Beside her, a sky-ship captain. A chest like a chi barrel and a belly like a drum, an improbably broad straw hat slouched on his head. His eyes are sharp, his wits sharper, and inside him burns a thirst for vengeance. A thirst for Tiger blood.
Next to the captain kneels a general of the Kitsune clan, his armor enameled in black, a snarling fox helm resting in his lap. Beside him, three more generals of the Fox clan. They are mentioned here because they play a role—because armies are not led by one. But to linger on any of them would be to bring false hope, for by this tale’s end, all three will be dead, and history will not speak of them overmuch.
Cruel as storms, is history. Cold as winter winds.
And last. At the table’s head. The Lord of all Foxes. Master of this house, this han, this clan. He has armies at his command. Samurai and bushimen who would lay down their lives if he gave but a word. Men who look over Yama’s walls at the approaching doom and waver not a foot, quaver not a moment. Like his sons did not quaver.
Even as they died.
All his life, he has known nothing but war. He has lost everything to it. Bride. Sons. Line. And here he stands on the brink of another. The last he will ever see. The last life he has to give.
Overhead, the thunder rolls, louder than an iron-thrower, echoing through his halls. He looks at his men, ready to fight and die in his name. He looks at his guests, these gaijin invaders now offering parlay, these Kagé rebels gathered beneath his banner, this stormdancer seated opposite, who may very well have given him the weapons he needs to win.
And all he wants to do is sleep.
Soon, he promises himself.
Soon.
*
“The gaijin army is over nine thousand strong, but only six thousand are actually battle-ready.” Hana looked across the table at Isamu. “The black rain has hit them hard. With your permission, Daimyo, we can move their wounded into Yama, shelter them from the weather.”
“That is unwise, Daimyo,” Ginjiro said. “We invite those who annihilated the Dragon clan into our homes?”
“They will carry no weapons,” Aleksandar replied. “I vow they bring no violence. The Zryachniye have spoken. It seems our war is with your Guild.”
“Tell that to the samurai of the Dragon clan,” Ginjiro said.
Akihito sighed. “General, the Earthcrusher is a day’s march from these walls. Do you really want to spit in the face of six thousand gaijin warriors willing to stand beside you?”
“Who is to say they will not turn on us when the battle is done?”
“A vow holds great weight amongst Morcheban people,” Hana said. “My uncle vows his troops will bring no violence to your door. They will not.”
Ginjiro scowled, shook his head.
Hana stared at Isamu, brushing stray blond from her face.
“Daimyo, someone needs to start trusting someone here, or the Tora and their Guild masters will be toasting your death around this table tomorrow night.”
Isamu fixed Hana in his stare; a viper watching a particularly chubby mouse.
“And the mystery of your”—he waved at her face—“peculiarity has been solved?”
Hana stared the old warlord down. She could feel Kaiah prowling behind her stare. The blood of a Goddess in her veins.
“I am one of the Zryachniye bloodline. We’d call them the Sighted in our tongue.”
“Indeed?” A raised eyebrow. “And what do you Sighted see?”
“I don’t see anything yet. The Sight must be awakened in me. The Zryachniye will perform the ritual tomorrow before the attack.”
“Is that wise?” Michi asked. “Why wait until tomorrow?”
“The ritual must be performed at dawn. That’s the hour of the Goddess.”
“I don’t like it, Hana…”
“Nor I,” muttered Akihito.
“My great-grandmother could see people she knew, no matter where they were in the world,” Hana said. “She could just close her eyes and see them as if she stood beside them. Imagine if I could see the future? Or the way toward the future we all want?”
“You might end up just seeing in the dark,” Michi said. “Or what people have on under their kimonos.”
The Blackbird wiggled his eyebrows. “Goddess be praised…”
Michi grinned, flashed the captain a particularly obscene hand gesture. The man roared with laughter, slapping the tabletop and setting the tea services shivering.
“I’ve made up my mind.” Hana searched Akihito’s face. “I need you to trust me.”
The big man nodded. “I do.”
The girl turned to the Kitsune warlord. “I need your trust too, Isamu-sama. Between us, the gaijin and the Guild rebels, we have a chance to take down the Guild once and forever.”
“Have we heard from Misaki and her people?” Blackbird looked up and down the table. “I still don’t think they have a chance in hells of pulling it off.”