Keiga emerged from the geyser, almost washing the yamabushi off their perches in a driving shower of water and froth. Her mouth was open wide, her short, even teeth glistening in the twilight.
Hidetsugu closed his eyes, bowed, and tilted his clasped hands forward. He brought his single syllable chant to a crescendo and simultaneously shoved his hands forward.
A searing stream of liquid fire erupted from the o-bakemono’s hands and streaked across the lake. It sizzled the air between two of his yamabushi and plowed into Keiga’s open mouth, knocking the dragon’s strike off target.
Hidetsugu kept the stream intact and focused on the dragon. Keiga shook and rolled and tried to regain her momentum, but the torrent of flame pushed away from the yamabushi.
Roaring in pain and fury, Keiga suddenly jerked upward, soaring back into the clouds. Hidetsugu focused his attack on the dragon’s body until her entire length was out of range.
“Flee, lake-worm,” he roared, “for chaos and death have come to Minamo, and they will happily consume you as part of the bargain!”
Several of the lower yamabushi had reformed their floating platforms and were drawing their weapons. Hidetsugu nodded, pleased with their strategy. If half the hunters made it to the school while the other half battled the dragon, he would consider it a major victory.
The ogre unfolded his hands and picked up his tetsubo. With his help, their chances were even better.
Two of the yamabushi aimed their stringless bows at Keiga as the dragon circled the geyser overhead. She was waiting for the lead hunters to challenge her position. Instead, the two archers mimed the act of pulling back the bowstring and let fly.
Twin bolts of yellow force shot up and buried themselves in Keiga’s underbelly. Though these bolts glowed and crackled like energy, they stuck in the dragon’s tough hide like solid things, sizzling and smoking. Keiga roared again. She was a spirit dragon, and these mages were skilled in battling spirits. Even if their efforts could not wound the dragon, they could cause her pain.
The archers fired again, scoring closer to the dragon’s head. Keiga twisted her body as she flew, spiraling down past the rising yamabushi toward the archers below. On her back, the female yamabushi still clung to the dragon’s scales, but the hunter’s staff was glowing, and her head was wreathed in fire.
Keiga’s twisting body carried the woman out of Hidetsugu’s view As she came back up from the other side, she released her grip on the scale and raised her staff over her head with both hands.
With an inhuman howl, the yamabushi drove the staff hard into the dragon’s back. Lightning surged up from the point of contact, multiple jags searching and probing the dragon’s hide like a spider’s legs. The white-hot energy scored black fissures in the dragon’s glittering blue scales.
The tiny storm also sent lightning coursing through the yamabushi’s body, lifting her off the dragon’s back and setting her clothes on fire. The hunter continued to howl and drive her staff down, even as her own magic consumed her.
The expanding field of bolts reached the back of Keiga’s head, sending a convulsive wave down the length of the dragon’s body. She keened and thrashed, sending a portion of her body through the geyser and back again. The yamabushi rider was hurled violently from her spot on Keiga’s back, but as the glowing woman fell she lashed out with her staff once more, scraping it along the dragon’s body. White heat crawled toward the middle of the staff from the yamabushi’s hands and the circular emblem. When the two glows met, the staff and the hunter exploded in a blinding flash of jagged light.
The impact blew Keiga’s body back, forcing the dragon to bend and recoil on herself to absorb the shock. It also knocked two of the yamabushi from their perches and sent them hurtling toward the surface of the lake.
Hidetsugu was enraged. The hunter’s dying gambit had ripped a room-sized hole in Keiga’s outer scales, revealing the moist, meaty muscle below, but he had not ordered the yamabushi to sacrifice herself—she was one of the stronger mages in his group, and he would have gladly sent most of her comrades to their deaths before he risked losing her.
Still, her end did not endanger the mission. In fact, Hidetsugu immediately saw a way to make the most of this foolish but effective act.
He gripped his tetsubo tighter and concentrated. The stone platform he rode doubled its speed, soaring straight for Keiga. The ogre caught a glimpse of the attacking yamabushi pausing to rescue those who had been dislodged. Higher up the geyser, the three lead hunters were quickly closing in on the academy.
Keiga’s malevolent eyes flickered past his field of vision. Bruised, burned, and beset on all sides, she did not have the speed or maneuverability to dodge.
The gap in her scaly armor rushed toward him. Hidetsugu raised his tetsubo, spitting a harsh ogre curse that instantly heated the metal spikes almost to their melting point. He timed his swing perfectly, smashing his weapon into the exposed flesh just as the speeding combination of ogre and stone plowed into Keiga’s body like an arrow through wet soil.
Hidetsugu disappeared into the folds of Keiga’s coils. The dragon coughed out half a roar, her head flailing as the force of the missile traveled up and down her spine. Flailing wildly, Keiga struggled to gain control of her flight as the yamabushi archers fired bolt after glowing bolt into her body.
With a jerk, Keiga suddenly straightened herself out into a single line, ruler-straight from skull to tail. Ejected from the hollow of the dragon’s wound, Hidetsugu managed to dig his powerful fingers into the fluttering membrane on Keiga’s right side. As Keiga cast him off, he held on tight, stripping off a long, thin section of the membrane as he hurtled away.
Keiga’s pain and fury were deafening as Hidetsugu tore the great flap free. His momentum carried him on, halfway across the lake, like a stone from a sling. Behind him, the dragon hissed and spat, quivering in rage and agony.
Half-covered in dragon blood from Keiga’s wounds, Hidetsugu roared with triumphant laughter. His stone conveyance had been shattered, half the spikes had torn free of his tetsubo, and one of his shoulder plates was missing, but he had gained a substantial chunk of Keiga’s flesh, which he still held in his clenched fist. He had finally inflicted a serious injury. He licked his lips and howled as he fell, the taste of his enemy’s blood more intoxicating that a cartload of wine.
Hidetsugu landed in the shallows, sending up a curtain of water and plowing through the mud on the bottom. He was beyond pain in his frenzy, but he was vaguely aware of how hard he had hit. The trees on the shore shuddered and lost their leaves, and two more vessels, buffeted by the shock wave that churned the water, capsized.
The o-bakemono rose, struggling to dredge himself from the mud. He was stuck up to his waist, his legs and feet having absorbed most of the jarring impact. A few more blows like that, he thought, and I may develop a limp.
Hidetsugu raised his callused fist to his face and sank his teeth into the tough membrane he had ripped from Keiga. With a savage jerk, he tore a piece free and swallowed it whole. It was tough and flavorless, but the weight on his tongue and the sensation of it sliding down his throat filled him with rampant joy.
Hidetsugu hauled his heavy body out of the mire and stomped up onto the shore. Back across the lake, Keiga was still trying to knock the yamabushi from the sky. They peppered her with magical bolts and explosive spells, but she was too massive. They could irritate her, hamper her, even pain her, but she was almost beyond their scope. She was a spirit dragon, a guardian beast, and she would not be destroyed easily.
Moving quickly, Hidetsugu strode across the shore, slamming the broken end of his tetsubo into the soil every few feet. The ground smoked where his weapon landed, and soon he was standing among a field of fumaroles that belched noxious black gas into the evening sky. This was a spell best suited to the mountains and rocky terrain of the Sokenzan, but it could work here on the shores of the lake. He had proved that by raising the stone platform from beneath the sand and riding it into ba
ttle.
As the vents spewed and hissed, Hidetsugu strode to the water’s edge. He held his tetsubo parallel to the ground, one hand at each end. He tilted his head so that he could see the geyser, the school, the dragon, and his hunting party, all high overhead. The o-bakemono tossed his club into the air, spinning it end over end, waiting patiently for it to come down.
The sanzoku bandits had a name for this tactic: grapeshot. When they used it, they usually referred to catapult or other heavy siege engines. They would load up the weapon with a payload of small, sharp objects and let it fly. Instead of one large projectile and one big impact, grapeshot produced a hundred smaller missiles that could punch holes in barricades, wound soldiers, or tear the flesh from war steeds.
The ogre caught his tetsubo, swung his fully extended arm in a complete circle, and then brought the heavy weapon down. It thudded into the deep, moist soil at his feet, creating a ripple of force that surged across the shore.
Cracks formed in the ground between fumaroles, creating a web-like network of jagged lines that connected each smoking hole. Hidetsugu switched hands, swung the tetsubo with his other arm, and smashed the ground again.
Behind him, massive chunks of dirt and rock shuddered as they shook themselves free. Slowly, a score of man-sized stones rose, sand and loose soil sifting between them. Hidetsugu sheathed his tetsubo and crossed to the nearest piece of floating debris. He took hold of it, rotating it between his massive hands, and guided it up over the water with surprising tenderness. He seized another and repeated the process.
Before long, all the newly created stone missiles were grouped between Hidetsugu’s eye and the battle halfway up the geyser. He interlaced his fingers once more, leaving his index fingers straight, and pointed from the swarm of grapeshot to Keiga.
Hidetsugu bowed his head. “Now,” he said softly.
The rocks responded to his command like a pack of ravenous dogs. The cluster of stones shot up toward the battle, so quickly that their forward surfaces glowed from the friction. He cupped his hand beside his mouth and bellowed an incoherent syllable that nonetheless caught the ear of at least one of the yamabushi. That one turned, saw Hidetsugu, saw the approaching cloud of stones, and nodded. He called and waved to the others, urging them to fall back. Like the well-trained unit they were, the yamabushi quickly disengaged and let themselves fall clear of the dragon, linking arms and sharing the temporary platforms that appeared farther down the geyser. A flash of energy and heat rippled from one yamabushi to the next as they chanted.
For a moment, Keiga followed the yamabushi, snapping and thrashing at them as they fell. Perhaps she thought they were giving up.
The first stone hit her high on the chest, just a few yards below her throat. Hidetsugu saw the dragon wince as the impact of the blow sent a ripple through the muscles under her scales. She turned her head just as the next three stones hit, burying themselves in her midsection. Too late, she realized she was in danger and tried to squirm and roll her coils out of harm’s way. She surged up, making a mighty effort to get her head clear of the incoming missiles, but the stones changed course, tracking her most vulnerable area.
The remaining grapeshot stones slammed into Keiga’s head and face, one after the other. The first shattered her left horn near the base. The second tore through her feathery beard and lodged below her jaw. The third smashed into Keiga’s left eye, shattering the socket and disappearing into her skull.
In all, thirty-five stones found Keiga’s head, with perhaps a dozen more missing the dragon and traveling on up to strike the school. With each new strike the dragon winced and shuddered until she was shaking like a half-frozen whelp along the entire length of her body.
Hidetsugu’s eyes glowed with unholy fire as he grinned, a small drop of saliva running down his chin. He pointed his steepled fingers at the chain of yamabushi, and his hunters unleashed a cascade of lightning that surged upward and slammed into Keiga’s body from below, each jag carefully matched to a gap in the dragon’s scales that the grapeshot had created.
Keiga’s convulsed, and her long body went limp. To the last she tried to stay aloft, straining to rise, to reach the clouds or at least the shelter of the academy. She was a large dragon, however, and it took some time for the full effect of her wounds to be felt. Well shy of the academy’s foundation, Keiga sighed, lurched to one side, and dropped from the sky like a discarded length of rope.
The yamabushi sprang clear as tons of the dying spirit dragon plunged past them. For a moment, everything on or above the lake fell silent, then Keiga’s body crashed through the surface of the water. The resulting splash swamped the harbormaster’s station and sent a wave rolling all the way to the trees on the far side of the shore. Long reptilian coils bobbed and floated for a few seconds. Keiga the Tide Star sank from sight.
The yamabushi gazed down from their platforms, their faces still blank despite the spectacle.
“Well?” Hidetsugu roared. “Get on with it!”
The hunters turned and resumed their journey up the geyser. Minamo’s archers fired at them from the academy as they bounded from place to place, but the simple wooden shafts were too slow to catch them. The yamabushi didn’t shoot back as they pressed ever upward, dodging arrows, creating force platforms, and closing the distance between themselves and the school.
Hidetsugu sank his thick fingers into the soil and tore a rough chunk of rock free. He pivoted at the waist and hurled the stone like a discus, his eyes shooting sparks. The rock spun rapidly but floated insouciant over the waves until Hidetsugu leaped onto it. He veered and almost overbalanced but steadied himself and tapped his tetsubo between his feet, his toes gouging into the flaky wet stone.
As before, the rock carried Hidetsugu up. He saw no reason to change his tactics. Keiga had claimed one of his yamabushi and wounded two others, but that still left him with more than enough to reach the academy and complete Kobo’s reckoning.
A bright, silver light suddenly flashed on over the academy. Hidetsugu craned his head as he soared, noting the thin crescent moon that hung in the sky to the east. The light was not moonlight, or at least, not natural moonlight. Saliva flowed once more, and Hidetsugu rubbed his hands. With one guardian dispatched, did this new development mean there were more defenders of Minamo to kill? Burying a squad of soratami would be the perfect compliment to defeating Keiga. Besides, he had always wondered how the soratami tasted.
The light grew stronger, sending out wide beams of silver that punched through the thick bank of white clouds and stretched across the sky. The entire waterfall became illuminated in the reflected glow. Hidetsugu gazed hungrily through the clouds and the glare, searching for something to destroy.
To his bemusement, great chunks of the central cloud over Minamo separated from the main mass. Each was as large as a horse-drawn carriage, but from this distance they appeared to be tiny breaths of smoke from a wizard’s pipe.
Hidetsugu was now at the same level as his yamabushi, close enough to see more detail on the departing puffs of white. There were actual chariots within each cloud, and people riding in the chariots. Their pale skin reflected the glow from the real moon ahead as well as the artificial moonlight behind them. Some of them wielded swords, others bows, and still others simply held the reins to guide their ethereal craft.
The armada of cloud chariots flew across the darkening sky, spreading out as they went farther from the school. Though the collection of vessels drifted apart as they moved, they stayed loosely arranged in a single, large skirmish line. When they reached the shores of the lake, they veered southeast and picked up speed, vanishing into the dusk.
Hidetsugu laughed scornfully. The soratami were armed and mustered for battle, but they weren’t fighting here. They were a proud tribe, and he didn’t believe he had frightened them off by defeating Keiga, but neither was he overly concerned about their departure.
There would be time to settle his score with the soratami later. Right now, his business wa
s with the academy wizards who had endorsed the murder of his apprentice.
The ogre rocketed up past his hunters, jeering and howling for them to join him, to match his speed and be the first to set foot on the killing ground. Though the dead-eyed mages could no longer share his vocal lust for battle, they quickly formed up around him as he rose, approaching the edge of Minamo’s foundation in the sky.
Hidetsugu closed his eyes and let his mouth hang open, drinking in the sweet anticipation of bloodshed and mayhem still to come.
Keiga had fallen. The soratami had fled. It was going to be a long and terrible night for the residents of the waterfall.
“Keiga has been swept aside!” Hisoka was as pale and as pained as if he’d been wounded himself. “That demon and his killers are on their way here.” He turned and threw himself on his knees before Mochi. “Please, O Crescent Moon, call out the soratami. Without them, we are defenseless.”
The little blue man’s eyes softened. “I am sorry, my friend,” he said, “but priorities have changed. I have already sent the soratami on another, more important campaign. Minamo’s salvation must come from Minamo if it comes at all.”
Hisoka slumped, propping himself up with his hands. “We are doomed,” he said. He looked up at Pearl-Ear and Michiko and said, “Forgive me, Princess, Lady, for all that I have done. You came here seeking help but all I can offer you now is death.”
Mochi clicked his tongue. “So melodramatic,” he said. “Is this how you face your end, Hisoka? Weeping and scraping as you beg for absolution?”
Michiko stepped forward. “Is this how you face your allies?” she snapped at the kami. “With scorn and withdrawn promises of support?”
Mochi’s expression was half amused, half impressed. “Ally?” he mocked. He pointed to Hisoka. “That? That is a servant at best, Princess, and a tool at least. He knew there were risks in reaching so high. Now he must endure or die.”
Heretic, Betrayers of Kamigawa: Kamigawa Cycle, Book II Page 21