The Withering Flame (The Year of the Dragon, Book 6)

by James Calbraith

  “I was hoping to interrogate the Black Wing rider some more.”

  Lord Nabeshima chuckled and gave him a knowing look. “Ah, I see.”

  What? No, that’s not it, you old goat.

  “What do we do with her, anyway?” asked Curzius. “And the dragon?”

  “I will have her executed as soon as the treaty is signed,” said Lord Nabeshima. “And that metsuke, too. That will send a clear signal that we’re being serious.”

  The coldness with which he said it struck Dylan to the core. That’s his real face, for the first time today. Behind all the smiles and jokes, he’s as bad as Nariakira… if not worse.

  “No,” he said. Lord Nabeshima’s cold, steel eyes drilled through Dylan, but he shrugged it off. That won’t work — you’re nothing but an ally of circumstance to me, he thought. “I would advise against it,” he added.

  “Oh?” The daimyo’s face was smooth once more.

  “The dragon is connected to its rider,” Dylan explained. “It will go feral if we kill her; if we torture, or even hold her against her will too long, she may call on him to wreak havoc in the city.”

  “Can’t we just kill it, too?” asked Curzius.

  “Not without knowing its Kill Word. A protracted battle is possible, but it would yield further casualties and destruction. No, I believe we should let her go back to Edo, with our declaration. And for that matter, let that metsuke go with her.”

  Lord Nabeshima poured himself another cup of gin; his cheeks and nose were a deep rosy colour. “Are you sure you’re not only saying this because she’s a fellow Westerner? Or because she’s young and, I hear, pretty?”

  Dylan ignored the insinuation. “I’m the only person in this room who knows about dragons — and I’m telling you, there’s no way we can defeat that Black Wing without a long and dangerous fight.” Certainly not once I leave the Viridian in Kagoshima. “I would rather avoid it until we’re at full strength.”

  “But we would have the chance to destroy one seventh of the enemy’s strength before the war started,” remarked Li. “Such an opportunity should not go to waste.”

  The door slid open; Gwen returned to the hall. “Everything is ready,” she whispered in Dylan’s ear. “What’s going on?”

  “They want to kill Frigga, and slay the dragon.”

  Gwen’s mouth opened, but she said nothing.

  “I think the Commodore is right,” said Curzius. “Nabeshima-dono, we cannot risk the wrath of the Black Wing. You have never seen what a dorako can really do, so you will have to trust our judgement on this: even if we did slay it eventually, Kiyō itself will not survive it.”

  The daimyo scratched the bald top of his head. “Is this true, Li-sama?” he asked the Qin interpreter.

  He doesn’t trust us, after all, noted Dylan. Because we’re Westerners?

  Li lowered his head. “The city is built of wood and paper,” he said. “It wouldn’t take much for a fire-breathing dragon to turn it all to cinders.”

  “There’s one more thing,” Dylan added. “If the Gorllewin realise another Western power — a dorako-wielding one, at that — is already active in Yamato… they may reconsider their alliance with the Taikun. At the very least, it will make them have second thoughts. But if we attack them directly, they will have no choice but to follow through with the war.”

  “I see.” Lord Nabeshima nodded solemnly. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. I will make my decision tomorrow — I still need to consult the bugyō, it’s his city after all. Until morning, then, gentlemen — and lady,” the daimyo added, nodding before Gwen. “Rest well.”

  “Be careful, Edern,” said Dylan, patting the Tylwyth on the knee. The rider was saddled and ready to take off; they were only waiting for Li to return with his luggage from the Qin district.

  “I’ll be fine,” Edern said, his eyes gleaming. “I fly even better at night. Less distractions.”

  “I don’t mean flying. Once you get to Kagoshima — be careful. Everyone here is plotting and conniving.”

  “Good thing I’ve had such a great teacher, then, Ardian.”

  “I’m serious, dancer. Just drop Cenhinen off and get back here as fast as you can. Without you and your dragon we’re all at the mercy of the natives. And don’t speak to anyone except Li. Especially not to Nariakira. He’s wily — and he knows Qin better than you or I.”

  “Are you still planning on giving a dragon to him?” asked Gwen. “We found Bran, and we’re signing the treaty with Lord Nabeshima, instead.”

  Dylan looked towards the council hall. “I’ve talked this through with Curzius. Nariakira is by far the strongest part of this alliance. If the rebels win, he will be the one holding all the cards. Besides…” He wiped his tired eyes. “If Bran’s right, there’s another Black Wing coming towards Satsuma. I want the Gorllewin to know Kagoshima is under our protection, too.”

  “I get it,” said Edern. “I won’t fail you, Ardian. I just wish you hadn’t given my saddle away so easily,” he added, stirring uncomfortably on the bare scales of his mount.

  “Bran will need it more where he’s going,” said Dylan. And there was no other way to charm his dragon with a tracking hex.

  “Here comes Li,” said Gwen. The Qin crossed the Magistrate gate with a cotton bag over his shoulder and a broad sword at his side. “The Ninth Wind will be tricky on the approach to Kagoshima,” she added. “They have a wizard school north of the castle.”

  “I think I can handle that,” Edern replied, laughing. “Don’t worry. We’ll be back before dawn. Nodwydd has never failed me!”

  By the light of a Bataavian evertorch, the servant covered a bench with cloth and began to set up a small picnic spread from the few items he had carried up the mountain. He cut a rolled-up, sun-yellow omelette into thick slices, portioned up a crispy-broiled bream, laid out pickles onto tiny plates, and adorned the portions of sweet potato and carrot tempura with strips of dried laver.

  “It smells exquisite, kakka,” said Yokō. “I can almost picture the food.”

  Nariakira chuckled, and reached for the bream, while the servant poured saké into his cup from a large gourd. Below, the night view of the bay was a festival of lights. The city shimmered with the hundreds of lanterns and braziers lining its streets. The entertainment district glowed bright red, as if it was already on fire. The sea glistened from the squid boats and the mesmerising blue radiance of the Sea Fireflies — Nariakira remembered his astonishment when a Bataavian merchant had shown him under the “small view glass” that it was produced by tiny, shrimp-like animals. And above it all, the moon, big and bright at this altitude, overseeing all the smaller lights like a daimyo looking down at his subjects. For a moment, Nariakira felt sorry for Yokō, and everyone else sharing her affliction, for missing out on this glorious spectacle.

  He snapped his fingers twice, and the servant covered his shoulders with a thick, padded coat. This may have been the end of the summer, the warmest season in Satsuma, but at the peak of Sakurajima the night chill was giving him unsightly goose-bumps. Yokō accepted her straw cloak graciously and took a bite of the tempura.

  A sudden, unnatural gust of wind almost blew out the lantern. A great shadow swept across the starlit sky.

  “Right on time,” said Nariakira.

  He could not see the dorako clearly in the darkness, but he felt its power and the fear it induced in his gut. The beast circled around the summit of Sakurajima, scouting the bay, before swooping towards the city, disappearing from his sight.

  Nothing else happened for a while after that — only the cold wind grew stronger. Nariakira tightened his cloak and reached for the spyglass he’d obtained from the captain of the Soembing. He leaned over the precipice and peered at the harbour, straining to spot the dorako.

  “I can’t see it anywhere,” he said. “Has it gone?”

  “It is there, kakka,” said Yokō. “I feel its breath.”

  The red lights of the entertainment district d
immed. The shadow crept across the city skyline, towards the castle and Heishichi’s school beyond it.

  “It’s landed,” he said. “My dear brother should already be there… I hope he does a good job of it.”

  He had given Hisamitsu Shimazu the prestigious task of “negotiating” with the Taikun’s representative arriving on the back of the black dragon. Hisamitsu had been wary and untrusting at first — and with good reason — but Nariakira knew he couldn’t risk missing such an opportunity to show his governing skills.

  If he wants to replace me, he’d better prove he’s got what it takes to rule Satsuma — and Yamato.

  “And with luck…” he murmured, “he’ll get himself killed before I have to do it.”

  “What is it, kakka?” asked Yokō.

  “Oh, nothing,” he said with a chuckle. “This is taking a bit longer than I expected…”

  A sudden flash brightened the view in his lens. “Ah, there it is!”

  The shadow zoomed out of his view, followed by a sparkling trail of explosions. Nariakira could not keep up with the dragon through the spyglass; he put it away and stared at the city — his city — that was about to die. At a distance, the dragon was just a black blur on the backdrop of the flames it created. All around it, the magic missiles thrown by Heishichi and his students erupted like Obon fireworks. The two guns at the harbour shot a couple of cannonballs before dragonflame silenced them forever. A Bataavian lightning thrower mounted on the castle walls fared better, but not for long.

  What a terrific monster that is, Nariakira thought in awe. We would never stand a chance against it on our own.

  A glint of green and gold in the sky — the fire reflecting off fast-flying objects — drew his attention. He put the spyglass to his eye. It took him a few seconds to locate the glint again, but when he did, there could be no doubt about what he was looking at. A small green dorako hovered in the air over the outskirts of the city, and, next to it, the golden long of the Qin interpreter. They kept at a safe distance from the rampaging Black Wing and the trail of flame that followed it. But there was yet another dorako in the group — a greater, gleaming, winged dot of silver; it charged straight at the enemy.

  “All the actors are here,” Nariakira said, rubbing his hands. “Let the play begin in earnest!”

  The boat hobbled up to the beach and struck the sand. The deaf servant stepped out first, helping Nariakira to disembark, and then the girl. The night was as bright as day in the light of the raging flames; he felt their heat on his face, as if he was staring at the blacksmith’s furnace.

  A gust of wind rustled his hair. He looked up, just in time to see the black shadow zoom past the stars, speeding towards the northern hills. “And there it goes,” he said.

  The smaller dragons circled over the burning city, their riders content with driving the monster off. They had to know — even Nariakira knew, from observing the battle briefly through his spyglass — that the beasts were far too small to stand a chance against the Black Wing in a fight to the death.

  He and Yokō strode over the dunes to the unlit road running in the shadows. Half an hour later, they reached the castle grounds. The fires licked the moat, but dared not cross it; Takamori’s guards struggled side by side with the town’s firemen, and Heishichi’s ice wizards, to hold the raging elements at bay. Nariakira cast one glance towards them and, satisfied with their work, rushed to the main courtyard, where the two dragons had landed.

  “Find the boy,” he ordered the girl. “He’s hiding somewhere, I bet.”

  “Yes, kakka.”

  Nariakira marched up to the dorako. The smaller, green one, was rider-less. The Western beast growled and snarled, snorting blue steam from its nostrils. It swayed its head from side to side like a tired ox. The silver dorako stood proud and firm like a thoroughbred stallion. Its rider, tall and slim, sat rigid on its saddle-less back; the daimyo felt his eyes on himself, despite the darkness. As Nariakira got closer, he saw that the rider had hair of pure silver, and eyes gleaming amber in the dark, like a cat.

  Is he a Yōkai?

  “Li-sama!” he welcomed the Qin interpreter, whose long had just descended in golden coils to join the other two mounts. The three monsters barely fitted in the castle courtyard. “Welcome back.”

  The Qin climbed down the dragon and looked around, squinting at the flames, the tips of which licked the tops of the walls. He scowled. “I see we are too late.”

  “No, no!” Nariakira patted him on the shoulder. “You’re just in time! Who’s your silver-haired companion?”

  “A Dracalish warrior in Commodore Di Lán’s service,” replied Li. “He’s come to deliver the dorako, as promised,” he added, nodding at the green beast.

  I would have preferred the big one… thought Nariakira, eyeing the growling, exhausted dragon. “But, of course,” he said. “Come with me, your rooms are waiting.”

  “I’m afraid we cannot stay the night,” said Li. “I bring urgent news from Nabeshima-dono. He must have your answer before dawn.”

  “Nabeshima?” Nariakira frowned and glanced after Yokō, who’d disappeared beyond the moat. I suppose not even you could tell me everything. “What’s he up to?”

  The dewy ferns rustled and parted, revealing first the black, wet nose, then the silver fur, then the steel-blue, peach-pit-shaped eyes and twin sharp wedges of ears. Soft, like falling snow, the black-pillowed paws tip-tapped over the moss.

  The wolf nudged Azumi’s knees, and she stroke its neck. It narrowed its eyes to slits, and purred like a cat.

  “Have you found her?” she asked. “Good boy, Inuki.”

  The wolf licked her hand. Its tongue felt smooth, like purest silk; too smooth. Gone was the sand-paper roughness. The sun peered through the clouds, and shone through the wolf’s body, casting no shadow.

  Azumi wiped a tear and blinked. Each day, Inuki disappeared a little more. Soon it would be nothing but a wisp, a faint ghost. It was the last of the shikigami she’d been given by Ozun. Her lover’s power was slowly dissipating, and so were his beautiful creations. The lizards and the bats were the first to disappear, their summoning strips now just useless pieces of paper that Azumi still held on to out of sentiment.

  She blew the flute, and, as the wolf vanished, she rolled up the paper. She stood up, and reached for the basket containing Ozun’s head, before remembering she’d left it in Chiyo’s mansion.

  “It will be perfectly safe here,” the Fanged woman had assured her. “And you’ll be unhindered on your mission.”

  Not having Ozun beside her saddened her, but at least she could still hear his voice whenever she felt lonely, and that gave her enough strength to carry on with her new mission.

  She strode through the cliff-side forest, following Inuki along a days-old trail. Her quarry had been moving along the top of the ridge overlooking the bay. It was an easy hunt. Neither the priestess nor the bear-man bothered to cover their tracks. They seemed to not even consider the possibility that somebody might be following them.

  The terrain was a familiar one, and painfully so; just a short boat-ride from Ganryūjima, the southern shores of Dan-no-Ura had been the scene of many a secret mission involving her and Ozun, back in the days when the Crimson Robe had been busy cementing his hold on the Ogasawara Clan and its land. Every bay, hill, and river reminded her of something from the past. Here, on a crescent beach of pearl-white sand, they intercepted a Taikun’s spy, and then made love in the moonlight. There, among the oaks on the shores of a forest stream, they fought an old tengu, guarding an ancient magic helmet from the Genpei Wars…

  We will visit all those places again together, when I am returned to you, said Ozun.

  The trail was leading inevitably towards Kokura, and it was making her angry. If I knew they were going to Kokura, I’d have sailed there in the first place, and waited. It had been a long and often fruitless pursuit, especially when she’d lost track of the Iwakuni ship in the storm. She’d been all but ready to giv
e up and return to Chiyo empty-handed, when she’d discovered the wreck — and the clippings of the unmistakable red hair…

  What was the priestess doing there? And why? There was no reason for Azumi to stumble upon her now; neither she, nor her bear-man companion, were the kunoichi’s targets on this mission. It didn’t matter. The Gods — or demons, she didn’t care anymore — had given Azumi an opportunity for revenge. The wizardess was not there, but the priestess was just as good.

  Inuki barked, catching a scent, and rushed forward, disappearing in the brush. She followed it and reached the edge of a shallow dale, carved by a gently babbling brook. It didn’t take her long to find the traces of a campsite and tracks leading further west. Judging by the state of the remains and the footprints, the prey was some two days ahead of Azumi. They must be near Kokura by now. There’s no point tracking anymore — I have to get to the city and start looking there.

  Inuki’s ears perked up. The wolf growled. She tensed and reached for her chained sickle, but she was too slow. She heard the sound of blade grinding against the blade, and felt the cold steel touch both sides of her neck. She was trapped between the twin swords. She gulped.

  “You might as well kill me, because I’m not stopping this pursuit,” she said.

  “An admirable dedication,” the cold, cutting voice said. “You weren’t as keen to die the last time, I remember. What’s changed?”

  She didn’t reply. Of course he’d be here — protecting that damn priestess again… I should have known. She tightened her grip on the sickle’s handle. But this time, I have a little surprise…

  Her forearms, tattooed with blood runes under Chiyo’s guidance, burned up. She focused on a drop of dew falling from the leaf of a camphor tree. She watched it slow to the speed of trickling syrup. At the same time, blood rushed in her ears, her heartbeat and breathing both quickened to a gallop. The world around her froze; all the sounds grew low and rumbling, even the bird songs turned morose.

  She bent her knees and rolled forward, away from the twin blades. Jumping to her feet, she turned and threw the sickle. He parried — of course — but not without effort. Surprise wiped the wry smile from his face. His eyes narrowed, and he struck at her with both blades. She blocked one, and dodged the other. She let the sickle fly again, and this time, it scratched the Renegade’s side, tearing through the gaudy purple-and-yellow kimono and tearing into the skin.