Free Dragons on the Sea of Night by Eric Van Lustbader Page A

and exhilarating sight of the Mountain Sin’hai. ‘Do you think that somewhere beyond it lies Syrinx, the land of Miira and her people?’
    â€˜Only God knows,’ Moichi said. ‘So far as I know, none has ventured there for centuries.’
    â€˜The only God.’ Aufeya turned to him briefly. ‘How can you say that? You who have encountered mages, beasts beyond imagining, sorceresses. You whose best friend is akin to a god.’
    â€˜Because, Aufeya, there are gods and pretenders to be gods – and then there is the God who dwells there atop the Mountain Sin’hai.’
    â€˜Have you ever seen this God?’
    â€˜No. No one has. But the Mountain is his manifestation. Our archaeologists tell us that the Mountain Sin’hai is unimaginably ancient. Ages have passed. Wind storms, rains, hail and ice. It is impervious to all. And that is as it should be. God led our people out of Aden and into the Mu’ad. The Adenese laughed at us and let us go. They were convinced we were dead men, anyway, because that is what the Great Desert does best: kill. But our faith in the God of our fathers was absolute and He led us through the searing heat and out the other side to Iskael. We survived the Mu’ad where no other men could.’
    Aufeya, entranced, said, ‘In fine weather what does Sin’hai’s summit look like?’
    â€˜No one knows. The mists and cloud swirl there perpetually.’
    â€˜You mean no Iskaman has climbed the Mountain to see what is up there?’
    â€˜We know what is up there, Aufeya. Besides, the Tablets forbid it, and with good reason. The Mountain Sin’hai goes on forever, rising upward into the realm of God. Mortal man cannot conceive of such a height let alone contemplate scaling it.’
    In Ama-no-mori night was coming on, the shadows lengthening across the cryptomeria and carefully groomed red pines. In one of the myriad great halls of the Kunshin’s castle, the Dai-San sat eating his last meal before setting out for his trans-oceanic journey on the armoured back of his Kaer’n.
    His high helm cast dark and light across every corner of the hall, which was empty save for himself. At the other end, bathed in an ethereal light that appeared to have no visible source, was the Dragon Throne, the ceremonial seat of power on which only the Kunshin sat. It was carved of a single piece of Fu-chui jade, the rarest of its kind, a luminescent, translucent green the color of spring leaves just as they unfold from their winter buds.
    There were few who were allowed into the Dai-San’s presence – or who could bear to be scrutinized by those eerie faceted eyes. Only those few who knew him well understood what went on behind those alien orbs and weren’t intimidated by their gaze.
    One of these now appeared from out of the shadows, a beautiful woman, to be sure, with slanting almond eyes and an unusually wide and sensual mouth. But she wore her hair in the long, traditional warrior’s queue as, indeed, did the Dai-San beneath his high helm. Also, she was armored in the layered steel of Bujun manufacture that was the finest of its kind, both strong and supple so that it would not split beneath even the most ferocious sword blows. Each section of her armor was imprinted with the platinum seal of the Kunshin: three plovers on the wing within the circle of the world.
    â€˜Chiisai,’ the Dai-San said even before she had fully emerged from the shadows, ‘would you join me for supper?’
    The Kunshin’s only daughter looked at the platinum ring on the index finger of his left hand. In its center was a blue pearl, the rarest of all, that she herself had plucked from a prized Kray oyster half-hidden on the bottom of Haneda bay. This oyster, which was now well over five feet in diameter, had been introduced into the bay by Chiisai’s great-great grandmother. All the women in the Kunshin’s direct line were