The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (132 page)

“No,” said Kerris. “You can’t
have it. You have no idea—”

The massive sword swung and the
grey lion staggered back as the Khargan leapt onto the stone. Kerris swung the
weapon up but the air shrieked with the sound of arrows and one after the
other, three bolts slammed into the flesh of his upper arm and shoulder. He
spun and dropped to one knee, the weapon clattering to the Stone at his feet.

Small eyes flicked down, large
hands gripped the Lion Killer sword.

“Saaral ma’uul,”
growled
the Khargan.
“Kudal oroj? Urgah dokai?”

Kerris’ head was spinning but
stepped over the weapon, shielding it with his body. Using his left hand, he
slid the katanah from the sheath at his hip.

“This is not the way, Lord
Khan.”

“Ugui gui, Saaral,”
and
the dog shook his head. “
Minii te saingui bain.”

And he began to spin the
kushagamak.

Kerris was so very tired. He
missed his wife, he missed his kittens, he missed Bo Fujihara, dead for less
than a heartbeat. Truth be told, he missed Jeffery Solomon, his Ancestor and
friend. But the crushing weight was bearing down on him, a blanket of stone
falling across his vision and he realized it was the Necromancer, pressing his
life into the dust. He took a deep breath, raised the
katanah
when
another arrow whistled, striking him in the left shoulder and sending the
katanah
sailing across the stone and to the ground. Sparks showered up like fireworks
as he staggered back again and high above their heads, clouds lit up as
lightning leapt from black to black. Thunder rumbled across the sky and
soldiers began to murmur.

“Five arrows,” he muttered under
his breath. “Maybe that’s what it means.”

Bleeding and spent, Kerris sank
to his knees. Snow began to fall on the Plateau of Tevd.

“Khan Baitsuhkhan, First Khan of
Khans. Son of the White Wolf, Father of the Jackal, Ruler of the
Chanyu…”
He sighed, shook his head. “Why can’t you see that the world is so much bigger
than the North?”

“Teneg khuur,”
grinned
the Khan and he raised the Lion Killer high above his head.

Suddenly, there was motion and a
red-clad figure leaped onto the Stone, stopping the blade with a red sword in a
clang of steel. Sparks showered down across the stone. Kerris looked up, tried
to smile.

“Hello, Kirin.”

His brother snarled and the dog
stepped back, grinning.

“Asalan.”

“I am Kuren Ulaan Baator,”
growled Kirin, lowering the Fangs and he rose high on the Stone. “First
Shogun-General of the Fangxieng Dynasty, Consort of the Empress and Lion of the
Noble Houses of
Pol’Lhasa
.”

He raised the Blood Fang once
again.

“I am the Khanmaker. Fight me,
Bear. If you dare.”

And he leapt off the stone and
walked slowly out to the center of the plains, deliberately turned his back to
the Khan of Khans.

The Bear laughed under his
breath and followed.

Ulaan Baator

The sky was black, there were no
stars, only a thin yellow moon but snow was falling like ash across the plain.
Fires had been lit and men of all races crowded against each other as the fate
of the known world circled each other on the Field of One Hundred Stones.

They said nothing as they
circled, Kirin sliding first the Blood then the Jade from their homes at his
hip, the Khargan dragging the
kushagamak
along the ground. They did not
look as they moved but they were aware, even down to the last hair, for it was
a dance of sword and blood and steel. They were warriors born. It was, and had
always been, the way of things.

Like music to the dance, the
kushagamak
began to spin.

It was a cruel weapon, a
terrible weapon, the hook and chain of the Khan of Khans, and the Bear spun the
lethal hook around and around until it was a blur but Kirin was not watching
the hook. Kirin was not watching the Bear. Kirin had gone deep inside himself,
where the heart of Bushido beat, strong and noble and whole.

Without warning, they both
lunged and the clang of steel echoed across the Plateau of Tevd.
ala Asalan
was heavy but Kirin was skilled and he rolled with the force, bringing the Jade
around to slice leather at the Khargan’s belly. The hook slammed into the
earth, the chains snapping like angry dogs, and the Bear drew it back, the hook
swinging a wide arc toward Kirin’s head. He ducked it easily but then again,
the Khan hadn’t really tried.

They circled again, a low growl
coming from the throat of the Khargan and Kirin lashed the Scales of the
Dragon. They sent sparks up from the stones of the plain. The Lion Killer swung
again, the Blood Fang parried but Kirin felt the impact up the length of his
arm. He would not shake it out. Another lunge and both Blood and Jade caught
ala
Asalan
between them like scissors and the sound made by steel on iron was
the grating of dragon teeth. Again, sparks flew up into the night sky as they
withdrew their blades and circled once more.

It was a dance, the heart of
Bushido his drum, the sliding of steel his song.

The
kushagamak
spun
again, even as
ala Asalan
sliced the space between them. It was a long
blade, heavy and fashioned in such a way that Kirin knew a stab was the least
of his worries. He pivoted as the blade moved through the air but the
kushagamak
whipped, its lethal hook no more than a blur, and Kirin stumbled as it caught
the leather brace of the
soteh
, yanked him off balance and toward the
Khan. He went with it though, rushing in and leaping from the ground as the
Lion Killer sliced the air where his legs had been. As he leapt, he snapped his
wrists and the Teeth of the Dragon sprang from the braces, raking the man’s
face with steel.

The Khargan staggered and Kirin
landed lightly, still attached to the
kushagamak
by the braces of the
soteh
that covered his upper arm. He swung the
kodai’chi
up then, in a smooth
motion, down and the leather plates and metal buckles fell away, leaving the
arm bare of protection but free of the hook. The Jade’s green iron gleamed in
the firelight.

Five long slivers of red
glistened on the face of the Khargan. He wiped the blood with his arm.

“Seken,”
he growled and
raised the Lion Killer.

“Ulaan Baator,” said Kirin.

The Khargan rushed and steel
clashed once again.

***

It was snowing harder now as
Ursa stormed through the last of the Legion, slaying any left standing,
beheading all that lay on the ground. Her uniform, once silver, was as red as
the Shogun-General’s and she picked up as many swords, arrows and bows as she
could carry. Naranbataar was staring at the Eye of the Storm, still gasping its
last under the yellow moon. He shook his head.

“What?” growled Ursa as she
pressed bloody arrows into his hands.

“Could be Setse,” he moaned.
“Oracles go mad. None live. Unless like that…”

She looked at it.

“That is a monster,” she said,
spitting blood from her tongue. “Your sister has you.”

“And Shar Ma’uul.”

“You’re bleeding.”

He looked down to see fabric
torn across his ribs. Beneath, the pelt was separated, the pink flesh exposed
to yellow bone. He glanced at her, frowned.

“You also.”

She grunted. Her arm was beginning
to throb. She rotated it in its socket, shook her arm out.

“Keep moving,” she said. “If you
stop, you won’t move ever again.”

She looked over to where her
husband was dragging the body of the Needle toward the Storm. Mi-Hahn was
perched on the inky shoulder, four eyes in her talons, one in her hooked beak.
The Alchemist lay pushed up on one hip, head down and bleeding out of an ugly
wound in her neck. Ursa shook her head. Better to kill the woman now. One swift
stroke of the
katanah
and she would feel pain no more.

“Get the horses.”

And she left the dog to help her
husband with the bodies of the Oracles.

***

He was skilled and powerful and
Kirin knew he had met a formidable fighter in Khan Baitsuhkhan. The man swung
the iron sword like a club sometimes, like a spear at others but not at all
like a feline sword or even a
Chi’Chen
one. It was barbed like an arrow—it
would do more damage coming out than going in. He wondered how many men it had
slain and of those men, how many lions. Even more deadly was the hook and
chain, but it was less wieldy than a sword. It struck with force but required
much time to recover.

All these
thoughts floated like wind chimes through his mind, like the snow falling from
the black sky. There was little blood, not yet, save for the stripes across the
Khargan’s face.

The dog was
standing now with his back turned, spinning the
kushagamak
but little
else and Kirin counted the beats of his heart as he waited. He did not want to
kill this man but he knew there would never be peace if he didn’t. Retreat was
not an option. Not now, certainly not after Kerris’ demonstration on the plain.
Everyone knew the Ancestors were back. Everyone knew their power.

He looked up at
the sky, seeing the yellow moon through the snow clouds. He remembered another
night like this, so very different, on a hilly plain in Turakhee. Beaten and
strung between poles, he had lost so much that night. He was a different man
and he realized that right here, right now, he did not fear this Khan of Khans.
After riding with the Oracle, running with the brother, even dancing the
Chai’Chi’Chuan
with the Irh-Khan, he knew with certainty that he would never return to that
gar in his dreams again.

At least one
cat had found peace with the dogs.

The Khargan
roared and swung the hook and Kirin moved but suddenly, the iron sword was
there where he had moved and time seemed to slow as he slid backwards to avoid
both weapons. The Lion Killer clanged against the Jade and again, the impact
sent shock waves down the length of his arm. The Khargan jerked his arm back,
yanking the
kushagamak
and it sailed toward his face. Kirin twisted his
body, desperate to get his feet beneath him. The hook scraped the bronze of the
kabuto with a clang, sending sparks up into the snow and bouncing away. His
knee, the one damaged so long ago, sent daggers up his thigh and he cursed the
rats of
Roar’Pundih.
It was a weakness. He hoped the Khargan hadn’t
seen.

He rolled on the ground, feeling
the snow crunch beneath him and
ala Asalan
thudded onto the stones just
a hands breath from his face. He flipped onto his feet, bringing the Blood up
as the hook hurtled toward him. The chain caught the red
Kamachada
iron,
wrapping around and around until all weapons were stilled. They locked eyes for
a brief moment, a moment that lasted a lifetime, until the Khargan yanked the
chain back and Kirin dipped the sword, allowing it to go. The hook sailed back
toward its wielder, and the lion chased it home.

Both weapons out of position,
the Bear bellowed and turned his body as the lion leapt up, bringing both
swords down, tearing great seams in the Khargan’s cuirass. Kirin continued up
and over once again, the Teeth of the Dragon raking across the neck and jaw but
this time, the Khargan rolled with it, closing his own teeth on the wrist of
leather and the two warriors went down.

They rolled together, Kirin
pulling his feet underneath to boot at the chest of the heavier foe, but the
Khargan had the advantage, forcing lengths of chain across the lion’s throat
and using his weight to hold him down. Kirin brought both Fangs up to cross the
back of the grizzled neck. He drew the blades, slicing much of the iron locks,
freeing some of the gold and sliding deep into the surface of the pelt. They
did not move for a long moment.

“Enx tajvan,”
said Kirin.

“Te sha,”
said the Bear
but he released him. Both dog and cat staggered to their feet and once again,
took their places on the circle.

***

From his place on the fallen
Deer Stone, Kerris watched his brother move. It was like poetry, he thought,
like music and lyrics they way steel and bone worked to become one. He could
never fight like that, never had the grace in him nor the strength. His had
always been the words, the charm, the luck. First was luck. And now, even that
had fled him under the Necromancer’s crushing hand.

He was kneeling in a black pool
because of the arrows. Five arrows. Five, the number of death. They were all
but drops of dew, and he had no will to call the lightning. The Breath of the
Maiden lay at his knees. He couldn’t even pick it up, so useless his arms. He
wondered where Quiz was, if he was alive or in pain and his eyes stung at the
thought.

And his wife…

He had failed. He had failed
her, he had failed his children, he had failed his people. Fabled Kaidan,
legend Kaidan, left to die on a fallen Deer Stone while others looked
elsewhere. He deserved no better but he was quite certain he deserved no less.

Like a black cloak, he could
feel the weight of the Necromancer on him, the pressure and lightness of
blood-loss and fatigue and the earth, ever his nemesis, called to him, wooing
him to lay himself down and let her cover him. He could sink into her arms, he
knew it, sink deep into her and never be found again. She would take care of
him forever and ever and he would slowly turn to stone inside her. It was a
morbid thought, he realized, but somehow appealing. The Necromancer would like
that.

He fumbled with numb fingers,
managed to reach into his pocket for the sticks. They would help him decide.
They always did.

They all stuck on the blood but
he pulled two, squinted in the darkness to read them.

Two
and
Wood.

Two.
Feminine, warm,
encouraging, peace-loving, shiny.

Wood.
Optimistic,
life-giving, curious, steadfast.

He looked up now, his heart
lurching within him, eyes scanning the sea of bodies even as the pressure from
the black cloak was pushing him lower and lower on the rock. He felt his
shoulders grow too heavy and he slumped forward into the black pool, hoping now
that the earth would just swallow him up. He didn’t want her to find him this
way.

He closed his eyes, seeing his
kittens, his mother, his brother fighting for his life, for all their lives and
for peace on the plain. He didn’t even feel his wife when she turned him over
on the rock.

***

The lion advanced this time,
swinging both swords so that they sounded like arrows in the wind. The Khargan
leapt into the air, a feat Kirin had not thought possible from such an enemy,
sent the hook sailing backwards toward him. It struck him in the chest, forcing
all breath from his body and sending him staggering back. He looked down. The
hook had snagged one of the links of the doh and he quickly brought the Jade up
to shear the mail but the Khargan yanked him off his feet, yanked again and
swung out with a savage kick to the injured knee. It buckled as Kirin dropped
to the ground.

Pressing the advantage, the
Khargan kept coming, swinging his booted foot toward Kirin’s other knee but the
Fangs sliced downward, keeping him back. The hook yanked again and Kirin
rolled, knowing he was vulnerable now to the Lion Killer sword but his feet hit
the ground and he sprang up, throwing himself headfirst at the Khargan and
praying the lion-maned kabuto would take the hit. It did, and the Bear
staggered back, almost losing his grip on
ala Asalan.
Kirin landed with
both feet on the chain and unleashed the hook with a swipe of the Jade. He
swung both blades down at his sides. They sang like falling sparrows.

“Enx tajvan,”
he said
again.

“Tsus,”
sneered the
Khargan.

The dog tugged at the chain but
it was held fast by the weight of the lion. Kirin stepped forward onto the
chain, and forward again. The Khargan yanked with all his strength as Kirin
sprang to one side and the hook was released, hurling back to lance the belly
of its wielder. Blood seeped out from beneath the tears in his cuirass.

Snarling, the Bear began to
swing the
kushagamak
high above his head now, making wider and wider
arcs with the chain and soldiers from all races stepped back to avoid being
struck. The sound was like that of great fans and he began to spin
ala
Asalan
as well and Kirin grew still, breathing the snow and feeling for the
beat, the pulse, waiting for the rhythm of the dance to decide his next move.