The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (133 page)

***

The fire was visible for miles
across the Holy Plateau of Tevd as the bodies of sixty dog soldiers were fed to
the flames, and the heat of it melted the falling snow long before it hit the
ground.

Sherah al Shiva was dying. She
lay in the arms of Jalair Naranbataar, silent and proud, her breathing as soft
as a summer night. Her wounds were bound in lengths of black silk but the
fingerstick of the Necromancer had started a bleeding that was unstoppable and
the pelt of her neck and collarbone – normally a milk and butter cream
– was shot through with the green-black ooze of rapid decay. Ursa felt
nothing for her, this
kunoi’chi
and traitor, but she wished no one a bad
death. This, Ursa knew, was a very bad death.

The Eye of the Storm knelt very
close to the fire and Ursa watched as the inky pelt puckered and boiled. It had
no eyes now, the Storm, and it rocked slowly back and forth on its knees. Even
in such a position, he was still larger than the shoulders of most men. She
could hear the deep rumble of his breathing and his breath rose up from his
jowls as frost, for the night was very cold. Her katanah was poised and ready
in the double-handed stance but she knew it would take more than one blow to
remove his head even though her tang was sharp. She waited on her husband now,
watched him with her ice-blue eyes.

Sireth benAramis knelt beside
him, the body of the Needle laid out in front. Two puckered eyes, both brown,
sat on the blade of his dagger, pupil to pupil. With a deep breath, he looked
up.

“Eye of the Storm,” he began. “I
don’t know the road you have walked to end here on the Plateau of Tevd, but it
is a magical place, a holy place. You are a powerful Oracle, blessed with a
gift that is rare and precious. You could have served your people with this
gift but you chose a different road and it has led you here. Necromancy has
consumed you, Storm. It has killed you and your companion and you are being given
a death far more honourable than you deserve.”

She glanced at him. Her husband
was Brahmin. He did not believe in honour, only Kharma, her sister Dharma and
the powerful, unrelenting wheel of life. It was the influence of the Captain
– now Shogun-General – and the Way of the Warrior. Bushido, she
knew, was a good master.

Her husband might be changed
yet.

“You may find redemption,
however, before you are given to the sword and the flames. Trade your soul,
Storm. Trade your power and free the Magic. Heal their bodies and release them
from your dark corruptions. You may yet find rest for your weary soul and that
of the Needle. Do it now and we will make your death swift and clean and
honourable.”

The Eye of the Storm, now
eyeless, sighed, a sound like the dying of distant thunder.

We release them
, came his
voice inside their heads.

“Go, then, to your Ancestors, to
the Ancient People of the Wolf and the Moon.”

He nodded at his wife.

And her sword came down.

***

There was a scream to end all
screams and the sea of soldiers parted to reveal a slip of blood in the shape
of a girl, clutching her belly on the Plateau of One Hundred Stones.

The snow was falling harder now,
and the red on the battlefield was a sharp contrast under the dark sky. She was
a wraith, a shadow, a dagger of blood and when she straightened, all who saw
her stepped back.

“Too late,” she snarled and
stepped toward the circle of flames. “Too late!”

He heard the Khargan snarl next,
saw him turn his face to her, saw the hatred in his eye.

“You kill him!” she bellowed,
louder than he would have thought possible from such a young girl. “Not even
your eyes can save him now!”

The Khan pointed his iron blade
at her heart.

“Jinqir,”
he growled.

“The Fall of Ulaan Baator at the
steel of Ulaan Baator.”

Kirin gripped the Blood, spun
the Jade.

“The Fall of Ulaan Baator at the
steel of Ulaan Baator.”

And the Khargan lunged, sending
the
kushagamak
like a stone toward her and Kirin bolted, praying his
knee would not give out as he threw himself toward the man, leaping like a bird
of prey. He twisted in the air, slicing with the red blade, slashing with the
green and Khargan pivoted, jerking the chain and causing the hook to fall
short, its lethal spike leaving only a drop of red in the middle of her
forehead.

Kirin landed on his shoulder,
rolled into a crouch, both swords swinging wide in his hands. He grunted as he
watched the damaged cuirass fall away in two thick pieces from the Khargan’s
chest with a spray of blood. The dog bellowed and yanked the
kushagamak
back, hooking the kabuto under the rim and pulling Kirin out of position.

With a move like a wave on the
ocean, he swung his gloved hand to roll the helm just as the Khargan yanked
again and the kabuto flew into the air to land at his feet. With a grunt, the
dog brought the Lion Killer down to pierce the helm. He raised it to his eyes.

“Gedereg yamar, Asalan,”
and he snapped the sword over his shoulder, sending the kabuto flying over the
sea of soldiers. It disappeared in the night sky and the crowd.

The Khargan charged.

Kirin felt the cold air bite his
scalp as he scrambled to his feet but the dog was there with a savage kick, his
boot connecting with his bad knee and the lion staggered back. A second kick,
this time to the other knee and he was forced to pivot on his weak leg, hissing
at the lights that flashed behind his eyes. The Blood swung low and would have
removed the man’s legs but he was gone, once again leaping high into the air
and pulling his knees to his chest before sending both feet into the ribs of
the lion, sending Kirin arcing backwards. He twisted in mid-air, tucking the
blades and angling his body so that the Scales of the Dragon lashed upwards,
lethal daggers striking the Khargan’s throat and jaw, leaving dragon lines once
more across his face.

The necklace of lion claws,
however, split and flew into the snow.

Kirin hit the ground on his
shoulder once again, rolled over onto one knee, cursed his weakness as it
buckled beneath him. He heard the hiss of the chain, ducked as it sailed past
his head but the Khargan yanked and the hook doubled back, thudding into the
plates that covered his shoulder. There was heat, there was pressure and he
knew this would be bad. Swiftly, he swung his elbow, catching the chain to
minimize the damage but the Khargan yanked again, pulling it tight and
embedding the hook deep into the hollow beneath his shoulder blade. The dog
yanked again and Kirin went with it, allowing the force to roll him forward and
onto his feet. Both blades swung, were blocked by the Lion Killer, and they
faced each other, foreheads almost touching and there was only the sound of
their breathing on the plain.

***

They tossed the body of the
Needle into the flames. Soon after, it was followed by the head of the
Necromancer but his body was rolled onto the fire as it was too large to lift
and dissecting his limbs in order to do so was abomination, lacking the honour
they had promised. After a very long struggle, both corpses were engulfed in
the fire and the flames leapt higher, burned hotter because of them.

Sireth sighed, looked down at
his blade where both eyes sat. He lifted it carefully, closed his own eyes and
slid them onto the pyre.

“Witch dead,” said Naranbataar
and they looked at him, holding the unmoving body of the cheetah in his arms.
Her eyes were open and they were as black as cauldrons. “She save Setse from
arrows. She save me.”

“We’re not finished,” said
Sireth. “We still have these.”

And he looked at the five eyes
taken from the Needle. One blue, one brown, one gold and one half brown, half
blue. But the white…

“We’re not finished.”

And he lifted the eyes of the
Magic by the long yellow tendons and dropped them, one by one, into the flames.

***

They pressed their blades
together, the scraping low, the steel sending sparks into the night sky. Their
breathing frosted the air but they themselves were slick with sweat and their
boots dug into the snow on the ground.

“The Fall of Ulaan Baator at the
steel of Ulaan Baator!” cried the Oracle again.

“Teneg jinqir,”
snarled the
Khargan and he tugged the chain. Kirin hissed through his teeth and lights
flashed again behind his eyes. He pushed them away.

“Killer of Oracles,” she shouted
and out of the corner of his eye, Kirin could see her step into the circle. She
was a slip of blood, her dagger dripping in the yellow moonlight. “You kill the
Oracles of the
Chanyu!”

There was a murmur from the
crowd. Kirin could have sworn she was speaking Imperial but the dogs were
understanding every word.

“The other Kingdoms respect
their Magic and the Magic serves the people. Not the
Chanyu!
We torture
and kill our Magic. It is a disgrace to the name of the People!”

“Qarbo jinqir!”

“You are cursed, Muunokhoi
Gansorigar of Gobay. All the Oracles you have killed curse you!”

Another ripple through the
crowd.

“The Eyes of Jia’Khan have
killed Shar Ma’uul, the yellow cat of many lives! Under a yellow moon! He was
killed under a yellow moon!”

The Khargan snarled, shook his
arms as if to push the Shogun-General away but with the hook still burning in
his shoulder, Kirin snagged the man’s leather coat with the Teeth of the
Dragon, keeping him close.

“Shar sara, Shar Ma’uul,”
she
moaned and sank to her knees. “Yellow moon, yellow cat. Bad omen for the
Chanyu.
Bad sign for
Muunokhoi Gansorigar of Gobay. His reign as Khan of
Khans ends tonight.”

“Qarbo jinqir uu!”

A soldier pulled his bow, loosed
an arrow that whistled toward the Oracle but, as before, an owl snatched it out
of the sky. It flew over the crowd, dropping into a hand and people moved aside
as a yellow cat stepped into the light of the fires.

***

Fallon Waterford-Grey lay
quietly beside her husband on the Deer Stone, holding the baby in her arms. She
had pulled the arrows from his body, tossed them into a pile on the ground. The
snow was covering them now, like a white blanket. She had been trying to keep
him warm but it was very cold and he had stopped shivering and she wondered how
they would bury him when he died. Maybe they would burn him. Burn all the dead
and she remembered a time, so long ago but only a year, when they had piled a
Legion of dead soldiers and made a pyre that reached to the skies.

She had sung a sad song then but
now, her throat was so tight she feared she would never sing again.

She hoped her kittens would have
a good life in
Pol’Lhasa
and that the Empress would tell them stories
about their mother and father and uncle and their journey in the Year of the
Tiger and maybe the Year of the Cat because she was quite certain that they
would all die here and no one would ever know.

“Metal,” said her husband.

She opened her eyes.

“Metal,” he said again and
pushed up onto his elbows. “Metal dragons in the sky.”

Her throat grew tighter still as
he saw her and his eyes, which had been growing black as ink, were blue once
more. He smiled at her, sun, moon and stars all rolled into one.

“Hello, luv,” he said. “Are you
an angel?”

She kissed him and squished
between them, the baby cooed with delight.

***

People of all the races gave him
a wide berth as he stepped toward the circle. He was an otherworldly sight
– in fact, it seemed his feet did not touch the ground as he walked and
his hair, loosed from the tight knot at his neck, was as white as his eyes. He
looked around the circle, saw the Shogun-General and the Khargan with their
locked swords, saw his lover kneeling covered in blood. The owl swept over them
all before settling on his shoulder, home.

“The dragons are coming,” his
voice echoed and like the Oracle, Kirin heard him in Imperial, but the dogs
seemed to hear something entirely different. “Three metal dragons, cutting open
the sky.”

“The Army of Bones,” said Setse.

“Soon,” said Shar and he held
out his hand. She rose, taking it. “The Ancestors are here.”

Kirin shook the Khargan’s coat.

“Enx tajvan,”
he growled,
one last time. “Peace between us. Yes or no?”

“Never!”
the Khargan
roared and shoved Kirin away, the Teeth of the Dragon tearing the leather to
ribbons under their steel.

Both Fangs sliced up as Kirin
stepped back. He could feel the heat of the hook in his shoulder. The chain was
wrapped around his arm between palm and elbow and he stepped further into it,
began to loop it in great lengths from his hand. He pulled it tight and the
Khargan snarled. Began to spin the loose chain now, looping it around
ala
Asalan
, whipping it in great circles around the Bear who ducked first left
then right to avoid the coils but to no avail. Soon, both lion and dog were
bound in links of metal and the Khargan bellowed in fury, straining at the
kushagamak
with arms and chest until the chain shattered, the links flying into the crowd.
With hook still embedded, Kirin stepped back holding the Blood in one hand, and
the Jade and the chain in the other. He raised both swords to his eyes. They
gleamed in the firelight.

“Te sha,”
the Bear
growled and lunged with
ala Asalan
, swinging it like a cleaver. The Jade
met it and sparks flew up into the night. But the Jade was poetry and she
danced like a leaf on the wind, slipping under and over the iron sword,
wrapping it in length upon length of chain and the Khargan slammed a fist
forward, into the chest of the lion, only the lion was not there and the Blood
met his wrist with the song of steel. The fist dropped to the ground and blood
sprayed across the rocks.