The Shattering Waves (The Year of the Dragon, Book 7) (4 page)

The
daimyo
leaned forward. “Do you think I’m the only one with grand plans for Yamato? Nabeshima, Mori — even Tokugawa with his Abominations, they will all do the same, as soon as this is over, as soon as one of us comes out on top.” He looked at the old, yellowed and wrinkled map of Yamato on the tent wall. “This country will never be the same again. We have dragons destroying cities,
Rangaku
wizards fighting magic battles, foreigners openly flaunting the
Taikun’s
orders … We will never go back to the old, secluded ways.”

“Ah, I think I see what you’re saying.” Dylan nodded. “But I could go today to Nabeshima-
dono’s
tent and gain the same assurances of friendship. Words are cheap.”

“You want a treaty, Dracalish?” Nariakira glanced at him. “I can give you a treaty.”

“You have no authority to sign pronouncements in the name of the entire country.”

“Aaah,” the
daimyo
drew a long vowel, “but what if I
did
?”

He grasped the cane and raised himself up with a surprising spring in his step. “Come with me to the harbour. I have something to show you.”

A large two-masted junk, richly decorated along the sides, with a temple-like aftcastle, stood at anchor in the middle of the river. Dylan recognized the hulk as of the same type used to build Nariakira’s mistfire warship — the largest available to the Yamato, he guessed. This one had no engine, only snow-white silk sails with the Satsuma crest painted in the centre in striking black.

On the upper level of the aftcastle, in the usual place of the captain’s cabin, was a room of silk curtains and feather cushions. Its walls were decorated with hastily painted chrysanthemum flowers and cranes in flight. The curtains and cushions muffled all sound.

In the silence, Dylan heard the tinkling of a bell. A small cloth ball rolled under his feet. He picked it up — the bell inside jangled.

A soft but commanding voice spoke in Yamato; it was coming from the centre of the room, where the curtains were the densest. In the dim light thrown down from a skylight, Dylan saw a silhouette of a slender, narrow-shouldered man — or a boy. Nariakira bowed deeply — deeper than Dylan had seen any of the Yamato noblemen bow before.

“Why do your servants insist on bringing me these toys, Nariakira?” said Mutsuhito. “I am not a child.”

“I’m sorry,
heika
. I will make sure you’re provided with entertainment more suitable for your age.”

He means women,
the young
Mikado
thought with revulsion.
I should be choosing concubines by now, mothers of my sons. I should be producing heirs to the throne, not wasting my sacred seed on some southern courtesan.

“There is someone with you.” He could barely distinguish the shadows through the many silk curtains. “Who did you bring this time to watch the monkey dance?”

“It is Di Lan-
sama
of the Dracalish Empire
, heika
.”

Mutsuhito looked closer, trying to pierce the veils with his gaze. The man standing beside Nariakira was tall and slim, wearing the straight-legged trousers and tight-fitting jacket of the Western fashion.

“Another
Gaikokujin?
”

He sighed, wearily. If his father were still alive, he would have ordered Nariakira flayed for the insolence of bringing all those barbarians to Mutsuhito’s quarters …

“And is this one dumb as well?”

“He speaks classical Qin,
heika
.”

Mutsuhito perked up. This was mildly interesting. His own knowledge of the language was limited to what he needed to learn to read some poetry and philosophical commentaries, but it was better than depending on Nariakira’s translation … He closed his eyes and let the singing Qin words roll off his tongue.

“Do you — do you know who I am, Barbarian?”

“I’m beginning to guess …
Your Majesty?
”

The young
Mikado’s
heart raced. He was touched by a profound understanding of history happening right here and now. For the first time since the Age of Dragons, a
Mikado
was conversing with a foreigner. It wasn’t exactly the Qin Emperor’s royal envoy, or a court minister from Chosun, nonetheless, he recognized the moment was a pivotal one.

“Nariakira.”

“Yes,
heika?
”

“Leave us.”

“I’m not sure that would be wise—”

“I may be your prisoner, Nariakira, but I’m still your
Mikado
!” Mutsuhito rose from his pillows. “Does my word count for
nothing
?”

“We’ve been through this,
heika.
You’re not a prisoner, you’re a guest. I am only concerned for your safety.”

“If you brought an assassin into my chambers, it will be on your head. Do you not vouch for the barbarian?”

“Of course,
heika.
I will leave you two to it.”

“I’d rather you didn’t eavesdrop this time.”

Nariakira bowed. “
Heika.
”

He heard the sleazy smirk in the
daimyo’s
voice.

He waited until the movement of the curtains told him the door closed shut. The foreigner stood silent, waiting. Outside, water lapped softly against the sides of the ship.

“Why are you here, Barbarian?” Mutsuhito asked.

“Here in the room, or here in Yamato?”

“Both.”

“I’m in this room, I believe, because Shimazu-
dono
has something to prove to me.”

“Has he succeeded?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”

“I am more than what he thinks I am.”

“You mean, more than just a hand holding an Imperial Seal?”

Mutsuhito chuckled bleakly. “Well said. What about Yamato?”

“I came looking for my son. He was castaway here.”

He liked the man’s voice, he decided. There was a sincerity in it lacking in the voices of his courtiers — and certainly absent in Nariakira’s. Only his late father sounded this honest.

“A
son
… Is he the one who brought me here?”

“No. Although he, too, is a
long …
a
dorako
rider.”

Just how many dragon riders are there flying around my country? The
Taikun
’s government has lost any semblance of control over the situation …

“Have you found him?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Then you haven’t answered my question, have you, barbarian?”

There was a hint of smile in the foreigner’s pause. “I decided to stay on as the Dracalish representative in this time of turmoil.”

“And it is in this capacity that you stand before me?”

“If it pleases Your Majesty.”

“Come closer. Let me see your face.”

The man hesitated. Even he must have sensed this was highly unorthodox, especially if he was aware of the customs of Qin. But then, decency and propriety seemed things of the distant past. Mutsuhito was a prisoner on a
daimyo’s
ship; his father a victim of an assassin; his palace burned to ash … He touched the green jewel on his neck.

That thing, too.

The foreigner stepped forward through the veils. His eyes were a curious shade of emerald green, cunning and bright.
His son,
Mutsuhito realized,
was that other dragon rider, with the red-haired priestess …

“What happened to your face?” he asked.

“An angry dragon,” the barbarian replied, smiling.

Mutsuhito reached out to touch the scar. A sudden jolt jumped where his fingers touched it. Power surged through him, and the jewel burning on his neck grew hotter. A furious silver beast — wings spread, facing a puny human in a blue uniform — flashed in front of him. His own hand turned again into a clawed, scaled limb. He pulled it away in fright.

“Amazing …” He swallowed. “What made it angry?”

The foreigner didn’t appear to have noticed anything amiss. “The dragons turn wild after several years of service. It’s something that can’t be helped.”

“All dragons?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Even the black ones?”

“I believe so.”

“What happened to the silver one?”

“I killed it.”

Mutsuhito slumped back onto his cushions. “I wish you could tell me more about dragons.”

“If it pleases Your Majesty, I may come later, for a more informal conversation.”

“I would like that. Do you hear me, Nariakira?” Mutsuhito asked aloud.

After a brief pause, the door slid open. “You called,
heika
?”

Mutsuhito rolled his eyes. “Give up the charade, Nariakira. You will bring the
Gaikokujin
to me again. In a proper manner this time, with food, drink, and entertainment. You can even stay as an interpreter this time, in case my Qin proves insufficient. Do you understand?”

“Yes,
heika.
”
The
daimyo’s
eyes darted from the
Mikado
to the foreigner. He, too, was deeply aware of the importance of what had just happened. A bright grin lingered on his lips, as he considered the consequences of the meeting. “I will make the necessary arrangements.”

The rooms were small, and the husk-filled mattresses even smaller, at the inn at Kurume that the alliance had commandeered for its staff. Dylan was used to rough conditions in a war zone, but the lack of space was beginning to annoy him. There was barely enough room for him to roll out the big map of Yamato he had brought with him from Dejima.

Somewhere, on the ground floor of the inn, Gwen was taking her evening bath. She didn’t seem to mind the inn, but that didn’t surprise him — she was always able to turn to local customs faster than anyone among his staff. She even claimed to enjoy the taste of the local liquor, far too sweet and flowery for his taste.

He touched the map and lit up the tracers. The red dots were all in the same spots as the night before. Wulfhere was with Nariakira, here in Kurume. Bran, or at least his dragon, for the past couple of days had not moved away from the great merchant port, Naniwa. This worried Dylan. Had Bran been wounded in the Heian disaster? Or, worse yet, captured by the
Taikun’s
forces?

If they find out who he is, they will keep him hostage ...

His fingers ran along the northern coast. The third red dot pulsated near Kokura. The hex on Frigga’s saddle — the most precious of the three he had managed to cast in Kiyō — remained undetected, giving him direct insight into movements of the Gorllewin detachment. For now, it oscillated between Kokura and several nearby castles — no doubt conveying messages for the loyal
daimyos
along the front line
.

Why didn’t they destroy Wulf?

The Seaxe’s story made no sense — there was no way the small green colt could have outrun the two Black Wings. The boy was lying through his teeth, embellishing his success in the sky duel. But his scouting report checked out. The Gorllewin
wanted
the alliance to know they were in Kokura, the same way Dylan wanted them to know he, Gwen, and Edern were protecting the southern cities … but they made no move against the “Imperial Army” as it marched northwards.

Why?
Another of Nariakira’s schemes? Reaching out to the Gorllewin behind the
Taikun’s
back would be just like him … He was just about to roll back the map, when the red dot under his index finger blinked and vanished.

They found it!

He focused on the map, drawing several enhancing runes, but for several long seconds nothing happened. And then he spotted it again: not in Kokura, but far to the north, on the tip of a peninsula south-west of Edo.

He recast the tracking spell again, and again the hex tracer lit up near the
Taikun’s
capital, fainter and distorted, but unmistakable. Somehow, the black dragon had transported itself — and, presumably, its rider — several hundreds if not thousands of miles, in a matter of seconds. Dylan knew of no magic capable of such a feat. And yet …

The door slid open. Gwen, wrapped in a light silk robe, her skin red with heat, brought in the smell of freshness and cleanliness. She noticed the map on the floor, and Dylan’s frown.

“What is it? Something wrong with Bran?”

“No, not Bran. Come here and take a look at this. Maybe you can explain it …”

CHAPTER III

The red dust plain stretched around Nagomi, vast, flat and empty, as always.

Since fleeing Heian, all her dreams had been about waking up in this desolate place. Every night, she closed her eyes on Earth and opened them in the Otherworld.

She looked around, resigned. There was nothing to draw her attention, just the endless, perfectly flat horizon, and an aimless breeze blowing from nowhere to nowhere. She faced the wind with closed eyes. For some unfathomable reason, it smelled of soot and smoke.

It made her think of Kyokō, the Scrying girl burned in Karatsu, and her sisters, all equally remarkable; and then Nagomi’s thoughts ventured further, as she recalled the people she had met since leaving Kiyō.