Jay Kristoff: The Last Stormdancer

“Lord Tatsuya, Bull of the Tiger clan, son of Sataro, exalted Shōgun of Shima. We are honored you grant us audience.”

The thing’s voice was an insectoid hum, tinged with gravel and metal. It bowed low, almost simpering, lamplight glittering in its empty, bloodred eyes. Tatsuya wondered what kind of man could be found beneath that false skin. If a man could be found at all.

“And what name do I have the honor of addressing you by, Guildsman?”

“Call me Maru, great Lord.”

“Then I bid you speak swift, Maru-san. I mean no discourtesy, but I have a war to win this day.”

The Lotusman glanced at the map table, the carved figures arrayed atop it. As it breathed, bellows on its back rose with machine precision, hiss-whoosh , hiss-whoosh, a sharp, antiseptic smell slowly pervading the tent.

“You are well placed to win the battle, great Lord,” said the Guildsman. “But the war? We think not.”

“I was unaware the Lotus Guild boasted masters of military strategy, Maru-san?”

“Escape for your brother lies across the Junsei. Should he flee, the battle will be yours, but he will live to fight another day. To raise rebellion. Muster more troops. Recruit other clanlords to aid in his cause. In short, to be a thorn in your side.”

“You tell me nothing I do not know,” Tatsuya said. “Come, do me the honor of speaking plainly. What is it you wish of me?”

“I speak not of what the Guild wishes. I speak of what it offers.”

The Bull sighed. “Offer, then.”

“For some time now, our ironworks in the Midlands have been dedicating their resources to perfecting the art of war. We of the Lotus Guild wish to make ourselves valuable to the Shōgunate. To the man who sits on the Four Thrones. We offer you this token of our goodwill.”

The Lotusman touched the device upon its chest, slipping the counting beads back and forth in some unfathomable, intricate pattern. Another brass-clad figure soon entered the room, kneeling before Guildsman Maru and proffering a long metal box on upturned palms.

The box was unadorned, set with two plain brass clasps. Maru flipped the catches under the watchful stare of Tatsuya’s guards. More than one of the men let their hands drift closer to their sword hilts, tensing visibly as the Guildsman drew a sheathed katana from the box. The weapon looked strange—bulkier than a regular sword, its heavy hilt encumbered by some kind of motor …

“With your permission, great Lord?” the Lotusman asked.

Tatsuya folded his arms, distrust running deep as the molten blood of the earth. Yet finally, he grunted assent, nodded once. The Guildsman drew the katana from its scabbard, and Tatsuya saw the blade was adorned with hundreds of metal teeth, razor sharp and gleaming in the amber light. The blades were interlocked, like the spurs of the tree-shredders used to clearfell forests for lotus planting.

“What in the Maker’s name is that?” Tatsuya asked.

“We call it a chainkatana, great Lord.” The Guildsman pressed a button on the hilt, and the weapon sputtered to life, spat a blue-black plume of exhaust into the air. The Guildsman depressed what appeared to be a throttle, and the razored teeth on the blade began spinning and spitting a rasping tune. As if to demonstrate, the Guildsman swung the weapon at the box still proffered on his comrade’s palms, shearing the metal in two, filling the air with a blinding spray of sparks. The two halves clattered to the floor, the edges looking as though they had been savaged by dragon teeth.

“Maker’s breath…” Tatsuya breathed.

“I am glad it pleases you, great Lord,” the Guildsman rasped. “This is the first of many weapons we can bring to bear in your name. Soon we will have a fleet of warships that can sail the skies, rain death upon your enemies. Armor for your samurai, augmenting the wearer’s strength and making him impervious to most conventional weaponry. An army backed by the Lotus Guild will be unstoppable.”

With a bow, the Guildsman held out the strange weapon on upturned palms. Tatsuya took the proffered blade, swung it in one hand, testing the weight, gunning the throttle and listening to the blades sing a tune of murder.

Murder and victory.

Tatsuya looked up from the chainkatana, peered deep into the Guildsman’s bloodred lenses as if straining to see the real eyes beyond.

“And you will give these weapons to me?”

“The Lotus Guild offers much, Lord Tatsuya. We can outfit your troops with arms such as these. Sky-ships from our yards—only a handful at first, but understand more are being built as we speak. And lastly, we can offer you your brother’s head.”

Tatsuya’s eyes narrowed.

“Now you have my attention, Guildsman.”

“As you say.” Amusement buzzed in the Lotusman’s voice. “We have a crew of sappers at work beneath the water as we speak. The bridge over the river Junsei is being rigged with chi-bombs from our Midlands munitions works. The blast will be violent enough to collapse the structure, ancient stone though it may be, cutting off your brother’s escape route. You can win this war today. Literally, this very morning. With our help.”

“You would hand me my throne upon a brass platter?”

“In exchange for … considerations, great Lord.”

Tatsuya smiled, the Tiger blood in his veins running hot. “So we come to the rub at last. What do you ask in return for these marvels, Guildsman?”

“Trifling things, great Lord.” The Guildsman waved his hand. “We wish to decentralize our chi production. Perhaps some land in each clan capital upon which to build a refinery. Some hand in the administration of farms growing blood lotus. Perhaps a licensing system, controlled by the Guild to ensure quality and yield. Most importantly, we would seek to root out an impurity amongst Shima’s people. A deformity, if you will.”

Tatsuya’s eyebrow raised in silent question.

“Those who speak to the minds of beasts,” Maru offered. “Yōkai-kin, they are named. Our scriptures speak against them. We would seek permission to … cleanse the land of their taint.”

“And in exchange for these trifles, you offer my brother’s head?”

The smile in the Guildsman’s voice was obvious now. “We would, my Lord.”

“My twin brother.” Tatsuya took one step closer to the Lotusman. “A man with whom I shared a womb. The son of a Shōgun. A descendant of great Kazumitsu himself.”

A pause, filled with the empty hiss-woosh of the Guildsman’s bellows.

“My Lord?”

“Think you, the blood of the Kazumitsu is to be bought with trifles?”

hiss-woosh

“Think you, I would enlist the aid of mechanics and artisans—not a single soldier or samurai amongst you—to help win me a war I am already winning?”

“Great Lord, I—”

Tatsuya gunned the chainkatana’s throttle.

hiss-woosh

He could swear he heard the Lotusman gulp.

“Lord Tatsuya, I counsel—”

The Bull raised the weapon, blades hovering an inch or two from the Guildsman’s throat. He revved the engine again, watching the lanternlight gleam on growling teeth, noting with grudging admiration that the Lotusman did not flinch.

“Be at ease, Guildsman,” said Tatsuya. “I am not the sort who murders an emissary, no matter how grave the disrespect I or my family are shown. Count yourself fortunate you did not offer this same deal to my brother. The Bear does not share my fondness for clemency.”

hiss-woosh

“You do not offer me a triumph, chi-monger. I have already won this war. And you do not offer me my brother’s head, for he is already dead. What you offer is a swifter victory. The avoidance of a siege. And that is worth some consideration, surely, for I have no stomach to starve my own twin to death inside the walls of Blackstone Keep.” Tatsuya met the Guildsman’s eyes. “But I will not give all you ask.”