The Last Stormdancer Read Online Free PDF

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 Sh ō gun 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, hiss-whoosh , hiss-whoosh, a sharp, antiseptic smell slowly pervading the tent.
    “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,