Rise of the Dragon

by C K Gold

“And I’m to believe that over Big Wei or anyone else with a grudge? What about you?” Honestly, though, Fang was relieved. Ranu was now off his list of problems. If only all the challenges ahead would conveniently stab each other.

  Jun gave the best approximation of a shrug he could while pinned by panicked guards. “I’ve tolerated you. Only attacked when I was ordered to. Let you meddle in my business, didn’t snap your lover’s neck. You killed the old boss, so now you’re the new boss. I’ll do what you say. Decide my punishment as you will.”

  Fang sat back in his sooty chair and frowned. Everyone murmured over Jun’s accusations and whether he deserved death. Fang, though, was tired of killing. He’d seen enough.

  Birch’s breath tickled his ear from behind. “He’s too dangerous.”

  “His story’s believable enough,” Fang said quietly, muffling his words behind a fist.

  “You want to keep someone like that close? He’s done enough to merit a long swim in the harbor.”

  “I’ve had my fill of blood.” Fang dropped his hand and looked down where Jun knelt. “Do you know how strange it is for me to permit my senior to serve me? By all rights I should’ve finished you off when I had the chance. You were privy to every foul thing Red Hand and the others did, but you never intervened. Should I praise you? What a good man you are for not murdering without direct orders. You’re truly my blood brother. You’re lucky I don’t feel like slitting even one more throat right now. Serve or don’t, but if I hear you’ve stepped one foot out of line, I’ll see you crushed. Keep your hands clean. I’m done with you. And someone bury Ranu before he starts to stink.” He shook his head. “Shit.”

  “You’re crazy,” Birch muttered.

  Jun stood and dipped his chin in something resembling a bow. “Thank you for showing mercy, brother.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Fang replied.

  “Check his hideouts for what you’re looking for.” With that, Jun turned and walked out of the throne room, pushing past his former guards. They looked shocked by the turnabout, but for Fang’s part, he was simply relieved he had one less conspirator to deal with.

  Perhaps Jun was really what he’d appeared to be all along — reserved, but straightforward. “Goat, look into it,” Fang said.

  Still shaken, Goat only nodded. He and the guards bore Ranu’s body out of the room, leaving Fang and Birch and the other witnesses. After that little show, there were unsurprisingly very few people willing to ask questions, and the few presented were matters easily resolved by throwing some petty coin out and moving on.

  When Fang and Birch were at last alone, Fang stretched and cursed softly. “If this is the sort of thing the governor puts up with, it’s a miracle he’s not mad.”

  “Who says he’s not?” Birch asked. “What are you going to do about the stone, anyway? It’s not too late to present it as a courtesy to the late boss.”

  Fang shook his head. “And risk some other sorry bastard getting sucked into this? No. I haven’t decided yet, but this trap’s not going anywhere it could be sprung. It’s almost funny. Those monks dedicated their lives to becoming dragons, but I did it without even wanting to. Heaven is a cruel joker.”

  Birch darted a look at the door, then bent to kiss Fang. “Not so cruel. We’re here talking, Red Hand is in the ground, and Dockside is safer than it’s been in living memory.”

  “That last part, though… The Knives are running amok, and the Demons will have to make a move on us sooner than later. There’s an empty throne in Dockside. It can’t stay cold too long.”

  “Have you thought about taking his place?” Birch asked. “You could’ve taken all this for yourself. Still could.”

  “Haven’t I already?” Fang looked around the fire-kissed chamber with its bloodstains and faint death stink. “What’s left of the gang reports to me, and half the Society is terrified that I might roast them or bite their heads off. That’s all enough to keep mouths shut about which one of us is the bride and which is the groom.”

  “Fang will be a beautiful bride,” Orchid announced. She’d walked in without making a sound, a terrifying skill Fang wasn’t sure he knew she had.

  “Why am I the bride?”

  “Because I’ve spent so much time rescuing you, of course,” Birch answered. He stroked a thumb down the tendon of Fang’s neck. “You’ll look fetching in rose robes, and I’ll be dashing as ever when I carry you home.”

  Fang tried to will down a blush. “You can both leave. I’m reorganizing the gang and only reasonable types can drink with me.”

  “Reasonable? You let the biggest slab of murder I’ve ever seen walk out of here with his life just because he said he’d behave. If I knew you weren’t plowing him,” Orchid jerked her thumb rudely at Birch, “I’d think the big murder man was wooing you.”

  “All right, get out. I’m done with all this for today. And maybe forever.” Fang rose and caught Birch around the waist. “Not you. If I’m the big chief, I should be entertained like one,” he growled.

  Orchid huffed. “I’m going to find Goat and look into the papers. Just thought you lovestruck idiots might want to know where your best ally’s gone.”

  Birch swept an elaborate bow and winked at Orchid’s back as she left.

  “Is she actually angry?” Fang asked when he was sure she was out of earshot.

  “Probably not. We can make it up to her later. For now, I’m supposed to entertain, right? I think I do my best work in private.”

  A little stolen time at one of Birch’s many boltholes ended quickly with them both falling into much needed sleep. Quiet moments were few and far between, nearly as rare as they had been when Fang and Birch were separated by their split loyalties. But Fang no longer had to lie and Birch no longer had to hide, which made the strain worth everything.

  Orchid still took care of Fang in her own way, though she’d grown more distant. She had her hands full with her share of the Society’s leadership. The mountain of work that entailed had given all three of them the space and distractions they needed to slowly figure out their new places in each other’s lives.

  Fang knew one day Orchid would find someone special – the right match just for her. Any man who could measure up to her, who could catch her eye, would be a rare treasure indeed, though. He had merely been briefly lucky.

  The Society gave Jun and many of the other brothers a wide berth from that day on. Mingling longtime foes wasn’t without friction, but fewer fights broke out than Fang expected. Orchid and Goat followed through on Jun’s suggestion and recovered a treasure trove of documents that commanded the lion’s share of Fang’s time for another week.

  As the days passed, some of the walls between the Winds and the Society were gradually pulled down. Most of the former Four Winds men were utterly ordinary besides their affiliation; most of them had, in fact, done ordinary labor for the gang and its businesses. They had only been pulled into the maelstrom when war had become certain. There were still bitter elements on both sides, but most of the worst men in the Four Winds had fallen during the battle or quietly vanished. Few did anything remotely meriting punishment.

  The factions didn’t exactly socialize, but it was enough that they found a way to coexist that didn’t leave either group with unlimited power over the other.

  The Society cataloged the Four Winds’ holdings and distributed most of the hoard of food and fuel to the Docksiders. The tar was destroyed, the slave pens shattered, and the names of merchants selling their people to foreign concerns spread far and wide.

  In the long term, this progress amounted to little. The other gangs would take the Four Winds’ old territory and sell, sell, sell. Fang tried not to dwell on it, but the same couldn’t be said of Birch and Orchid, who spent long hours planning out means of keeping the Demons and Knives from picking up where the Winds had left off.

  Fang was left with the question of what to do with Red Hand’s collection. So many bits and pieces had been stolen from such far-flung locatio
ns that identifying the rightful owners and returning everything seemed impossible. He did what he could, tracking rumors and interviewing travelers. He had the sense that Birch wanted to keep him out of the day-to-day operations, and all that was just fine to Fang, except that he hardly saw his lover in the first weeks after defeating Red Hand.

  The dragon stone was the most important of those stolen relics, but no one remained at Ten Gates to claim it. Fang had decided not to hand it over to the governor. That would be tantamount to admitting guilt, and Fang didn’t believe the governor was the kind of man who deserved to hold such power. Anywhere the stone might end up in human hands was too dangerous, but simply throwing the stone away seemed wasteful. Though the stone remained a mystery and the cost of its power was sky high, that power had proven useful.

  He’d considered tossing it into the river, but there was always the risk of it washing ashore into someone’s laundry or fishing net. The real answer was hurling it into a crevasse or the ocean, but Fang knew that travel was still a long way off into the future. He had too much to do in Dockside.

  That was why he had decided to lock it up in Red Hand’s treasury for a little while. He replaced the locks and inspected the grounds for flaws and secret passages, but the small stone building was more secure than almost anything else in Dockside.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Birch asked.

  Fang shut the lid on the stone’s small coffer. It was an unassuming little box, one easily mistaken for a pen box or something equally dull. It had its own tiny lock and even a trap. Fang didn’t want to stoop so low, but the risk was simply too great.

  “As soon as there’s time, I’ll pitch it into some bottomless pit.” Fang looked around the treasury, now nominally his treasury, though he’d pledged to use it for Dockside. “Do you think my parents are happy?”

  “I don’t think they could possibly be any more proud.” Birch squeezed his shoulder. “Maybe, you know, they were watching out for us this whole time.”

  “We’ve finally laid them to rest.” They walked back out into the sun together and Fang locked the doors. The keys jingled at his waist as they walked down a dappled path back to the mansion.

  The grounds were respectable again, though the time hadn’t yet come to restore the mansion itself. But people no longer rushed to get out of the yard, and the charnel smell was long gone. Fang and Birch had claimed the uppermost floor. With no need to muster a small army of men, the residential wings were slowly emptying out. In time, Fang intended to resume his parents’ work. Dockside had no shortage of orphans and people in need.

  “Do you ever think of using it again?” Birch asked as he slid the door shut behind them.

  “It wasn’t something I thought about the first time. But I wouldn’t do it again. Still, who knows? They say lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice.”

  “I know a man who got struck three times,” Birch said. His eyes turned distant as he thought about it.

  Fang pressed a kiss against his throat and growled. “I’m not in the mood to hear about other men. I’ve gotten you into bed twice in the last month—”

  “Three times,” Birch gasped as Fang fondled him.

  “One doesn’t count, you fell asleep.” Fang peeled his outer robe off and threw it on the back of a chair, then took Birch’s off, too. They left the rest of their formal wear in a pile on the floor in their rush to reach the bed.

  Fang had long wanted to take his time and chart out Birch’s entire body, but he had waited what felt like an eternity to so much as touch Birch again. Instead of a patient and thorough exploration, he devoured Birch with hot, biting kisses on every patch of skin Fang could reach.

  The summer heat hadn’t relented even as the days shifted past the autumn festival. The air of their room was thick like honey and clung to them until they both dripped with sweat. Birch writhed beneath Fang, but found purchase on his hips and flipped them.

  “I didn’t realize you wanted to wrestle,” Birch said. “I thought we were getting up to something only two grooms could do.”

  “We’re certainly already up,” Fang said as he reached for Birch. His groan at Fang’s bad joke quickly turned into a sensual groan. Touching Birch was pure pleasure and fitting their bodies together was heavenly. Fang couldn’t imagine any music better than the sound of Birch sighing at the touch of Fang’s hands.

  “I want you to do it,” Birch said as Fang slowly stroked him. Birch’s eyes were half-closed. He looked down at Fang and joined their hands, only to stop Fang’s steady rhythm. “Make me yours. You’ve been waiting a long time, haven’t you?”

  Fang had to cover his eyes to block out the sight of Birch’s throat moving. Suddenly Fang was far too close to coming. The knowledge that Birch would never let him live it down was just enough for Fang to get himself under control. “Yeah,” he rasped. “You’ll have to let me up, though.”

  Birch’s exhibitionism almost proved Fang’s undoing anyway. He retrieved a jar of ointment he’d stashed away only to find Birch sprawled back in the dark coverlet, lazily jerking himself off with one hand, the other hidden behind his spread legs.

  “You’re going to be the death of me,” Fang said.

  “But it’ll be a good one,” Birch agreed. He hissed as Fang touched him with the cool ointment, and Fang huffed a soft laugh.

  Their fingers moved together inside Birch until he couldn’t concentrate enough to keep going. Fang took his time. It wasn’t every day that he had Birch spread open before him, panting and begging. The occasion merited cherishing. Birch was tight but welcoming, like he’d been ready for this a long time. The thought made Fang’s cock twitch and he paused.

  “Just do it already,” Birch said.

  Fang only hummed and pushed Birch’s thighs apart to marvel at the flushed cock hard against his belly, the tangled curls between his legs, the salt and musk smells of sweat and sex. But Birch linked his ankles behind Fang’s back and pulled him down. Fang caught himself on one hand by Birch’s head.

  “All right,” he laughed. Birch canted his hips up and Fang guided himself to the entrance, stopping to rub the head of his cock against Birch’s willing hole. That didn’t last long; they were both impatient, and Birch’s strong legs would have taken too much will to resist. They both shuddered as Fang thrust in, slow and steady until he was buried in Birch’s body. “How is it?”

  “Too big,” Birch muttered into Fang’s neck. “That’s what you want to hear, right? If you don’t get moving, I swear I’ll crush you.”

  With that encouragement, Fang rocked in and out gently, though the blood roaring in his ears demanded he pound away. Birch lapsed into encouragements and gasps, falling into some space inside himself that made Fang pleased but also a little jealous — he wanted to know what was good enough to shut up Birch. He flexed, somehow tightening further around Fang’s cock. Fang dropped his forehead to meet Birch’s. They shared each other’s breath, too far gone to kiss, but not too far to meet each other, bodies striving together until Fang could no longer hold back.

  “Birch,” he said. Birch bit Fang’s shoulder before he could get anything further out and bucked up. The sound in the back of Birch’s throat pulled Fang after him. With a few final, hard thrusts, Fang came harder than he ever had in his life. Birch clutched him for a moment, spreading the sticky mess they’d made, until Fang had to pull out.

  “I thought first times were supposed to be pretty bad,” Birch said, then yawned.

  Fang sat up and caressed Birch’s hip. The glow of accomplishment wasn’t anywhere near fading. “Was it?”

  “No complaints.” Birch rolled on his side. “You might have to carry me to the baths, though. Your flower of youth is pretty vigorous for an old man like me.”

  “But we’re the same age!” Despite his protest, Fang scooped Birch up and carried him to the hammered copper tub and turned the spigot. Foreign plumbing was probably the best change the Four Winds had made to the mansion during Red Hand
’s reign.

  “Cold!” Birch yelped, and then splashed Fang.

  “Give it a minute. You wanted to be carried, so don’t whine.” Fang sat in the dressing chair and watched the tub fill until steaming water flirted with the edge. Then he washed Birch’s hair, letting his lover’s patter about paperwork and grain distribution wash over him in turn.

  Fang had never imagined an ending like this that day he set to hunt Boar. Now he had far more than he’d ever dared dream of.

  In the Dragon's Shadow

  The temple’s interior was dimly lit by smoking tapers. It was a poor temple, its masters barely sustained by the donations of the people who worshiped behind its ancient doors. But as far as anyone knew, the temple had always been in Dockside, and there it would always remain, waiting for anyone in need of succor.

  Fang breathed deeply of the incense and bowed before a small shrine, one bow for every year since his parent’s death. He’d nearly forgotten, but Birch, beside him, had not. Fang matched him bow for bow in silent relief.

  He didn’t know where his parents rested now, or what had happened to their remains. He had no gravestones to honor, no funeral urns to protect. But the shrine for wayward souls offered a place to pay his respects. For the past two months, Fang had visited this temple’s humble shrine once a week. Before, he hadn’t visited one in years; he’d felt that he couldn’t honor them without slaying Red Hand.

  Maybe Fang had been wrong. Birch squeezed his shoulder once and they made their way to the doors, silently bumping elbows. As though it was an afterthought, Fang dropped a stack of polished coins in the offertory box. No amount of gold or jewels would ever make up for all the lives lost or years wasted, nor would anything short of an act from heaven bring back his family’s temple. But all he could do was show his gratitude.

  Fang was whole again, not just in body, but in his heart. He and Birch emerged blinking into the sunshine of the lichen-spotted courtyard.

  Dockside had changed, if only for a little while. Trying to change the city was like trying to hold back the tide – maybe you protected your sandcastle for a few minutes, but eventually it still washed away. The Rootless Society had bought those minutes with blood.