by C K Gold
The gates shuddered from the inside. The assault was succeeding.
“Torches!” came the cry from the front. It was picked up and repeated down the ranks, and soon blazing torches covered in pitch were passed forward. They were even pressed into Fang’s hands. The men at the walls tossed them over. Fang lobbed his into the air, the torches spinning end over end high above the wall, where they landed in parts unseen.
Shouts rose on the other side, largely drowned out by more fireworks on both sides of the wall as well as the continuous pounding of the men ramming the gate.
Why haven’t they started slaughtering these poor fools? Fang raked the edges of the mob with his eyes, seeking signs of an ambush. The Four Winds didn’t hunker down and wait for storms to end. They met foes head-on. Birch hadn’t reappeared yet, either. Fang bristled with concern. Everything about the situation screamed trap to him.
Someone had noticed Fang’s high throw. A thick, powerful woman in a stained apron passed him sulfurous, paper-wrapped packages that he quickly realized were amateur fireworks. And not just any amateur fireworks, but big ones that, if they blew, could do some real damage. The woman had a big basket packed with the things. She lit them and he pitched them. Not all of the fireworks landed with a bang, but those that did were loud enough to overwhelm even the constant, thunderous ram.
It was a brilliant move, something someone had obviously adapted from tales of artillery. Unfortunately, as Fang had guessed, the fireworks weren’t all exactly safe. One burst overhead, scattering peasants. The sheer force of the blast was enough to knock some out and leave them with blood streaming from their ears. Even Fang found himself dizzied by it. The bombardier wasn’t discouraged. She elbowed him once, hard, and pressed the next package into his clawed hands before she lit it.
“Are you sure?” he yelled, and she fixed him with a resolute glare. He had no time to hesitate. The bomb soared over the wall to land where it would. The ordinary residents of Dockside were determined to blow the Four Winds away either with farm tools or bombs.
The woman ran out after a few more misfires, though fortunately none as dramatic as the first. Birch appeared just as the last landed.
“Dud,” Fang noted, following the disappointing lack of a bang. The crowd had worked itself into a frenzy from the combination of fireworks and, well, Fang. They bayed for blood. The gate had not fallen, though it seemed like only a matter of time before it inevitably splintered.
Birch grabbed Fang’s cloak. “Get ready,” he said.
Fang turned to speak to him, but paused. Birch’s face was smudged with dirt and soot and his clothing was already stained with obvious blood spray. “What the hell have you been up to, and why’d you go without me?”
Either Birch didn’t hear the question, or he didn’t care to answer it. “It’s happening,” he said as his gaze shifted past Fang and fixed on the gate.
Fang looked back. The gate trembled, though the ram had yet to strike again. Dust shivered down. The ram flagged, as the team bearing it was exhausted. Then the gates opened a sliver. The crowd surged forward, pressing men into the gate. At first the pressure was crushing, but the gate opened further and they all spilled in. Fang caught a glimpse of a white, terrified face, familiar in the details if not from the expression.
“Goat!” he bellowed as the kid fell and disappeared, devoured by the mob. Fang was swept into the yard with the others in a churning mass of shrieking, raging peasants and Society warriors.
Fighting had erupted even before the Rootless Society broke in. Among the craters and scorch marks were broken weapons and bodies that bore wounds from swords and clubs. Fang recognized some of the dead, but before he gathered his thoughts, the crowd shuddered to a halt.
The mansion’s doors slid open and men in dark robes poured out with bloodstained weapons in hand. The standoff only lasted a moment before the undisciplined mass of men and women raced to engage the gangsters. A fight like this could never end well — on the gang’s territory against skilled warriors well versed in bloodshed, an army of peasants were grain for the grindstone. Fang roared, scattering commoners and gangsters alike.
Heat boiled up in his throat. His second roar bloomed into fire that licked blue at the edges of his snout and spread into gold and crimson tongues that sent men screaming. He cleared a path into the thick of the Four Winds’ best men, ones he’d sparred with himself. Birch followed in his wake and wet his sword with blood. They slashed and burned one knot of stubborn knee-smashers, but when they stood alone in their eddy, Fang saw the rest of the battlefield spiral into chaos.
More fires than his now raged in the compound, and beyond the walls he could see that at least one had started outside. The smoke blew from the right direction to be one of Red Hand’s warehouses burning, and Fang hoped that was the case, and not that the battle had grown into a riot far beyond any faction’s control.
Birch threw himself into another tangle of fierce fighting. The peasants were falling back from the mansion in the face of superior foes. Fang followed and made use of his newfound flames. He left a charred trail in his wake, destroying men and walls alike as he guarded Birch’s flank.
They pushed deep into the mansion until they found themselves abruptly alone. The air was foul with smoke and the rotten egg stink of sulfur.
“Haven’t seen my elder brothers yet,” Fang said.
“That’s a good sign.” Birch checked the doorways, then pushed over a cabinet. Papers spilled all over the tiles. He knocked over a stand and sent a potted tree to its end.
“You’re going to draw more to us.” Fang looked back the way they’d come, but no one was following. Men rushed past the doors to pursue others without even noticing him.
Steel clanged and Birch laughed, a triumphant sound that pulled Fang back. He spun in time to see Birch lunge for one of Ranu’s bodyguards even as another brother dropped to his knee and fired a small crossbow.
“Birch!” Fang dove, but he was too slow. The bolt caught Birch in the back of the thigh and he stumbled forward. Fang backhanded the bodyguard’s sword away and finished him with a gout of flame, then whirled to face the crossbowman.
The man had already fled instead of firing again. Fang caught Birch’s arm and lifted him to his feet despite the pain of merely touching him. He pulled back just as the bleeding started. Black droplets sparked and flared against the floor and Birch swayed. Fang caught him by the back of his tunic with the unwounded hand until Birch regained his balance.
Birch reached back and yanked the quarrel out. Fortunately it was a simple diamond-shaped head and not barbed. A fresh wave of blood gushed out and Birch grayed.
“You couldn’t have waited?” Fang grumbled. “Hang onto my cloak and let’s get out of sight.”
“Couldn’t walk with a stick hanging out either,” Birch said, but he obliged. Fang hurried as fast as he dared, but Birch was even paler by the time they stopped in an out of the way nook. Here the sounds of battle were muffled by older stone walls and the air wasn’t yet choked with death and smoke.
The bleeding slowed, which reassured Fang that Birch’s awful pallor wasn’t mortal. Fang shredded his cloak, but Birch stopped him with a raised hand. “Cauterize it first,” he said.
Fang grimaced, but it had a certain logic. His cracked hand wept cinders, so he squeezed his fist tightly. Birch rolled on his side, exposing the wound. An inky drop spilled from fissured dragon hide and burst into life as it struck flesh.
Birch hissed through clenched teeth, a sound awful enough to eclipse Fang’s. Birch swiftly bound his thigh, though, and with the support of the wall, climbed back to his feet. But Fang only needed to glance at Birch to know that he was in no condition to fight further. Now his goal was getting Birch out to safety.
“We’re leaving,” Fang said.
“The fight isn’t over.” Birch pressed his lips into a thin line. Pain pinched the skin around his eyes now. “We haven’t found Red Hand. I’m not letting you fight alone.”
“This isn’t a discussion. You’ll only get in the way now.”
Birch smashed the side of his fist into the wall. “I have to be here! This is my fight, too. I can stand, I’m good.”
“I’ll lock you in here if I have to,” Fang growled. “Let’s go before we have to fight our way out.”
“Too late for that.” Jun stood in the doorway with an iron staff in his hands. “I know very well that I can’t pierce your hide, but what about his?”
Fang whirled and breathed a plume of flame into the doorway, but Jun slammed the door shut. It caught fire with the ease of old, well-cured wood. Staying inside was a death sentence for Birch. Fang smashed through to make an opening and whirled around, but Jun had already hidden himself.
“Fight me!” Sparks poured from Fang’s jaws. “What are you afraid of, big brother? Not ready to die?”
A crack made Fang whirl around, but it was only Birch limping out of their ruined bolthole. “Whoa,” he said, raising his off-hand. He rested his weight on his sword like a cane.
Jun dropped down from a ceiling beam, staff raised to strike. Fang knocked Birch aside and caught the end of the staff in his hand. The power of the blow drove Fang to his knees and split the tiles. He ripped the staff out of Jun’s hands and swung it into his ribs. Even a solid slab of muscle like Jun couldn’t eat a strike like that. He slammed into the opposite wall like a swatted fly and crumpled.
“Come on,” Fang said, holding the staff out to Birch. He grasped the end and pulled himself back up.
“Only if you don’t kill me before your brothers do,” Birch replied.
“No promises.”
Fang led him through the mansion. Red Hand’s subordinates fled rather than dealing with Fang. He let himself be guided by the sounds of battle. They avoided the worst knots, which were mainly outside, but now and then they were forced to detour or even backtrack to keep Birch out of more engagements with the gang.
Chapter 13
Fang and Birch slipped into the courtyard. With each step, Birch leaned ever more heavily on Jun’s staff. Sweat ran freely down Birch’s face and stained his tunic. The gray tinge to his skin meant he likely didn’t have much time on his feet left in him. The sooner he left the battlefield, the better off he would be. Fang would’ve killed for a big enough rug to wrap Birch up in and carry him off.
“If I were governor, I’d outlaw crossbows,” Birch muttered.
“They’re already contraband.” Fang ushered him forward. The small courtyard grove was dense with ferns that would hide them from casual observers. If he couldn’t get Birch out immediately, hiding him there was a possibility. Birch limped determinedly, but he was losing steam as the stain spread. The cauterization had either not been enough, or the wound had torn further. Neither option was good.
“Do the lovers think they can outrun the wildfire they set?” Red Hand stepped out from the other side of the grove. His sword gleamed in the sun as though it’d been polished to a high sheen. More men emerged from the far door, armed with spears and crossbows.
Birch breathed a curse as Fang edged in front of him and took a deep breath.
“I’d save it if I were you,” Red Hand replied. “You’ll surely roast me, but I doubt you can get all your brothers in one go. Surely one of them will finish your precious friend.” He smiled and walked closer. “If I’d known all it took was a hairy ass to earn your loyalty, I’d have gotten you some boys years ago. Why waste your time on any common specimen? You deserve better.”
Fang released a warning rumble.
“All right, all right. He’s not ugly, but that’s not why we’ve all come together today. Those rabble are making a mess of the family home. I’ve always worked to keep the undesirable element off these grounds, but then you invited them all in. It has to concern you how rapidly the destruction is spreading. Dockside is burning. It’s just a matter of time before the guards arrive. Do you want them to see a dragon? That’s tantamount to admitting your treason.”
“My treason?” Fang bristled and rose to his full height, a display that made even Red Hand take an involuntary step back. “You ordered it. The others heard you—”
“And you think they’ll defend you from an interrogation?” Red Hand shook his head like Fang had disappointed him. “Even if any of them were willing to step in for a traitor like you, it wouldn’t matter. You stole from the governor himself — and from the Empire of Ten Thousand Cities. But me? I’ll still be here. A little weaker for a time, you’ve ensured that much. I hope that keeps you warm in the grave.”
“Then what do you want?” Birch spat. He stepped out of Fang’s shadow and pointed at Red Hand with his sword. “If you were so certain of victory, you’d have already killed me.”
“Smart. Stick with this one, Fang; he’s got the brains you need. I’m going to offer you a deal. We all walk out and call a truce. End the fighting. I’ll let all the rabble go free if Fang kills you in front of everyone.”
Fang tensed to lunge forward, but his old comrades lifted their crossbows threateningly. He was fast, but he’d already failed to catch one bolt. He wouldn’t catch several.
“Fang, stop. Let’s hear him out,” Birch said. His voice rang out clear and confident, out of place when Red Hand had just offered a trade in exchange for Birch’s life. Fang snarled.
Red Hand dipped his chin to Birch in thanks. “Your peasants are losing. Numbers and fish hooks are all fine against imbeciles, but if the fight plays out, they’ll all die. Not without causing me heavy losses, for certain, but you’ll lose, and I’ll have every man and woman here today hunted down, and every one of their children and family members sold as chattel to barbarians, even if it empties Dockside. I’m willing to accept your life in exchange for theirs, because it will save me a great deal of trouble, and I’m sure that aggravating me isn’t worth Dockside to you.”
“The governor won’t let you massacre a district,” Fang said.
“He only cares that the ships come and go and tariffs flow into his coffers. The Demons won’t intervene, either. Do you think they’d let an uprising like this unchecked? No. Bad enough that you infected my organization with your madness, but now you’ve let it spread among the idiots not even fit to be bottom feeders. Someone must be punished. You’re too valuable to let go, and Birch is too famously heroic for his death to be wasted. Kill him, and I’ll welcome you back with open arms, and the rest can go.”
“I accept,” Birch said before Fang could respond.
“What? No. I refuse!” Fang spun around to face Birch. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I won’t be responsible for a massacre. I’m willing to risk taking this bastard at his word if there’s a chance of saving the others.”
“We’re not even losing!”
“Aren’t we?” Birch made a show of looking around. “Do you see any others in here who aren’t Four Winds? You and I are the only ones who’ve made it this far.” His narrowed eyes burned into Fang.
His heart pounded against his ribs like a hammer. Birch wasn’t the type to say die. He rarely surrendered even during arguments. Each time Fang had thought one of their discussions had resolved in his favor, Birch regrouped and attacked from a different angle.
“Fine,” Fang bit out. Don’t let me down, Birch.
“Then let’s all go out and put an end to this fruitless battle.” Red Hand shooed them back. “You know the way, Fang. Lead your little friend. Or do you need a moment to say your goodbyes? I’m not heartless, but every moment we delay, more lives are lost, and those are on your conscience.”
Birch looked up at Fang. “No,” they said in unison.
Red Hand favored them with a grimace and motioned them out. “Then let’s get on with it.”
Fang hardly noticed anything as they left the mansion with Red Hand between them. The fighting in the yard stilled as the combatants noticed their leaders standing together. The stillness rippled out until the only continued strife was well outsid
e of the compound. No doubt runners would soon bring word to those pockets, too.
Smoke rose in greasy streaks that blotted out the sun over the precinct. Men and women, peasants and gangsters alike lay dead and dying, or locked in uneasy staredowns as they tried to figure out what was happening.
“Thank you all for lending me your attention. And, if not your full attention, at least an ear,” Red Hand said. His booming voice carried easily through the courtyard, bouncing from stone walls and the hard, bare earth. “As chief of the Four Winds, I have come to terms with the leader of the Rootless Society. You may all withdraw in exchange for his—”
If Red Hand was loud, Fang, with his draconic lungs, was far louder and commanded yet more attention. “In exchange for a duel to the death. I, Fang, will act as the Society’s champion. If I defeat Red Hand, the Four Winds submit. If I fall, my death satisfies the feud and you will all return to your homes.”
The weary peasants raised a ragged cheer. Their morale was tenuous, but Fang was steel-proof. The peasants had mostly been pushed outside of the walls in Birch’s absence; the remaining forces on this side of the mansion were all concentrated at the gate.
Birch’s pursuit of the gang’s elite into the mansion was a tactical mistake, Fang realized. He should have drawn Birch back. The most dangerous foes hadn’t stayed to stand and fight them. The gang’s best had melted back outside to rally their brothers and throw the Rootless Society and their amateur militia out of the compound.
Ancestors, let Goat survive. He waited for Red Hand to object; after all, why accept such baldly unfair terms?
Red Hand had pivoted to face Fang at the sudden change of terms, but despite Red Hand’s surprise, he didn’t seem too concerned. In fact, he granted Fang a mocking smile. “Then let’s have some space cleared here. Make a path! Clear out these damnable corpses.”
