The Dragon Songs Saga: The Complete Quartet: Songs of Insurrection, Orchestra of Treacheries, Dances of Deception, and Symphony of Fates

by JC Kang

  Yuha, and Jie behind him, followed the snow peas. He wound his hands in circles again, and the vines wrapped around several of the logs. He busied himself with snapping off the side tendrils.

  Jie stared. He was making a raft.

  Around them, the excited townsfolk harvested peas and pea leaves. Within an hour, Yuha had bartered his services for oars and a long pole, with yet more people begging to trade. By the time they set off, his shoulders hunched and he walked with a trudge.

  Nonetheless, he pushed off with the pole and guided the raft across the lake to the city walls. Once they reached a deep point, he knelt and paddled. Slow going, for sure, and Jie was useless because of her arm. All she could do was point toward their destination.

  When they reached the city wall, Yuha poled again. Past the palace, past the castle and the Tianzi’s personal residence. At last they floated to the grate where White Duck Stream emptied into the lake. She looked up to the iridescent moon, now waxing to half-crescent in the fading sunlight.

  Jie pressed up to the grate. With a rattle, it opened. “Tian?”

  No answer. It’d been thirteen hours since they’d parted. He should’ve arrived long before. Had he unlocked it and left? No, he wouldn’t be dumb enough to do that, not even in his amnesiac state. So who’d unlocked it?

  CHAPTER 33:

  Threshold of Greatness

  Standing alone outside his tent, Peng Kai-Long stared at the imperial army’s flickering torches in the mountain pass above. They lit the night like fireflies, stretching out in orderly lines as the night progressed. Without a doubt, the imperials were preparing for the total annihilation of the dwindling Maduran army camped out below.

  His plans could not be working any better. Tai-Ming Lord Wu, in exchange for Kai-Long’s marriage to his pretty second daughter, now marched on the imperial army’s rear. Just two weeks away, Zhenjing’s provincial armies would swell Kai-Long’s numbers to three-quarters the size of the imperials.

  “Jue-ye, urgent news,” a voice called from inside his tent.

  Inside his tent! Only the Water Snake Clan operative, who had saved him before, could’ve crept behind his back and through the guards. Kai-Long slipped past the flap.

  In the darkness, a voice spoke in a low whisper. “The imperial army is retreating north to Fenggu.”

  Retreating? Kai-Long opened the flap and pointed at the sea of torches winking in the distance. “They are fanning out. I would wager they will launch an attack on the Madurans at first light.”

  “You’d lose that wager.” The Moquan’s words held a hint of laughter. “They are setting out torches to cover their march.”

  Clever. General Lu, the imperials’ commander and self-proclaimed Guardian Dragon of Hua, had learned the Founder’s rules of warfare well. “The imperials must have heard of Lord Wu’s betrayal.” Their rear guard could hold this pass while the rest overwhelmed Wu. Kai-Long’s stomach clenched.

  “No, Jue-ye,” the spy said. “A Teleri legion has captured Huajing and now heads this way.”

  The Teleri? Kai-Long’s jaw clenched. They couldn’t have possibly breached the Wall…unless Lord Zheng in Dongmen and perhaps Lord Lin in Linshan had joined them. This situation had devolved into an unmitigated disaster, thanks to the accursed court sycophants and ambitious lords. “Why are we just now learning about the Teleri invasion?”

  “The Water Snake network is weaker in the South. A situation that will be remedied once you rule and root out the Black Lotus. We should attack the imperial rear.”

  Kai-Long snorted. These spy clans were just as backstabbing and ruthless as the ambitious lords. “I might not rule if the Teleri occupy the capital.”

  “If I may, Jue-ye, find opportunity in disaster,” the man said. “If you are the one to defeat the Teleri, you solidify your claim to the Dragon Throne.”

  “I need to know how many men the Teleri have.”

  “Initial estimates are thirty thousand, with Emperor Geros in command.”

  So few. A fifth of the imperial army; a fourth of his own. Kai-Long cocked his head. Emperor Geros was no fool, and yet his army did not stand a chance against either the imperials or Kai-Long, let alone their combined forces.

  Unless the Bovyan didn’t plan to engage in battle.

  Kai-Long stepped back out into the night. “Deploy the troops,” he yelled. “Be prepared to attack the Madurans at dawn.” If anyone was to defeat foreign invaders, even those he had invited himself, he would be the one.

  “Wouldn’t it be wiser to ally with the Madurans and attack the imperial army?”

  Kai-Long shook his head. “No. We will take care of the Madurans first.”

  Timing was everything, according to the Founder. Kai-Long cast a quick glance to the south, where the iridescent moon, Guanyin’s Eye, and the white moon came closer together. In a few days, they would meet in the Godseye Conjunction, an omen of great change.

  As the camp roused to life, Kai-Long made his way to a private tent not far from his own. The grunts and moans of wanton sex emanated from within. It was a wonder the camp wasn’t already awake from the noise. The guard outside stepped aside, and Kai-Long pushed open the tent flap and entered.

  A Hua soldier, a specimen of masculinity with chiseled features and square shoulders, looked up from where he mounted a panting girl. Unlike the Night Blossoms of the Floating World, she was a homely prostitute, her tanned complexion suggesting she had followed the army up from the south.

  The man grinned. “It couldn’t wait?” Despite his decidedly Hua features, his accent stank of the Aksumi South.

  Kai-Long snorted. “Get out, girl.”

  Wrapping a blanket around her—though most of the men had probably seen her naked anyway—she collected her clothes and ducked out of the tent.

  Kai-Long watched her leave and turned back. He spoke in Ayuri. “We will attack the Madurans in the morning. I will be in need of your services earlier than planned.”

  “So your interruption could wait.” The soldier stretched his arms and yawned. His form shimmered, the honey tone darkening to chocolate, his long black hair shortening into coarse, white-flecked curls. Gone was the handsome face, replaced by middle-aged, blunt features. An amazing illusion, indicative of Master Melas’ power. He had been the one to infuse glass baubles with the image of young Kaiya, which had been used to sneak a Black Lotus operative into Wailian Castle three years before.

  “I leave nothing to chance,” Kai-Long said. “It has to be perfect. Show me.”

  “I have to conserve my energy.” Melas laughed. “Fear not, I understand how to find and summon your Guardian Dragon.”

  Such confidence, especially since Kai-Long didn’t even believe in such tales. Still, the rest of Hua did, and history claimed the Guardian Dragon had appeared after the Hellstorm to anoint the Founder. “Surely someone of such great power can show me what is possible without depleting himself.”

  The Mystic harrumphed. He uttered several foul words and opened his hand. In his palm danced a flaming pearl. A dragon pearl, just like all in all the paintings.

  The air shook and shimmered. A black space opened in midair, as if someone had torn a gash there.

  Kai-Long stared at it, mouth agape. “Beautiful. Will the Guardian Dragon come for it?”

  Melas closed his hand, snuffing the illusion out. The gash in the air closed. “Of course. I’ve summoned him more than once with the pearl. Had I not dispelled the pearl image now, he would’ve emerged from the rift.”

  “Rest well. I need the dragon to appear for at least a few minutes once we engage the Madurans, and again on the night of the Godseye Conjunction.” Kai-Long grinned. General Lu fancied himself as the Guardian Dragon of Hua. Wait until the vain man saw the real one.

  Gazing at the mirror, Prince Dhananad fiddled with the sole remaining gold button of his high-collared uniform. The other six had long since snapped free, and his tailor had tucked tail and ran over a month before. The once-magnificent fabric
had faded, with threadbare patches on his knees and shoulders.

  At least his handsome looks made up for it.

  His assistant stepped back with the foundation brush, and Dhananad patted his smooth complexion. It covered that horrid scar on his neck, while the eyeliner brought out the mysteriousness in his gaze.

  The tent flap opened. In the mirror, his last surviving Golden Scorpion pressed her hands together. Her voice betrayed about as much emotion as her featureless metal mask. “Your Highness, you must hurry.”

  He snorted. What was the rush? If today was the day he’d die, he would look good doing it. Curse Princess Kaiya for leading him on. Curse Lord Peng for tricking him. Curse Father for his abandonment. Would that Yama would drag them all down to Hell with his infinite arms.

  With deliberate grace, he lifted his chin and sauntered out of the tent. Around him, men screamed and ran like rats from a disturbed nest. Cowards. More musket shots rang out.

  “Order the surrender!” The Scorpion pulled him to the side. A musket ball buzzed by his ear.

  Wait. The attack, which had started half an hour before, had come not from the Cathayi imperials, but from Peng’s ragtag rebels. Dhananad stared back to see the lines of Peng’s musketmen, shooting even the soldiers who’d thrown down their arms. Butchers!

  His stomach twisted into knots. He cast a glance toward the imperial army, whose flags had not moved from the mountain pass. That bastard Peng. It had gone past dereliction and abandonment and had escalated into downright betrayal. Well, if the imperials weren’t attacking, the Madurans could at least punish that traitor. He grabbed a Maduran banner and waved it. “Soldiers of Madura, to me! Show the Cathayi we will not die like pigs!”

  A smattering of cheers rose up among his men, gradually at first, then building to crescendo. It sounded nothing like their half-hearted chants in previous battles, when he’d motivated them with the threat of punishment back home. The archers and spearmen formed up, even as their comrades fell around them.

  He drew his talwar and raised it high. “Let history remember our brave expedition by this last glorious fight, when we punished the betrayer who had begged us for help. Charge!”

  His men roared in approval and surged toward the musket volleys.

  A firework exploded above. High in the dawn skies, a snaking form of golden scales materialized. Eyes glowed red, boring into his heart. Guns stuttered to a stop. The besieged camp fell silent, all gazes transfixed on the dreadful sight. A dragon.

  A real dragon.

  The bastard Peng’s voice rose up above the eerie quiet, speaking words in the hideous Cathayi tongue. His men cheered. In the mountains, horns blared.

  The Scorpion tugged at him. “Your Highness, the imperials are descending. We will be crushed between them.”

  Peng spoke again from behind his lines, his diction reminiscent of a peasant Ayuri with a horrid accent. Hard to believe he was related to Princess Kaiya. “Prince Dhananad, surrender and you will be spared.”

  Spared. Dhananad rubbed the scar on his neck, a souvenir from previous Cathayi treachery. No, he was just a child then, and the nick had been an accident. He was more valuable alive. He started to sheath his talwar.

  The Scorpion’s hand stayed his arm. “No, Your Highness. They will use you to conquer Madura. It would be more honorable to die.”

  Die? No—while there was life, there was hope. If his men held out a little longer… He shook his head. “No, we shall retreat and surrender to the imperials instead of that snake Peng.” Princess Kaiya would certainly spare him.

  “Peng will catch you first.” The featureless mask mocked him.

  “No!” He grabbed the damned Scorpion’s neck.

  Pain seared through his neck, and the dark blue sky filled his vision for a split second before spinning to the mountains and then trees. His ear smashed into the ground. He started to turn his head…it wouldn’t move. He tried to move his arm…where was his arm? It hurt, his entire body hurt. Such excruciating pain was unimaginable.

  His vision dimmed into an ever-narrowing tunnel, focused on a headless body in a threadbare uniform. Above it, his Scorpion sheathed her glowing sting and started removing the corpse’s jacket.

  All faded to black, and the pain subsided.

  Kai-Long walked among the tattered remains of the Maduran campsite. Bodies lay strewn at awkward angles, many unarmored, ungroomed. Moans and screams echoed in the early morning sky, several abruptly silenced by the slash of a sword. It had been more a slaughter than a battle.

  Meeting the gaze of the few Maduran survivors, Kai-Long pursed his lips. “Has Prince Dhananad been accounted for?” The coward had likely fled into the nearby woods at first sign of the attack. No matter. Trapped by the mountain’s roots, it would not be long before they caught him. “He should be easy to spot in that flamboyant uniform of his.”

  “No, Jue-Ye,” an aide said. “We are searching among the Madurans, both dead and alive.”

  Alive, right—some of rodents had survived the order to kill them all in battle. The remnants were likely the most cowardly, the ones who had surrendered before the first shots were fired. Now they were mouths to feed, chained feet to slow him down. Kai-Long scanned the vermin. “Kill them all.”

  The aide’s eyes widened. “Jue-ye, they surrendered.”

  “They were foreign invaders who sought to rape and pillage our glorious nation.” At his invitation. When he sat on the Jade Throne, future histories would write otherwise. Kai-Long glared back.

  The man bowed. “Yes, Jue-Ye. What about the servants and whores?” He pointed to a gaunt older woman, not worth the air she breathed. She scowled at Kai-Long with unbridled disdain.

  A pair of prostitutes, dressed in faded sari, passed by with heads bowed. One cast a fearful glance at him as she trudged. Without make-up, her skin looked rough and blemished, though still pretty by Ayuri standards. The other, however, had a wondrous complexion when she met his eyes. How this woman, who might have been a noble, fallen in with this lot?

  Lest anyone think him as cruel as the Founder, Kai-Long smiled. Hardness must be tempered by softness, severe punishment must sometimes be moderated by lenience. “Spare any servant who is willing and able to work for us. If they wish to stay, the prostitutes can join our own as an exotic treat for the men.”

  An imperial soldier bearing a flag of parley ran up and dropped to a knee. “Lord Peng, General Lu believes you have won the Mandate of Heaven. He wishes to declare his loyalty to you.”

  Kai-Long hid a grin. The famous, self-styled Guardian Dragon would lend legitimacy to his cause once they confronted the bulk of the imperial army. “Where is he?”

  “Our army awaits your orders in the pass.” The messenger pointed back toward the pass.

  “There is a town on the other side of the pass,” Kai-Long said. “The Valley View Pavilion there serves a unique tea. Extend my invitation for lunch to the general.”

  Bowing, the man rose and hurried off. Soon, they would confront the main imperial army. With the Guardian Dragon of Hua on his side, he’d win them over without a shot fired.

  The Water Snake agent, dressed as a soldier, watched the messenger leave, then leaned in and whispered, “Regent Kaiya is on her way south in a carriage with an escort of imperial cavalry. They are half a day out of the capital.”

  Kai-Long turned to the Moquan. “I thought she would hunker down in the palace. But no, it seems she comes to rally the troops.” Against him, or… “To fight the Teleri. They are not coming to engage the army, but to capture her.”

  A possible snag in the plan. If she got to the imperial army first, she might vanquish the Guardian Dragon as she had Avarax. Kai-Long had to reach the army before her. He beckoned another aide over and whispered, “Send word to General Lu to move up our meeting by two hours, and in the meantime, have him prepare his troops to march. And bring me a brush and paper.”

  He’d write a message to his secret allies, Yu-Ming Lords Fen and Mu in Jia
ngzhou Province. They might not risk open rebellion by detaining his meddlesome cousin, but they could certainly slow her down with hospitality.

  Or sabotage.

  The rattle of the imperial carriage’s wheels over pavestones pounded in Kaiya’s ears. It mingled with the clopping of the imperial cavalry and set the rhythm for the melodies in her mind. The fallen star played a steady refrain, pulsing to the beat of her heart.

  Or perhaps her heart answered the star. She cradled Lord Xu’s magic mirror for the first time since her confrontation with Avarax a year ago, studying songs of power. Chants to stir troops into a frenzy. An aria designed to curb aggression.

  And music to make the bravest armies cower. That would be the one to force the Teleri to surrender.

  The acoustic theories made sense, and she’d used them in the past on a smaller scale. But even if…no, when she regained the power of her voice, Heaven knew if it would work. She sighed.

  “Sighing is a sign of shallow breaths,” Doctor Wu said from the seat across from her. “Your liver energies congest and lock your Qi inside. Perhaps the regent should call for a break and take some time to get out and breathe deeply.”

  Kaiya met the doctor’s gaze and smiled. Six days out of the capital, hitching new horses at the courier stations along the way, they approached the border of Jiangzhou and Fenggu Provinces. At this rate they’d make it to the pyramid in a day, a good week before the conjunction. If time were the only constraint, they could afford to take a break. She waved a hand outside the carriage window.

  Zhuang, the cavalry commander who had taken her into custody at the way station, rode up. “Yes, Jie-xia?”

  “What is the news on the Teleri army?”

  He pointed back the way they’d come. “The courier system reports that the Teleri have fallen well behind.”

  “How far to the next way station?”