Kinslayer

“We will return to the Floating Palace,” Shou said. “Coordinate the assault from the sky, set our corvettes to the task of routing these rebels from their dens.”

“We place our personal retinue at your service, of course, Daimyo,” said Shin.

Hiro glanced at the ceremonial swords in the Phoenix lords’ obi, the painted lips and powdered cheeks, the soft hands with manicured nails, utterly bereft of sword-grip calluses.

“An excellent notion. My thanks, honorable Daimyo.”

He turned to his Shikabane captain. “Muster the Dead. Every man is to be ready to march in five minutes. Kensai.” He turned to the Second Bloom. “Gather your Purifiers, any Lotusmen you can spare. We will purge these lice with purifying flame.”

“It shall be done.” Kensai bowed. “Shogun.”

All in the hall took note of the title. The three other clanlords shared knowing glances.

Hiro licked his lips, tasted ashes. “You are charged to kill any Kage you find on sight. If Yoritomo-no-miya’s assassin dares show her face, I will offer substantial reward to any man who brings me her thunder tiger’s head. But the girl herself is mine. Any man who kills that Impure whore robs me of my vengeance, and he shall know vengeance in kind. Is that understood?”

“Hai!” A cry from the legion of Samurai around the room, underscored by the revving of chainblade motors, the clank and hiss of o-yoroi.

“Draw your swords then, brothers. Draw your swords and march with me. Tonight, we restore our honor, and strike a blow that will live in the histories for ten thousand years. Tonight, we end this rebellion once and for all.”

“Banzai!” they cried. “Banzai!”

Hiro nodded.

“We move.”

46 ONE HUNDRED DEGREES

A blossom of orange flame unfurled in the nighttime hush, a tiny sun daubing the chapterhouse walls in colors of the distant dawn. Long shadows stretched out from the sudden flare, dancing across splintered cobbles as the fire took hold. The night above was already choked and black—no winking stars, no weeping moon. Great billowing curtains of smoke rushed up to kiss the dark; a sweating, autumn evening overhung with the threat of storms.

The flames rose from burning barrels, stacked high on a wooden wagon outside the chapterhouse gates. Desiccated wood crackled amongst tongues of bright heat, sparks spiraling upward like long-gone fireflies. A siren screamed inside the chapterhouse; a brittle, metallic wail rising over the fire’s roar. A knot of blacklung beggars across the street curled down in their filthy rags and winced at the volume.

The great metal doors split apart with a squeal of dry hinges, just wide enough to allow four Guildsmen to march out into the firelight. Heat flickered across their atmos-suits; burnished brass dipped in flickering ochre. Insectoid helms, biomechanical lines of cold metal and snaking pipes, large tanks mounted on their backs. Three Shatei and a Kyodai captain, all wearing the white tabards of the Purifier Sect.

The Kyodai’s eyes glowed blood-red as it scanned the street. The Shatei stepped forward, holding their hands toward the fire as if to warm them. Gouts of frothing white foam burst from their outstretched palms, engulfing the awning, wagon and broken barrels. Light and heat suffocated in the flood, leaving only charred wooden skeletons spattered in hissing foam, trailing clouds of reluctant smoke in the ember light.

The Shatei examined the wreckage under the frightened stares of the beggar-folk across the way. A few of the bolder wretches crept forward, watching the Purifiers stomp the last sparks beneath their boots. The Kyodai spoke, its voice a wasp-hive hymn.

“Accelerant?”

A Shatei knelt amidst the charcoal, looked up at its big brother. “Chi.”

The Kyodai clicked several beads across the mechabacus on its chest. It stared around the street, luminous, bloody eyes coming to rest on the beggars creeping closer. They were swathed head to foot in dirty rags, black fingernails, scabbed knuckles. The closest one was a giant, only a few feet away and shuffling forward, limping slightly.

“Stay back, citizen.” Fire flared at the Purifier’s wrist. “This is Guild—”

The man hurled a clay bottle, filled with thick, sloshing red. It smashed on the Purifier’s chest, coating its atmos-suit, and with a dull whump, burst into flame as it touched the fire burning at its wrist. The other beggars hurled more bottles, clay smashing on the stone at the Guildsmens’ feet, across their suits, painting them with gleaming scarlet. A thunderous rush of heat, roaring around the four Guildsmen and withering the spaces between. The stench of burning chi rose amidst the sound of rasping curses, the Guildsmen staggering away and turning on each other with their foam, dousing the flames with gouts of hissing white.

A motor-rickshaw tore down the street, wheels screeching. It collided with two Purifiers, crushed one against the chapterhouse wall in a bright burst of sparks. The chi tank at the Guildsman’s back split and exploded, the ’shaw’s driver rolling out of the cabin just as the vehicle’s snout burst into flame.

The beggars threw aside their black rags and drew weapons from within the folds, bearing down on the two remaining Guildsmen. The Kyodai raised its hand, skin still black and smoking, screeching a warning as the big man rushed it with his war club raised high.

Akihito pictured Kasumi lying in a puddle of blood on the floor of Kigen jail. He pictured Masaru’s name etched upon a hundred spirit tablets around the Burning Stones. He pictured Yoritomo’s face atop the burnished brass shoulders.

The Purifier’s helm split at the seams, one glowing red eye spinning off into the dark, a leaden whungggggg ringing out as the tetsubo connected. Wet crunching. A metallic rasp. The Purifier fell back, hands to its shattered face. Metal hit stone and it cried out, the sound all too human; a moan of fear and pain.

“No.” It held up its hand. “Don’t, wait—”

The tetsubo crashed down on the Kyodai’s head, the crack of metal on metal ringing down the street. Akihito hefted the club, bringing it down onto the Guildsman’s helm again. And again. And again. Until the faceplate buckled and the light in its eye cracked and died and thick red bubbled between the broken seams. The Kyodai twitched once and was still.

“Come on!”

The other Kage had dispatched the remaining Purifiers, the fuses in the back of the still-burning motor- rickshaw were already lit. They grabbed Akihito’s arm and tugged the big man away from his kill. Heavy metal footsteps could be heard beneath the wailing siren within the chapterhouse; a multitude approaching fast. The street was strewn with broken metal bodies, lit by the rickshaw fire, black, acrid smoke burning his throat and scratching at his eyes.

He nodded. Smiled.

The Kage disappeared amongst the shadows.

* * *

An explosion tore across Downside, a bright bloom of flame lighting the clouds over Chapterhouse Kigen, smoke rushing skyward like a new bride into the arms of her groom. Daichi looked at the firelight sky, counting beneath his breath, one, two, three, and ah, there it went. A second explosion to the east, then a third; three dry-docked sky-ships bursting into flame and sinking slowly onto Spire Row, draping the boardwalk with burning skeletons. The Docktown fuel depot went up ten seconds later, and it seemed for a moment the sun had risen early, great feathered hands of fire stretching forth over the warehouse district, hard shadows and roiling smoke, screams of fear and pain, the reverb settling inside his bones. The night was filled with the drone of sky-ship propellers, Phoenix corvettes buzzing and slicing overhead, the belly of the Floating Palace lit with the lurid glow of Kigen’s growing pyre.