The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (101 page)

“Oh look,” said Ursa as she
pointed a silver finger. “The place where they dump dead chickens.”

“Dead chickens?” Sireth frowned,
swiveled in his saddle for a better view. “Have you been there before?”

“Once.” She turned now. She was
smiling wickedly. “Can we go there now?”

“Why?”

“Speaks to Owls wants to see
it.” She jerked her head at Yahn Nevye, riding behind. “Don’t you, Speaks to
Owls.”

The jaguar steeled his jaw but
said nothing.

Sireth frowned again.

“Pah. He is frightened. We can
pass it by.” She snorted, turned her face to the trail. “We will always come
again on our way back.”

He didn’t need to be a Seer to
understand that there was something else being said and knowing his wife, it
wasn’t pleasant. He could feel the tension from the jaguar but didn’t care
overmuch. There was a different sense invading his thoughts, a dangerous one
and he was beginning to see what they would find at the end of their ride.

Eyes, he saw. Oracles and Eyes,
dangers and blood and blackness and eyes. A monster of eyes and dark magic and
it had the smell of death about it. He wondered if dogs practiced Necromancy
and shuddered at the thought, knowing he would need to be very careful not to
be caught in its dark cauldrons. It was like oil, very hard to stay clean of
it.

But there was another thought,
another mind and he shook his head, feeling
her
dancing at the edges of
his soul. Mystery dipped in incense and Alchemy. Protection, magic,
vindication, validation. She was with the girl, the Oracle. Arrows, needles,
evergreen tea. All scraps of thoughts. She was skilled at keeping him out. A
powerful woman, it was obvious and yet for some reason she desired his respect.
She was a puzzle, that Alchemist. His wife would kill her. He owed her his
life.

What would it take to make a
witch love?

Did the Captain love her back?

What would he think, once he discovered
there was a child?

He frowned one more time, set
his thoughts on the foundry of
Shen’foxhindi
and the Enemy on the Wrong
Side of the Wall.

***

Soldiers bolted to their feet,
knocking over mugs of khava and dropping their morning rations as Long-Swift
and the Khargan marched through the camp. The Irh-Khan was a common sight but
the Khargan not so. His fame was legend, his powers almost that of a god. It
was a lucky soldier to have lived to see the Khan of Khans. Rations and khava
could be replaced. A moment in the presence of the Khargan, never.

 
The pair slowed as a runner was ushered forward. He was
young, perhaps sixteen winters, and as lean as a jackal. He dropped to his
knees at the feet of the Khan.

“Lord,” he panted.

“Speak.”

“I am runner of the 110
^th
Legion. There has been fighting at the Wall of the Enemy, beyond the village of
Lon’Gaar. Three have died under their arrows.”

“The 110
^th
…” The
Khargan frowned, slid his eyes to his Irh-Khan.

“A western unit,” said
Long-Swift. “From the district near Karan’Uurt.”

 
The Khargan growled. “They were charged with finding an
Oracle?”

“Yes, Lord.”

“There is no Wall in the west,
runner.”

“No, Lord. We were pursuing.”

“You were pursuing.”

“South, Lord. Yes.”

“You were pursuing an Oracle.”

“Yes, Lord.”

There was only the sound of the
wind and the crackling of the many campfires. Long-Swift took a deep breath. He
knew what was coming.

“You were pursuing an Oracle all
the way from Karan’Uurt to the Wall of the Enemy.”

The runner did not speak. The
soldiers surrounding them shifted in their boots, their rations and morning
khava forgotten.

“Answer the Khargan, runner,”
said Long-Swift.

“Yes, Lord.”

“Yes, Lord what?”

“Yes, Lord. We were pursuing an
Oracle all the way from Karan’Uurt to the Wall of the Enemy.”

“He must be very fast, this
Oracle,” grumbled the Khargan. “That is a long way.”

“Yes, Lord. She is fast. And
clever.”

“She?”

“Jalair Naransetseg,
Granddaughter of the Blue Wolf, Lord.”

“Her father served under Rush
Gansuk, Lord. Of the 112
^th
.” Long-Swift looked at the Khargan. “They
were following the star.”

“I remember.” He turned his
small eyes on the runner, still bowed at his feet. “They died at the hands of
the Enemy.”

“Lord.”

“And now,
your
Legion is
dying at the hands of the Enemy. Because they cannot find one little girl. What
does that tell me about the Legions of Karan’Uurt?”

Only the wind, the crackling of
the fires. The runner closed his eyes.

Long-Swift watched as the
Khargan dropped his hand on the top of the runner’s dark head, allowing it to
remain for a long moment, before swinging the other to cup the man’s jaw. A
simple twist of those powerful arms and the runner slumped to the ground.

The Khargan turned to him.

“Dispatch Tumal Goarnagaar and
the 2
^nd
Legion. Burn Karan’Uurt to the ground and kill all who live
there.”

“Lord.”

“We leave for the Wall today.”

With that, he strode back
through the camp toward the fist that was
Khazien
, soldiers parting
before him like wheat in a field. He was gone from view in a heartbeat and the
camp resumed their breathing.

Long-Swift glanced at the many
faces spread around him.

“You heard the Khargan!” he
snapped. “We leave for the Wall today!”

A roar went up from the camp
and, as one, each man bolted for their gear, packing up their few possessions,
their tin cups and the rations they had remaining.

For his part, Long-Swift looked
at the body on the ground and briefly wondered what sort of girl could elude
the 110
^th
Legion. He turned and followed the Khan up the mountain.

***

They were following the cliff line
far below the Wall and had gone surprisingly far under the strange glowing palm
of the witch. It had grown more treacherous with each step, as the path on
which she was leading them was not in fact a path at all but rather a ledge
running along the ever steepening cliff face. But now, as the sun was turning
the sky pink, sweeping the shadows of the night with her golden brooms, they
had stopped in a narrow plateau of snow and shale. He could not bring himself
to look down. It was dizzying and terrifying and once again he found himself
wondering why he had let the woman lead them. This was not the way he wanted to
die.

High above, they could hear
voices of soldiers echoing down from the Wall, snatches of conversation and
laughter carried on the wind. He could see the lights from their lanterns,
marveled at the cauldrons burning orange and white. Under the cover of the
mountains at night, they could travel, merely dark shapes against the darkness
of the cliffs, but soon they would lose even that. Arrows would find them easy
marks by sunrise.

Mugoh pines grew up the
mountainside. They had been a nuisance during the night, catching clothing and
scratching pelt, but now Naranbataar watched as the witch pulled silks from her
pack, draping them across the branches and down to the snow. From another pack,
a white powder, which she lifted to her lips and blew like a soft north wind.
Instantly, the silks were covered in frost.

Another gar.

He shook his head. She was
resourceful. He would give her that.

“In,” she said, lifting one
corner. “We shall sleep now and travel again tonight.”

Naranbataar narrowed his eyes.
“Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Inside.”

“No. No more. My sister and
I—”

He stopped, cut off by the quiet
whine behind him. Both he and the witch turned to see Setse staring off to the
west. She was transfixed.

“Oh, oh Rani…” she moaned.

“Setse?”

“Oh, no, we must go back.”

“Setse, you’re talking
nonsense.” He reached for her, to find her shaking but not from the cold.

“Oh no, oh no. Rani, this is
bad. We must go back!” And she began to wail.

High above them, the voices
turned to shouting and Naranbataar clasped a hand over his sister’s mouth.

“Quickly,” hissed the witch.
“Inside.”

He wrapped Setse in his arms and
forced her under the silks.

The witch cast her golden eyes
upward for only a heartbeat before she too followed.

***

The Wall arched along the Great
Mountains, flashes of gold against the dark dark stones. The snow had stayed up
yet again and he could hear the faint rush of the
Botekhoshi
, the river
that forged a gorge in the mountains and separated Upper and Eastern Kingdom in
the Northeast. The Upper Kingdom extended a great deal southeast, but here
along the spine of their Good Mother, it was the axis for all three Kingdoms.
He wondered if the Lower could truly be called a Kingdom. Dogs were notoriously
unruly. Their many Khans proved it.

From the road, Kirin could see
the blazing of the alarm fires. Orange and white, burning side by side. He
could never have imagined such a thing had he not seen it with his own eyes.
Had not two falcons been sent in one night. And while he did not believe in
omens, the weight of war was beginning to settle onto his red-clad shoulders.
It was a strange sensation, at the same time sinking his heart and stirring his
blood. He did not know what to think anymore.

aSiffh had returned, the young
desert stallion happily trotting now beside the Imperial warhorse and Kirin
wondered if it had indeed been Quiz in the mountains last night. He missed the
pony, found himself hoping to catch a glimpse of the wild mane and
bramble-filled tail yet again. And yet again, he thought of his brother.

So it was as the sun was
beginning to sink into the peaks that the two Divisions came upon the first of
the great gates that led to and from the Five Hands Pass. The Wall was
redoubled here and for a good way along the river, for the Pass itself was a
bridge, a large curving iron and stone bridge that served to cross the
Botekhoshi
into the land of the
Chi’Chen
. Embassies had been built on both sides,
flew both the twin dragons of the Fanxieng Dynasty and the red and gold sun of
the Eastern Kingdom. It was an uneasy peace, but it was peace. Kirin was
thankful for that.

He had been here twice before on
diplomatic missions, and the Embassy town of
Kohdari
had not changed
overmuch. It was in reality, an army base much like the border city of
Sharan’yurthah
and as they rode through the streets toward the Gate, he could see the state of
readiness in the forces here. They were also feeling the tension, he knew it,
with the quiet industriousness and intense focus that fell before a battle.
Swords were being sharpened, star glasses polished, canons equipped with fresh
tinder and dry powder. Horses were being shod with iron and armor fitted with
new steel. Even the women and children in the army town were involved, as the
dual flame blazed from every lantern on every street corner. It was impossible
to feel anything but dread and anticipation in equal measure. It was the way of
things.

The Gate of Five Hands towered
over the end of the road. It was a massive structure of at least four stories,
with ebony pillars, winged rooftops and dancing cranes carved into its double
doors. The doors swung open and three men stepped onto the road, two leopards
and one old lion in Imperial gold. Kirin felt his heart lurch at the memory. He
was not a sentimental man but he still kept the sash hidden under the yori for
luck.

He drew Shenan up and felt the
Dual Division’s one hundred horses fall in behind. The street was filled for a
very long way with his troops, quiet and still now save for the clinking of
bits and snorting of the horses. From many windows, he could see faces pressed
up against the glass. Surely it had to be an impressive sight.

He dismounted, laid a hand on
aSiffh’s dark neck before turning to the lion dressed in gold. He bowed.

The lion bowed back.

“Shogun-sama,” said the lion. “I
am Captain Kimball Windsor-Chan. It is an honour to have you in our camp.”

“You do me the honour, Captain,”
said Kirin. “
Kohdari
never fails to impress me with its dedication and
service.”

Windsor-Chan bowed again. Kirin
noticed the man’s eyes, green like new bamboo, flick to the swords at his hips.
The legend of the Fangs had obviously reached the Gate of Five Hands.

“I have two parchments from
Pol’Lhasa
,”
Kirin said. “I am to deliver one to Ambassador Han and the other to Ambassador
Fujihara. Are they inside the Gate?”

“Both,
sahidi,
in the
Friendship Room. I will take you to them presently. Lieutenants Smith and
Dharwani will organize meals and barracks for your Division, as well as
stabling for the horses.”

“You honour us all, Captain. You
can never take a fine horse for granted. Even this little one…”

aSiffh tossed his head.

 
“That is not an Imperial horse, Shogun-sama,” the Captain
smiled.

“Not yet, no. He is from
Khanisthan. Desert stock. Worth their weight in sand.”

“I will take you at your word.”

“There may also be a mountain
pony following as well. Ensure that none of your men shoot him. He is important
to me.”

“I will, Shogun-sama.”

The men turned and stepped
through the double red doors. Inside was dark, with very high ceilings, stone
floors and large
Chi’Chen
paintings on the walls. They were
brightly-coloured and vibrant, not his taste at all but then again, he knew little
of art. It was not his world.