The Dragon Republic

by R. F. Kuang

  Jinzha banged a fist on the table. “I told you, we should have sailed up a week ago.”

  “With whose troops?” Vaisra asked coolly.

  Jinzha’s cheeks turned a bright red. But Vaisra wasn’t looking at his son. Rin realized his remarks were meant for General Tarcquet.

  The Hesperians had been watching silently at the back of the room, expressions impassive, standing with their arms crossed and lips pursed like teachers observing a classroom of unruly students. Every so often Sister Petra would scratch something into the writing pad she carried around everywhere, her lips curled in amusement. Rin wanted to hit her.

  “This neutralizes our blockade,” Tsolin said. “We can’t wait any longer.”

  “But water moves steadily out to sea,” said Lady Saikhara. “You never step in the same stream twice. In a matter of days the poisonous agent should have washed out into Omonod Bay, and we’ll be fine.” She looked imploringly around the table for someone to agree. “Shouldn’t it?”

  “But it’s not just the fish.” Kitay’s voice was a strangled whisper. He said it again, and this time the room fell quiet when he spoke. “It’s not just the fish. It’s the entire country. The Murui supplies tributaries to all of the major southern regions. We’re talking about all agricultural irrigation channels. Rice paddies. The water doesn’t stop flowing there; it stays, it lingers. We are talking about massive crop failure.”

  “But the granaries,” Lady Saikhara said. “Every province has stockpiled grain for lean years, yes? We could requisition those.”

  “And leave the south to eat what?” Kitay countered. “You force the south to give up their grain stores, and you’re going to start bleeding allies. We don’t have food, we don’t even have water—”

  “We have water,” Saikhara said. “We’ve tested the aquifers, they’re untouched. The wells are fine.”

  “Fine,” said Kitay. “Then you’ll just starve to death.”

  “What about them?” Charouk jabbed a finger in Tarcquet’s direction. “They can’t send us food aid?”

  Tarcquet raised an eyebrow and looked expectantly at Vaisra.

  Vaisra sighed. “The Consortium will not make investments until they feel better assured of our chances at victory.”

  There was a pause. The entire council looked toward General Tarcquet. The Warlords wore uniform expressions of desperate, pathetic, pleading hope. Sister Petra continued to scratch at her writing pad.

  Nezha broke the silence. He spoke in deliberate, unaccented Hesperian. “Millions of people are going to die, sir.”

  Tarcquet shrugged. “Then you’d better get this campaign started, hadn’t you?”

  The Empress’s ploy had the effect of setting fire to an anthill. Arlong erupted in a frenzy of activity, finally triggering battle plans that had been in place for months.

  A war over ideology had suddenly become a war of resources. Now that waiting out the Empire was clearly no longer an option, the southern Warlords had no choice but to donate their troops to Vaisra’s northern campaign.

  Executive orders went out to generals, then filtered down through commanders to squadron leaders to soldiers. Within minutes Rin had orders to report to the Fourteenth Brigade on the Swallow, departing in two hours from Pier Three.

  “Nice, you’re in the first fleet,” Nezha said. “With me.”

  “Joyous day.” She stuffed a change of uniform into a bag and hoisted it over her shoulder.

  He reached over to ruffle her hair. “Look alive, little soldier. You’re finally getting what you wanted.”

  En route to the pier they dodged through a maze of wagons carrying hemp, jute, lime for caulking, tung oil, and sailing cloth. The entire city smelled and sounded like a shipyard; it echoed everywhere with the same faint, low groan, the noise of dozens of massive ships detaching their anchors, paddle wheels beginning to turn.

  “Move!” A wagon driven by Hesperian soldiers narrowly missed running them over. Nezha pulled Rin to the side.

  “Assholes,” he muttered.

  Rin’s eyes followed the Hesperians to the warships. “I guess we’ll finally get to see Tarcquet’s golden troops in action.”

  “Actually, no. Tarcquet’s only bringing a skeleton platoon. The rest are staying in Arlong.”

  “Then why are they even going?”

  “Because they’re here to observe. They want to know if we’re capable of coming close to winning this war, and if we are, if we’re capable of running this country effectively. Tarcquet told Father some babble about stages of human evolution last night, but I think they really just want to see if we’re worth the trouble. Everything Jinzha does gets reported to Tarcquet. Everything Tarcquet sees goes back to the Consortium. And the Consortium decides when they want to lend their ships.”

  “We can’t take this Empire without them, and they won’t help us until we take the Empire.” Rin made a face. “Those are the terms?”

  “Not quite. They’ll intervene before this war is over, once they’re sure it isn’t a lost cause. They’re willing to tip the scales, but we have to prove first that we can pull our own weight.”

  “So just another fucking test,” Rin said.

  Nezha sighed. “More or less, yes.”

  The sheer arrogance, Rin thought. It must be nice, possessing all the power, so that you could approach geopolitics like a chess game, popping in curiously to observe which countries deserved your aid and which didn’t.

  “Is Petra coming with us?” she asked.

  “No. She’ll stay on Jinzha’s ship.” Nezha hesitated. “But, ah, Father told me to make it clear that your meetings resume as usual when we rejoin my brother’s fleet.”

  “Even on campaign?”

  “They’re most interested in you on campaign. Petra promised it wouldn’t be much. An hour every week, as agreed.”

  “It doesn’t sound like much to you,” Rin muttered. “You’ve never been someone’s lab rat.”

  Three fleets were preparing to sail out from the Red Cliffs. The first, commanded by Jinzha, would go up the Murui through the center of Hare Province, the agricultural heartland of the north. The second fleet, led by Tsolin and General Hu, would race up the rugged coastline around Snake Province to destroy Tiger Province ships before they could be deployed inland to fend off the main vanguard.

  Combined, they were to squeeze the northeastern provinces between the inland attack and the coast. Daji would be forced to fight an enemy on two fronts, and both over water—a terrain the Militia had never been comfortable with.

  In terms of sheer manpower, the Republic was still outnumbered. The Militia had tens of thousands of men on the Republican Army. But if Vaisra’s fleet did its job, and if the Hesperians kept their word, there was a good chance they might win this war.

  “Guys! Wait!”

  “Oh, shit,” Nezha muttered.

  Rin turned around to see Venka running barefoot down the pier toward them. She clutched a crossbow to her chest.

  Nezha cleared his throat as Venka came to a halt in front of him. “Uh, Venka, this isn’t a good time.”

  “Just take this,” Venka panted. She passed the crossbow into Rin’s hands. “I took it from my father’s workshop. Latest model. Reloads automatically.”

  Nezha shot Rin an uncomfortable glance. “This isn’t really—”

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Venka asked. She ran her fingers over the body. “See this? Intricate trigger latch mechanism. We finally figured out how to get it to work; this is just the prototype but I think it’s ready—”

  “We’re boarding in minutes,” Nezha interrupted. “What do you want?”

  “Take me with you,” Venka said bluntly.

  Rin noticed Venka had a pack strapped to her back, but she didn’t have a uniform.

  “Absolutely not,” Nezha said.

  Venka’s cheeks reddened. “Why not? I’m all better now.”

  “You can’t even bend your left arm.”

  “She doesn
’t need to,” Rin said. “Not if she’s firing a crossbow.”

  “Are you insane?” Nezha demanded. “She can’t run around with a crossbow that big; she’ll be exhausted—”

  “Then we’ll mount it on the ship,” Rin said. “And she’ll be removed from the heat of the battle. She’ll need protection between rounds to reload, so she’ll be surrounded by a unit of archers. It’ll be safe.”

  Venka looked triumphantly at Nezha. “What she said.”

  “Safe?” Nezha echoed, incredulous.

  “Safer than the rest of us,” Rin amended.

  “But she’s not done . . .” Nezha looked Venka up and down, hesitating, clearly at a loss for the right words. “You’re not done, uh . . .”

  “Healing?” Venka asked. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

  “Venka, please.”

  “How long did you think I’d need? I’ve been sitting on my ass for months. Come on, please, I’m ready.”

  Nezha looked helplessly at Rin, as if hoping she’d make the entire situation dissipate. But what did he expect her to say? Rin didn’t even understand the problem.

  “There has to be room on the ships,” she said. “Let her go.”

  “That’s not your call. She could die out there.”

  “Occupational hazard,” Venka shot back. “We’re soldiers.”

  “You are not a soldier.”

  “Why not? Because of Golyn Niis?” Venka barked out a laugh. “You think once you’re raped you can’t be a soldier?”

  Nezha shifted uncomfortably. “That’s not what I said.”

  “Yes, it is. Even if you won’t say it, that’s what you’re thinking!” Venka’s voice rose steadily in pitch. “You think that because they raped me, I’m never going to go back to normal.”

  Nezha reached for her shoulder. “Meimei. Come on.”

  Meimei. Little sister. Not by blood, but by virtue of the closeness of their families. He was trying to invoke his ritual concern for her to dissuade her from going. “What happened to you was horrible. Nobody blames you. Nobody here agrees with your father, or my mother—”

  “I know that!” Venka shouted. “I don’t give a shit about that!”

  Nezha looked pained. “I can’t protect you out there.”

  “And when have you ever protected me?” Venka slapped his hand away from her shoulder. “Do you know what I thought when I was in that house? I kept hoping someone might come for me, I really thought someone was coming for me. And where the fuck were you? Nowhere. So fuck you, Nezha. You can’t keep me safe, so you might as well let me fight.”

  “Yes, I can,” Nezha said. “I’m a general. Go back. Or I’ll have someone drag you back.”

  Venka grabbed the crossbow back from Rin and pointed it at Nezha. A bolt whizzed out, narrowly missed Nezha’s cheek, and embedded itself into a post several feet behind his head, where it quivered in the wood, humming loudly.

  “You missed,” Nezha said calmly.

  Venka tossed the crossbow on the pier and spat at Nezha’s feet. “I never miss.”

  Captain Salkhi of the Swallow stood waiting for the Cike at the base of the gangplank. She was a lean, petite woman with closely cropped hair, narrow eyes, and pinkish-brown skin—not the dusky tint of a southerner, but the tanned hue of a pale northerner who had spent too much time in the sun.

  “I’m assuming I’m to treat you lot as I would any other soldiers,” she said. “Can you handle ground operations?”

  “We’ll be fine,” said Rin. “I’ll walk you through their specialties.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” Salkhi paused. “And what about you? Eriden told me about your, ah, problem.”

  “I’ve still got two arms and two legs.”

  “And she has a trident,” Kitay said, walking up behind her. “Very helpful for catching fish.”

  Rin turned around, pleasantly surprised. “You’re coming with us?”

  “It’s either your ship or Nezha’s. And frankly, he and I have been getting on each other’s nerves.”

  “That’s mostly your fault,” she said.

  “Oh, it absolutely is,” he said. “Don’t care. Besides, I like you better. Aren’t you flattered?”

  That was about as close to a peace offering from Kitay as she was going to get. Rin grinned. Together they boarded the Swallow.

  The vessel was no multidecked warship. This was a sleek, tiny model, similar in build to an opium skimmer. A single row of cannons armed it on each side, but no trebuchets mounted its decks. Rin, who had gotten used to the amenities of the Seagrim, found the Swallow uncomfortably cramped.

  The Swallow belonged to the first fleet, one of seven light, fast skimmers capable of tight tactical maneuvers. They would sail ahead two weeks in advance while the heavier fleet commanded by Jinzha prepared to ship out.

  During that time they would be cut off from the chain of command at Arlong.

  That didn’t matter. Their instructions were short and simple: find the source of the poison, destroy it, and punish every last man involved. Vaisra hadn’t specified how. He’d left that up to the captains, which was why everyone wanted to get to them first.

  Chapter 15

  The Swallow’s crew planned to keep sailing upstream until they weren’t surrounded by dead fish, or until the poison’s source became apparent. The facility would have to be near a main river juncture, and close enough to the Murui that there would be no chance the poison would wash out to the ocean or get blocked up in a dead end. They traveled north up the Murui until they reached the border of Hare Province, where the river branched off into several tributaries.

  Here the skimmers split up. The Swallow took the westernmost route, a lazy bending creek that trailed slowly through the province’s interior heartland. They went cautiously with their flag stowed away, disguising themselves as a merchant ship to avoid Imperial suspicion.

  Captain Salkhi kept a clean, tightly disciplined ship. The Fourteenth Brigade rotated shifts on deck, either watching the shoreline or paddling down below. The soldiers and crew accepted the Cike into their fold with wary indifference. If they had questions about what the shamans could or couldn’t do, they kept them to themselves.

  “Seen anything?” Rin joined Kitay at the starboard railing, legs aching after a long paddling shift. She should have gone to sleep, according to the schedule, but midmorning was the only time that their breaks overlapped.

  She was relieved that she and Kitay were on friendly terms again. They hadn’t returned to normal—she didn’t know if they would ever return to normal—but at least Kitay didn’t emanate cold judgment every time he looked at her.

  “Not yet.” He stood utterly still, eyes fixed on the water, as if he could trace a path to the chemical source through sheer force of will. He was angry. Rin could tell when he was angry—his cheeks went a pale white, he held himself too rigidly, and he went long periods without blinking. She was just glad that he wasn’t angry with her.

  “Look.” She pointed. “I don’t think this is the right tributary.”

  Dark shapes moved under the muggy green water. Which meant the river life was still alive and healthy, unaffected by poison.

  Kitay leaned forward. “What’s that?”

  Rin followed his gaze but couldn’t tell what he was looking at.

  He pulled a netted pole from the bulkhead, scooped it into the water, and plucked out a small object. At first Rin thought he’d caught a fish, but when Kitay deposited it onto the deck she saw it was some kind of dark and leathery pouch, about the size of a pomelo, knotted tightly at the end so that it looked oddly like a breast.

  Kitay pinched it up with two fingers.

  “That’s clever,” he said. “Gross, but clever.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s incredible. This has to be a Sinegard graduate’s work. Or a Yuelu graduate. No one else is this smart.” He held the object toward her. She recoiled. It smelled awful—a combination of rank animal odor and the sh
arp, acrid smell of poison that brought back memories of embalmed pig fetuses from her medical classes with Master Enro.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

  “Pig’s bladder.” Kitay turned it over in his palm and gave it a shake. “Resistant to acid, at least to some degree. It’s why the poison hasn’t been diluted before it reached Arlong.”

  He rubbed the edge of the bladder between his fingers. “This stays intact so the agent doesn’t dissolve into the water until it reaches downstream. It was meant to last several days, a week at most.”

  The bladder popped open under the pressure. Liquid spilled out onto Kitay’s hand, making his skin hiss and pucker. A yellow cloud seeped into the air. The acrid odor intensified. Kitay cursed and flung the bladder back out over the side of the ship, then hastily wiped his skin against his uniform.

  “Fuck.” He examined his hand, which had developed a pale, angry rash.

  Rin yanked him away from the gas cloud. To her relief, it dissipated in seconds. “Tiger’s tits, are you—”

  “I’m fine. It’s not deep, I don’t think.” Kitay cradled his hand inside his elbow and winced. “Go get Salkhi. I think we’re getting close.”

  Salkhi split the Fourteenth Brigade into squads of six that dispersed through the surrounding region for a ground expedition. The Cike found the poison source first. It was visible the moment they emerged from the tree line—a blocky, three-story building with bell towers at both ends, erected in the architectural style of the old Hesperian missions.

  At the southern wall, a single pipe extended over the river—a channel meant to move waste and sewage into the water. Instead, it dispensed poisonous pods into the river with a mechanical regularity.

  Someone, or something, was dropping them off from inside.

  “This is it.” Kitay motioned for the rest of the Cike to crouch low behind the bushes. “We’ve got to get someone in there.”

  “What about the guard?” Rin whispered.

  “What guard? There’s no one there.”

  He was right. The mission looked barely garrisoned. Rin could count the soldiers on one hand, and after half an hour of scoping the perimeter, they didn’t find any others on patrol.