Kinslayer

“Cowards!” she screamed. “Come and get me!”

The commander raised his sword, and the crossbowmen took aim, expressions hidden behind black glass and red kerchiefs. Michi held her breath, stance spread, feeling the chaindaisho motors as a rumble in her chest. But as armored fingers tightened on triggers, the rumble became a roar, a blast of wind and smoke from propeller blades, a black rain of arrows sailing through the air. She caught a glimpse of bold kanji running down a wooden prow, thick white letters on polished black: KUREA.

The sky-ship thundered down on the rooftop, the sound of her four great motors shaking the very skies. Splitting the tiles asunder, the Kurea interposed its hull between the girl and the bushimen’s rain of crossbow bolts. Ropes were tossed and Michi thrust her chaindaisho into her obi, scrabbled about on the roof, trying to scoop up Aisha’s terrified puppy. The crew above screamed at her to get aboard, the ship beginning to rise. Engines bellowed with the strain, compressors shuddering as they were pushed into the redline, her inflatable groaning like it was about to burst.

Michi finally seized the pup’s scruff, grabbed hold of a swaying, knotted line with her free hand. The crew hauled her up as the sky-ship ascended, the air full of smoke and crossbow bolts. Hard, callused hands dragged her over the railings and she slumped to the floor, breath burning in her lungs as the puppy scampered off across the deck. Propellers carved the air to ribbons, the ship trembling beneath them as they shed gravity’s shackles, the light and noise of the burning capital fading away below.

Michi pulled herself to her feet, staring at the crew dashing to and fro.

“Who the hells are you people?”

“Michi-chan,” said a voice.

She turned and saw a tear-streaked face, pale with grief and anger, steel-gray eyes, a long scar cutting from brow to chin.

“Kaori?” Michi reached out as if the woman were an apparition. “Gods…”

And they were in each other’s arms, holding tight, as if the whole world might fall away beneath their feet. Michi blinked back the tears, looked at the smoke-stained faces of the folk around her, grim and drawn—faces that spoke of defeat, not victory. Her heart swelled in her chest as she caught sight of Akihito slumped against a far railing, a teenaged boy crouched beside him. Blood-soaked and exhausted, but the big man was alive at least, and for that, she closed her eyes and gave thanks. Aisha’s puppy was snuffling about the boy’s feet, the shell-shocked lad blinking, reaching down to him with one trembling hand.

“We were expecting to have to fight our way in for you.” Kaori stepped back, their hands still entwined. “Where is Aisha?”

“Gone.” Michi shook her head. “She’s gone.”

Kaori closed her eyes, looking for a moment as if she might fall. She dragged a feeble breath through gritted teeth, shoulders slumping.

“Then it was all for nothing…”

“How did you know where to find me? That I was still in the palace?”

“I told them.”

A girl sat alone against the railing nearby, clothed in shadow and blood. A pale face, painted red. An unruly bob of ink-black hair, one eye covered by a blood-soaked bandage, the other glowing the color of rose quartz.

Michi blinked. “Who are you?”

The girl managed to smile. “Call me No One, Michi-chan.”

“You…” Michi knelt by the girl’s side, concern and gratitude filling her with equal measure. The girl looked battered, bruised, bloody. But unbroken. Michi hugged her fiercely, a clumsy, feeble thanks forming on her lips.

“Guild!” A cry rang out from the crow’s nest. “Guild on our tail!”

Michi looked aft, squinting through the exhaust haze. The skies over Kigen were ablaze, a handful of Guild and Tiger sky-ships locked in deadly battle with the traitorous Phoenix fleet. The Floating Palace was laying down a wall of shuriken fire to stave off the assault, slowly cruising toward the Shogun’s palace, its retinue of corvettes blurring the sky around it. The entirety of Docktown seemed to be on fire. But a few Guild ships had somehow noticed the Kurea in the melee and had turned to pursue. Even with the capital of the Imperium in flames, the chi-mongers had set their sights on the Kage and intended to run them to ground.

Michi released No One, ran up to the captain’s deck, Kaori beside her. Cloudwalkers were gathered at the railing, cursing beneath their breath.

“Two dreadnoughts,” said one.

“Plus the corvettes to run us down,” another spat.

The Kurea’s captain stood like a stone pillar at the pilot’s wheel, tanned skin and sparkling eyes. He was tall and barrel-shaped, with an enormous braided beard and a long plait streaming out behind him. His voice was a drumming roar over the wind.

“All hands to stations! All hands!” He turned to his first mate, teeth clenched. “Get below. Dump the ballast and any extra weight. Anything that’s not nailed down. Go! Go!”

The crew scattered to their posts, half a dozen heading belowdecks, soon emerging with crates, furniture, ropes and tackle, heaving great handfuls over the side and out into the city below. Michi heard the engines pick up, the four great prop-blades churning the air, tethers and cables groaning with the strain.

“Can we outrun them?” Michi murmured.

The captain glanced at her, slammed the throttle to full ahead.

“Or die trying,” he said.

54 THE CRUELEST STORM

His bride? Murdered.

His allies? Traitors.

His capital? Ablaze.

All was undone.

Kigen thrashed below him, body charring, skin crawling. Thousands of people fleeing to the city walls, throwing themselves into the bay amidst the flaming ruins of the Dragon clan’s tall ships. Empty motor-rickshaws rolling down the roads, burning as they went. Glass falling like rain. Bewildered bystanders, faces streaked with soot and blood. Stepping aside or crushed underfoot. Fire and dancing silhouettes, a tumult, a discord, arms held to the sky and swaying in the pulse.

Chaos.

Hiro stood aboard the flagship Red Tigress, watching his world crumble to ruin. After the Phoenix attack on the sky-docks, he’d mustered what defense he could, scrambling aboard his flagship as his city burned. Two Tiger dreadnoughts and three Guild ironclads had managed to intercept the Floating Palace on its way into Upside, cut off its assault on the palace proper. But the traitors Shin and Shou had already set fire to half of Docktown, their surprise assault incinerating most of Hiro’s heavy ships and half the Guild fleet while still at berth. Worse yet, the Dragon clanlord and his Iron Samurai had quit the field immediately once news of Aisha’s murder spread among the troops. Daimyo Haruka had returned to the palace to rescue his wife, but Hiro fully expected him to flee the city afterward. He supposed he should be grateful the clanlord hadn’t turned on him too.

This was their notion of honor? Of Bushido? Of the Way? Once the samurai of this nation had believed in something more than themselves. In courage. Service. Self-sacrifice. And yet quicker than lotusflies, both the Phoenix and the Dragons had turned and bared their fangs, their own dreams of rule burning brighter than the houses in Hiro’s capital.

But was he so different?