The dragon launched himself skyward.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
It was like….. Ah, stone and sea! It was like nothing anyone else in the annals of history had ever known.
The ground fell away beneath us.
We were airborne.
Snow Tiger and I clung to the thick columns of the dragon's claws, peering out between them.
His energy surged through us. It was not the same as it had been when he was trapped within her. It was more distant and secondary, a mere affect of physical nearness. But it warmed and strengthened me, and drove the shivers from my bones; and I think for her, too.
We soared above the mountain.
"There!" I shouted, pointing. Two figures in a narrow pass clogged with dead men's bodies jumped up and down, waving to us. "It's Bao! Bao and Dai! Can we not rescue them, too? Please?"
Grumbling deep in his chest, the dragon descended.
Bao and Ten Tigers Dai scrambled aboard his outstretched claw, eyes stretched wide with wonder.
The dragon launched himself again.
I eyed Bao, reassuring myself that he was still in one piece. Although his staff was broken into two pieces, Bao appeared to be intact. "Are you all right?"
"Uh-huh." He gazed in awe at the receding ground. "Moirin….. we are riding in a dragon's hand."
I laughed aloud for the sheer joy of it. "I know!"
Dai stole shy glances at the princess, almost as awed by the sight of her bare face as he was by the dragon.
The journey that had taken us two days on horseback and foot was a matter of minutes' work for the dragon. He glided effortlessly through the sky, and wind streamed through the protective cage of his claw. I should have been frightened, but I was exhilarated instead. I daresay all of us were.
At least until we reached the battlefield.
From such a height, nothing looked real. It looked like a child's game of toy soldiers and horses one might find spread out across the floor of a nursery, littered with broken pieces. But I knew all too well that each of those broken toys had once been a living, breathing being, and that the red smears on them were blood, not paint.
All the fighting had stopped. Men who had been locked in mortal combat only moments ago stood side by side, gazing at the sky and the impossible glory of the celestial creature soaring above them. The bronze tubes gleamed silently in the sunlight.
The dragon roared, the sound echoing off the distant peak. Below us, soldiers dropped to their knees.
I am going to call the rain. He sounded apologetic. You will get wet again. But they need to know Heaven is displeased.
"He is calling the rain," I said to the others. "And we are getting wetter."
The clouds gathered first around the peak of White Jade Mountain, water rising from the snow, from the hidden lake. White wisps rose and gathered, thickened to billows, then began to darken, blotting out the sun.
The dragon roared again, calling them.
A long, rolling peal of thunder answered him, growing louder and louder, crashing over the battlefield in a mighty crescendo. I caught a glimpse of men clapping their hands over their ears in pain, it was so loud. There would be no doubt in the minds of any who had fought that day at White Jade Mountain. They had heard a thunder that was truly divine.
And then the storm was upon us, and I saw no more.
It was terrifying, but it was beautiful, too. We were inside the dark, ominous rain-swollen clouds, a thousand times thicker than the densest fog. Here and there, lightning flickered. The clouds unleashed a torrent of rain, sending it sheeting down onto Lord Jiang's side of the battlefield, drowning their campfires behind the lines of battle, drowning the bronze weapons and their deadly fire-powder. Rain lashed us, too, but the dragon held us clutched gently beneath his immense chest, sheltering us from the worst of it. He swam joyously through the clouds, twisting and twining, sinuous coils shining like moonlight in the midst of the maelstrom.
How long it lasted, I couldn't say.
Long enough to satisfy the dragon. His chest swelled above us as he drew a deep breath, stretched out his neck, and blew through his nostrils, blowing the clouds away. They dispersed obediently.
The skies cleared and the sun returned.
The dragon flew in a lowering spiral, signaling his intent to land. Below us there was shouting as men ran to clear a space on the battlefield, retreating to their respective sides, taking the dead and wounded with them.
A gilded figure rode beneath the Imperial standard, giving orders. Although he rode a different horse, it was clearly the Emperor. "There," Snow Tiger breathed with relief. "My father."
"I will take you to him," the dragon rumbled aloud.
For such a vast creature, the gentleness he was capable of was a marvel. I never would have guessed it when his spirit was trapped within the princess; but then, mortal flesh was never meant to contain such force, a force as wild and huge as mountains and thunderstorms.
Gently, gently, he sank to the rain-soaked battlefield, landing on three clawed legs, the fourth claw upturned, but still closed. His shimmering silver-white head turned once in the direction of Jiang's army, enormous jaws parting to loose a warning roar. Soldiers scrambled backward in further retreat, laying down what arms they yet held.
The dragon's head swung toward the Emperor, dipping briefly in acknowledgment. "Son of Heaven."
Emperor Zhu bowed deeply in the saddle. At close range, his gilded armor was scratched and dented, splashed with drying blood. There were deep lines etching his face, and his voice trembled with hope and fear and exhaustion. "Most Revered and Celestial One, we are honored by your presence."
The dragon's long, elegant jowls curved in a smile. "And I am honored to restore your Noble Daughter."
He unfurled his claw.
Snow Tiger stepped down from his palm. She was soaked and bedraggled, clad in worn, blood-stained robes of dubious quality, a sword cut marring the delicate perfection of her face. But her carriage was proud and upright, and her eyes were open and shining, able to look upon the world without fear for the first time in long, long months, and in that instant she was without a doubt the most regal thing I had ever seen.
The Emperor made a wordless sound, his voice catching in his throat.
I don't know who began the cheer. It seemed to arise spontaneously from a thousand throats at once—ten thousand throats, a hundred thousand.
It went on and on, rolling like thunder. And I realized it was not only the soldiers of the Imperial army who were cheering. Lord Jiang's men were roaring, too, shouting and laughing and crying, glorying in their own defeat.
I glanced at Bao and Dai.
They were battered and weary and rapt, tears making streaks on their dirty faces. I laughed, unable to help it, my own voice breaking. "Hopeless romantics!"
"You're crying, too," Bao observed.
"Aye." I touched my eyelashes, and my fingertips came away wet with tears. I had come so very, very far from home. And for the first time since the Maghuin Dhonn Herself had turned Her face away from me with love and sorrow and regret, for the first time since I had glimpsed the ocean beyond the stone doorway and sensed the long and difficult destiny awaiting me, it seemed to me that despite whatever mistakes I had made along the way, the journey had been worthwhile.
"So I am."
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
In the aftermath of battle, things were less simple. Thousands of men were dead, thousands more were wounded. We found Master Lo Feng toiling in the physicians' tents behind the Imperial battle lines, bone-weary and haggard. Tired as he was, Bao set himself to aiding Master Lo, transforming himself from a warrior to a physician's apprentice in the blink of an eye, fetching herbs and liniments and decoctions, holding down injured soldiers who needed bones set and wounds sewn.
"Guard her highness," he said tersely to Dai. Dai nodded, needing no instruction. He had appointed himself Snow Tiger's shadow. Where the princess went, Ten Tigers Dai was behind her, staff in hand.
I stayed to help with the wounded. Although I wasn't as skilled an assistant as Bao, and neither of us had a gift for healing, I knew enough of Master Lo's trade to help. It was grueling, gory, horrible work, and if I never saw the like of such destruction of human flesh again, it would be too soon.
From time to time, Master Lo bade me to sit with men too grievously injured to live. I thought at first that they would not like having the foreign witch keep them company in the hour of their death, but I was wrong.
Along with the princess, Bao, and Dai, I had descended from the sky in a dragon's claw.
I had helped stop the war.
And if I had come too late for them, they bore me no grudge. My green eyes and half-D'Angeline features didn't matter. I was a lucky talisman in the midst of horror, a glimpse of hope to take into the courts of the Yama Kings to face judgment in the afterlife. I was a living presence, offering whatever simple comfort I might.
Somewhere in the small hours of the night, I fell asleep holding the hand of a young man whose chest had been crushed by one of the Divine Thunder's projectiles. It was a wonder that he lived at all, drawing shallow, wet, laboring breaths that were terrible to hear. I held his hand and sang Alban cradle songs to him, and woke to find his fingers stiff and cold in mine and Dai shaking my shoulder.
"Her highness sent me to find you," he said. "You need to rest, and I do not think she wishes to be alone."
Too tired to protest, I stumbled after him. Master Lo was still awake, gliding like a spectre through the tents. Bao was propped in a corner and napping, his back against a tent-pole, the two halves of his broken staff across his knees.
Campfires and lanterns dotted the campsite. Everywhere, exhausted men slept. The dragon had departed to the distant peaks of White Jade Mountain. Although he had promised me that he would return, I felt his absence.
A respectable tent had been found for the princess. Dai led me to it, then took up a post outside the opening.
Inside the tent, a handful of sumptuous appointments gleaming, including a copper basin filled with water warm enough to steam. I met Snow Tiger's gaze. She was clean and scrubbed, dressed in clean sleeping-robes of rich, embroidered silk. She should have looked more like the daughter of the Son of Heaven, but she didn't. She looked very young and vulnerable and lost, and it was a loss no one else in the world could understand.
She drew a breath to speak, then shook her head, wordless.
"I know," I said softly. "It's all right. I understand." Keenly aware of how very filthy and tired and sore I was, I undressed and bathed with difficulty. "What news is there of the surrender, my lady?"
"Jiang Quan's generals have all surrendered without condition." She sounded as weary as I felt. "Lord Jiang and Black Sleeve escaped into the mountains. They are still missing, but their own men are hunting them."
I eased my aching body into a clean sleeping-robe. "That's good."
"Yes." Her voice hardened. "Once they are found, their fate is sealed."
My eyes felt gritty. I rubbed them, mindful that I had not slept for days. "What of the thousands of men they misled into battle? Surely your father will be merciful."
The princess hesitated. "To most, yes."
"He seeks to make an example of some?"
"No." She shook her head. "Black Sleeve may have perfected the formula for the fire-powder, but he did not create the weapons of the Divine Thunder on his own. He taught the formula to dozens of lesser alchemists. Hundreds, maybe thousands, labored on the design and production of the tubes. Hundreds more were taught to arm and wield them on the battlefield." In the soft, crimson glow of the lanterns, her face looked haunted. "My father is a strong man, strong enough to obey the will of Heaven. He does not seek this knowledge for himself. But there is only one way to keep it from the hands of others, and that is to put every man possessing some piece of it to death."
"Oh," I whispered, my blood running cold.
"Yes." Snow Tiger sighed. "And I can see no argument against it. It is a difficult choice only the Son of Heaven can make."
It seemed to me that there was some argument, some way that no one had conceived, but whatever it was, I was too exhausted to think of it.
"Let us sleep, my lady." I blew out the lanterns, one by one, until only dim light from the campfires outside filtered through the tent's walls. "Sleep is a great healer and restorer. Perhaps in the morning, all will be clear."
"Perhaps."
The dragon's absence yawned like a chasm between us. Knowing the princess would never ask, I went to her bed unbidden, settling my arm around her and pulling her into the curve of my body.
"I feel so empty, Moirin," she whispered into the darkness. "Although we have won a great victory, I cannot rejoice. So many dead! And I miss him. Deep inside me, I ache at his loss. I cannot say it to anyone else. But I do."
Already falling asleep, I kissed the nape of her neck. "I know. I miss him, too."
She found my hand and squeezed it. "I know."
Alas, morning did not bring clarity.
Morning brought news of the capture of Lord Jiang Quan and Master Lo Feng's son Lo Yaozu, better known as the alchemist Black Sleeve.
Long before their arrival, our camp buzzed with the news; both camps, in truth, the two having been combined into a sprawling one. And I daresay the soldiers who had fought under Lord Jiang's standard were more bloodthirsty than those who had fought beneath the standard of the Imperial dragon, for they had been lied to and misled, profoundly betrayed, their loyalties twisted and used against them. On the heels of their surrender, Emperor Zhu had been quick to ensure the true story of Lord Jiang and Black Sleeve's treachery was made known, and the news had spread like wildfire throughout the former enemy camp.