The Last Dragon King by James Calbraith

The Last Dragon King by James Calbraith

Author:James Calbraith [Calbraith, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Flying Squid
Published: 2016-12-26T18:30:00+00:00


The undulating whine of the cicadas rose above the monotonous drone of the chanting monks.

The procession, carrying the urns with the ashes of the fallen, schlepped along the timber plank walkway. All the slain at Ganryūjima — the common soldiers joining the nobles in death, at Takasugi’s insistence — were to be interred in the makeshift cemetery on the wooded hills south of Kokura, along with those perished in the siege of the castle.

Bran scratched his neck under the collar of his shirt. He was still wearing the grey Gorllewin uniform, which made him stand out from the Gaikokujin delegation. His father stood to his right, along with Gwen, Edern, and then what little was left of Curzius’s Bataavians. The Overwizard had sent most of his surviving men back to Dejima. To them, the siege of Kokura had been a disaster. Bran didn’t know the details, but had heard tales of their valiant stand against a Fanged in the Azure Robe leading a detachment of his acolytes and elite Aizu troops. The Dejima regiment had withstood the assault, but was now a spent force. At the far end of the line stood Li Hung-Chang, studying the proceedings with a faint curiosity.

Bran felt out of place standing next to all those foreigners. At least he had Takasugi and his Kiheitai to his left. They all wore white armbands on the sleeves of their black uniforms to signify their deep mourning. The beach battle was the true baptism of fire for most of the new recruits, and they had lost so many. Next to Takasugi and his two generals remained an empty space in memory of Koyata.

Bran had only got to know the doshin briefly but, for some reason, his death struck him more than he’d expected. Perhaps because it was the first death in this war that Bran could put a clear memory to. Koyata’s ever-jovial attitude and deep sense of moral duty had made an impact on anyone who’d met him, but it was the connection he had to Bran’s first days in Yamato that made it so depressing. It felt like the beginning of the end of this adventure. Frigga’s questions rang in his mind.

What will I do when this is all over? What will I do when everyone I know here dies?

He focused back on the funeral. The acolytes blew their conches, and another brief procession entered the cemetery courtyard. A man shielded from view by silk curtains carried around by his retainers, with a strong bodyguard in front and behind. Only a chosen few had access to this retinue, and Bran’s blood boiled when he saw who these few included.

Does she have to be so close to him?

Wulfhere walked with a pronounced limp, but with his head held high and proud, presenting a scarred face to the crowd. A few steps behind walked Nagomi, in full priestess regalia, a wreath of flowers in her hair. As the column approached a raised dais, Wulfhere stepped forward and extended a hand to the priestess.



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