The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (108 page)

***

There is more to the making of
tea than simply adding leaves to boiling water.
Chado
is a skill, an art
form, a way of life. No one was master of the art of tea like the Alchemists of
Agara’tha
and none of them more so than Sherah al Shiva. Now, as the sun
sent her golden brooms through the narrow window into the main battle tower of
Shen’foxhindi,
she knelt by the brazier, pouring from an iron pot, allowing the tea to spill
over the sides of the cups and deepen the patina of the clay. She had also
slipped a few incense sticks into the coals and the cold stone room was
transformed into a lair of warmth and peace.

On a blanket of yak-hide, her
baby, Kylan stretched and rolled in a loose garment of golden wool. He seemed
delighted with being free, out of arms and packs and slings for the first time
in weeks. While too young to crawl, he had pushed up on hands and knees and was
content to watch his mother as she brewed. His tufted tail whipped under the
woolens and he took in the entire room with large, bicoloured eyes.

For her part, Ursa had not taken
her eyes of him the entire time.

They were in the upper most
level of the battle tower and the doors were barred by leopards. No one was
allowed out, although fresh stew had been brought in and Setse had finished
three servings, now licking the bowl with her long pink tongue.

“I am filled,” she said and
sagged against the stone of the wall. “More stew would burst my skins.”

“I’m glad you liked it, little
one.” Sireth smiled as he wiped his bowl with the naan. “Any more gravy and you
might turn that blue eye brown.”

She gasped, smiled brightly and
rolled over onto her hands and knees, just like Kylan. She crawled over to
study the Seer, her tail waving in the air behind her.

“Setse,”
Naranbataar
growled. He had not touched the stew and was leaning against a far wall, arms
folded across his chest.
“Zogsoogooroi!”

“Your eyes,” she said, ignoring
her brother and staring at the man sitting before her. They were almost nose to
nose. “They are colour of Rani’s. Colour of my people’s. I did not know this be
possible.”

Ursa growled, her hands falling
to the hilts of her swords.

Noticing the motion,
Naranbataar’s hand moved to the bow at his shoulder.

The Alchemist continued to pour
tea into five small cups.

“You part dog?”

Sireth grinned “Not to my
knowledge.”

The young Oracle raised a hand,
passed it over the scar on his brow. She frowned. “This, this bad…”

“Yes.”

“But…
Oh.
Oh Rah…”

She paused, turned to look over
her shoulder at the cheetah. Sherah sat back on her heels, raised a cup to her
lips, blinked slowly.

“Hm,” said the Oracle before
shaking her head and curling her dancer’s legs beneath her. “You see?”

He laid the bowl aside. “I don’t
understand.”

“See?” She waved a hand in front
of her eyes, then touched her head. “See.”

“Ah.” He sat back and smiled.
“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Shar Ma’uul see?”

“Shar Ma’uul?”

“Yes.”

She nodded and he looked at the
Alchemist.

“It means yellow cat,” said
Sherah.

“Yellow cat,” said Setse. “Shar
Ma’uul.”

“Yellow cat,” he muttered. “Blue
wolf.”

Setse gasped. “Blue Wolf, Yellow
Cat! Yes! Yes!”

“Shar Ma’uul means Yellow Cat?”

She nodded.

“Amazing,” said the Seer. “Yahn
Nevye is Shar Ma’uul. The Yellow Cat.”

Behind him, Ursa snorted. Yahn
Nevye was nowhere to be found, had not been since the middle of the night when
the cage came over the Wall.

“Ulaan Baator,” Setse said now.
“Red… oh red what, Rah?”

“Hero,” added the Alchemist and
she rose to pass Naranbataar a cup of tea. He shook his head, eyes locked on
the figure of his sister.
 
She
smiled and turned back to Setse, lifted his tea to her own lips. “Ulaan Baator
means Red Hero.”

“Blue Wolf. Yellow Cat. Red
Hero,” said Sireth. “Isn’t Dharma a colourful mistress?”

And with a smile, he offered her
his hands.

“No,” growled Ursa.

“Uguyai,”
growled
Naranbataar.

But she took his hands and
closed her eyes to colours bleeding into morning.

***

He was so cold that he could
barely feel his feet. He was a jungle cat, hated life in these miserable
mountains. Even with skins and furs and a pelt like his, he was sure he was
going to lose his ears or the tip of his tail and he cursed the morning he left
his bed for the company in the stables of
Sha’Hadin.
He should have
stayed in his room, would have been rid of the arrogant Seer and his fearsome
wife. Could have spared himself the discomfort of the last few days. Could have
spared himself the ridicule.

And so he sat with his back
against the cornice of the Wall, rubbing his gloved hands and watching the sun
rise over the Great Mountains. He had to admit it was a beautiful sight.
Despite the cold, the Mountains were a very good mother to cats. Despite the cold
and the heights. Tigers were shouting now, calling to each other from the great
cauldrons of orange and white flame and he shook his head. Despite the cold and
the heights and the tigers.

Oh yes. And the owls.

It sat now on the snowy cornice
of the Wall, staring at him. It had been there for hours since he dropped to
sit where he was sitting, after the damned tigers had pulled the dogs over the
Wall and the Oracle had tried to touch him. He shook his head as if trying to
rid himself of the memory, her tiny slip of a body, her long face, the blue eye
that danced like moonlight on an icy lake. She was more beautiful than in his
visions and he cursed her for it, ensnaring him in the unnatural, otherworldly
grace of her. He cursed himself and his belligerence and his life-altering fall
and the owls.

It was still watching him.

“What do you want?” he growled
and it twisted its head, almost upside down at his words.

He reached down, pulled the
stone smooth of snow, packed a ball in his hands. It was still watching him as
he threw, watched the ball sail over its harmlessly head.

“You know,” he said to it.
“There was a time I could have hit you even if you were on that tower over
there. You know that? You could have been two towers away and I still would
have hit you.”

It ruffled its feathers, twisted
its head the opposite way.

“You look like Chancellor Ho.”

It blinked one eye.

“Yes, you do, with your flat
face and bulging eyes.”

It blinked the other.

“Silence,” he said now. “Hunts
in Silence.”

The owl hopped, lifted its
wings, settled again.

“I don’t talk to owls. I won’t.”

The owl lit from the Wall and
suddenly, he could hear singing.

Her singing, her voice. She was
in the tower, the main tower of
Shen’foxhindi
with the arrogant Seer and
his terrifying wife and she was
calling him
. She had been calling him
all
his life. He could not help but come.

There was a Yellow Cat, there
was a Blue Wolf, there was a Red Hero and there were dragons, flying dragons
that soared like arrows through the sky. And dogs, so many dogs, and Eyes and
swords and death and the world filling with blood. Eye of the Needle, Eye of
the Storm. A deadly barter, a trade of lives, of love and death, of steel and
bone and Eyes and white, the world was turning white of the moon—

“Come,
sidi.
Now!”

He gasped as he was yanked him
to his feet and dragged away from his little perch on the Wall. It was a
soldier and there was shouting, much shouting, louder now and commanding. Down
the long road that was the Wall, there was movement, there were banners and he
shook the arms off, staggered to stand on his own. It was a massive army of
horses and cats and some other creatures and it looked like a dragon with
armored plates and scales and spines moving toward him, churning up snow on the
Wall as they came. A figure in blood red and a grey ghost at his side.

“What is that?” he gasped again
and the soldier, a leopard in battle dress, grabbed his sleeve.

“The Khanmaker!” the leopard
cried. “The Khanmaker and the Army of Blood! Quickly,
sidi,
or they will
trample you under their hooves!”

And he was gone, leaving Yahn
Nevye backpedaling as the wall of horses closed in. He turned to run but the
horses were upon him, the ring of metal, the smell of leather, the heat of
their bodies, when a red-gloved hand grabbed his collar and his cold feet left
the stone.

***

It was a thing unseen in the
history of
Shen’foxhindi
as almost three thousand horses and riders
poured through the tower and out through the gates. In fact, it would take the
better part of the day for the last horses to leave the stone of the Wall for
the earth of the town and more than one soldier dropped to sleep at the feet of
his horse once there. Blankets were brought for both horse and rider and homes
were opened to all. For once, sakeh flowed freely amongst the troops, as cat,
horse and monkey would rest for three days to prepare for the journey to come.

In the battle tower of
Shen’foxhindi,
Kirin dismounted, passing the reins into the hands of a leopard. He watched as
his passenger slid from the back of the saddle to the floor. It was a jaguar, a
monk most likely, for he was dressed in very familiar brown robes. The horses
had almost run him down and it had been fortuitous that Kirin had been able to
snag his hood and swing him up behind before he had been trampled. The four of
them—Kerris, Fallon, Bo Fujihara and himself—had stayed on the Wall
as Li-Hughes led the army out and down the steep road to the foundry but now,
as his own feet hit solid ground for the first time in days, he found himself
wishing to hold on to his horse for just a moment longer.

“Are we there yet?”

He looked over at Kerris as he
helped Fallon off her mount. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she sagged
into him, looking ready for bed.

“Yes, luv. We’re there.”

She smiled sleepily.

“‘Cause I’ve been thinking about
how we’re gonna get two thousand monkeys, five hundred cats and almost three
thousand horses over the Wall.”

“Have you now?”

“MmHm. I have an idea. A really
good one. Do you think there’s cocoa?”

Next to them, Bo Fujihara sprang
from the back of his horse, slipped a handful of sweets from his pocket and up
to its mouth. The horse chewed happily as it was led to the stables downstairs.
Both Fallon and Kerris showered Quiz with hugs and kisses before he too was led
to the stair, disappearing into the darkness and the smell of hay and sweet
grass. Shenan and young aSiffh were led off and soon, the room was left to cats
and one small, fair, pink-faced monkey.

The lion of the garrison bowed
to him.

“Captain Yuri Oldsmith-Pak,” he
said. “It is an honour to have you in our tower, Shogun-sama.” His eyes flicked
to the monkey.
“All
of you.”

“And you lit your white
cauldrons just for us,” sang the ambassador. “To make us feel welcomed, of
course.”

Oldsmith-Pak had no answer for
him and Fujihara smiled like the sun.

“The honour is ours,” said Kirin
as he pulled the helm from his head, tucked it under his arm. He did not bow in
return. “This will be a difficult few days for the town with this number of
soldiers and horses. I am certain you will not disappoint your Empress.”

Oldsmith-Pak bowed again.

“I have never been so far inside
your Empire,” said Fujihara. “Only and ever Kohdari.”

“Pol’Lhasa
then, when we
return,” said Kirin and he turned to the monk who was leaning against a wall,
eyes wide, a furrow between his spotted brows.

“I hope we did not spoil your
meditations,
sidi,”
he said. “Once moving, a force like this cannot be
easily stopped.”

“Who are you?”

“Right to the point,” Kerris
laughed. “How very like a monk.”

Kirin ignored him. “My name is
Kirin Wynegarde-Grey, Shogun-General of House of Thothloryn Parilaud Markova
Wu.”

“That sounds so wonderful,”
murmured Fallon. She was leaning on her husband’s chest, eyes half closed and
smiling like a sleepy child. “Shogun-General Wynegarde-Grey …”

“Oh…” But the jaguar swallowed,
eyes widening. “Of course…”

“And you,
sidi?
You wear
the robes of
Sha’Hadin.”

“Yahn Nevye,” said the monk.
“We’ve never met. Ever.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Fallon, suddenly
awake. “Yahn Nevye? Council candidate Yahn Nevye?
Yahn-the-man-who-cannot-speak-to-falcons-Nevye? That Yahn Nevye?”

“Um…”

“You assumed control of
Sha’Hadin,”
she said, smiling brightly. “I know ‘cause I was there. Not at
Sha’Hadin
.
On the Wall. But I was at
Sha’Hadin,
just not when you were there. We
were on the Wall. Sireth told us. Remember, Kerris?”

“Is the Seer here, then? Sireth
benAramis?” Kerris cocked his head. “Because I could have sworn I saw that
damned falcon, the one who likes to sit on heads.”

“Mi-Hahn,” grumbled Fallon. “I
hate that bird.”

“Upstairs.” Nevye swallowed
again. “In the keep.”

Fallon squealed, clapped her
hands. “And Ursa? Is Ursa here too?”

Nevye nodded, swallowed again.

Kirin turned to Captain
Oldsmith-Pak. “These people are dear friends of ours. I would like to see them
before we make any plans for the rest of the army. Is that acceptable,
Captain?”

“They are under guard,
Shogun-sama.” The lion looked worried.