The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (12 page)

This was also the way of things.
She was grateful for it.

She heard something and turned, arms
still tightly clasped around herself. Sireth benAramis was sitting up on the mattress,
heavy-lidded and sleepy but smiling at her in that same patient, long-suffering
way of his. She turned back to the wall.

“You
are not very good.”

“An
honest critic. I never could do her justice.”

“Who
is she?”

“My
wife.”

“I
thought there were no women at
Sha’Hadin?
”

“There
aren’t. She died a long time ago. Before I came here.”

“How?”

He
almost choked on bitter laughter. “
That
is none of your concern, Major.”

“Your
wife. Your friends.” Her heels snapped as she turned towards him, her long
silver tail slapping from side to side. “Death at every turn. Is this a common
occurrence for you?”

“Persecution
of mongrels,” he began archly. “I should think you would welcome such tidings.
It is a soldier’s job after all, to enforce the breeding practices of a free
people.”

“Idiot.
We don’t enforce anything of the kind. We don’t need to.”

“Ah
yes. You simply throw us in prison.”

“This
doesn’t look like a prison to me.”

“Isn’t it? But perhaps, we should
ask your Captain. I’m quite certain he would know.”

As his level, one-eyed gazed bored
into her and she found she didn’t quite know where to look.

“In fact, why don’t we ask him
right now?”

Suddenly, the door swung open to
the small chamber, slamming against the opposite wall with a thud. Kirin
Wynegarde-Grey stood under the arch.

“Ah,
Captain. We were just discussing you. Weren’t we, Major?”

Ursa
snarled at him.

The Captain strode into the room,
drawing up in front of them. There was a look in his eyes that the Major had
seen precious few times. It puzzled her but set her pulse racing.

“Major, please leave us.”

“But
–”

“Now, Major. Close the door behind
you.”

She steeled her jaw but could not
protest. With a swift nod of her head, she left the room but the sound of those
heels did not carry on down the corridor however, telling them that she was no
more than a heartbeat away.

Kirin
held up the journal. Sireth rose to his feet.

“That
belongs to Petrus,” he growled. “It was his private journal. Have you no
honor?”

“It would seem that you, sir, are
the one in need of a lesson in honor.”

“Save
it, Captain. I have no need of your sermons.”

“You
lied to me. You have had a vision.”

“Is that ‘your job’ now, Captain?
Telling me what I have and have not seen?”

Kirin
threw the book onto the mattress.

“Petrus has recorded it. Or is he
too a liar like yourself?”

The Seer’s eyes flashed, and Kirin
observed with a detached air how the blind one mimicked the good.

“Yes I lied to you! You could not
handle the truth! You could not handle what I saw! I...
I
cannot handle
what I saw. I’m not certain I believe it myself.”

“Theatrics.
Tell me.”

“I cannot. I will not.”

“Then
you will die.”

“Bah.
Such is the way of lions.”

Kirin
shook his head, his fingers curling themselves into fists. This was all wrong.
Like their presence in
Sha’Hadin
. They did not belong. It was not right.
He was not a man to force and bully those under his protection. It was
not
his way, the Way of the Warrior. Somewhere, along this hasty journey, he had
forgotten this simple fact, and he cursed himself for so easy a loss.

He
walked past the Seer, to the window. He gripped its stony edges and leaned out,
feeling the darkening winds on his face, feeling them pluck at his hair, his
lashes, his lips. He breathed them in, willing them to fill his chest with
coldness, imagining ice in their place and the Terror that would surely follow.

The way,
his
way, could only
be found in his heart, his soul, his very centre of being.
Bushido
.

“The
Empress.” Grey clouds, rolling around white peaks, dark and heavy with spring
snow. “Would you tell the Empress?”

There
was a pause.

“Yes,”
said the voice behind him. “Yes, I would. I would tell the Empress.”

“Good.” Kirin nodded but did not
move, his fingers digging into stone. “Can we make
Pol’Lhasa
by
nightfall?”

“No. Even by the high path, it
takes ten hours. It is already noon.”

“The
falcon, then.”

“This
cannot be delivered by falcon, Captain. I have seen this same vision every
night for the past six nights and even yet I do not believe it. A simple
message on parchment? It would be madness.”

Again,
the Captain nodded but this time, said nothing.

Sireth
watched him with wary eyes, wanting to trust the man now brooding before him
but knowing well his own weakness. He had always trusted too hastily. He had
always believed in the nobility of the feline heart. It had been his ruin many
times over.

And
yet...

And
yet.

“Petrus Mercouri,” he began softly,
“Was a wise and gentle man. He taught me much since I came to
Sha’Hadin.
More than a man wants to know about the blackness, the tangles, in his own
soul. For it is through that soul we receive the Gifts of Farsight and Vision
and the darker the glass, the darker, more obscure the vision. It is the way of
things.”

Kirin said nothing. Bushido was a
quiet master.

“We do not choose what we shall
see, Captain, nor how we shall see it. We see only what we are given to see and
as it passes through our souls, it is filtered by what it finds there. Our
thoughts, our hopes, our fears and our prejudice. Most importantly our
prejudice for although the vision is pure and true, our perceptions are not.
You said I was powerful, Captain, and you were right. But it is not from
strength of character or pureness of heart but rather from lack of prejudice
for I am a bastard by birth and a gypsy by choice. It is simply who I am.”

The clouds were almost upon them
now, completely blocking the sunlight that warmed the ravine. Kirin could feel
the cold settling upon them. He closed his eyes.

“When
I touched your soul last night, even in the First Level, I sensed a true soul.
A good soul. Honesty, integrity, loyalty. A rare and blessed combination. Metal
in its purest form. But it is not enough, Captain. It is not Enough. You are a
lion, born and bred and proud of it. You
should
be proud of it.
I
would be if my blood ran pure. But it influences everything, how you think, how
you are treated and how you treat others. It darkens the glass.”

He took a deep breath, his tone
even more grave.

“But if you believe that you can
handle this vision, Captain, this scrap of knowledge, this
thing
that
will change everything... If you truly believe, with your heart and your soul
and your will, that you are Enough, then, I will tell you.”

The
room was quiet for several long moments before the Captain finally turned
around.

“In
the morning, we shall leave for
Pol’Lhasa.
There and in her presence
alone, you will speak of your vision to the Empress. She is Enough.”

After
a moment, the man nodded.

“You are wise for one so young.
However, there is still one small problem.”

“You
shall not die tonight.”

“Words,
Captain.”

“You
shall not die.”

The gaze that held the Seer’s was
steady, confident, and almost, for the briefest of moments, Sacred.

Sireth
sighed. “I believe you.”

“If
it is true that these deaths are caused by a living soul—”

“It
is true.”

“
If
it is true and if these attacks are intended to bring about the collapse of
the Council of Seven then they have failed, for I myself have abolished it. The
Council is no more and killing you should serve no purpose. If there is another
motive behind all this, we shall discover it soon enough. And if it is you,
sidi,
if it is you...”

There
was no need to finish the thought.

“Major!”

The
door slammed open, allowing a silver-white blur to streak into the room. Her
sword was drawn, her hair loosed about her shoulders. She looked like a bolt of
lightening.

“Captain!”

“At
ease, Major. I shall be having a meal sent up from the kitchens. See to it that
both you and the Seer eat well for he will be meditating all afternoon and will
need his strength.”

“Sir.”

“And
while he meditates, you will sleep. There, if that is permissible?”

He swept an arm in the direction of
the mattress. Sireth nodded. The Major did not.

“Captain,
I don’t need rest. You know I can work for days—”

“That’s
an order, Major. I will redouble the Leopard Guard at the door. I need you
strong for tonight. Is that understood?”

“Understood,” she growled.
“Sir.”

“Good.”

And with that, the Captain strode
from the room, leaving Ursa flexing the tip of her sword in agitation.

Sireth
smiled at her, that patient, long-suffering, infuriating smile. He leaned down
and patted the corner of the mattress.

“Sleep.”

***

“
Don’t move,
sidala...”

“Oh-kay.”

It wasn’t that Fallon Waterford was
feeling particularly agreeable as she lay, belly down on the ground, trying not
to spit out the bits of gravel that had collected in her mouth from the fall.
Rather, with the great, long body of the cobra swaying over her head, it seemed
like a good idea to be motionless, given a serpent’s generally suspicious
disposition. She averted her gaze, trying to remember her studies in animal
behavior and whether or not snakes had dominant or submissive reactions to eye
contact. Or, actually, any reaction at all.

Softly, she cleared her throat.

“Kerris? Was that your name?
Kerris?”

“Still
is,
sidala.”

“Um,
Kerris, this might sound like a very strange thing to say right about now, but
um... there are no cobras in the Great Mountains.”

“You’re absolutely right,” he said,
moving slowly around her. “It is a very strange thing to say. But I’ll tell you
something that’s even stranger.”

“Oh?”

“It
wasn’t there a moment ago.”

“Oh.”

She
winced as a sharp whistle whipped the air like a blast from a firecracker and
she recognized it instantly from the courtyard yesterday morning. The cobra’s hood
flared and it swung in Kerris’ direction, brushing her arm with its warm
scales.

“I
don’t think it likes noise,” she whispered.

“Be
quiet then.”

The
stallion, alMassay, was snorting behind her and she could feel his hoofs
trembling against the stony earth. She could feel the wind pick up, smell the
oncoming storm, see the shadows caused by black clouds crossing the sun. Most
of all, she could hear her own pulse, rushing waters in her temples.

Suddenly,
the ground was trembling with a different pulse, a quick, frantic, growing one
and she squeezed her eyes tightly when she realized what was about to happen. Within
seconds, there was an ear-splitting squeal and small sharp hoofs were churning
up the ground directly in front of her, sending up bits of shale and snakeskin
into her face. Strong hands grabbed her, dragging her backwards and out of the
way.

After
what seemed like a lifetime, Quiz, the mountain pony, stood on wire-tight legs,
wild-eyed and snorting, as remnants of the snake’s body twitched on the hard
ground. Of the head, hood and lethal fangs, however, nothing recognizable
remained.

“He
hates snakes,” said Kerris. “Are you alright? I mean, First
is
luck, after all.”

Fallon
puffed her hair out of her eyes as she sat, gasping, in his arms.

“Yep. Figures education is Fifth.
That’s
my
luck. Along with Nice Family and Great Personality.”

“Well,
you do have pretty markings.”

“Oh,
thanks.
Oh –“

Before
their eyes, the snake’s body was drying, shriveling, and crackling, finally
blowing away in the gathering wind. Then it was gone, leaving Quiz pawing the
earth for its return.

“Um, Kerris your name was, did you
just see that?”

“No,
I don’t think I did. Did you?”

“No.
No, I don’t think so either. Really. No.”

 
“Well then, maybe we should, um...”

“Leave?”

“Yes. Leave.”

“Okay.”

That
said, they sat for quite a while longer, staring at the flattened spot where
nothing at all had happened.

***

“Where is the Scholar?”

Sherah al Shiva did not look up,
rather continued to fold the silks and skins laid out on her table.

“She
was bored and has taken a walk.”

“Bored?”
Kirin frowned as he watched her snuff out the many candles and begin to pack
them away in her bags. “She finds the deaths of the Queen’s Seers boring?”

“Intrigue is found on many roads,
Captain. Not everyone finds death so evocative.”

“You
speak in riddles,
sidala.
It is not
helpful.”

Now, she did look up, rolling her
hips along the table’s edge to face him and smiling her slow smile. It was as
if she were pulling his insides out claw by claw.

“Forgive me, Captain. How can I
help you?”

 
He glanced at her
table. Her bags were packed, the cadavers wrapped in swaths of white linen.
Their organs were separated, placed carefully in tall earthen jars, the little
red pouch hovering over them like a vulture.
Necromancy.
He did not like it one bit.