The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (29 page)

He
put his hands to his hips.

“It doesn’t look safe.”

Kerris
grinned. “Neither did the rope bridge.”

“You
first.”

The
grin melted away.

“Yes. Of course. No problem.”

Slowly, he slid from his pony, his
own yak-hide boots sinking up to the laces. Obediently, Quiz followed his
rider, short sturdy legs completely swallowed by the drifts and together, the
pair skirted down the steep bank and thudded onto the ice.

It
held. With an audible sigh, Kerris began to cross, stepping carefully at first,
but with increased confidence at each footfall. At the mid-point of the river,
he paused and threw a wave back to the party watching his progress from the
high bank.

“See!
No problem! Strong as the mountains!” And for emphasis, he thumped his boot
several times before resuming his trek. Kirin, however, was not cheered by his
brother’s claims, for the mountain pony was wire-tight, nostrils flared, ears
as straight as a plumbline. Nevertheless, within minutes, they had reached the
far bank and had scrambled up to safety on the other side.

Kerris
waved again.

“Next!”

A
leopard next, and then the Scholar. It was slow going for the Captain made each
rider dismount and lead his horse across. The sun was all but gone and eyes
were straining in the twilight sky. Kirin had sent the last guard on ahead,
leading both his own mount and the last packhorse. The man’s voice carried
across the ice, speaking in alternately calm and stern tones. One of the horses
was snorting nervously, its hoofs slipping and scraping the surface and Kirin
cursed the shadows, for he could see little of what was taking place. Then, a
sudden squeal and the sound of a great weight hitting the ice and more curses.
Finally, Kerris’ voice echoed across the river.

“Get
on, man! Ride him across!”

“But the Captain said —”

“Do
as he says!” Kirin boomed and within moments, the last leopard guard had
reached the shore.

That
left the Captain. He reached up and stroked the long, proud nose of his
stallion, patted the thick arched neck.
More dependable than soldiers, more
faithful than men.

“Are you ready, my friend? Of
course, you are. Let’s go.”

With a leading hand on the reins,
the pair slid down the snow and onto the ice.

He
could barely make them out on the other side until from out of nowhere, a candle
flickered into the darkness and then another. The Alchemist. He could make out
her kohl-rimmed eyes, the curling stripe along her nose and cheek, her haunting
smile. She was a beacon, calling him to shore and he could not help but come.
Step after step in near darkness, great hoofs pounding the ice behind him, he
had reached the mid-point of the river when alMassay stopped.

“No.
Come, ‘Massay. We are almost—”

There
was a sound, a low grating sound, a sound of grinding wheels and massive
weight, and the ice shifted beneath his boots.

“Kirin!
Run!”

He needed no command from his
brother and immediately threw himself forward. The sound was angry now,
snapping away from him like fireworks, squealing like many ponies. alMassay
bellowed in confusion, rearing back and yanking the Captain off his feet. Hands
and knees took the impact as he came down on the hard surface of the ice, and
Kirin felt freezing water splash his face. alMassay was backing up, swinging
his great head, reins whipping about his neck. Kirin scrambled to his feet,
leaping for the reins and ignoring his brother’s cries from so far away. There
was water everywhere, seeping through the cracks, flooding the surface of the
ice. Sharp stinging water that bit his tail and hands and face. Finally he
caught the leather and pulled. At the very contact the horse lunged forward and
forward again, splashing and slipping and suddenly, the ice sheet gave way. alMassay
plunged downward and Kirin went with him.

Kerris
was on the move. He had not needed to watch the struggle to know the end
result. Instead, he raced to one of the packhorses and pulled a coil of rope
from the supplies. When the
Shi’pal
opened her great mouth, Kerris was
already scrambling down the bank.

“Ursa!
Hold!” Without awaiting her response, he tossed one end of the rope to the
Major and continued with the rest onto the river. She did not follow his order,
however, and pushed the rope into the Seer’s gloved palm.

“You.
Hold.”

Likewise, she did not wait for a
response before following the grey lion out onto the ice.

Open
water is blacker than night under a starry sky but the pair could make out the
silhouette of the Imperial stallion, haunches submerged, chest and forelegs
heaving forward, scrabbling for any hold. Kerris had great difficulty, however,
picking out his brother from the mass of buckles and wet leather but Kirin was
holding fast to the saddle, his own claws failing to make any headway against
the slick, sharp ice. The current was strong, his cloak heavy with water,
pulling his face under every time he seemed to make progress. The horse’s legs
churned the river like iron.

“Kirin!
Here!”

Crouched low to the ice, his own
legs stretched wide, Kerris reached for his brother. The Captain shook his
head.

 
“N-n-no,” he said, molars unable to stop
chattering in the cold, “G-get Massay f-first.”

“No,
you first. Take the rope.”

“And
if-f it was Q-quiz?”

“Alright.
I’m coming around. Pass it under his haunch.”

Immediately
behind him, Ursa was stunned. “What are you doing? Get the Captain!”

“Major.
This time you will listen and you will obey.
Hold.”

His voice was that of his brother’s
and she found she could do nothing but obey. And once again, Kerris pushed a
section of rope into her hand. She held.

For
in a heartbeat, Kerris had scrambled behind the Imperial horse, swinging wide
so as to miss any open water. He called out over the sinking back.

“Kirin?
Got it?”

“Y-yes!”

“Wing!
Per!” Calling two of the leopards by name, Kerris motioned them onto the river,
tossing them the last of the rope before they got too close. Ursa shook her
head. She didn’t even know their names.

And
then, Kerris was beside her once again, crouching low under alMassay’s
straining neck. He grabbed the bridle. “Kirin, you ready? Kirin?”

The
Captain merely nodded. In the killing cold of the water, he found himself
growing strangely quiet. Kerris threw the Major a quick look before scrambling
out of the horse’s path and straightening up several lengths away.

“Now! Pull!”

The
cord snapped under the stallion’s haunch and with powerful force, alMassay
lunged forward like a massive pendulum, throwing all his weight onto the fore,
hoofs striking and chipping a path through the ice. From the bank, all hands
were on the rope, all backs heaving, boots deep in snow. With a final bellow,
the stallion surged onto the ice, stumbling like a newborn foal, wet legs
almost buckling beneath him. Ursa was at his head in an instant, grabbing the
bridle and guiding him toward shore. Kerris grabbed his brother, pried the
stiff fingers from the saddle and slipped a shoulder under the heavy arm.

“Blankets!
We need blankets! Will someone start up a fire and Sherah, tea if you please?”

Kirin
wasn’t entirely sure who was giving the orders. It sounded like Kerris, but he
had never heard such authority in his brother’s voice. It didn’t matter.
Numbly, Kirin looked around, blinking in the darkness.

“M-Massay... where’s alMassay?”

Suddenly,
there was a blanket around his shoulders and Kerris was leading him away from
the others.

“Ursa has him. She’ll take good
care of him.”

“No.
Kerris, you do it. You know him. He trusts you.”

“I
will. I will, but first,” Kerris turned him and began to tug at the frozen
buckles. “You’ve got to get out of this. Leather freezes stiff. So will you.”

Kirin
tried to push his hand away, but his own hands were thick and useless.

“No, no, I’ll be fine.”

“No,
you’ll be frozen.” The heavy cloak hit the snow with a thud, the brigandine a
close second. “We have plenty of blankets to keep you warm.”

“But Kerris—“

“But
nothing.”

This
time he was successful, catching his brother’s wrist.

“Kerris.
I can’t.”

Kerris
cocked his head and waited, patience wearing thin.

“Kerris,
there are women...”

Kerris
laughed.

“Oh,
by the Kingdom, what vanity! Here I thought you were just being modest.
Beautiful as you may be, Kirin, do you really think they will abandon their
wills at the sight of your disrobed body?” He shook his head, still grinning.
“Our female companions are discreet and self-controlled, Captain
Wynegarde-Grey. Shame on you for thinking otherwise.”

Nodding,
Kirin lowered his eyes.

“Yes, yes, you are right. And I am
very, very cold...”

“There
you are, then. Let’s get you warmed up by the fire.” He began to pull at the
laces of the uniform. “Trust me, dear brother, no one will be looking at you.”

***

“Wow. Will you look at him?”

“I am looking, Scholar.”

Fallon bit her lip, but could not
tear her eyes from the sight of Kirin Wynegarde-Grey, sitting by the fire, a
blanket around his hips, another over his shoulders, and drying his waist
length hair between his hands. Beside her, Sherah al Shiva was doing the same,
watching and running her tongue along a sharp feline tooth. Ursa was crouching
beside them, sharpening her blades. She glanced up at them.

“See
his chest?” she said.

“Oh,
oh yes. I - I see it.”

“It
is a good chest,” said Sherah.

“Rather
hard to miss,” said Fallon again. “All big and golden and, and
big
like that.”

“See
that white scar in the center?”

They narrowed their eyes, trying to
pick out the one she was meaning. He was a soldier. He had many scars.

 
“The one by his heart?” asked Fallon. “That
one?”

“I
gave that to him.” Ursa grinned at the memory. “I almost killed him.”

Kerris
was sitting next to him, exchanging wicked glances with their female audience.
The Captain however seemed oblivious, frowning at the ripple of a wave in his
normally poker-straight hair.

“Wow,
what a mane,” sighed Fallon. “Why doesn’t Kerris have a mane like that?”

“Can’t,”
Ursa snorted. “Won’t grow.”

“Why
not?”

Her pale eyes flicked up, darting
between the other women, unsure whether or not to continue. She shrugged and
picked at the hard earth with a dagger.

“It’s just a story.”

Fallon
knelt beside her. “Tell me.”

“There
is a story among the ranks. They say he called down lightning when he was a
kitten. That is how their father died – he was carrying Kerris on his
shoulders and Kerris called the lightning and killed his father. That he killed
a cousin the same way. That he can still call the lightning to this very day,
which is why he spends so much time alone.”

Fallon sent a long look to the
brothers, so different, sunshine and moonlight, and suddenly she felt very sad.

“That’s why it sticks up all over
his head like that.” Ursa snorted again and bent back to her blades. “He’s not
like a real lion at all.”

The Alchemist continued to run her
tongue along her teeth.

“My
my my,” purred a rich voice as Sireth slipped up from behind. “What is going on
here? Is this our Captain you are leering at, our proud and noble leader? I
wonder if he would appreciate knowing about your rather base attentions?”

Ursa
grinned again. “You’re jealous.”

“Absolutely.”

He
smiled at her and left their company, lowering himself down next to the lions
with quiet grace.

“This will not do,” the Captain
growled. “There should be no ripples. Kerris, why have you not found my comb?”

“Sorry.”

“I
will not be pleased if this continues.”

“At
least you’re alive.”

“No
point in being alive when your mane has ripples.”

Kerris
grinned at Sireth, who, being part lion, had a long dark mane that fell past
his shoulders. But, being only part lion, it rippled like a river. Sireth
shrugged. Kerris rose to his feet.

“Right
then, Kirin. It looks like you’re in good hands. Rest. I’ll go tend alMassay.”

“Yes
please. And Kerris, I think he may have sliced his forelegs. If he needs
stitches—”

“I’ll
take care of him, Kirin. Rest.”

He left the fire and disappeared in
the shadows. Silence followed in his wake.

Sireth
sat staring into the flames and out of the corner of his eye, Kirin watched
him. The man seemed to want to say something, but was unsure how to begin. This
time, the Captain felt no inclination to help him. He drew his blanket across
his shoulders and fell into his own thoughts. His comments earlier had not been
truthful. He
was
lucky to be alive. The water had been bitterly cold and
had he stayed submerged much longer, it would have killed him easily. He
imagined what it would have been like to have been swept under the ice, water
filling his mouth, his nose, his chest, the breath splitting his body like a
brittle wineskin. It was bad enough simply to have gotten wet.

The
hairs at the nape of his neck tingled and he looked up to see the Alchemist, watching
him from across the clearing. Her candles burned brightly all around them,
flickering against the snow and rock, and she was quietly brewing fresh tea.
The ancient art of
chado
was apparently hers along with that of alchemy
and Kirin found himself grateful for it.