The Dragon's Dance (1)
“Ah, there's one thing I forgot to mention.”
Ahak called out to Vesta, who had already turned to leave.
“Is there something you needed, Master?”
“Yes. It's nothing major, though.”
“Please, tell me.”
Vesta knew his master's character well. This was not a man who would call back someone who had already said his farewells and turned away. Not usually, at any rate.
Perhaps some matter of true importance had just occurred to him.
At the very least, it won't be something trivial. That's the kind of man he is.
His master glanced around nervously, then began to speak, halting and slow.
“It's not something that should ever come to pass, but... if, by some impossible chance, you were to fight a dragon.”
A short exchange of questions and answers followed.
As his master's words continued, Vesta's eyes went wide. What he was hearing was more astonishing than he had imagined.
Vesta clicked his tongue.
“How do you even know about something like that?”
The likelihood of it ever happening was practically nil. Frankly, it sounded absurd.
And yet, setting aside the question of possibility, it was a remarkably fascinating piece of advice.
“I never thought I'd be the one to say this to you, Master, but right now you look like a sage who has mastered every branch of learning.”
“I don't even know if it's true. Sage, my foot.”
“If it's true, it's a monumental discovery.”
“If. That's the question, isn't it.”
But there was no way to prove it. Proving his master's discovery would require, first and foremost, a living dragon.
It was a condition as close to impossible as conditions came.
If only we had climbed Ainuwail. That would have settled it.
“In any case, that's all I wanted to say. I only mentioned it just in case—so if it turns out to be nothing, forget I said it.”
“I'll simply remember it.”
“Good. Do that.”
His master nodded and gave him a pat on the shoulder.
“Don't die.”
A quiet word from his master. It was a way of seeing someone off that no imperial man would have used. The Empire does not tell its warriors, as they march to war, to come back alive.
Normally, it tells them to win.
And that does not mean a safe homecoming. Victory is something that can be achieved even in death.
Conversely, one can also lose and live.
The Empire was a land that served the god of war, and that god was war itself—worshipped as the deity who decided victory and defeat.
The Empire counts victory among its virtues.
Better to die winning than to survive in defeat—so the Empire believed, no matter what the warrior himself might think.
The men of the Empire would have looked upon his master as a weakling.
“What a thing to worry about.”
“And here I was worrying on your behalf, you brat.”
“That's what happens when you say things you've never said before.”
And yet, Vesta found his master's words—to return, without a care for victory or defeat—struck home more deeply than any call to triumph ever could.
“I still intend to enjoy the fruits of having such a promising disciple. Don't even think about dying until you've made me a handsome cut of the spoils.”
Vesta chuckled. Just like his master would.
“Is it because you're so highly educated? Even your blessings carry such dignity.”
His master waved a hand as if that was quite enough.
“Enough. I've kept a busy man lingering too long. You have somewhere to be, don't you? Off with you.”
“Yes. I really am going this time.”
Vesta turned away.
This time, no one called him back.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The officer-rank members of the Keshik had gathered before Ashtien.
“The dragon has begun to move.”
Ahor delivered the briefing in her stead.
“There is no room for dispute on one point: the dragon has identified the passes of the highland.”
They had heard that it was descending to low altitude at each major pass, terrorizing the people below.
A thorny problem.
The paths through the highland were, at their core, mountain trails—narrow and steep by their very nature.
Under such conditions, if the ones at the head of the line panicked, the entire column of refugees would grind to a halt.
“Until now, the dragon has shown no intent to attack directly, so we held our formation dispersed and observed. But—”
Ashtien spoke, her eyes narrowing.
“The situation has changed.”
“Yes. It has ceased its scouting and is now flying toward this location.”
Ahor pointed to a section of the rough sketch. To Vesta's eye, it was not an area of any great significance. The place Ahor indicated had no line of retreat at all.
No—it was a spot too ambiguous to even call part of the highland. In truth, it was closer to a mountain ridge perched at the highland's edge.
“Isn't that nothing but bare rock?”
“Correct.”
“Why would the dragon target that place?”
“Look at the shape of the mountain. That is no ordinary ridge rising from the earth.”
Ashtien described the mountain's form. According to her, a sharp crest jutting forward like a thrust-out head crowned it—a promontory of bare rock.
“The centaurs call it Dragonhead Cape.”
At Via's explanation, Ashtien pressed hard at the corner of her eye.
“Dragonhead Cape. The irony is enough to turn the stomach.”
Vesta, failing to grasp the problem, wore a puzzled expression.
What difference does a cape make?
Ashtien added her explanation.
“Ahor and I believe the dragon intends to bring the cape down.”
“What?”
Boulders thicker than city walls, crashing down.
“It is impossible for humans. But what is impossible for humans is no obstacle whatsoever to a dragon. Considering the sheer size of the beasts, it is entirely within their power.”
Perhaps it truly was possible. The question was why the dragon would do such a thing.
“Why would it?”
Ashtien answered without a moment's hesitation.
“It will collapse the cape and seal off the line of retreat.”
“That's—”
It was hard to believe. No—hard to want to believe was more accurate.
“Would it really need to cut off our escape? It could simply come down and breathe fire...”
Was that not an overreaction?
“To breathe its fire, it must fly low. Only then does the flame reach the ground.”
Apart from when it had been terrorizing the refugees, it had reportedly held a high altitude at all times.
“It's a trade of risks. Fly low, and it can strike its enemies with flame—but it exposes itself to threats in equal measure. That is why it has not simply breathed fire from the start.”
“Scouting...?”
So it had been conducting reconnaissance, of a sort?
Ashtien nodded gravely.
“Weapons capable of wounding a dragon—siege engines like ballistae, for instance. It would have been wary of those.”
Ballistae. In the imperial tongue, the weapon was called a ballista—an enormous crossbow far beyond human scale.
If it struck true, it could kill even a giant bear outright. Line up several bears in a row, and a single bolt might skewer more than one at once.
“Having wasted time on reconnaissance, it means to recoup its losses by sealing off our retreat—even now.”
The one who had speculated on the dragon's thinking was Ushun. She was rubbing perpetual snow—the year-round snowpack of the high peaks—onto her badly swollen face.
Recouping its losses.
The “losses” Ushun spoke of meant human lives—hundreds, even thousands of them.
The weight on my shoulders is heavy.
The responsibility was immense.
“Who can know a dragon's mind? All we can do is exercise our imaginations and prepare for whatever it may bring.”
Would the dragon really bring down the cape? No one could say for certain.
But if there is even the slimmest chance that it will—
Then it had to be plugged. The beast possessed the power to turn imagination into reality.
Vesta swallowed dryly. Watching him, Ashtien spoke with calm, steady eyes.
“That is enough of the situation. We have no time to stand about trading words.”
She rose from her seat.
“The operation is simple. We prevent the dragon from destroying the cape. And if, in doing so, we can buy time until everyone has escaped—so much the better.”
She paused there. Her slow breath drew out, long and deliberate.
“Field command falls to the military advisor. Disperse the troops as widely as possible to minimize casualties.”
Ahor bowed with crisp precision.
“Via.”
“Yes, Khan.”
“How stand the centaurs?”
“The clan heads and their warriors await your command.”
“Good. Dependable, as ever.”
Ashtien called Ushun's name as well.
“Guard the military advisor well.”
“I shall protect her as I would my own body.”
“Ha. If I fastened the advisor to your body, the two of you would become one, and no one would be the wiser.”
Ahor was small of stature, and her weight was as slight as a child's.
“You may count it as a new leg having grown from my side.”
One of Ushun's right legs was certainly heavier than all of Ahor.
“......”
“Oh dear. That joke went too far in front of the one concerned.”
Ashtien's jest loosened the stiffened air of the room.
“Ushun. I have not the slightest doubt that your great strength will reach even the dragon.”
“In answer to that trust, I will fight without yielding a single step.”
Ashtien nodded, then turned her gaze. Eyes brimming with deep trust came to rest on Vesta.
His taut expression eased, just a little, as if in relief.
“Baatar.”
“Yes, Khan.”
Ashtien.
He called her name, if only within his heart.
“At last, we stand upon the same battlefield. The circumstances are grim, I know—but the fact that I fight alongside you is the one thing among them that pleases me.”
Then she gave Vesta his order.
“You and I will each do what we can. Or rather—the things that only we can do.”
Hearing this, Vesta fell briefly into thought—on what he could do, and what Ashtien could do.
Ashtien murmured in a low voice.
“I—”
I must become the hidden blade.
And with those words, the cry of a hawk cleaving the vault of heaven rang out across the sky.