Four days had passed since his father’s funeral, and already, the war had begun. After a bloody skirmish in the Broken Hills, his brother’s forces had retreated north, refusing to engage Tatsuya’s armies in the open field. Riku’s men were now almost boxed in on the slopes of the Junsei river valley. To the west lay the Four Sisters Mountains. To the north and east, the rushing flow of the Junsei herself. Though Riku had the high ground, there was also nowhere for him to run if the battle went badly (which, Maker and simple mathematics willing, it most certainly would), save for a single bridge spanning the Junsei, perhaps a mile east of their encampment. The Bear seemed caught between the hunter and the trap.
“What will you do, brother-mine?” Tatsuya wondered aloud.
One the four generals gathered about the table—a grizzled old wardog called Ukyo—tapped his finger on the map.
“If he has wisdom, he will remain on the high ground and make us pay dearly before we reach him. We may have numerical advantage, but numbers cannot wield blades.”
“My brother is no strategist on open ground,” the Bull said. “He will break for his keep in Blackstone province. Turtle there and make overtures to the other clanlords for aid.”
“There is no path north through the Four Sisters. And if he orders retreat across the Junsei, his forces will be bottlenecked on that bridge. Most will be slaughtered before they can cross.”
“As I said,” Tatsuya murmured. “No strategist. Riku has a head for duels and drunken diplomacy, not open warfare. He should have killed me when he had the chance.”
One of Tatsuya’s samurai stalked into the tent, armor clanking with an off-key tune, gleaming in the flickering light. He stopped before the council table, covered his fist and bowed low, the red tassel on his helm near touching the earth at his feet.
“Forgiveness, Lord Tatsuya. An emissary to see you.”
A raised eyebrow. “The Bear sends overture?”
“Not from Lord Riku, great Lord. The emissary is of the Lotus Guild.”
The generals about Tatsuya murmured, scowls running deep. Tatsuya himself stroked his chin, his face that of man confronted with an angry viper in his wedding bed.
He had been wondering when the Lotus Guildsmen would decide to place their bets. Tatsuya’s father had warned him often about their strange brotherhood, their arcane arts. Fueled by the wondrous chi—in turn derived from the blood lotus flowers from which the brethren drew their name—the machines the Guild created were wonders, to be sure. Harvester machines to bolster the productivity of breadbasket provinces. Generators providing power for everyday life. Railways and crude lighter-than-air ships the Lotusmen promised would revolutionize travel in Shima. Maker’s breath, even Tatsuya’s own supply lines were made up of motor-rickshaw convoys provided by the chi-mongers. But the wealth they were accumulating, the power such wealth brought them … any ruler of Shima would be right to dread getting into bed with them for fear of being suffocated as he slept.
Tatsuya turned to his lead general.
“Ukyo-san, ensure the men are ready to march. My brother may seek escape across the Junsei under cover of darkness. If he does so, he must pay in blood.”
“Hai!” The old general bowed, led his commanders from the tent.
Tatsuya turned to the samurai guard. “Send the Guildsman in.”
A low bow. The song of oiled armor, heavy tread. The samurai exited the tent, reappeared a few moments later with three other guards, a fourth figure corralled between them.
The Lotusman was clad in a suit of heavy brown leather, riveted with thick brass plates. It wore a sealed helm, some kind of breathing contraption made of snaking metal tubes strapped over its nose and mouth. A device of counting beads and transistors and wires was affixed to its chest, clicking and chirping and shuddering. Goggles of blood-red glass covered its eyes, bulbous and facetted. Tatsuya imagined it the gutter-born offspring of woman and wasp, clad in its brass and leather suit to hide its hideousness.
“Lord Tatsuya, Bull of the Tiger clan, son of Sataro, exalted Shogun 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,
“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 Shogunate. 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.
