The Dragon Republic

by R. F. Kuang

  He was right. But she didn’t know how to answer. How could she explain to him why she’d stayed when she couldn’t articulate it to herself?

  All she knew was that it felt good to be part of Vaisra’s army, to act on Vaisra’s orders, to be Vaisra’s weapon and tool.

  If she wasn’t making the decisions, then nothing could be her fault.

  She couldn’t put the Cike in danger if she didn’t tell them what to do. And she couldn’t be blamed for anyone she killed if she was acting on orders.

  And she didn’t just crave the simple absolution of responsibility. She craved Vaisra. She wanted his approval. Needed it. He provided her with structure, control, and direction that she hadn’t had since Altan died, and it felt so terribly good.

  Since she’d set the Phoenix on the longbow island she’d been lost, spinning in a void of guilt and anger, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was drifting anymore.

  She had a reason to live past revenge.

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she said finally. “Or who I’m supposed to be. Or where I came from, or—or . . .” She broke off, trying to make sense of the feelings swirling through her mind. “All I know is that I’m alone, I’m the only one left, and it’s because of her.”

  Vaisra leaned forward. “Do you want to fight this war?”

  “No. I mean—I don’t—I hate war.” She took a deep breath. “At least I think I should. Everyone is supposed to hate war, or there’s something wrong with you. Right? But I’m a soldier. That’s all I know how to be. So isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? I mean, sometimes I think maybe I can stop, maybe I can just run away. But what I’ve seen—what I’ve done—I can’t come back from that.”

  She looked at him beseechingly, desperate for him to disagree, but Vaisra only shook his head. “No. You can’t.”

  “Is it true?” she asked in a small, scared voice. “What the Warlords said?”

  “What did they say?” he asked gently.

  “They said I’m like a dog. They said I’d be better off dead. Does everyone want me dead?”

  Vaisra reached out and took her hands in his. His grip was soft. Tender, almost.

  “No one else is going to say this to you. So listen closely, Runin. You have been blessed with immense power. Don’t guilt yourself for using it. I won’t permit it.”

  She couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. Her voice broke. “I just wanted to—”

  “Stop crying. You’re better than that.”

  She choked back a sob.

  His voice turned steely. “It doesn’t matter what you want. Don’t you understand that? You are the most powerful creature in this world right now. You have an ability that can begin or end wars. You could launch this Empire into a glorious new and united age, and you could also destroy us. What you don’t get to do is remain neutral. When you have the power that you do, your life is not your own.”

  His fingers tightened around hers. “People will seek to use you or destroy you. If you want to live, you must pick a side. So do not shirk from war, child. Do not flinch from suffering. When you hear screaming, run toward it.”

  Part II

  Chapter 11

  Nezha pushed her door open. “You awake?”

  “What’s going on?” Rin yawned. It was still dark outside her porthole, but Nezha was dressed in full uniform. Behind him stood Kitay, looking half-asleep and very crabby.

  “Come upstairs,” said Nezha.

  “He wants to show us the view,” Kitay grumbled. “Get a move on so I can go back to sleep.”

  Rin followed them down the hall, hopping on one foot as she pulled her shoes on.

  The Seagrim was blanketed in such a dense blue mist that they might have been sailing through clouds. Rin could not see the landmarks surrounding them until they were close enough for shapes to emerge through the fog. On her left, great cliffs guarded the narrow entrance to Arlong: a dark sliver of space inside the yawning stone wall. Against the light of the rising sun, the rock face glimmered a bright crimson.

  Those were the famous Red Cliffs of the Dragon Province. The cliff walls were said to shine a brighter red with every failed invasion against the stronghold, painted with the blood of sailors whose ships had been dashed against those stones.

  Rin could just make out massive characters etched into the walls—words that she could see only if she tilted her head the right way and if the faint sunlight hit them just so. “What do those say?”

  “Can’t you read it?” Kitay asked. “It’s just Old Nikara.”

  She tried not to roll her eyes. “Translate for me, then.”

  “You actually can’t,” Nezha said. “All of those characters have layers upon layers of meaning, and they don’t obey modern Nikara grammar rules, so any translation must be imperfect and unfaithful.”

  Rin had to smile. Those were words recited straight from the Linguistics texts they’d both read at Sinegard, back when their biggest concern was the next week’s grammar quiz. “So which translation do you think is right?”

  “‘Nothing lasts,’” said Nezha, at the same time that Kitay said, “‘The world doesn’t exist.’”

  Kitay wrinkled his nose at Nezha. “‘Nothing lasts’? What kind of translation is that?”

  “The historically accurate one,” Nezha said. “The last faithful minister of the Red Emperor carved those words into the cliffs. When the Red Emperor died, his empire fragmented into provinces. His sons and generals snapped up prize pieces of land like wolves. But the minister of the Dragon Province didn’t pledge allegiance to any of the newly formed states.”

  “I assume that didn’t end well,” Rin said.

  “It’s as Father says: there’s no such thing as neutrality in a civil war,” Nezha said. “The Eight Princes came for the Dragon Province and tore Arlong apart. Thus the minister’s epigram. Most think it’s a nihilistic cry, a warning that nothing lasts. Not friendships, not loyalties, and certainly not empire. Which makes it consistent with your translation, Kitay, if you think about it. This world is ephemeral. Permanence is an illusion.”

  As they spoke, the Seagrim passed into a channel through the cliffs so narrow that Rin marveled that the warship did not breach its hull along the rocks. The ship must have been designed according to the exact specifications of the channel—and even then, it was a remarkable feat of navigation that they slipped through the walls without so much as scraping stone.

  As they penetrated the passage, the cliffs themselves appeared to cleave open, revealing Arlong between them like a pearl hidden inside an oystershell. The city within was startlingly lush, all waterfalls and running streams and more green than Rin had ever seen in Tikany. On the other side of the channel, she could just trace the faint outlines of two mountain chains peeking over the mist: the Qinling Mountains to the east and the Daba range to the west.

  “I used to climb up those cliffs all the time.” Nezha pointed toward a steep set of stairs carved into the red walls that made Rin dizzy just looking at them. “You can see everything from up there—the ocean, the mountains, the entire province.”

  “So you could see attackers coming from every direction from miles off,” Kitay said. “That’s very useful.”

  Now Rin understood. This explained why Vaisra was so confident in his military base. Arlong might be the most impenetrable city in the Empire. The only way to invade was by sailing through a narrow channel or scaling a massive mountain range. Arlong was easy to defend and tremendously difficult to attack—the ideal wartime capital.

  “We used to spend days on the beaches, too,” said Nezha. “You can’t see them from here, but there are coves hidden under the cliff walls if you know where to find them. In Arlong the riverbanks are so large that if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were on the ocean.”

  Rin shuddered at the thought. Tikany had been landlocked, and she couldn’t imagine growing up this close to so much water. She would have felt
so vulnerable. Anything could land on those shores. Pirates. Hesperians. The Federation.

  Speer had been that vulnerable.

  Nezha cast her a sideways look. “You don’t like the ocean?”

  She thought of Altan pitching backward into black water. She thought of a long, desperate swim and of nearly losing her mind. “I don’t like the way it smells,” she said.

  “But it just smells like salt,” he said.

  “No. It smells like blood.”

  The moment the Seagrim dropped anchor, a group of soldiers escorted Vaisra off the ship and ensconced him inside a curtained sedan chair to be carted off to the palace. Rin had not seen Vaisra in more than a week, but she’d heard rumors his condition had worsened. She supposed the last thing he wanted was for word to spread.

  “Should we be concerned?” she asked, watching as the chair made its way down the pier.

  “He just needs some shoreside rest.” Nezha’s words didn’t sound forced, which Rin took as a good sign. “He’ll recover.”

  “In time to lead a campaign north, you think?” Kitay asked.

  “Certainly. And if not Father, then my brother. Let’s get you to the barracks.” Nezha motioned toward the gangplank. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the ranks.”

  Arlong was an amphibious city composed of a series of interconnected islands scattered inside a wide swath of the Western Murui. Nezha led Rin, Kitay, and the Cike into one of the slim, ubiquitous sampans that navigated Arlong’s interior. As Nezha guided their boat into the inner city, Rin swallowed down a wave of nausea. The city reminded her of Ankhiluun; it was far less shabby but just as disorienting in its reliance on waterways. She hated it. What was so wrong with dry land?

  “No bridges?” she asked. “No roads?”

  “No need. Whole islands linked by canals.” Nezha stood at the stern, steering the sampan forward with gentle sweeps of the rudder. “It’s arranged in a circular grid, like a conch shell.”

  “Your city looks like it’s halfway to sinking,” Rin said.

  “That’s on purpose. It’s nearly impossible to launch a land invasion on Arlong.” He guided the sampan around a corner. “This was the first capital of the Red Emperor. Back during his wars with the Speerlies, he surrounded himself with water. He never felt safe without it—he chose to build a city at Arlong for precisely that reason. Or so the myth goes.”

  “Why was he obsessed with water?”

  “How else do you protect yourself from beings who control fire? He was terrified of Tearza and her army.”

  “I thought he was in love with Tearza,” Rin said.

  “He loved her and feared her,” Nezha said. “They’re not mutually exclusive.”

  Rin was glad when they finally pulled up to a solid sidewalk. She felt far more comfortable on land, where the floorboards wouldn’t shift under her feet, where she was at no risk of tipping into the water.

  But Nezha looked happier over water than she’d ever seen him. He controlled the rudder like it was a natural extension of his body, and he hopped lightly from the edge of the sampan to the walkway as if it were no more difficult than walking through a grassy field.

  He led them into the heart of Arlong’s military district. As they walked, Rin saw a series of tower ships, vessels that could carry entire villages, mounted with massive catapults and studded with rows and rows of iron cannons shaped like dragons’ heads, mouths curled in vicious sneers, waiting to spit fire and iron.

  “These ships are stupidly tall,” she said.

  “That’s because they’re designed to capture walled cities,” Nezha said. “Naval warfare is a matter of collecting cities like gambling chips. Those structures are meant to overtop walls along major waterways. Strategically speaking, most provinces are just empty space. The major cities control economic and political levers, the transportation and communications routes. So control the city and you’ve controlled the province.”

  “I know that,” she said, slightly irked that he thought she needed a primer on basic invasion strategy. “I’m just concerned about their maneuverability. How much agility do you get in shallow waters?”

  “Not much, but that doesn’t matter. Most naval warfare is still decided by hand-to-hand combat,” Nezha explained. “The tower ships take down the walls. We go in and pick up the pieces.”

  Ramsa piped up from behind them, “I don’t understand why we couldn’t have taken this beautiful, giant fleet and blasted the shit out of the Autumn Palace.”

  “Because we were attempting a bloodless coup,” Nezha said. “Father wanted to avoid a war if he could. Sending a massive fleet up to Lusan might have given the wrong message.”

  “So what I’m hearing is that it’s all Rin’s fault,” said Ramsa. “Classic.”

  Nezha walked backward so that he could face them as he talked. He looked terribly smug as he gestured to the ships around them. “A few years ago we added crossbeams to increase structural integrity in the hulls. And we redesigned the rudders—they have more mobility now, so they can operate in a broader range of water depths . . .”

  “And your rudder?” Kitay inquired. “Still plunging those depths?”

  Nezha ignored him. “We’ve improved our anchors, too.”

  “How so?” Rin asked, mostly because she could tell he wanted to brag.

  “The teeth. They’re arranged circularly instead of in one direction. Means they hardly ever break.”

  Rin found this very funny. “Does that happen often?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Nezha said. “During the Second Poppy War we lost a crucial naval skirmish because the ship started drifting out to sea without its crew during a maelstrom. We’ve learned from that mistake.”

  He continued to elucidate newer innovations as they walked, gesturing with the pride of a newborn parent. “We started building the hulls with the broadest beam aft—makes it easier to steer at slow speeds. The junks have sails divided into horizontal panels by bamboo slats that make them more aerodynamic.”

  “You know a lot about ships,” Rin said.

  “I spent my childhood next door to a shipyard. It’d be embarrassing if I didn’t.”

  Rin stopped walking, letting the others pass her until she and Nezha stood alone. She lowered her voice. “Be honest with me. How long have you been preparing for this war?”

  He didn’t miss a beat. Didn’t even blink. “As long as I’ve been alive.”

  So Nezha had spent his entire childhood readying himself to betray the Empire. So he had known, when he came to Sinegard, that one day he would lead a fleet against his classmates.

  “You’ve been a traitor since birth,” she said.

  “Depends on your perspective.”

  “But I was fighting for the Militia until now. We could have been enemies.”

  “I know.” Nezha beamed. “Aren’t you so glad we’re not?”

  The Dragon Army absorbed the Cike into its ranks with impressive efficiency. A young woman named Officer Sola received them at the barracks. She couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Rin, and she wore the green armband that indicated she had graduated from Sinegard with a Strategy degree.

  “You trained with Irjah?” Kitay asked.

  Sola glanced at Kitay’s own faded armband. “What division?”

  “Second. I was with him at Golyn Niis.”

  “Ah.” Sola’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “How did he die?”

  Skinned alive and hung over a city wall, Rin thought.

  “With honor,” Kitay said.

  “He’d be proud of you,” Sola said.

  “Well, I’m quite sure he would have called us traitors.”

  “Irjah cared about justice,” Sola said in a hard voice. “He would have been with us.”

  Within the hour Sola had assigned them to bunks in the barracks, given them a walking tour of the sprawling base that occupied three mini islands and the canals in between, and outfitted them with new uniforms. These were made of wa
rmer, sturdier material than any Militia suits Rin had ever seen. The cloth base came with a set of lamellar armor made up of overlapping leather and metal plates so confusing that Sola had to demonstrate in detail what went where.

  Sola didn’t point them to any changing rooms, so Rin stripped down along with her men, pulled her new uniform on, and stretched her limbs out. She was amazed at the flexibility. The lamellar armor was far more sophisticated than the flimsy uniforms the Militia issued, and likely cost three times as much.

  “We have better blacksmiths than they do up north.” Sola passed Rin a chest plate. “Our armor’s lighter. Deflects more.”

  “What should we do with these?” Ramsa held up a bundle of his old clothing.

  Sola wrinkled her nose. “Burn them.”

  The barracks and armory were cleaner, larger, and better stocked than any Militia facility Rin had ever visited. Kitay rifled through the gleaming rows of swords and knives until he found a set that suited him; the rest of them turned in their weapons to the blacksmith for refurbishment.

  “I was told you had a detonations expert in your squadron.” Sola pulled the curtain aside to reveal the full store of the First Platoon’s explosives. Stacks upon stacks of missiles, rockets, and fire lances were arranged neatly in pyramidal piles waiting in the cool darkness to be loaded onto warships.

  Ramsa made a highly suggestive whimpering noise. He lifted a missile shaped like a dragon head out from the pile and turned it over in his hands. “Is this what I think it is?”

  Sola nodded. “It’s a two-stage rocket. The main vessel contains the booster. The rest detonates in midair. Gives it a little extra thrust.”

  “How’d you manage these?” Ramsa demanded. “I’ve been working on this for at least two years.”

  “And we’ve been working on it for five.”

  Ramsa pointed at another pile of explosives. “What do those do?”

  “They’re fin-mounted winged rockets.” Sola sounded amused. “The fins are for guided flight. We see better accuracy with these than the two-stage rockets.”