

  I stared at the finger. It was the left ring finger, so grey it must have been cut off some time ago. A little boy’s. If I squinted, I could pretend it was any other’s.

  Like many mothers, I know my own child from head to toe. I held my son’s hands a thousand times before, from when they were so small they could fit neatly into the palm of mine. I knew the shape of his knuckles, how his fingers were long and slender like his father’s. Every line, every scar, the way he chewed his fingernails so much he left only small slivers of them, the thin black dot of pigmentation on the nail itself. And there was no denying the indentation around the base, made by the royal ring Thanh wore at all times.

  I closed the letter over the finger, my heart pounding. Ozo? Could he be so desperate that he would fake Thanh’s presence in Oren-yaro? Was it another boy’s finger? You know it’s not. You would know your boy in your sleep. Your soul would recognize him long before the rest of you.

  Did he have him? Was he lying? But the look in Ozo’s eyes when he gave me the sword was the look of a man who knew he was at my mercy. He could have given me this, then. So this was someone else, something far more sinister. Yuebek, perhaps, except…

  “Lamang!” Anya Kaz’s familiar voice thundered, streaked with irritation—the sound of a hound scratching at the den where the fox lay waiting. “Spirits above, Doctor, what’s the use of this? You’re wasted on that woman!”

  I glanced around for the little girl and noticed she had disappeared. I pocketed the finger and returned to Khine, pretending the last few moments hadn’t just occurred. I didn’t want to tell him. If I didn’t talk about it yet, I could pretend nothing was wrong.

  We spotted her down below, dressed from head to foot in leather armour. She glanced up at the roof deck. We were too far away for her to see us, but I realized it didn’t matter; she knew exactly where we were.

  Khine didn’t move. There was no hint of surprise on his face.

  “Didn’t you think I would catch on to your tricks, Lamang? I’ve got men on every side of the street. There’s no escape!” She held out her hands. “But why would you want to? Have you forgotten we’re family, Khine? All of us from the streets of Shang Azi… we’re all here for the same reason. We got caught up with the bitch and now we’re paying the price. Why stay with her? She’ll cut your throat herself if she thinks it’s right. Don’t you want to finally be a physician? It’s nothing for Yuebek to force the guild to sign you in. Imagine rubbing Reng Hzi’s nose into that!”

  Khine grunted.

  “She’s just a warm cunt, Khine,” Anya continued. “You know she’s done for. When the time comes for the Esteemed Prince to take over the world, you don’t want to be on the wrong side!”

  “I’m sorry you have to hear this,” Khine said. “You know how they are.” But he looked troubled at her words. I turned to gaze at the sword on my belt, at the carved sea serpent on the hilt. At the notches in the dark wood that had once been soaked in the blood of my father’s enemies. And then I felt the finger in my pocket, heavy as the world.

  Bury it, Talyien. The thought felt like a blow, with a strength to make a warrior fall to his knees. Do you want another sacrifice at the altar of your worship? How shall his story end? Split open with arrows like Agos? Dragged into a prison like Rayyel? Learn from your mistakes. Let him find happiness and meaning elsewhere, in a world where the shadows that haunt you cannot follow.

  I noticed a blur of movement from the distance. It was the children. They streamed behind the bandits, as if to ask for alms. One brushed close to Anya before retreating. A moment, and then a vendor whistled. A big man came up to one of Anya’s, pulling out an item from his pocket. From the look on Anya’s man’s face, he didn’t know how it got there. It didn’t matter. The townsfolk tolerated harassment, but not theft. A fight broke out.

  “That’s our cue,” Khine croaked.

  The commotion grew louder, drawing the attention of the guards. We emerged near the district gate, where horses were hitched along a fence. As soon as Khine untied one horse, I grabbed it from him and swung into the saddle.

  “What—” he started.

  “I’m just returning the favour,” I said. “All of them, actually.”

  His eyes widened. “You’re not going to do this to me again. Tali…”

  “I need company in Burbatan and Anya would be perfect.” I gave a soft smile. “Have a good life, Khine.”

  He grabbed the horse’s bridle. The glimpse of his face—the clear lines of worry, of anger—was both soothing and painful. I vowed to hold on to that image forever. I yanked the reins from his hands and sank my heels into the horse’s belly. Anya and her men were still arguing with the vendors as I cantered down the street, and the guards were knee-deep in their attempt to control the crowd. “Kaz!” I called, nearly laughing.

  She stopped and turned. Realization dawned on her, and she called for her men to chase after me. Their horses were still hitched near the gates. I cut their reins as I rode past them. Panicked neighs and thundering hooves blocked the path behind.

  I lurched full speed onto the road.

  ACT TWO

  THE PLAY

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE WILDS OF OREN-YARO

  When I was a child, I knew what my father thought of cowards from the ease with which his sword hacked heads off men who simpered and lied to protect themselves. I remember one such occasion: an old lord from one of the southern holdings who had been accused of sending bribes to the Ikessars. Yeshin had pounded his fists on his chest. “If you want to betray me,” he snarled, “then do it to my face!”

  The old man continued to deny the allegations, his words running over each other—as if he thought the more frightened he was, the more likely Yeshin would take pity on him. The hooked end of Yeshin’s sword caught at his throat first, ripping the skin out like a ragged piece of canvas. As he wrapped his bony hands around his neck in a faint attempt to stop the blood, my father stepped on his back and finished separating his head from his body.

  The son fell to his knees and immediately admitted to the crime. My father never batted an eyelid. Still carrying the bloodied sword, he pulled the young man to his feet and embraced him. And then he carried on with the rest of the meeting as if nothing had happened.

  I watched the scene unfold from the stairway, though I can’t say if it was fear or fascination that kept me staring at the decapitated head on the floor, seemingly forgotten by the droning old men and women around it. A goldfish in an earthen pot would have gathered more attention.

  “Come away, child,” a soft voice had called out to me from the landing. “It’s time for your lessons, and you shouldn’t have witnessed this thing.”

  I gazed up at Arro. “Why not? Isn’t this what warlords do? I should get used to it.”

  His brow creased. “No.”

  “But…”

  “One shouldn’t get used to death and killing, child.”

  “They are,” I pointed out.

  He glanced at the great hall in the distance before placing a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not them.”

  “I will be someday,” I whispered.

  He looked amused by my words—Arro, who was rarely amused. I wondered what he would think of what had happe
ned over the past year. I knew precisely what my father would’ve said, but Arro had never expressed his disapproval in the same manner. It still seemed odd to me how simply people slipped in and out of our lives. One moment a constant, like the sun or the stars or the sky; the next, gone like a gust of wind. Saying goodbye to Khine was the most difficult, but it had to be done. Lingering over whatever I wanted was a pointless exercise.

  Clarity, if not courage. And it didn’t come like a shaft of light breaking through the clouds. I sought strength from my father’s sword. Maybe I even prayed to it. The man survived onslaught after onslaught of the Ikessars. Even if Yeshin had hated Thanh as much as Ryia did, he was still my father, and surely my own father could lend me the strength to save my son. If he is still alive. Please, let him be alive. I still had my son’s finger with my things. I didn’t know why I held on to it. I didn’t need a reminder of what was at stake. But throwing it away felt like giving him up for dead.

  So I rode to the foothills with barely a thought for my own safety. I owned much of those lands—even if I wasn’t queen of Jin-Sayeng, I was still Yeshin’s heir. Jin-Sayeng had always considered it a flaw, but now Rayyel Ikessar’s open support might make all the difference. And yet the exact same thing that would cause the rest of Jin-Sayeng to reconsider their view of me would cause me to lose the Oren-yaro for good. To stand beside an Ikessar while wielding my father’s sword was unthinkable. How would I approach the Oren-yaro royals to gain their loyalty? How could I discredit Lord Ozo, decorated war hero and defender of the province, and get them to follow me instead? They all saw me as nothing but Yeshin’s bitch pup.

  The evening darkened, the road lit only by the soft glow of the moon above. Breath fogging around my lips, I caught the sight of fireflies dipping in and out of the rice fields and felt loneliness hit me like a battering ram. I hardened myself to the feeling. I was my father’s daughter, whatever that still meant. To be born to the quivering thighs of war meant that happiness and love and joy were afterthoughts. I could rail out in anger, but then what would that do? Are we given what we want simply because we want it? Even children know better.

  A group of people were marching south from the first fork on River Agos. I slowed my horse down. “A strange night to be moving, Anong,” I called to one of the elders.

  The old man jerked a finger behind him. “Bandits,” he said simply.

  I narrowed my eyes, counting the torches further up the road. “It looks like you’re moving a whole village. Are the rebels so brazen now?”

  “Deng Kedlati’s bandits have always been brazen,” the old man replied. “Their territory used to be further north, but ever since the queen disappeared, General Ozo’s patrols seem to have disappeared with her, and they’ve been pushing south.”

  “Don’t the Ikessars have patrols?” I asked. “The bandit territories border both our lands.”

  Another villager laughed. “We think Ryia’s been turning a blind eye on purpose.”

  “A blind eye?” someone else called. “You mean she’s paying them. That’s the only reason they’ve been able to get a foothold in the first place. She hasn’t forgotten her war. If it means burning the whole nation to the ground with her in it, she’ll do it happily enough.”

  People grumbled in agreement. I couldn’t say I was surprised; royals never have a problem finding disgruntled commoners to cause havoc in their rivals’ lands. It usually didn’t cost much, either. I glanced back at the old man. “You can travel with us if you want,” he said. “We’re heading to Oren-yaro.”

  “I’m on my way to Burbatan,” I replied.

  The old man clicked his tongue. “That’s where we came from. The rebels have the whole town under siege.”

  I paused for a moment, racking my brains to recall who oversaw the town. “Lord Ipeng,” I said at last. “Doesn’t he have the soldiers to take care of it?”

  “His barracks are all but empty,” one of the young men broke in. “Lord General Ozo pulled the younger soldiers out in the beginning of the year. My brother’s one of them.”

  “And it’s not just a handful of bandits,” another added. “It’s a whole army of them. General Ozo will have his hands full—especially with all the troubles he’s already dealing with.”

  Shaking their heads, they all began to walk again. “Be careful out there,” the old man said, waving goodbye.

  He didn’t get far. He had barely walked two steps when an arrow took him in the throat.

  The bandits appeared on the edge of the road, running right into the line of refugees, who scattered. One of the young men tossed me a spear, which I caught in mid-air. I charged the closest bandit, gritting my teeth as my spear found its mark in his neck.

  The first kill is always the easiest. I’d barely gotten a breath in when a second bandit drove his horse into mine. I fell from the saddle, skidding through the mud. I couldn’t draw my sword in time. The bandit was on me, his hands around my neck as he tried to choke me into unconsciousness. My senses were slipping as one of the refugees arrived, sword in hand; the bandit turned and slashed his belly.

  I watched as his guts tumbled out of his body and onto the ground. The man looked surprised, and his hands made an involuntary motion, as if he wanted to stuff his entrails back into the wound. But he never got that chance. Anya appeared behind him, taking his head off with one clean stroke.

  “Took you long enough,” I managed to hiss as I tried to tear the bandit’s hands from my neck. He simply turned and struck the side of my head with a closed fist. Then he lunged at Anya, who killed him, too.

  Ears ringing, I stepped back. “What’s this?” I asked. “These assholes aren’t yours?” I paused when I saw her face clearer in the moonlight. She had a split lip, and there was a bruise on her chin and above one eye. I laughed. “Straight from the frying pan and into the fire, I see.”

  “Your land is crawling with vermin,” she spat. “If you’re smart, you’ll hand over your weapon now and come back with me. Prince Yuebek offers solutions, not problems.”

  “Haven’t you asked around before you committed to this? You know I won’t bow to your emperor’s son. Ask everyone who’s tried to make me.” I paused. “Oh, that’s right. Most of them are dead.”

  “He’ll bend your knees if you don’t do it yourself,” she said simply.

  “I thought you made your own rules. Why are you working for him now?”

  “Weren’t you listening? The man can make you bend your knees. Maybe a pampered cunt like yours won’t understand. Look at you, leading bandits straight into helpless villagers…”

  I struck her. She doubled back from the blow, allowing me to crawl up.

  “Did I hit a nerve?” Anya laughed as she got to her feet. She wiped a streak of blood from her mouth. “Come on, Queen Talyien. I don’t think the aches of the common people have ever occurred to you. We don’t care what side we’re on so long as our bellies are fed.”

  “A bandit has no right to lecture me.”

  “Maybe not, but then again, you don’t become a bandit out of principle, Queen Talyien,” she said.

  “The allure of gold and shiny things…”

  “You’ve been around Lamang too long. You even talk like him.”

  I drew my sword. “You helped me once, Anya, and I’ll never forget it. But now you’re in my way.”

  The smile on Anya’s face grew cold. I wondered if she thought I would surrender just because she’d caught up to me. Holding her scabbard above her chest, the hesitation was clear in her eyes. She had seen me fight. And she was a smart woman—she knew the advantage lay with me because I didn’t need her alive. I had qualms about killing her, but I could shed them easily if we came to blows.

  Then she glanced behind me. I didn’t follow her gaze immediately—it was a cheap tactic, one I’d used far too often in the past, and I wasn’t about to fall for it. Most of the bandits were far down the road, chasing after the fleeing refugees. The ones who stayed behind to fight were al
ready dead.

  The shadows of more appeared from the forest. A sea of torches. I heard Anya give a soft sigh. “This is what they call… what was that word? An impasse?” she asked, almost calmly.

  “What would you have used otherwise?” I replied, sweat dripping down my brow.

  “Fucked.”

  “Ah,” I said. “I agree.”

  “What do we have here?” A man I presumed was the leader of the group approached us, lamp in hand. He had an eyepatch and a long scar that rolled from behind it to the back of his shaved head. He grinned behind a thick beard. “Two women arguing in the dead of the night. You don’t see that very often.”

  “Don’t you?” one of his companions asked. “I could’ve sworn I heard it the night your mistress followed you home.”

  The man laughed, throwing a hand out. One of his thumbs was missing. “I stand corrected. Two women arguing in the dead of the night—something that occasionally happens to the best of us. So which of you slept with the other’s husband?” He trailed off as he stared at me. I remembered I still had my blade drawn and quickly slammed it back into the scabbard, but it was too late. “That’s a royal sword,” he said. “Go take it, Noerro.”

  “You do it, brother,” the man who had spoken earlier replied. “She doesn’t look friendly.”

  The man in the eyepatch frowned. “Come and hand me that before someone gets hurt.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d really rather not,” I said.

  “It’s not all the same to me,” he hissed. “Your accent…”

  “She’s from the city,” Noerro piped up. “Oren-yaro.”

  “What if I am?” I asked.

  “You were talking in Zirano earlier.”

  The shadows drew closer. I found myself back-to-back with Anya. She was breathing through her mouth. “Too many for us to fight,” she mumbled.

  “Royals speak Zirano,” the man continued.

  “You’re a smart one,” I said. “Your mother must be proud.”