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

by James Calbraith

  You got him! Ozun cried, joyously.

  The Renegade jumped back and crossed the swords before him. She whirled the sickle in a figure of eight. He leapt into the air. She tumbled forward. He landed and whirled about — she blocked the sword with the chain and undercut his wrist with the sickle blade; he pulled away at the last moment.

  They were fighting as equals, at last, thrusting, slashing and blocking at the same speed, which meant — she knew — that their movements would have been nothing but a blur to anyone watching from outside. The Renegade’s eyes turned black, and deadly serious, his moves precise and cautious.

  She managed to keep up with the speed of his blows, but neither could break through each other’s defence, and she was beginning to lose strength.

  He’s immortal — he will never tire, said Ozun. You have to finish this now.

  She struck down furiously at his legs just below the blades; the attack was flawless. She should have cut the Renegade down with the blow; but something went wrong. He was not where she wanted him to be. She began to turn around — and felt a sharp blow to the head.

  “Chiyo taught you well,” the Renegade said. “I’d smell her magic anywhere. But in the end, you’re only a human.”

  Azumi emerged from the flashing darkness with a piercing headache. She was leaning against the trunk of the camphor tree. She raised her tattooed hands up to her eyes. “You haven’t tied me up,” she said, incredulous.

  “I think I’ve shown you why it’s not necessary,” the Renegade replied. He was sitting casually by the brook, with one knee raised, and a hand on the hilt of one of the swords. He puffed a long pipe twice. “But, I’m surprised — with your new power, you should have tried to run away. And you’d have had a chance, I’d wager. Instead, you stood and fought.”

  She shrugged. “You’d find me in Kokura anyway.”

  “What would I be doing in Kokura?”

  That surprised her. “Aren’t you here to guard the red-haired priestess?”

  He smiled, and smoothed his whiskers. “Where’s Chiyo?” he asked, ignoring the question.

  “Why would I tell you that?”

  He stared into her eyes, and puffed on his pipe. “Whatever it is that she promised you, kunoichi, she’s lying. She plays people, just like Ganryū did.”

  She averted her gaze. “It doesn’t matter. I have no other choice.”

  “You can always die.”

  “Your threats won’t work on me.”

  “No, I can see that they won’t.” He puffed again. “You know, I could just take that information straight from your head. I’m sure they did that to you all the time.”

  “Then why don’t you?” she did her best to sound flippant, but his voice made her shiver. He’s toying with me.

  “I’m not like Ganryū,” he said. “I try not to abuse my power. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.” The pipe smoke ran out, and he proceeded to fill it again with the powdered tobako. “Besides, I have… an intuition about you. I sense one day we might meet on the same side in battle…”

  “Preposterous,” she snorted. But this was intriguing. She and the Renegade — allies?

  No, he’s tricking us, said Ozun. If you join him, you will never see me again!

  “Maybe.” Dōraku snapped the tinder-box and lit up the pipe again. “Maybe not. But I will take the gamble and let you go free — as long as you tell me where I can find her.”

  She shrugged. “She’s heading for Satsuma.”

  The Renegade jumped up. “I knew it.” He dipped the pipe in the brook — it hissed and steamed — and shoved it into his sash, next to his twin swords.

  “Wait,” said Azumi, seeing him prepare to leave. “That’s it? You’re letting me do as I please?”

  He stopped and, faster than lightning, put the sword’s point to her neck. His eyes glinted night-black. “If you hurt the priestess, I will track you down and make you wish you could die,” he said. As he spoke, the air before his lips froze into fine particles of snow dust.

  She blinked, and he was gone, leaving only the scent of iron lingering in the air.

  CHAPTER XIII

  “What are they waiting for?” asked Nagomi.

  They had been stuck at Kokura for three days now, sleeping rough in the make-shift tent town built around the harbour by other temporary workers like them. There was no more work for the porters and deckhands; the ships’ crews wandered lazily around the decks, purposeless and irritable.

  All the weapons and tools had finally been hauled on the vessels, including the long metal chests. The officers were stationed in their cabins, the soldiers in tents around the pier. The armada seemed ready to sail, but nothing was happening.

  “Surely by now Mori-dono knows they’re here,” Nagomi said.

  Torishi shrugged. He was sitting on a wooden crate on the edge of the pier, counting the twigs and leaves in his shaman’s box, brooding; still annoyed at her for the incident with the fire gate.

  They all liked me when I just did what everyone told me, she thought bitterly. Bran’s the same — getting angry as soon as I started having ideas of my own.

  She stood up and paced up and down the pier. There was almost no activity on any of the fleet’s vessels, other than the daily maintenance. The Dan-no-Ura Straits were quiet and almost empty as the passing merchants avoided Kokura’s overcrowded harbour. The Chōfu shore loomed on the horizon, a thick, dark, jagged line across the sea.

  What if Koro heard wrong? What if they are not going to attack Lord Mori?

  The ships, the soldiers, the samurai, were all waiting in the sweltering heat, but for what?

  Whistles and shouts tore through the night, followed by clopping of hooves against the boards of the pier. Nagomi was shaken awake by one of Bishamon-maru’s crewmen.

  “Get out of here,” he barked. “All of you.”

  “What’s — what’s going on?” she asked, squinting and rubbing her eyes.

  “The ships are leaving.”

  “But we were promised — ”

  A sharp slap stung her on the cheek. For a moment, she saw nothing but flashing lights.

  “Don’t talk back to me, filth!”

  He pulled her up and pushed her away. Torishi stood in his way — giant, dark, and not smiling anymore.

  “Th-the deal’s off!” the man stuttered. “No strangers allowed.”

  “Come,” Nagomi tugged on the bear-man’s hand. “We don’t want trouble.”

  She was trying to stay calm, but inside, she was panicking. Not yet! Bran’s not here! She was so preoccupied with her own worries that she barely managed to avoid the first of several horses entering the pier before her.

  Torishi pulled her aside.

  “Cavalry,” she said. “So that’s what they were waiting for.”

  The riders passing them wore full armour and wielded long halberds. These must have been the Taikun’s veterans, his shock troops. This army was prepared for a pitched battle, and it was getting ready to set sail in the middle of the night.

  We must stop them, she thought. Buy more time for Bran to get here…

  “No,” said Torishi, as they made their way down the pier past the horsemen. “They were waiting for that.” He pointed to the sky. For a moment she didn’t see anything. Then a great black shadow swooped in a wide arc over the fleet and flew off in the direction of Chōfu’s shore.

  A dorako…!

  They reached the end of the pier and stopped. The workmen’s camp was being dismantled in a hurry.

  “Wait here,” said Torishi. “I’ll find us another place to sleep. Don’t move.”

  “How can you think of sleep now?”

  Without a word he wandered off into the narrow streets of the harbour. As soon as he disappeared behind a corner, Nagomi crouched down before Koro, who until now had been following them in complete silence.

  “I need you now to pay me back for saving your life.”

  She felt sick saying that. Never before she
’d thought of saving others in terms of rewards or favours; but this time she had no choice. Torishi had made it clear that he’d had enough of her mad ideas, and would no longer agree to do anything that would risk her life. He certainly would not dare try anything now, with a great black menacing dragon circling in the sky.

  Koro seemed to understand all that. He nodded slowly.

  “You told me you’re a good swimmer,” said Nagomi.

  “Good. Yes.” He pushed out his chest.

  “Can you carry me in the water?”

  “I try.”

  Splashing and spitting, Nagomi held on to the side of the Bishamon-maru. She was certain they had made enough noise to alarm the entire fleet — but the ship was in the midst of a launch; in the darkness, among dozens of other ships, the crew had plenty on their heads not to also worry about strange sounds coming from overboard.

  She climbed into the shallow deck with some effort, and fell down to the floor. She crept and crawled through the shadows, wet and cold, to where she had last seen the metal crate. It was still there, set up on two wobbly tripods — and, this time, guarded, by a young samurai, looking nervously around.

  This was the part of her plan she hadn’t thought through. Satō would know what to do… and Bran… She clenched her fists. They weren’t here. Despite all their cleverness and strength, neither of them could do anything to stop the fleet from sailing.

  He’s young, she assessed the samurai. He might fall for the simplest of tricks…

  “Help!” she cried, loud just enough for him to hear her amidst all the commotion on board. “My leg!”

  She could only imagine how stunned the samurai was to hear a girl’s voice on a busy warship. He hesitated. She whimpered again, and let out a moan of pain. Abandoning his post, he rushed to find her among the crates and chests.

  “Now,” she whispered. Koro darted beside her from the shadows, past the guard, towards the metal chest. With strength and speed that surprised Nagomi, the Ancient raised the box from the tripods and thrust it into the sea, jumping overboard a second later. Nagomi scrambled to her feet and followed, hitting the cold, murky waters with a splash.

  The box was submerging more slowly than she’d feared it would. It was sealed tight with thick leather, and largely empty inside. She struggled to dive after it, but it turned out sinking in the sea was harder than it seemed. Koro grabbed her by the hands and pulled her under the surface — just as the first arrows shot from the ship whizzed past her head. The soldiers finally noticed them splashing around.

  In the murky, shallow darkness, she groped out the edge of the chest; it was standing on the shorter side, now slowly sinking into the mud of the harbour. She drew her small knife and stuck it under the lid, piercing the leather seal. The blade cracked, but half of it remained in the opening. Something inside sizzled as water rushed through the slit. She had to hope it was enough — she was almost out of breath.

  She was taking a huge gamble; the contents of the crate may have been different from what she’d guessed, and she wasn’t sure if she remembered right the bits of magic theory Satō sometimes talked about. Was it the fire element that reacted with water, or lightning…?

  Another arrow sank inches from her head. Koro grabbed her around the waist and with a couple of powerful kicks dragged her underneath the ship’s flat bottom. They emerged on the other side. Nagomi gasped for air.

  “We must get out of the water,” she said quickly. “If I’m right…”

  The Ancient didn’t let her finish. Again, she found herself under the surface, water gushing around her as Koro pushed forward with all his strength, under and around the confused mass of ships.

  I can’t hold my breath any longer. I’m going to drown!

  She let out the air from her lungs in a stream of bubbles. Her chest throbbed with the strain, her ears were close to bursting… and then, she felt the sand under her feet.

  Koro let go of her, exhausted. She waded out of the water and fell down on the beach, gasping. She looked back just in time to see the sea lit up and explode with a crackle of raw electricity, which soon engulfed the nearby ships in a bright, hot glow.

  “It worked!” she cried out and clapped her hands in joy. “I was right — those were thunder guns in that crate!”

  She turned around to share her triumph with Koro, and felt a sharp prick on her shoulder. The Ancient was sitting in the sand, strangely slumped, staring in disbelief at a glinting metal point, sticking out of his stomach.

  The sickle blade slid out of Koro’s body, leaving a thin, dark red slit. The Ancient leaned slowly forward and buried his face in the sand. A hand clad in a grey glove loomed out of the shadows and tore the cord holding the blue shard from his neck.

  Nagomi could not move, not even cry for help — or scream in terror. The needle in her shoulder released an agent paralysing her entire body. The enemy stepped into the light: Nagomi recognised the tight, grey uniform in an instant.

  It’s her…!

  The assassin moved closer to the priestess; her eyes were cold, emotionless, pitch-black. The rest of her face was covered behind a mask of grey cotton. She touched Nagomi’s cheek with the tip of her sickle.

  “He told me not to hurt you…” she said, “…but he’s far-away now… Too far to save you.”

  The blade pierced Nagomi’s skin. She could not even flinch.

  A bear’s roar; a swipe of a paw. The assassin leapt away and rolled on the sand. She jumped to her feet, holding her side where the uniform was splattered with red. The chain-sickle flew through the air. Torishi stood on his hind legs; the blade bounced off his thick fur.

  The kunoichi launched a barrage of darts, and rolled forward. The bear swiped the missiles away. Swooping under the claws, the enemy lunged towards his exposed paunch, lightning fast. Sliding on the sand between his legs, she drew a long dagger and pierced the bear’s stomach.

  Still paralysed, the priestess heard a clash of blade against claw, the sound of torn hide, the roars of fury and pain. Blood turned the sand under Torishi’s feet to mud.

  Then a new noise shattered the air and a ball of flame flew from the air and exploded between the bear and the kunoichi. With great effort Nagomi turned her head and saw a jade dragon descending from the sky.

  Bran!

  A cloud of white smoke burst where the assassin stood, and when the dragon’s wings dispersed it, she was gone — along with the shard of the Tide Jewel.

  Bran ran up to Nagomi and picked her up from the sand. He looked her over, searching for a wound, spotted the dart in her arm and tore it out. She twitched and let out a quiet gasp.

  “Get her out of here,” said the bear-man, panting.

  Torishi, back in his human form, stood naked in the pool of his own blood, pouring from deep cuts and gashes on his legs and arms, holding tight the place where the assassin’s blade tore his side.

  “Ko-ro…” Nagomi struggled.

  Torishi glanced grimly at the small man lying in the sand in a pool of his own blood, and shook his head.

  “What about you?” Bran asked him. He left the mystery of their fallen companion for later. “Can you heal yourself?”

  Torishi grunted. Bran lifted the priestess gently.

  “Head north, for Heian,” said Torishi.

  “Are you — ”

  “Go!” Torishi growled, sliding to his knees. His arms and legs shuddered and covered over with thick hair, as he struggled to turn back into a bear.

  Bran nodded. He carried Nagomi and gently sat her on Emrys’s back. He glanced back at Torishi, and spurred the dragon to flight. A rumble of several thunders shook the beast’s flank. The smell of approaching storm and melting sand filled the air.

  “What the — ” Bran with an effort turned Emrys around to face the new threat. A line of soldiers aimed their thunder guns at the dragon. The barrage of lightning bolts tore through Bran’s shield, scorching the scales of Emrys’s neck.

  “Thunder guns…!”
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br />   Emrys spat fire, but the flames failed to reach the enemy. The gunners parted, letting through a wedge of samurai cavalry, their bows drawn. Bran banked towards Torishi, shielding him with the dragon’s body. The beast took on the full force of the next salvo, and moaned in pain.

  “Run away!” Bran cried.

  With a roar and a crackle of tearing tendons, Torishi finally managed to transform. Leaving behind a trail of bloody paw prints, he vanished into the darkness.

  Bran pulled on the reins. Emrys climbed straight up. Lightning bolts burst all around them, followed by a rain of arrows and a hail of arquebus fire; the entire war fleet, it seemed, had the dragon in its aim.

  “Are you holding tight?” Bran asked.

  “Yes.” She sat up with great effort and wrapped her arms around the dragon rider.

  “Good.”

  Holding the reins in one hand, he summoned the Soul Lance in another, and put the goggles on. Emrys bellowed a vengeful roar and swooped down towards the armada. Dodging the bolts and ignoring the arrows and bullets bouncing harmlessly off of its scales, the dragon swept above the mast tops, spitting balls of bluish flame at the passing ships. The Lance in Bran’s hand slashed through the sails and cut down the masts. It took them less than half a minute to reach the open sea. Bran tugged on the reins and the dragon turned back.

  “One more time,” he murmured through clenched teeth. He couldn’t tell exactly what was happening on the beach before his arrival, but he knew somebody wanted to hurt Nagomi, and that was enough to stoke the flames of his fury.

  Emrys made another destructive pass. Bran spotted a large, ornately painted sail of the flagship catch fire, and the crew jumping over board in panic. The horsemen dispersed before the dragon’s wrath, and the gunners dropped their weapons and fell to the ground, covering their heads. An explosion of sparks marked the destruction of a load of thunder guns on one of the ships. The sea turned into a raging inferno.