“Can you tell us his name?” asked Satō. “We keep calling him Crimson Robe, but…”
“One of his names was Ganryū Kojirō.” He paused; Satō guessed he was checking if anyone recognized the name. But there was no such man mentioned in any of the books and stories she knew.
“And now I must ask you all to bow your heads,” the Swordsman said.
“What?”
“There’s a low bridge coming,” he added, crouching.
Wulfhere blinked repeatedly, trying to get the soot and smoke from his eyes. The wind was blowing the flames of the pyre in his direction.
The funeral was a symbolic one, of course. No search party ever found the Reeve’s body — or discovered what happened to Commodore Dylan after he was forced to use the Seal. Banneret Edern was — officially — the last to see the two riders before they disappeared out of sight, pursued by the Qin dragons deep beyond the enemy lines.
Not the Banneret, Wulfhere corrected himself. Commodore Edern.
The ceremony over, the small crowd of soldiers began to disperse. Wulfhere limped towards his tent; after the victory at Chansu the camp grew, and petty officers like him now had separate quarters all to themselves. A guard of Qin volunteers stood before the entrance to protect their “hero”.
Wulf spotted the familiar dark blue cap and jacket of Li, and slowed down, letting the interpreter catch up to him.
“A touching ceremony,” the Qin man said, “and a great loss for all of us.”
“Yes,” said Wulf, not sure how to respond.
“If a loss it was,” Li added.
The interpreter glanced left and right and asked the boy to step aside. They walked up to the sloping bank of a canal marking the southern edge of the Marines camp.
“I will tell you a secret, boy,” Li started. “You see, we have some spies among the Rebels. Quite a lot, actually.”
He knows.
Wulf decided not to tell Ardian Seton everything he had seen, sensing the information he had would prove more valuable as a well-kept secret.
“Listen,” Li looked around once again and leaned over to whisper in Wulfhere’s ear. “One of our spies saw a Silver dragon heading out to sea, south of Shanglin; it carried two people on its back.”
“What are you saying…?”
“The Commodore and the Reeve, we can only guess. But why would they do that, I wonder?”
“A clandestine mission, no doubt,” Wulf said, tearing blades of weak grass from the soft, damp ground.
“Oh, that’s right!” Li clapped his hands. “But why fly out into the sea? There’s nothing out there.”
Should I tell him? What can I get in exchange, I wonder…
It was now Wulhere’s time to turn conspiratorial. He lowered his voice.
“Banneret… Commodore Edern was not the last to see Commodore Dylan. I was.”
A servant climbed down to the water beside Wulf with a mule in tow. The animal lowered its head and started drinking from the canal.
“This is not a good place,” said Li. He stood up and wiped mud off his trousers. “Come to the landing glade in an hour.”
Li stared at Wulfhere with eyes opened as wide as his arched eyebrows allowed.
“Aiya! You spied on your own commander? Why?”
He paced up and down the short landing glade, with his hands behind his back. His golden dragon, coiled on the grass, observed him through half-closed eyes.
“I’m just naturally curious,” replied Wulf with a shrug.
He doesn’t need to know everything. He had already made his decision; whatever Commodore Dylan was doing, it seemed the Qin would learn about it sooner or later. Wulf’s information was valuable only for so long. If he wanted to get something out of what he knew, now was the time.
“My father taught me there is great power in knowing what others don’t — and great profit.”
Li stopped.
“Your father is a wise man,” he said with a nod, “and you’re a dangerous boy. But… Yamato? Are you sure?”
“You know what it is?” asked Wulfhere.
“Of course! A large island kingdom, east of Qin. Rich and powerful. We have an outpost in one of their cities, where we send one ship per year for some trade. Your Bataavians have a similar arrangement. Nobody else is allowed — few know of its existence.”
Wulfhere’s curiosity was immediately piqued.
A hidden land? One I’ve never heard anything about?
“And why is it so important that the Commodore went there?”
“If the Dracaland found a way to reach Yamato, this completely changes the balance of power!”
“How is it even possible we didn’t find it earlier?”
“They hide behind an impenetrable sea barrier. They call it the ‘Divine wind’.”
Everyone here hides behind shields and barriers, noted Wulfhere. People and nations alike.
“If you already know the way to Yamato, why do you want to follow the Commodore?”
“The Qin ship is not scheduled for another six months. By that time it may be too late: the Dracaland will gain a foothold and will be impossible to remove.”
Li tugged on his short, sharp beard.
“No, no. I can’t just stand idly by. This war is yesterday’s news,” he said, more to himself, nodding at the army camp. He then turned east and looked towards the sky.
“I see it. What happens in Yamato now will decide the future. Not only of that kingdom, but also of Qin. Maybe the whole world. I must be there. I must prepare.”
“Prepare for what? Are you thinking of another war? This one’s not finished yet.”
“That’s how Empires are forged. Qin has grown complacent for too long. War rejuvenates states. Already the Rebellion is causing changes: we have Western weapons, Western training… But the Court at Ta Du is still reluctant to embrace the modern world. A new war may... I must go after them.”
Wulfhere recognized in the Qin man the same cunning and ambition as his own, the same struggle against the odds and mishaps of Fate to prove his greatness.
A kindred spirit.
“You’re not just an interpreter, are you?”
The Qin man smiled. Wulfhere ran his hand against the golden scales of Li’s dragon, deep in thought. They were small, smooth and shimmering, like flakes of polished stone; the skin was colder to touch than that of a Western mount. The beast lowered its antlered head and purred. One of its long whiskers wriggled in the air as if it was a separate creature.
“I think she likes you.”
“She?”
The Western mounts were almost exclusively stallions. Females were used only by civilians, or cooped up in hatcheries.
“Naturally. The mares make the best mounts — patient, gentle and hardy. Just what I need for a long journey. Now, about the Commodore… what else have you heard?”
“I will tell you all, if you take me with you,” Wulf said, surprising himself as much as Li.
“You? You’re a Dracalish soldier. Your place is in the army. Why would you want to go with me?”
“A Warwick doesn’t study history,” he replied, at last, with a family saying, “a Warwick makes history.”
“Well said.” Li replied. “I will send for you in the morning. We are not sneaking out like Commodore Dí Lán; it will be an official trip. I will present you to the court at Ta Du. The hero of Qiang River.”
Wulf smiled.
I can’t let Bran take all the glory.
“Are you alright?” asked Li. “I didn’t know your race could turn that colour.”
“I’m… fine,” replied Wulf with great effort. He found it hard to get used to the way the Qin dragon moved in the air. When the weather was good, it swayed from side to side, like a snake on sand; when it had to pick up speed, or face strong currents, it undulated up and down, like a boat in a storm. Either way, the long, serpentine neck he was straddling behind Li, kept bobbing about, causing Wulf to suffer bouts of sea sickness for
the first few hours of the flight.
Not seeing the wings flap on either side was disconcerting. Wulf knew all dragons relied on the magic of the Ninth Wind for flying, rather than their wings, but there was something reassuring in the thought that a Western dragon would have always enough lift to glide to safety if the magic failed. The Qin beast looked like it would topple to the ground like a stone — as Wulf had seen happen so many times during this war.
Like all Qin dragons, long, this one — “Yuyan” — was much longer than any Western beast; there was enough space on her neck for two comfortable saddles. The rider had little protection from the elements; Li used no tarian, and the dragon’s breath was not as hot or dense as that of its Western cousins, so they couldn’t cruise as high and fast as Wulf was used to.
The sea below them was a featureless expanse of grey, green and dark blue; Wulf had no idea where they were, and could only hope Li knew better. The position of the sun told him they were moving roughly east, but that was where his knowledge ended. In the morning they had passed a few small islets and reefs, but nothing since.
“There is a strong current running from the Tagalogs north-by-north-east,” Li spoke, snapping Wulf from a lazy daydream. “No maps show where it ends, but it’s the best way to reach Yamato, if one is in a hurry.”
“Are we far from it?”
“I’m not sure. I was rather hoping we’d reach some islands by now.”
“What?” Wulf sat up, awakened. “Are you telling me we’re lost?”
“I’m just an interpreter, after all,” Li replied. “Reading maps is not my forte. But judging by the sun’s position…”
“The sun? Don’t you have a compass?”
“We’re too close to the Sea Maze,” said Li, pointing north, where a thin line of dark, ominous clouds shrouded the horizon. “My compass is no good here.”
“Oh, great.” Wulf slumped in the saddle. “So much for making history: I’ll be the first Western soldier to die on the back of a Qin dragon…”
“Hush, boy. Look sharp. We must be close. The sun is bright, the sea is calm; we are bound to spot something.”
Wulfhere stared at the navy blue surface until his eyes watered. There was nothing but white ripples on the waves as far as he could see.
“We need to get higher,” he said.
“We’ll freeze.”
“I can put a tarian up to shield both of us, though not for long.”
Li nodded and pulled on the reins. The golden dragon gracefully coiled upwards and climbed smoothly on the current of the Ninth Wind. Three thousand feet later, Li levelled the flight.
“The dragon likes it here,” said Wulf. “It’s where she belongs.”
“How do you know?”
“Can’t you feel it? Through the Farlink?”
“What is Fá-líng?”
“Farlink! How do you steer your beast?”
“With these,” Li replied, tightening the reins, “and these,” he added, waving his legs. “How else?”
Wulf opened his mouth and then closed it. The idea of riding a dragon without a Farlink was preposterous — and terrifying.
She will throw us down any moment… why did I want us to fly so high?
Instinctively, he looked down towards the sea.
“Look,” he said, grabbing Li’s shoulder. “Over there. Straight ahead.”
A column of thick black smoke rose in the middle of the ocean.
A ship on fire.
Chief Councillor Abe felt his knees weaken as he approached the camp of the Barbarians.
We were fools, he realized, to think we could have done anything to stop them. No wonder Qin gave in so quickly.
One of the grey-hooded invaders came up in quick, military steps, followed by a small Yamato man: the interpreter. Abe looked to his right, where his own interpreter stood, stiff and formal. Einosuke’s nostrils flared and his eyes were unblinking, set forward.
He’s fighting the dragon fear. Brave lad.
The man before him cast down the grey hood. He was shorter and older than the other Westerners, but had an unmistakable air of authority about him. He said a few words in his odd language. To Abe’s ears it sounded like a mangled, barking version of Bataavian, but he could discern no understandable words. He looked at Einosuke. The interpreter cleared his throat.
“This… this is Komtur Mathiun Perai of the Western Navy of Tyr Gorllewin.”
Gorllewin? I’ve never heard of them.
“I am Abe Masahiro, Chief Rōju Councillor to his Illustrious Excellency, Taikun Tokugawa Ieyoshi. Do you know what that means?”
“I was made aware of the ruling system of your country by that man,” the Komtur replied, nodding at Hotta, who was standing further at the back. There wasn’t anyone else in the Yamato delegation; it was crucial for the secret to be kept between as few men as possible.
“I bring a response from the Council,” said Abe, handing the Komtur a scroll. Einosuke had spent two nights translating the edict into the language of the Westerners.
The Komtur reached into the inside pocket of his cloak and put on wire-framed spectacles to read the missive. The glasses made him look like a common clerk. It seemed almost impossible that this portly man commanded a squadron of dragons.
He finished reading and nodded.
“Not quite what we came for, but it’s good enough,” he said. “What is the place you wanted us to relocate to?”
“A small port of Shimoda, thirty ri south-west of here.”
The Komtur thought about it for a while, then nodded again.
“Very well. But I will need something from you: proof of the Taikun’s good intentions.”
“What do you want?”
“There is a ship coming from our country. It brings supplies.”
“We can supply you with everything you need. Food, medicine, meat for the dorako…”
The Komtur smiled.
“That’s very generous, but there are things you have no way of providing. This ship must be allowed through the Sea Maze.”
“Impossible!”
“This is the opening condition. No ship, no negotiations.”
One of the beasts growled and raised its head. It licked the air with a long, greyish tongue.
“The dragons are growing hungry, Councillor,” the Westerner added.
Let in even more Barbarians? Without the Council’s consent… This would the last decision I ever made.
“Give me a minute,” he said and nodded at Hotta Naosuke. The two moved aside to discuss the new development.
“We have no choice,” Naosuke said. “Our position is clear: the Council gave us the remit to open the negotiations. That means we have the right to accept or decline any propositions.”
“But… that means I have to speak to the Taikun about it! Only he can open a passage through the Divine Winds.”
“The Westerners can use the Dejima route and sail up the coast.”
“And how do you propose to do that? We don’t know the route.”
“The Kiyō bugyō knows it. And he owes us a few favours after the bungling of the Takashima affair.”
“That’s too risky. The ship would have to go past Satsuma and Tosa!”
“We’ll let them know how crucial it is not to be spotted. They seem willing to cooperate.”
Abe pinched his lower lip in thought. He returned to the Westerner.
“Where is this ship of yours now?”
“It’s stationed near the island you call Tamna. We can contact it swiftly, if need be.”
How? That’s beyond the Divine Winds!
“Then let them know. We have to make some preparations, but the route will be opened in two weeks. They need to be at least twenty ri south of Kiyō by then.”
The Komtur mulled it over.
“All right. I accept that.”
He turned to the rest of his men and shouted some orders. They started packing up the camp. The Westerner then turned to Abe and spoke
briefly.
“He… he wants you to come with him, tono” explained Einosuke.
“Wha… what?”
“He wants you to show him the way to Shimoda.”
“Give us a few days, and we will have the map ready.”
“There’s no time for that. My man will translate,” the Komtur said, pointing to the small Yamato, who was standing quietly all this time, looking uncomfortable in the big grey cloak of the Westerners.
Abe looked helplessly around. The other Councillor shrugged, his eyes lowered again. What did I get myself into…?
“Send horses to Shimoda,” Abe told Naosuke, with a sigh. “I will be at the Gyokusen Temple in the town — if I survive this at all…”
Once, in his youth, the Chief Councillor had climbed half-way up Mount Fuji; from there, he could see far across the land, over the forests, fields, towns and little villages, all the way down to the Ashi Lake, glittering like a shard of sapphire among the pine woods. He expected the view from the back of the dragon — when he finally dared to open his eyes — would be something similar.
It was nothing like that.
The earth beneath him moved at a great speed; the forests all blurred into one big green haze, interrupted by brighter spots of what he guessed were villages or open fields. To his left shimmered a brocade strip of the sea, and to his right — the unmistakable cone of the Fuji-san, the only recognizable feature in this fast changing landscape.
He remembered the freezing cold he had endured on the high mountain slope and was surprised at how comfortable and warm the flight was. He could breathe easily. He guessed some invisible barrier protected the dragon riders from the buffeting winds.
“Too fast…” he said.
The interpreter repeated his words to the Komtur. Their dragon was the only one carrying more than two people, but it didn’t seem in the least burdened by the additional weight.
“What?”
“I can’t tell where we are at this speed.”
The Westerner pulled on the reins and the beast slowed. Abe looked down, fighting with the fear creeping into every pore in his skin. They were flying over a flat plain, with the mountains rising to the right, towards Fuji-san. From the height he couldn’t even see the individual homes in the villages they passed, just spots of straw-yellow, or grey and blue where the tiled roofs outnumbered the thatches. He tried to remember the maps he had studied when he was still the young Councillor for Maintenance of the Imperial Highways.
The Year of the Dragon Omnibus Page 88