The Dragon's Flower

by Wyn Estelle Owens

  The two shadowy figures darted back and forth, dancing like shadows cast by a flickering candle. The ronin spun round and round, fending off the furious attacks of his assaulter. The blades of their katana flashed here and there in the faint golden light from the lantern down the street.

  Only they existed in this world of the duel, the dance, the fight. Nothing else mattered beyond the swing and clash of swords. They were left undisturbed—anyone who heard or saw this struggle turned and ran the other direction. Even the rough-and-rowdy population of the dockside streets new better than to interfere in a duel between two swordsmen.

  The shadowy attacker struck with the speed of a striking snake, but the ronin blocked him. They strained for a moment before breaking apart. The next moment the ronin drew his sword and struck in a sharp angle from the left, driving fiercely into the sword of his opponent, who belatedly held up his katana to block him. Before the attacker could even blink, the ronin had pressed his advantage, bearing down the attacker’s blade and sliding his own katana along it. Then in a final moment of blinding speed, he whipped his katana down and free, slamming it into the upper thigh of his opponent.

  The attacker let out a sharp cry of pain, staggered to the side, and fell to one knee, barely managing to use his katana to keep from sprawling fully on the ground.

  The ronin stepped back but stood with his katana ready, watching his opponent with narrowed eyes. There was a moment of tense silence, filled with the sound of heavy breathing.

  Then the opponent spoke. “Ow! By the Immortal Dragon, that hurt!” He complained loudly, “Geez, did you have to hit so hard, little brother?”

  Shichiro sheathed his katana with a satisfied click, before throwing back his head and laughing. “You asked for it, Isao.” He smirked and added, “Just as much as you always do, honored big brother. I held back and reversed the blade in that last move, after all, so it wasn’t that hard. Barely more than a tap!”

  Isao, Shichiro’s elder brother, glared at him balefully. “A tap? A tap? Dragon’s ever-loving whiskers, that was no tap!”

  Shichiro did a poor attempt of hiding his snickers behind his sleeve, and shrugged gleefully. Isao’s glare hardened, and his tone turned into scolding.

  “What would Aika say if she found out her own brother-in-law nearly broke the leg of her dearly beloved husband?” He demanded hotly.

  Shichiro grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. My question is, Isao, what would she say if she knew you got it by ambushing me in an attempt to best me for once?”

  Isao scowled. “It’s against the natural order of things, that my little brother’s a better swordsman than me. But just you wait, I’ll beat you one day.”

  Shichiro laughed. “You keep saying that, honored elder brother, and somehow you never do.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Isao rolled his eyes and slowly got to his feet. “Come on, let’s go to the inn.”

  Shichiro nodded, and together they walked side by side down the road. Just as they reached the lantern, Isao spoke up, turning to look at his brother. “Oh, by the way, do you have enough money for the—” He paused, stared, and asked, “Why are you wearing a lady’s hat?”

  Shichiro’s face instantly turned red. Isao’s look of confusion melted into a sly grin. “Ah, so my little baby brother has found himself a lady friend, has he?”

  “No!” Shichiro burst out, spluttering indignantly. “NO, it’s not, it’s, I mean, it’s nothing like that. A nice lady just gave it to me because she felt bad that I had… lost… my hat.”

  “You lost your hat?” Isao said, his eyebrows raising. “How on earth did you manage that?”

  Shichiro set his jaw and stared straight ahead. Isao grinned and rubbed his chin, enjoying the sudden turnabout. “Wow, it must be something really embarrassing to have you all clammed up like that. I wonder what it could be?”

  “Shut up and let’s just get into the inn.” Shichiro grunted. Isao had enough dirt on him tonight—if his elder brother ever found out his hat had been stolen and eaten by goats and he’d been too poor to replace it… he didn’t even want to think of the years of goat-related jokes he’d suffer.

  Isao let out a bark of laughter. “Very subtle, baby brother. Fine, I’ll leave off, but I’m gonna find out what embarrassing, stupid reasons lie behind your current wardrobe choices. Just you wait.”

  With that, he sauntered on ahead, whistling cheerfully. Shichiro sighed and followed his brother resignedly. Sadly enough, Isao was probably telling the truth. He wasn’t the head of the Shogun of Nagisa’s information network for nothing.

  “And here we are.” Isao said, coming to a stop in front of a dilapidated old inn. “Coming, little brother?”

  Shichiro gestured to the door. “Of course. Age before beauty?”

  Isao paused thoughtfully. “An interesting concept. But, pray tell, how am I supposed to go in before myself?”

  Shichiro and Isao looked at each other.

  “Just go in the inn, Isao.”

  Isao lifted up a hand. “Yes, yes, no need to be so demanding, I’m going all ready.” And with that, he stepped inside the inn, his brother following with a fond roll of his eyes. Isao never changed.

  As soon as he stepped inside, he looked around, hoping it had transformed for the better since he was last here. Dingy, dank, small and worn-down—it was small enough and in poor enough condition that few people actually stayed here (not to mention there may have been certain… attributes of the establishment that drove most people away). Despite this, the owners seemed to be rather pleasant people. Shichiro suspected this entire inn had been created and maintained by Isao for subtle meet-ups and suchlike.

  “Ahhh…” Isao said, “The Inn of the Waning Tide. How often I’ve dreamed of being back here!”

  Shichiro gave him a disbelieving look. “Why on in all the Seven Kingdoms would you do that?”

  “I thought it would be obvious,” Isao said, flinging an arm around Shichiro’s shoulder and tugging him close. “This smell is potent enough to haunt my sleep.”

  “Ah, that makes sense,” His brother replied, nodding seriously. “Thank heavens. I was beginning to be worried that your brain was more damaged than I thought.”

  Isao shot him a look, but decided to be the mature one and ignored the insult. They quietly made their way through the inn and up into the private room that Isao always reserved for these times. They silently filed into the room and Isao slid the door closed behind them. The two brothers stood looking at each other for a long moment before Isao spoke.

  “All clear?”

  “Yes.” A quiet voice said from a corner, and Shichiro nearly jumped out of his skin. Instead, he merely twitched, and turned to give the intruder a baleful eye. How did I miss him coming in here? I swear he wasn’t here when we arrived!

  Shichiro spun back to his older brother, bristling and pointing. “Why is he here?”

  He was a man on the lower side of the height spectrum, with a thin, lithe body encased in a dark blue haori—which was worn to deflect attention from the dark-colored, battle-ready shinobi attire he wore beneath. His hair—a lighter brown shade—was twisted up in a topknot at the back of his head, and soft brown eyes watched sharply from above a black sash tied about his face from the nose down.

  Shichiro shot him an envenomed glance over his shoulder before glaring back at his brother.

  Isao smirked. “Calm down, little brother. A responsible general uses all the resources at his disposal, does he not?”

  His brother twisted his lips unhappily, but knew he couldn’t argue the point without looking the fool. Knowing this, Isao continued blithely on, “And as it so happens, this is a very important matter and I wanted to be sure I was using all my best men.” With that, Isao turned away, effectively ending the conversation. Shichiro scowled.

  Ichiro immediately rushed over and knelt before his master. “Prince Isao, I am reporting as ordered.”

  Isao favored him with a nod. “Good work, Ichiro. I assume you
still remember my brother, Shichiro?”

  Shichiro snorted quietly at that statement. Ichiro for his part got up, turned to Shichiro, and bowed—the bow of an equal. Shichiro wanted to bristle—he was no common Shinobi, blast it!—but knew he had no grounds for objection.

  “Ronin-san.” Ichiro intoned in his smooth voice.

  Shichiro bowed back—stiff but respectful. “Shinobi-san.” He replied coolly.

  Before the tension got any thicker, Isao grinned and slung an arm over both their shoulders, “Ah, I see you two are as close as ever! Excellent! You need to work well together, after all, you’re my best men. My little brother is the greatest warrior of this generation, and my shinobi is so fast and sneaky and efficient, you’d think there were two of him!”

  Shichiro wanted to protest, but sighed. Ichiro really was the best of his kind—which was why he irked Shichiro so much. There was only room for one best of Isao’s ‘resources’, and for all the years Shichiro and Ichiro had worked for the Prince, they had never managed to decide which one of them that was.

  “Right, down to business.” Isao said, taking a turn towards gravity so quickly that Shichiro thought he’d get whiplash. “Ichiro, give your report of the current happenings between Akiyama and Masaki to Ronin Shichiro.”

  Shichiro’s eyebrows shot up. Akiyama and Masaki? Akiyama was known for its political maneuverings, so that wasn’t much of a surprise, but Masaki---for the past hundred years or so the Shoguns of Masaki had had little to do with the rest of the kingdoms. Unless, of course, they were displaying or reminding the others of their superior might and strength.

  Basically, the idea of Masaki engaging in political maneuverings with Akiyama, of all realms, was highly improbable, if not completely laughable.

  But if they were… Shichiro thought it would be highly suspicious.

  “For the past four months, there have been regular couriers going back and forth between Shogun Nishimura Tsuneo of Masaki and Princess Fujioka Katsumi of Akiyama.” Ichiro began, his voice calm and even. “The contact was originally initiated by the Princess of Akiyama, but it was swiftly responded to by the Shogun. Less than a week after a response was sent out by Shogun Tsuneo—” Ichiro paused, ever-so-slightly, “in the care of Prince Nishimura Akihiro.”

  Shichiro and Isao’s eyes flashed up to meet each other and held. After a long moment, Isao asked in a low, calm voice, “Are you certain it was Prince Akihiro?”

  “As certain as the fact that the ronin here was wearing a woman’s hat.” Ichiro said firmly.

  Despite the solemnity of the situation, Shichiro’s hand twitched toward his katana.

  “That is troubling.” Isao said, rubbing his chin. “Whatever is going on, it must be important for lord fa—the Shogun to send Akihiro. Do you have any idea what it could be about?”

  Ichiro shook his head. “Everyone is keeping quiet. The most we can get are vague rumors of an upcoming alliance between Akiyama and another realm, but we have no proof the other realm is Masaki.”

  Isao hummed thoughtfully. “True. Knowing Akiyama, it could be anybody. They might even be trying to seduce Nagisa or Karigane into an alliance.”

  Ichiro and Shichiro simultaneously snorted at that idea, and then proceeded to eye each other with disdain. Isao rolled his eyes and muttered something that may or may not have been ‘childish idiots’.

  “The question is, do you think Shogun Tsuneo would agree to an alliance?” Shichiro asked quietly.

  Isao stared at a point on the wall, his eyes hard. Finally, he spoke. “If he believed it would give him power… yes. He would.”

  Ichiro and Shichiro stared at him in the sudden silence, unsure what to say. Finally, Isao shrugged and sighed. “Well, why buy trouble for tomorrow when today has enough of its own—like this truly terrible sake.” He frowned at his cup.

  Ichiro made a suspicious coughing sound while Shichiro merely rolled his eyes. After a moment of disappointed glaring, Isao finally shrugged and downed the sake in his cup. Once that was finished, he turned and fixed his audience with a lifted eyebrow, demanding their speech.

  Shichiro went first. “All that in hand, what do you want us to do?”

  Isao rubbed his chin. “Well, Ichiro, go back and do what you usually do, but focus especially on Shogun Tsuneo. It’ll be easier to get secrets from him than from Fujioka Katsumi of Akiyama.”

  Ichiro bowed deeply. “Of course, my lord Isao. It shall be as you said.”

  Shichiro resisted the urge to curl his lip at the pansy, scrabbling for Isao’s favor like some starved puppy. Isao, however, must have caught a glimpse of Shichiro’s thoughts on his face, for the eyes of Shichiro’s brother were twinkling. But Isao continued calmly, as if he hadn’t noticed anything amiss. “As for you, little brother, I need you to stick to Akiyama, Masaki, and Nagisa until further notice. Keep your ears open for anything—rumors amongst the peasants may be enlarged and exaggerated, but most have a grain of truth at their root. And we need all the possible truth we can get. It would be not good if Akiyama and Masaki made an alliance—I trust you both understand the ramifications of such a thing.”

  Shichiro swallowed hard. He did understand. Nagisa—Isao’s beloved new home—shared almost all of its border with Masaki or Akiyama. Nagisa would be hard pressed to stand indeed against a hostile, united front such as that.

  Ichiro bowed again and said in his smooth, soft voice, “My lord, the ronin and I will do all we can to prevent such a thing. With the Heavenly Emperor’s favor, we shall succeed.”

  Shichiro was torn with wanting to kick Ichiro in the shin for presuming to speak for him, and bowing in agreement. He settled in the end with a sincere incline of his head and a grunt.

  Isao’s mouth quirked up for a second before nodding his approval. “I know you will. You two are my very best men, and I have full confidence in your capabilities—combined or otherwise.” He set down his empty sake cup and clapped his hands together once. “We’ll discuss the finer details of the plan in the morning.”

  Ichiro cocked his head to one side. “Pardon my asking, my lord, but why wait?”

  Isao raised both his eyebrows at his vassal. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s late and the sake isn’t half near good enough to convince me to stay awake any later. See you tomorrow.” And with that, he slid open the shoji door to his private room and disappeared.

  The ronin and shinobi were left blinking in confusion at the closed door. After a moment, Ichiro seemed to shake himself and turned to Shichiro, bowing shortly once. “I’ll take my leave then, ronin.” And with that, he turned and left, slipping away like a shadow at evening.

  Shichiro sat down on the cushion, not quite feeling like making his way towards bed yet. Normally he’d be a little annoyed at the prospect of being confined to one corner of the Seven Kingdoms for who-knows-how-long. He was a wanderer, and preferred to go where the wind led and the heart willed. But, if he stayed… he would have more chances to visit Manami, or Isao’s family. And…

  “And if you are ever near this mountain again and in need of funds or shelter, don’t hesitate to come here. As long as there is no company camped outside, you are most welcome.”

  The Princess’ pagoda stood in Akiyama, not far from the border with Masaki and Nagisa.

  Perhaps… staying in one corner wouldn’t be too bothersome, after all.

  They all slept until the afternoon of the next day, or, at least Isao and Shichiro did. Shichiro doubted the ever-watchful, ever-present Ichiro ever slept (Shichiro had definitely never seen him do it). They gathered in the main room once more to eat before setting out.

  Isao munched on a riceball thoughtfully. “I think it would make the most sense if you report every two months or so—we don’t want the intervals to be too short, or otherwise nothing would get done, but we don’t want them too long either. Yes, two months will do nicely.” He finished his riceball, took a sip of sake, and grimaced. “You’ll have three contact points—go to the nearest one. This inn, Manam
i’s Temple, and the palace. Ichiro will be your contact.”

  Shichiro frowned thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t it be better to have only one contact point besides the palace? After all, how will Ichiro predict where I’ll go to? It’s not like you can have him stay by both.”

  Ichiro shrugged elegantly. “Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting wherever you end up. I have my ways.”

  Shichiro glared suspiciously. The only option he could think of was that Ichiro would have someone tail Shichiro, the filthy cheat.

  “Right!” Isao clapped his hands, grinning. “That’s settled. Now, little brother and I will leave the city together—I want to have some more time to talk with him. Ichiro—I want you to go and tell Shogun Miyamoto Tatsuya of what’s going on.”

  Ichiro bowed his head. “Of course, my lord.”

  Shichiro opened his mouth, but Isao shot him a look and shook his head, and his little brother subsided.

  The sun was setting by the time they made it out of the city. The two brothers were silent as they climbed a hill overlooking the town.

  The setting sun began to sink towards the sea, and its dying light covered everything in a cloak of bright gold and orange. Finally, Shichiro spoke.

  “Honored elder brother…”

  “Hm?” Isao responded.

  “Why didn’t you send me to Tatsuya?”

  Isao shot him a look before fixing his eyes on the horizon. “You’re needed here. Ichiro has his network among the nobility, but his resources are lower amongst the common folk. Ichiro has time to spare. You do not.”

  There was a silence, before Shichiro shifted and sighed. “I know Tatsuya though. We’re…” he trailed off awkwardly.

  Isao huffed out a breath through his nose. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were reconsidering your refusal of the kid’s offer. But that can’t be, because what kind of little brother would accept an adoption from a friend and decline one from his honored elder brother?”

  Shichiro winced. “Isao, I declined him just as I declined you. I-I don’t deserve to belong in a family if I am kicked out of mine. I cannot—”