The Dragon Republic

by R. F. Kuang

  He looked surprised she had even asked. “To the realm of the Maker, of course. Where do your people think they go?”

  “Nowhere,” she said. “We disappear back to nothing.”

  The Nikara spoke of the underworld sometimes, but that was more a folk story than a true belief. No one really imagined they might end up anywhere but in darkness.

  “That’s impossible,” Augus said. “The Maker creates our souls to be permanent. Even barbarians’ souls have value. When we die, he refines them and brings them to his realm.”

  Rin couldn’t help her curiosity. “What is that realm like?”

  “It’s beautiful,” he said. “A land utterly without Chaos; without pain, disease, or suffering. It is the kingdom of perfect order that we spend our lives trying to re-create on this earth.”

  Rin saw the joyful hope beaming out of Augus’s face as he spoke, and she knew that he believed every word he was saying.

  She was starting to see why the Hesperians clung so fervently to their religion. No wonder they had won converts over so easily during occupation. What a relief it would be to know that at the end of this life there was a better one, that perhaps upon death you might enjoy the comforts you had always been denied instead of fading away from an indifferent universe. What a relief to know that the world was supposed to make sense, and that if it didn’t, you would one day be justly compensated.

  A line of captains and generals stood before the burning pyre. Nezha was at the end, leaning heavily on a walking stick. It was the first time Rin had seen him in two days.

  But when she approached him, he turned to walk away. She called out his name. He ignored her. She dashed forward—he couldn’t outrun her, not with his walking stick—and grabbed his wrist.

  “Stop running away,” she said.

  “I’m not running,” he said stiffly.

  “Then talk to me. Tell me what I saw on the river.”

  Nezha’s eyes darted around at the soldiers standing within earshot. He lowered his voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I saw what you did. You’re a shaman!”

  “Rin, shut up.”

  She didn’t let go of his wrist. “You moved the water at will. I know it was you.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t see anything, and you won’t tell anyone anything—”

  “Your secret is safe from Petra, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said. “But I don’t understand why you’re lying to me.”

  Without responding, Nezha turned and limped briskly away from the pyres. She followed him to a spot behind the charred hull of a transport skimmer. The questions poured out of her in an unstoppable torrent. “Did they teach you at Sinegard? Does Jun know? Is anyone else in your family a shaman?”

  “Rin, stop—”

  “Jinzha doesn’t know, I figured that out. What about your mother? Vaisra? Did he teach you?”

  “I am not a shaman!” he shouted.

  She didn’t flinch. “I’m not stupid. I know what I saw.”

  “Then draw your own conclusions and stop asking questions.”

  “Why are you hiding this?”

  He looked pained. “Because I don’t want it.”

  “You can control the water! You could single-handedly win us this war!”

  “It’s not that easy, I can’t just—” He shook his head. “You saw what happened. It wants to take over.”

  “Of course it does. What do you think we all go through? So you control it. You get practice at reining it in, you shape it to your own will—”

  “Like you can?” he sneered. “You’re the equivalent of a spiritual eunuch.”

  He was trying to throw her off, but she didn’t let that distract her. “And I would kill to have the fire back. It’s difficult, I know, the gods aren’t kind—but you can control them! I can help you.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, shut up—”

  “Unless you’re just scared, which is no excuse, because men are dying while you’re sitting here indulging in your own self-pity—”

  “I said shut up!”

  His hand went into the skimmer’s hull, an inch from her head. She didn’t flinch. She turned her head slowly, trying to pretend her heart wasn’t slamming against her chest.

  “You missed,” she said calmly.

  Nezha pulled his hand away from the hull. Blood trickled down his knuckles from four crimson dots.

  She should have been afraid, but when she searched his face, she couldn’t find a shred of anger. Just fear.

  She had no respect for fear.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

  “Oh, trust me.” Her lip curled. “You couldn’t.”

  Chapter 20

  “A puzzle for you,” said Kitay. “The water erupts around the ships, blows holes in the sides like cannonballs, and yet we never see a hint of an explosion above the water. How does the Militia do this?”

  “I assume you’re about to tell me,” Rin said.

  “Come on, Rin, just play along.”

  She fiddled with the shrapnel fragments strewn across his worktable. “Could have been archers aiming at the base. They could have fixed rockets on the front ends of their arrows?”

  “But why would they do that? The deck’s more vulnerable than the hull. And we would have seen them in the air if they were alight, which they’d have to be to explode on impact.”

  “Maybe they found out a way to hide the heat glow,” she said.

  “Maybe,” he said. “But then why the chain reaction? Why start with the skimmers, instead of aiming directly at the Kingfisher or the tower ships?”

  “I don’t know. Scare tactics?”

  “That’s stupid,” he said dismissively. “Here’s a hint: The explosives were in the water to begin with. That’s why we never saw them. They really were underwater.”

  She sighed. “And how would they have managed that, Kitay? Why don’t you just tell me the answer?”

  “Animal intestines,” he said happily. He pulled out a rather disgusting translucent tube from under the table, inside of which he’d threaded a thin fuse. “They’re completely waterproof. I’m guessing they used cow intestines, since they’re longer, but any animal would do, really, because it just has to keep the fuse dry enough to let it burn down. Then they rig up the interior so that slow-burning coils light the fuse on impact. Cool, eh?”

  “Sort of like the pig stomachs.”

  “Sort of. But those were designed to erode over time. Depending on how slow the coils burn, these could keep a fuse dry for days if they were sealed well enough.”

  “That’s incredible.” Rin stared at the intestines, considering the implications. The mines were ingenious. The Militia could win riverine battles without even being present, as long as they could guarantee that the Republican Fleet would travel over a given stretch of water.

  When had the Militia developed this technology?

  And if they had this capability, were any of the river routes safe?

  The door slammed open. Jinzha strode in unannounced, holding a rolled-up scroll in one hand. Nezha followed in his wake, still limping on his walking stick. He refused to meet Rin’s eye.

  “Hello, sir.” Kitay cheerfully waved a cow intestine at him. “I’ve solved your problem.”

  Jinzha looked repulsed. “What is that?”

  “Water mines. It’s how they blew up the fleet.” Kitay offered the intestine up to Jinzha for inspection.

  Jinzha wrinkled his nose. “I’ll trust your word for it. Did you figure out how to deactivate them?”

  “Yes, it’s easy enough if we just puncture the waterproofing. The hard part is finding the mines.” Kitay rubbed his chin. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any expert divers on deck.”

  “I can figure that part out.” Jinzha spread his scroll over Kitay’s table. It was a closely detailed map of Rat Province, on which he’d circled in red ink a spot just inlan
d of a nearby lake. “I need you to draw up detailed plans for an attack on Boyang. Here’s all the intelligence we have.”

  Kitay leaned forward to examine the map. “This is for a springtime operation?”

  “No. We attack as soon as we can get there.”

  Kitay blinked twice. “You can’t be considering taking Boyang with a damaged fleet.”

  “A full three-fourths of the fleet is serviceable. We’ve mostly lost skimmers—”

  “And the warships?”

  “Can be repaired in time.”

  Kitay tapped his fingers on the table. “Do you have men to man those ships?”

  Irritation flickered over Jinzha’s face. “We’ve redistributed the troops. There will be enough.”

  “If you say so.” Kitay chewed at his thumbnail, staring intensely down at Jinzha’s scribbles. “There’s still a slight problem.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Well, Lake Boyang’s an interesting natural phenomenon—”

  “Get to the point,” Jinzha said.

  Kitay traced his finger down the map. “Usually lake water levels go down during the summer and go up during colder seasons. That should advantage deep-hulled ships like ours. But Boyang gets its water source directly from Mount Tianshan, and during the winter—”

  “Tianshan freezes,” Rin realized out loud.

  “So what?” Jinzha asked. “That doesn’t mean the lake drains immediately.”

  “No, but it means the water level goes down every day,” Kitay said. “And the shallower the lake, the less mobility your warships have, especially the Seahawks. I’m guessing the mines were put there to stall us.”

  “Then how long do we have?” Jinzha pressed.

  Kitay shrugged. “I’m not a prophet. I’d have to see the lake.”

  “I told you it’s not worth it.” Nezha spoke up for the first time. “We should head back south while we still can.”

  “And do what?” Jinzha demanded. “Hide? Grovel? Explain to Father why we’ve come home with our tails tucked between our legs?”

  “No. Explain about the territory we’ve taken. The men we’ve added to our ranks. We regroup, and fight from a position of strength.”

  “We have plenty of strength.”

  “The entire Imperial Fleet will be waiting for us in that lake!”

  “So we will take it from them,” Jinzha snarled. “We’re not running home to Father because we were scared of a fight.”

  This isn’t really an argument, Rin thought. Jinzha had made up his mind, and he would shout down anyone who opposed him. Nezha—the younger brother, the inferior brother—was never going to change Jinzha’s mind.

  Jinzha was hungry for this fight. Rin could read it so clearly on his face. And she could understand why he wanted it so badly. A victory at Boyang might effectively end this war. It might achieve the final and devastating proof of victory that the Hesperians were demanding. It might compensate for Jinzha’s latest string of failures.

  She’d known a commander who made decisions like that before. His bones, if any had survived incineration, were lying at the bottom of Omonod Bay.

  “Aren’t your troops worth more than your ego?” she asked. “Don’t sentence us to death just because you’ve been humiliated.”

  Jinzha didn’t even deign to look at her. “Did I authorize you to talk?”

  “She has a point,” Nezha said.

  “I am warning you, brother.”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Nezha said. “You’re just not listening because you’re terrified that someone else is right.”

  Jinzha strode over to Nezha and casually slapped him across the face.

  The crack echoed around the little room. Rin and Kitay sat frozen in their seats. Nezha’s head whipped to the side, where it stayed. Slowly he touched his fingers to his cheek, where a red mark was blooming outward over his scars. His chest rose and fell; he was breathing so heavily that Rin thought for sure he would strike back. But he did nothing.

  “We could probably get to Boyang in time if we leave immediately,” Kitay said neutrally, as if nothing had happened.

  “Then we’ll set sail within an hour.” Jinzha pointed to Kitay. “You get to my office. Admiral Molkoi will give you full access to scout reports. I want attack plans by the end of the day.”

  “Oh, joy,” Kitay said.

  “What’s that?”

  Kitay sat up straight. “Yes, sir.”

  Jinzha stormed out of the room. Nezha lingered by the doorway, eyes darting between Rin and Kitay as if unsure of whether he wanted to stay.

  “Your brother’s losing it,” Rin informed him.

  “Shut up,” he said.

  “I’ve seen this before,” she said. “Commanders break under pressure all the time. Then they make shitty decisions that get people killed.”

  Nezha sneered at her, and for an instant he looked identical to Jinzha. “My brother is not Altan.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Say whatever you want,” he said. “At least we’re not Speerly trash.”

  She was so shocked that she couldn’t think of a good response. Nezha stalked out and slammed the door shut behind him.

  Kitay whistled under his breath. “Lovers’ spat, you two?”

  Rin’s face suddenly felt terribly hot. She sat down beside Kitay and busied herself by pretending to fiddle with the cow intestine. “Something like that.”

  “If it helps, I don’t think you’re Speerly trash,” he said.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Let me know if you do.” Kitay shrugged. “Incidentally, you could try being more careful about how you talk to Jinzha.”

  She made a face. “Oh, I’m aware.”

  “Are you? Or do you like not having a seat at the table?”

  “Kitay . . .”

  “You’re a Sinegard-trained shaman. You shouldn’t be a foot soldier; it’s below you.”

  She was tired of having that argument. She changed the subject. “Do we really have a chance at taking Boyang?”

  “If we work the paddle wheels to death. If the Imperial Fleet is as weak as our most optimistic estimates say.” Kitay sighed. “If the heaven and the stars and the sun line up for us and we’re blessed by every god in that Pantheon of yours.”

  “So, no.”

  “I honestly don’t know. There are too many moving pieces. We don’t know how strong the fleet is. We don’t know their naval tactics. We’ve probably got superior naval talent, but they’ll have been there longer. They’ll know the lake terrain. They had time to booby-trap the rivers. They’ll have a plan for us.”

  Rin searched the map, looking for any possible way out. “Then do we retreat?”

  “It’s too late for that now,” Kitay said. “Jinzha’s right about one thing: we don’t have any other options. We don’t have supplies to last out the winter, and chances are if we escape back to Arlong, then we’ll lose all the progress we’ve made—”

  “What, we can’t just hunker down in Ram Province for a few months? Have Arlong ship up some supplies?”

  “And give Daji the entire winter to build a fleet? We’ve gotten this far because the Empire has never had a great navy. Daji has the men, but we have the ships. That’s the only reason we’re at parity. If Daji gets three months’ leeway, then this is all over.”

  “Some Hesperian warships would be great right around now,” Rin muttered.

  “And that’s the root of it all.” Kitay gave her a wry look. “Jinzha’s being an ass, but I think I understand him. He can’t afford to look weak, not with Tarcquet sitting there judging his every move. He’s got to be bold. Be the brilliant leader his father promised. And we’ll blaze forward right with him, because we simply have no other option.”

  “How many of you can swim?” Jinzha asked.

  Prisoners stood miserably in line on the slippery deck, heads bent as rain poured down on them in relentless sheets. Jinzha paced up and do
wn the deck, and the prisoners flinched every time he stopped in front of them. “Show of hands. Who can swim?”

  The prisoners glanced nervously at one another, no doubt wondering which response would keep them alive. No hands went up.

  “Let me put it this way.” Jinzha crossed his arms. “We don’t have the rations to feed everyone. No matter what, some of you are going to end up at the bottom of the Murui. It’s only a question of whether you want to starve to death. So raise your hand if you’ll be useful.”

  Every hand shot up.

  Jinzha turned to Admiral Molkoi. “Throw them all overboard.”

  The men started screaming in protest. Rin thought for a second that Molkoi might actually comply, and that they would have to watch the prisoners clawing over each other in the water in a desperate bid to survive, but then she realized that Jinzha didn’t really intend to execute them.

  He was watching to see who wouldn’t resist.

  After a few moments Jinzha pulled fifteen men out of the line and dismissed the rest to the brig. Then he held up a water mine wrapped in cow intestine and passed it through the line so the men could take a better look at the fuse.

  “The Militia’s been planting these in the water. You will swim through the water and disable them. You will be tethered to the ship with ropes, and you will be given sharp rocks to do the job. If you find an explosive, cut the intestine and ensure that water floods the tube. Try to escape, and my archers will shoot you in the water. Leave any mines intact, and you will die with us. It’s in your interest to be thorough.”

  He tossed several lines of rope at the men. “Go on, then.”

  Nobody moved.

  “Admiral Molkoi!” Jinzha shouted.

  Molkoi signaled to his men. A line of guards strode forward, blades out.

  “Do not test my patience,” Jinzha said.

  The men scrambled hastily for the ropes.

  The storms only intensified in the following week, but Jinzha forced the fleet forward to Boyang at an impossible pace. The soldiers were exhausted at the paddle wheels trying to meet his demands. Several prisoners dropped dead after being forced to paddle consecutive shifts without a night’s sleep, and Jinzha had their bodies tossed unceremoniously overboard.