The Flood Dragon's Sacrifice Read online

  Lord Nagamoto sighed. “My dear, surely you wouldn’t want to proceed with a match that was no longer an auspicious one? It’s our family’s reputation that’s at stake here.”

  “If you put it that way, how can I object?” The princess glared at her husband above the rim of her fan. Ayaka could bear it no longer; they were discussing her future as if she wasn’t in the same room.

  “But if Lord Takeru isn’t going to be my husband,” she burst out, “who am I going to marry?”

  Both parents turned to her, frowning disapprovingly. But before Princess Omiya could chide her again, a slender page boy was admitted.

  “A letter for Lady Ayaka,” he said, bowing low. Ayaka saw, as he raised his head, that his face was exquisitely beautiful, with soulful dark eyes.

  At a nod from her father, Ayaka realized that she had been staring shamelessly and swiftly extended her hand to receive the letter.

  “Here, my boy.” Her father held out a coin but the page shook his head.

  “It has been my pleasure to carry out my master’s bidding, my lord. I need no other reward.”

  “What a polite child,” exclaimed her mother loudly as the page departed, “and so immaculately dressed.” Ayaka hardly heard as she was staring at the exquisitely presented contents, the black strokes of the calligraphy painted on pure white petal paper that gave off the faintest perfume of orange blossom.

  “Who is it from, Ayaka?” Her mother’s voice, sharp with curiosity, broke her trance. She looked up.

  “His highness Prince Hotaru,” she said distantly, the words of the poem he had composed after admiring the orange blossom in their gardens repeating like the song of the willow warbler in her mind. She looked up to see her parents exchanging significant glances.

  “It was such a tragedy,” her mother said. “I thought he would never get over her.”

  “Perhaps the passage of time has helped at last,” said her father, nodding.

  “What are you talking about, Mother?”

  “Why, the prince’s late wife. You were a child at the time – and they were only just married.”

  “It must be all of seven years ago, this summer,” her father added.

  “She would have been not much older than you are now; such a sweet girl, Princess Aoi. And so pretty.”

  Ayaka listened to her mother’s rambling with a growing sense of annoyance. She had heard the rumors; tales whispered around the court that the prince was so heart-broken after his young wife’s death that he had devoted himself to his studies, vowing never to marry again.

  “A sudden sickness could strike any of us at any time – and she was always a delicate child.”

  “So you’re saying, Mother, that I shouldn’t raise my hopes? Or read too much into the prince’s poem? He sends poetry to young eligible women at court all the time?”

  Another significant look passed between her parents.

  “I’ll arrange an audience with the Head of the Bureau of Divination straight away,” her father said.

  Yes! Ayaka could not hide her triumphant smile as her father called one of his secretaries and dictated a letter requesting an urgent meeting. My luck is changing at last…

  Chapter 15

  Masao leaned over the rail of the pitching ship, retching till the back of his throat ached. The wind had picked up since they passed Tenryu Bay and the rowers were struggling against a powerful swell.

  Why am I the only man on board my uncle’s ship to be stricken in this way?

  He straightened up, ashamed, wiping his mouth. Even his insolent cousin Raiko had lost interest in baiting him and was playing a game of menko with a couple of Uncle Okitane’s pages.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you suffer from seasickness?”

  Masao turned and saw through a haze of nausea that Yūgiri was standing beside him.

  “If you’re going to fight, you need to be on your best form. Hold out your right hand.”

  Masao obeyed, although he had no idea what Yūgiri was about to do; was he about to give him some pills to swallow? Instead, Yūgiri pushed back Masao’s sleeve, exposing the underside of his wrist, and suddenly pressed firmly down on the pulse point with his thumb.

  Masao felt a sharp current shoot upward through his arm and then diffuse throughout his whole body. The initial sensation was far from pleasant, as if he had jarred a nerve, but as the shock dissipated it was replaced by a sudden infusion of warmth.

  He looked down at his hand, still clasped in Yūgiri’s slender fingers, and then slowly raised his head to meet the shaman’s calm gaze.

  “Well?” There was that strange half-smile again.

  “I think… it’s working,” Masao said, not quite daring to believe that the stomach-churning sickness had calmed so swiftly. “But how…?”

  “A professional secret.” Yūgiri gently let go of his hand.

  “Yūgiri – I thought you were on Lord Toshiro’s ship.”

  “He asked for my father; as it’s my first time in battle, I’ve been deputed to your uncle’s regiment, to help Manabu.”

  “So it’s the first time for us both, then?” Masao turned back to the rail of the ship, gazing out across the heaving grey-green expanse of water to the distant shoreline.

  “Have you ever killed a man, Masao?” Yūgiri moved to stand beside him.

  Masao shook his head.

  “Can you do it? Can you take another man’s life?”

  Masao’s chin jutted up self-defensively. What was Yūgiri implying? That he was too soft-hearted to wield his sword? “If it’s to protect Lord Naoki, then yes.”

  “Of course,” Yūgiri said. “How else to prove your devotion to Lord Naoki?” The words were lightly spoken but Masao detected a distinct edge to them.

  “What do you mean – ?” he began, but Yūgiri had already moved away, one hand raised in farewell.

  ***

  By evening the fresh wind had dropped, so the sailors took up their oars again and began to row on through the night toward the Kurozuro domains. As lanterns were lit on deck, Masao’s uncle outlined Lord Toshiro’s plans to his assembled officers. After the officers had been dismissed, Okitane turned to the armorers and healers.

  “Yūgiri Hisui, you will stay on board below deck with Manabu until we’ve made the beach area secure and set up camp. We need our healers alive, not struck down by Crane arrows.”

  Masao saw Yūgiri bow his head in acceptance and felt a pang of concern for the young shaman who looked so frail and vulnerable alongside so many brawny fighting men. “But what about the armorers?” he asked.

  “Your job is to cause a diversion; the foot soldiers can do the rest. One shot should be enough.” Okitane turned aside to confer with Raiko.

  “But if we fire from on board ship, we’ll just hit our own men,” Masao said. Why had his uncle not thought this plan through? “We need to get the eruptor safely to shore.”

  “And we’ll need to keep the fire drug dry,” added Saburo. “We’ve little enough left as it is.”

  Masao scratched the back of his ear, struggling to come up with a workable solution to the problem the clan lord had set them. “Could we use upturned shields as a raft to float the eruptor ashore?”

  “Masao, you’re in command,” Okitane said over his shoulder as he walked away. “I’ll assign half a dozen foot soldiers to help transport the gear to shore and protect you while you get ready. After that, stand by for my signal.”

  ***

  Above the sandy cove, the land rose steeply upward, thickly forested. And just beyond the tops of the tallest trees, in the shadow of the mountain peak behind, Masao glimpsed the highest tower of the Black Cranes’ castle, the gilded finials on the curving roofs catching the sun. At the same time, he heard his uncle’s voice shouting out above the splash of the oars, “Prepare to disembark!”

  The deck suddenly filled with foot soldiers, the thunder of their feet on the boards almost drowning out his uncle’s next commands.

  Mas
ao stared up at the shimmering fish-scale roof tiles of Castle Kurozuro. Somewhere within the Cranes’ formidable fortress, high above the sea, Naoki was imprisoned.

  We’re going to get you out of there, Naoki. And if the Cranes have hurt you in any way, they’ll pay dearly; I swear it on my life. He clenched his fist as he made the silent vow, although he knew from the sticky sweat moistening his palms that his fighting words could be in vain. He could lose his life in the battle to come and never see his young master again.

  Lord Toshiro’s ship was a little ahead of his uncle’s and his foot soldiers were already disembarking, running through the shallow tide toward the beach.

  The raucous sound of a conch shell trumpet blasted out from the forest.

  “So the Cranes have spotted us,” said his uncle, smiling grimly as he pulled down his visor.

  Shading his eyes against the scorching sunlight with one hand, Masao suddenly noticed movement in the shade of the trees. “Crane archers!” he shouted. “Look out!”

  The Black Crane archers were notorious for their lethal accuracy. Their special technique was called the Crane Feather Flight: a hail of poisoned arrows loosed on their enemy.

  “Raise shields!” bellowed Okitane.

  A hissing cloud of black-and-white-feathered arrows flew through the air. Some bounced harmlessly off the armor of the men in the water but others struck home and Masao saw more than one Kite stumble and fall in the shallows. A few arrows even glanced off the wooden rail just above his head.

  Masao, crouching below the ship’s rail, glanced around to make sure that Saburo was unharmed. The armorer had prudently flattened himself on the deck; he crawled closer to Masao.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “We wait for the order,” said Masao. They had secured the iron dragon eruptor to a makeshift raft of shields, ready to drag it ashore.

  “Everything looks so ordinary,” Saburo murmured. Fishermen’s boats had been hauled up beyond the tide line and wicker crab pots abandoned, as if their owners had been mending their nets when the Kite ships were spotted on the horizon.

  As Lord Toshiro’s advance guard began to make their way up the deserted beach toward the tree line, the blood-red Kite standards flapping in the wind off the sea, Okitane gave the order to follow.

  Masao clambered over the side of the ship and jumped down into the lapping tide; Saburo followed, and with the help of the foot soldiers they lowered the iron dragon eruptor on its makeshift raft onto the water. All around them, Okitane’s men were splashing their way toward land; the soldiers from the other three ships had also begun to disembark.

  The midday sun burned hot on Masao’s helmet as he and Saburo waded toward the shore, guiding the eruptor as it floated on the gentle tide.

  Where are the Cranes hiding out?

  Spent Crane arrows were washing up on the beach from the first assault like driftwood, but no second volley had followed. No sooner had Masao set foot on the damp sand than he saw them; a telltale shimmer of lacquered armor in the shade of the black pines.

  “How thoughtful,” he heard Okitane growl. “A welcome party.”

  “Why are they waiting?” Masao said under his breath. “Why don’t they attack?” With a brief wave of the hand, he directed his men to drag the eruptor toward the rocks on the far left of the beach. Saburo followed, carrying the jar of fire drug.

  “Lord Toshiro!” A strong voice rang out from the dappled shade of the forest.

  Okitane held up one hand to halt the progress of his men as Lord Toshiro, resplendent in his scarlet armor, and flanked by two of his officers, strode forward. Masao watched, wishing that their clan lord had not made himself such an obvious target. But he knew, as did every Akatobi warrior standing on the shore, that this was the only honorable way to challenge the Black Cranes.

  A warrior in full battle array appeared from between the tall pines with an escort of three standard bearers; his magnificent armor was lacquered a glossy black and the golden crest on his helmet depicted a crane’s outspread wings.

  “My name is Tachibana, general of the Kurozuro garrison. What is your business here?”

  “Where is Lord Takeru?” demanded Lord Toshiro.

  “I speak for Lord Takeru. You and your men are not welcome here.” The answer came straight back in a firm, level voice but Masao could not help wondering why the young lord had sent his general and not come himself. “State your business, then leave.”

  “I’ve come for my son, Naoki. Give him back and we will leave you in peace.”

  “We will not hand him over to you until you return the Tide Jewels – which he stole – into our safekeeping.”

  “Then you leave me no choice but to take my son back by force.” Lord Toshiro’s reply rang out, as clear as the earlier warning blast of the conch shell trumpet. “Even if it means razing your castle to the ground.”

  There was a slight pause. Then the Crane general said, “If you are not prepared to return the Tide Jewels, then I have nothing else to say to you.” He raised his hand and Masao instinctively gripped his sword hilt, ready to draw his blade. Around him, all the other Kite warriors did the same.

  “Stand firm,” Okitane ordered.

  Crane foot soldiers appeared from between the trees, dragging two bundles between them. To Masao, they looked horribly like corpses wrapped up in old sailcloth. The Cranes let their burdens drop on the sands and went to stand beside their general.

  At a nod from Lord Toshiro, Master Yūdai hurried up the beach to lift the stained cloth covering the head of one of the bodies. Even at a distance, Masao saw the old warrior recoil; before Yūdai replaced the covering, he caught a glimpse of a grey, blood-drained face beneath, twisted in a grotesque rictus.

  An angry murmur arose among the warriors around him.

  “That looks like Taro.”

  “What have those bastards done to him?”

  Masao swallowed hard as a sour surge of bile seared the back of his throat. He had seen dead bodies before but not one that had died in such evident agony; the sight had unnerved him. But I can’t let Saburo and the others see; I’ve got to stay strong for them.

  “Any other Kite who dares fly too close to our stronghold,” said General Tachibana, “can expect to get his wings singed.”

  “If that’s Taro, the other must be Hideaki; they always worked as a pair,” Masao heard his uncle mutter to Lord Toshiro. “So what’s become of Yoriaki and the other scouts we sent on ahead?”

  Masao saw Lord Toshiro clench one gauntleted hand. Is he going to give the order to attack? We’re too vulnerable here, lined up like targets for archery practice. The Cranes could pick us off one by one.

  “They’re trying to intimidate us,” said Master Yūdai. “Where’s Lord Takeru? My guess is that the damage he took from our eruptor blast has either wounded him severely or killed him.”

  “And without a strong leader, the Cranes are trying to buy themselves time.” Lord Toshiro turned to Okitane. “Let’s call their bluff.” He took the scarlet and gold war fan from his belt and, lifting it high with a flourish, gave the signal to attack.

  The Kite warriors let out a tremendous shout and set off at a run up the beach, brandishing swords and spears. Masao watched, his heart thudding so strongly beneath his lacquered mail shirt that he could feel its pounding, as insistent as the beat of the war drums.

  Can you hear the drums, Naoki? We’ve come to set you free.

  ***

  From his hiding place high on the cliff above the bay, Shun felt the sweat trickling into his eyes. Even under the shade of the pine trees, the sun was beating down and he was perspiring profusely. And just when I need a clear view of the Kites. Why did Commander Iekane tell us to lie low and not move a finger?

  “What are those Cranes doing?” he heard Rikyu mutter. “The ones by the rocks.”

  Shun squinted to try to see more clearly in the dazzle of sunlight. While the main body of the invaders were rushing up the beach, a small party
of Kites had installed themselves behind an outcrop of rocks below and were busy with some equipment that they had dragged up the beach on upturned shields.

  “Commander.” Shun beckoned. “Take a look at this.”

  Iekane approached, crawling on hands and knees through the undergrowth to avoid being seen from the shore. “Suspicious,” he said. “Let’s stop them, whatever they’re doing. Bows at the ready, boys.”

  Shun hastily copied the other archers in his detachment, rising to his feet, fitting an arrow to the bowstring, aiming at one of the Kites immediately below. He’d caught a glimpse of his target’s face below the scarlet lacquered helmet a moment ago. Young, broad-shouldered, maybe the same age as me…yet in command of his own little detachment already.

  “Foot soldiers; follow me,” said Iekane, pulling his visor down over his face. “We’re going down. Archers – fire on my mark. Keep them distracted till we reach the beach.”

  ***

  Saburo began to pack the shot into the iron dragon; Masao drew his blade, hearing the silken rasp of steel as it left its sheath as he placed himself ready to defend the armorer. My father’s katana. The familiar sensation centered him; trained in the art of the sword since he was seven, he had more faith in his skills as a swordsman than in the unpredictable power of the new weapon.

  And then the air throbbed with the whirring of a fresh volley of arrows as the Crane archers loosed another lethal cloud from their vantage points on the surrounding cliffs. One of Masao’s men let out a short, gurgling cry and pitched forward over the rocks, a black-and-white-feathered arrow protruding from his throat.

  “Stay down, Saburo!” Masao yelled. He grabbed the injured soldier, hauling him out of the line of fire. The man’s eyes widened as he began to choke and a sudden gush of red leaked from the corner of his sagging mouth.

  One down already. Masao, unnerved, felt that same, sick lurch in his gut he had on board ship. Concentrate.

  He looked up at the overhanging cliffs, trying to work out where the archers who had fired on their position were concealed. The main Kite forces pressed on through a deluge of arrows toward the Crane front line, even as their comrades fell beside them. Glancing at Saburo, Masao saw with admiration that even though the armorer’s hands were shaking he was doggedly carrying on with his work.