The two dragons I could not detect, Bran remembered. So they were already used against the enemies of the court…
“Perhaps this is what the Mikado meant in his letter, then,” the daimyo said, putting a finger to his lips. “This would certainly create a way to solve one of my conundrums—”
“I’m sorry,” said the Overwizard, “I’m not sure I follow.”
“If I assume the Taikun is held captive and forced to do the willing of the invaders, then as a loyal subject, I must come to his rescue and fight the Black Wings — just as the Mikado ordered. No conflict of loyalties there,” he added. He wore a self-satisfied grin.
“Yes!” The bugyō’s eyes sparkled. He raised a fist. “We shall strike at the barbarians and drive them back to the sea!”
You stand no chance against the Black Wings, fool. Bran raised a hand.
“Yes, Gaikokujin-sama?” The daimyo nodded at him.
“Forgive me, but what exactly do you plan to strike at the barbarians with? I know you have Tanaka-sama’s machines, but that won’t be enough against even one Black Wing.”
“We would not be fighting alone.” Nabeshima reached into his sleeve to produce yet another collection of missives. “I have received letters of support from many domains. If we were to decide on standing our ground, they would join us.”
Bran looked nervously around the hall. There must be Edo spies everywhere in this building. If he’s speaking so openly about allying himself with the rebels — it means he’s already decided.
“But we still have no clear proof the Taikun is forced to do the bidding of the foreigners,” said Lord Mizuno. He was sitting slumped again — the spark in his eyes extinguished already. “And without proof, can we really convince enough domains to join us? It would just be our word against the court’s.”
“What kind of proof did you have in mind?” the daimyo asked.
“I don’t know.” The Magistrate shrugged. “An intercepted letter, a secret order… this — ” He pointed at the treaty. “ — is not enough.”
“I see. Well, let’s hope we can eventually obtain such a document, one way or another. In the meantime, we can at least count on Satsuma and Tosa. I was also hoping for help from our esteemed allies.” The daimyo nodded towards the Dracalish and Bataavian delegates. “I am sure the… Taikun would be able to show his gratitude to those who released him from the thrall of the invaders.”
The way he said “Taikun”, he meant the title, not the person.
Dylan coughed. All the eyes in the room turned towards him. “Attacking the Gorllewin would be in stark violation of the treaty,” he reminded them.
“The Varyaga didn’t seem too bothered by this,” remarked Li.
Dylan shrugged. “They may think themselves powerful enough to flout the rules of conduct between civilised nations — but I would strongly advise the Yamato government against doing the same.”
There was an implied threat in his voice. Bran was sure it did not go unnoticed by anyone in the room.
“I defer to your expertise in these matters, Di Lán-dono,” said the daimyo. “Isn’t there a way out of this situation that would satisfy both your and Curzius-dono’s governments? What would render a treaty like this invalid?”
Dylan fell silent, stroking his chin. You know, Bran thought, irritated. Stop pretending you’re thinking this is over.
“What about the Ekō scenario?” Gwen suggested.
The shock on the faces of the Yamato officials was even greater than when they’d first heard Bran speak. Gwen was the only woman in the room; everyone assumed she’d been invited out of courtesy to Dylan and to make up the numbers of Dracalish delegates. Nobody actually expected her to talk in the presence of men.
Dylan smiled. “Yes, that might work.”
“What’s the Ekō scenario?” asked Bran.
They were speaking in Dracalish now, only Curzius understood them, but he reminded silent.
“I’m sorry, but, can we have a moment to discuss this between ourselves?” Dylan asked the daimyo, gesturing at Bran and Gwen. “This is a most difficult matter.”
Lord Nabeshima nodded slowly. Bran saw distrust in his eyes. “Of course.” He clapped three times. Through a door at the back entered a woman dressed in a gaudy, flowery, green kimono with red underlining, and heavy make-up. She bowed with utmost grace. “In the meantime, Mitsuko will entertain us with her dance.”
Behind the wall, musicians began playing a haunting melody on the bamboo flute and shamisen lyre. Dylan, Bran and Gwen excused themselves once more and shuffled outside, onto the courtyard.
CHAPTER X
“Whatever you have to say, Father, be careful,” warned Bran. “They had one Dracalish interpreter when I was here the first time, they may yet have another.”
Dylan nodded. “I would be a lousy spy if I couldn’t do anything about it. Tarian Llais!” He waved a hand over his head in a complex gesture, and Bran felt the air around them shimmer. The music coming from the hall quieted down.
“Voice shield,” Dylan explained. “Too weak to hold a missile or blade, but enough to thwart any eavesdroppers. We can speak freely.”
“So what is this Ekō scenario?” asked Bran.
“Do you remember how we helped Oba Akintoye?”
Bran nodded. His first sight of combat, his first steps on another continent; the palms swaying under the rocket fire, the sea serpent, how could he have forgotten?
“The warlord we were ordered to topple, Madame, uh…” Dylan’s fingers danced in the air.
“Tinubu,” helped Gwen.
“That’s it. She had a protection treaty signed with the Romans. By rights, there was nothing we could do to help Akintoye without engaging the entire Empire.”
“The Vasconian man-o’ war,” remembered Bran. “So that’s why they were there.”
“Exactly. But the Romans overlooked one crucial detail. The Spirits have not blessed the treaty.”
“The Spirits?”
“He means the Egungun, the shaman dancer,” Gwen added. “Ekō had two rulers: the Oba a political one, the Egungun a spiritual one.”
“Without the signatures from both of them, the treaty was just a useless piece of paper,” said Dylan. “At least, that’s what we used as an excuse for the intervention.”
“The Romans are zealots. They don’t care for the beliefs of others,” said Gwen. “This has often been their mistake when dealing with the natives.”
“The Gorllewin are Grey Hoods, too,” said Dylan. “I bet they didn’t think of it, either.”
“The Mikado!” Bran at last grasped his father’s plan. “He would never sign the treaty with the foreigners.”
“Yes, that’s what Gwen meant. Good thinking,” Dylan flashed a smile at the Reeve, then fell silent and serious again. He bit his lower lip.
“That’s great!” said Bran. “Let’s go back inside and tell them of our plan.”
He turned back towards the entrance. Dylan grasped his shoulder. “Wait.”
“What is it?”
“Yes, this is a way to render a treaty invalid… if you have anything to gain from it.”
Of course. He’s still playing the high stakes game.
“I’m still not convinced which side to take in this conflict,” Dylan said with surprising honesty. He looked at the three resting dragons. The saddle from Cenhinen had been transferred onto Emrys’s back, although not without trouble. The Bataavian porters were sitting on a veranda in the far corner of the courtyard, nursing their bruises and scratches. “All I’ve heard about this Taikun so far is from his enemies… but what if he’s the one we should be negotiating with, instead of Nariakira?”
“Have you not listened to a word I said?” Bran’s nostrils flared. “The Taikun is working with the Abominations!”
“That might just mean he’s shrewdly choosing his allies,” replied Dylan. His smile seemed condescending to Bran. “Weren’t you friends with one of these creatures yourself?�
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“That’s different. Dōraku-sama is a noble warrior. He helped us to kill the Crimson Robe. He is not like the others.”
“Are you sure?” Dylan lowered his gaze to meet Bran’s. “Have you not heard what he did to Li in Satsuma?”
Li?
“What…what do you mean?”
Dylan scoffed. “Your ‘noble warrior’ broke into Li’s room in the middle of the night, and abducted him at sword point. He’s nothing but a mere thug.”
“You didn’t tell me about it before.”
“And you hid things from me at first, too. Before you told me about the Serpent, I had no reason to connect that man with you or your friends.”
“I’m — I’m sure Dōraku-sama had his reasons.”
“Bran, Bran, my dear boy,” Dylan shook his head. “You’re far too trusting. All you know about this place and its people is what they themselves told you. How can you tell truth from deception? How do you know which side is right and which is wrong? I have a hard time deciding, and it’s my job!”
“Perhaps if you knew them as well as I do…”
Dylan stooped down to pick up a small pebble. He flicked it into the air. The pebble vanished mid-flight with a soft flash.
“Your reason is clouded by emotion, son,” he said. “It’s the wizardess, isn’t it? Or maybe that little red-headed priestess. I understand.” He raised his hand to stop Bran from interrupting. “I really do. But I can’t base my decisions on romantic whims in there.” He gestured toward the council hall. “I cannot make mistakes.”
“But you can’t ask me to stand against my friends,” Bran said through clenched teeth.
“And what side are your friends on, hmm?” Dylan asked. He crouched down, spread his palm and summoned a rough map of Yamato on the sand before him. “They are not with the Taikun or the Black Wings, that’s for sure.” Two red dots flashed in place of Edo and Shimoda. “That means all the pro-Edo clans are off limits.” All of the North and most of the central parts of the map turned red as well.
He already knows which clans are allied with Edo.
“Nor are they with Nariakira, if what you said about your precious wizardess is true.” Another dot flashed over Satsuma’s location, and spread throughout half of Chinzei. “In Kiyō, they are banished.” Another dot. “What was the name of that place where they kept you in prison?”
“Chōfu,” said Bran. Dylan invited him to place a dot on the map.
“And are your friends on Chōfu’s side, whatever it is?”
Bran hesitated. I told Nagomi to flee… even though she still wants me to destroy those ships. And Satō knows nothing about Mori’s double-crossing. Would she still follow his orders if she knew…?
“No,” he said, “I wouldn’t say they are.” The dot turned red.
“So, which is it? It seems as though neither you nor they know exactly what to do, and whom to follow.”
Bran looked at the map. There remained very few clear spots unconnected to each other; a cluster of clear dots around the centre of the map that drew his attention. “You forgot about Heian,” he said. “The Mikado’s court.”
Dylan raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think to mention it. Would your friends side with somebody who hates the West so much, and wants us all to go back where we came from?” He raised his finger towards the map. “That doesn’t sound like them at all, but if you say so…”
“No.” Bran said, resigned. “Not Heian, either.” The clear cluster disappeared under Dylan’s touch. Bran’s eyes welled up in helpless anger. His father was right; it seemed as if all of Yamato was now turned against Satō and Nagomi.
“Dylan, that’s enough. You’re torturing him,” interrupted Gwen. She’d been listening to their conversation with a growing concern. “Reason over emotion — really? Are you forgetting why you’re here? Why I am here?”
“I’m fine,” said Bran, raising his hand. He studied the map one last time and wiped it from the air with a flick of his fingers. “You’re right, Father. I know nothing, except that my friends need me. Satsuma, Chōfu, Edo, Heian… let them fight it out among themselves. And let Dracaland, or Gorllewin, or Bataavians, or whoever is left at the end, pick up the pieces. As long as they are all safe.”
Dylan nodded. “Well said.” He stood up. “So, with that out of the way, what’s your advice?”
“Advice?” Bran frowned.
“I still need to decide whether to join the Taikun and the Gorllewin — or the rebels.”
“We… can’t side with rebels. It means siding with Nariakira, who tried to kill Satō and Mori, who ordered my suicide — and the Magistrate, who executed Lady Kazuko. And yet…” Bran ran his fingers back and forth through his hair. He looked at Gwen, then back at his father.
Reason over emotion…
He took a few slow breaths to calm down his racing heart. The sand map, contrary to his father’s intentions, helped Bran to decide. The situation in Yamato, muddled until now, was now crystal clear in his mind.
There’s no need to choose one over another, he realised. I can save my friends, and convince my father to help me.
“The rebels,” he said, firmly.
“And is that the brain talking, or the heart?” asked Dylan.
“Both,” he replied. He started counting down on his fingers. “One, Satsuma and Saga have always been supportive of the Bataavians. Between them, they may yet convince Mori to their view.”
“Or they may end up fighting each other, once the Taikun is dealt with, but we shouldn’t worry about it now,” added Gwen. Dylan nodded.
Bran’s heart raced again. The words were flowing fast from his mouth with renewed confidence, now that he knew the answer.
“Two, Dracaland and the Bataavians are wizard nations. We should stick together against the Grey Hoods. Three, I don’t trust anyone who allies with the Fanged. For that matter, I don’t trust Dōraku either, but he did save my life more than once, so I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, for now. Four — ”
“Enough!” Dylan stopped him, laughing. “I get it.”
“I have more…”
“I can see that, son but it won’t be necessary. I am glad you’ve come to the same conclusion as me.”
“So you’d already decided?”
“I wasn’t sure. I may have been wrong. I told you — I can’t make mistakes in there.”
He dispelled the Voice Shield and stepped onto the veranda leading back to the council hall. A servant slid open the panelled door. Dylan stopped before entering the inner corridor and waited for Bran to join him. “But don’t think I’ll make it easy for anyone in there,” he said. “Dracaland’s friendship does not come cheap.”
The servants brought in more candlesticks to light up the hall. Bran looked nervously at the paper walls. It must be getting dark outside. How many hours have we been sitting here already?
The delegates were engrossed in minute details of an agreement that was about to be signed between the Kiyō authorities and the Bataavian and Qin representatives. Officially, Dylan was not part of these negotiations, as his diplomatic credentials had not yet been sanctioned; likewise, Lord Nabeshima abstained from putting his name to the paper, fearing this might constitute a dangerous legal precedent.
“Daimyos having separate treaties with foreign powers,” he said, “that stinks of Civil War. Unity of the nation in the face of the threat is paramount.” The bugyō was the only Yamato official who could sign an accord with the “barbarians”. Ensuring his cooperation had been imperative.
The legal obstacles did nothing to keep either Dylan or Lord Nabeshima from interfering with the negotiations. Dylan, in particular, was eager to word the agreement in such a way as to allow as much benefit to the future Dracalish trading missions as was possible.
At first, Bran enjoyed observing his father discuss the tiniest of the details with Li and Curzius. Having skilled opponents forced him to bring out the best of his skills. He was in his element
here.
But at length, Bran grew bored. Most of the debate was in Bataavian, of which he understood very little. He glanced at Gwen — she stifled a yawn.
“Father,” he said, “I do have to go now. Soon it’s going to be too dark to fly.”
“What?” Dylan looked at him, distracted. “Oh, yes. I will ask for a recess in a few minutes. As soon as we finish this section on free travel. Why don’t you wake up Emrys?”
Bran leaned back against the wall, and linked with his mount. The dragon stirred slowly from a shallow slumber. Through his eyes, Bran saw the darkening sky.
It must be what, six, seven o’clock?
The other two dragons woke up as well, sensing the connection. Bran reached out to them. Edern’s Silver, Nodwydd, beamed a calm pride, like all mounts of his race, though without the feral arrogance Bran had sometimes sensed from Afreolus.
If the journey across the ocean made any impact on the beast, it didn’t show; quite unlike on the other dragon, a small, young Viridian. Cenhinen was a colt, not much larger than Emrys. It was an odd choice for such a difficult mission.
Why a colt? Who would ride such a thing? Perhaps it was the only spare the Army could have offered. The mount was frightened and confused, still adjusting to the unknown territory. The passage through the Sea Maze had left its mind scarred. Bran’s mind was battered with images of the black storm, pounding it about like a wagtail caught in a gale, and the haze of Spirits, striking at the dragon from below, trying to bring it down. They went straight through — what was Edern thinking? The loss of the third dragon in the party, and the break in the mind link between the mounts had all but defeated Cenhinen’s resolve.
As Bran searched through bits and pieces of the dragons’ memories, his respect for Edern grew. Most riders would have had a hard time crossing the storm with just their own dragons. Only the Tylwyth Teg could find enough willpower to guide the mounts through such an ordeal. Bran knew he would never be able to repeat such a feat, even with his newly found powers.
The Withering Flame (The Year of the Dragon, Book 6) Page 13
