The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (37 page)

As
they reclined on silk cushions of crimson and blue, she studied Chiraq over her
plum wine. It had been a lovely evening. They had dined on roasted pheasant,
set out on platters to look in death as they do in life. They had tasted the
chocolate from
Hindaya
and the marzipans from
Hirak.
They had
been entertained with the koto and sitar and bamboo flute. He was altogether
pleasant, in form, in manner, in conversations, and she found herself counting
the reasons why she should be grateful for such an agreeable match.

There
was, however, a problem. With his eyes.

She could tell when someone was
impressed with her. She could tell when someone was overwhelmed with her
position, her opulence, her power. She could tell when someone was fearful,
proud, cloying, false or deceitful. She could also tell, from close inspection
of one set of blue eyes in particular, when someone was absolutely and
unconditionally in love with her, enthralled with her every nuance, would lay
down his life in a heartbeat. She was skilled at discerning all these things,
so it was not difficult at all to tell when someone was hiding something behind
the deep spheres of color that were his eyes.

“What
is her name?” she asked over her glass and smiled when his gaze lowered. Again,
to his credit, his composure remained secure.

“You
are every bit as wise as I was told, Excellency. It is inexplicable.”

She
did not lower her own gaze, however, this alone informing him that his comments
would not suffice. She waited, but not for long. He took a deep breath.

“Bellethsa
di Montagne, Excellency.”

He smiled shyly. She wondered if
her Captain might look the same when confessing the name of the one he loved.

“That is not a Sacred name,
Andreas.”

“No,
Excellency. She is a scribe from our courts. An ocelot of good breeding.”

“You
know this cannot be, Andreas.”

“I
know, Excellency. As does she. But I would not presume to lie to my Empress.”

“But
you would
marry
your Empress.”

“It
would be an honor, Excellency.”

Marvelous,
she thought to herself,
how kharma works in us all.
She brought her
chalice to her lips.

“The First Mage has chosen well.
Perhaps too well. You are everything I would want in a suitor. Yes, you are a
perfect choice.” She nodded, sipped her plum wine. “Perhaps he knows me too
well.”

The
night went on like lemonade, sweet and bitter, and by the end, she dismissed
him with riches to bless his family and the family of Bellethsa di Montagne,
the ocelot scribe in the courts of
Abyssinia.

***

Kirin watched her with sharp,
sifting eyes, wishing for once that he might see as a Seer sees, deep into the
hearts and souls of the unwary. She confounded him, this woman of blackness and
incense, even now as she sat crosslegged on the stormy parapet, her candles
wavering but not going out, her tangle of hair lifting and falling like the
wings of a raven. She was drawing chalk circles on the stone, dropping pebbles
in between the interwoven lines. She shook her head and repeated the process
many times. All the while, she hummed but it was not a sweet singing.

 
He stepped out of the shadow of the
tower.

“Sidala.”

“Sidi.”

“Your actions today were
unforgivable.”

“Yes.”

She
had still not looked up at him, and he thought this was a large part of her
power. She forced one to act, forced one to move, when out of courtesy and
propriety, it should have been her obligation. He would not tolerate it.

“Sidala
, look at me.”

It
was almost his undoing. Her eyes were wide and wondrous, no longer blackened by
the thick paint she wore and they shone like lanterns in a gale. He steeled
himself against them.

“I
have killed an Imperial horse, tonight,
sidala
.
Perhaps in
Agara’tha,
they have little value, but here and now, they are
all we have. Do you understand this?”

“Of
course.”

“Do
you?”

“I
do.” She nodded, no hint of duplicity now in either voice or expression. She
was somber and serious but preoccupied and she turned back, waving a hand over
her circles. “This cannot be.”

He
stepped towards her now, towering over her, a dark shadow against the darker
sky. “What cannot be?”

“The numbers. The numbers do not
lie. They can tell nothing but the truth.”

“And
what is the truth they are telling?”

She shook her head again.

“Sidala.”
It was not a question.

“Six,”
she whispered. “The numbers keep saying six.”

Something
told him he should know this, should know the significance of what she was saying,
and somewhere, it rattled him to the very core.

“What of it?”

“Seven
is the number of perfection,
sidi.
But six...”

“Yes?”

“Six
is the number of man.”

Blast,
he thought. She was a diviner as well. He should have known. He should have
been told.

“The
numbers are wrong.”

“The
numbers are never wrong.”

He
crouched down low to her, meeting her gaze directly. Then with a slow,
deliberate motion, he wiped away her circles and gathered her pebbles. He
pressed them into her palm.

“The numbers are
wrong.”

Golden
eyes dropped to the floor. “Of course.”

“And
we will not speak to the others of their error.”

“No,
sidi.”

“Two
nights past, after we crossed the
Shi’pal
—”

“Yes,
I did.”

 
Cocking his head, he
sat back on his haunches. “You drugged the Major?”

“In
her tea. Two tablets of hawk’s thorn.”

He
was surprised at his own mild response. He should be furious.

“Why?”

Again,
she looked at him and the force of her almost pushed him over.

“You required sleep. When Solomon
comes, you do not sleep.”

“Thank
you,
sidala,
but my needs are not
your concern.”

“Of
course.”

Rather
quickly, he rose to his feet.

“You will not do this again.”

She
bowed, almost touching her forehead to the stone. With a deep breath, he left
her to her chalk and candles.

***

Solomon did not come again that
night but this time, somehow Kirin was not surprised. He and the Major had sat
up for the entirety of the second watch but the Seer had slept like a kitten,
without even a flicker of an eyelid to disturb him. The Captain himself was so
exhausted that he welcomed the respite and found sleep came quickly once he
laid his head. He had no dreams that night.

The
next days were like the previous, wet and cold and stormy. They were entering
the
Zashkar Pass
, the Wall cleaving the Great Mountains like a
magician’s trick. The Upper Kingdom claimed the south-eastern range, for it was
these that boasted the most spectacular peaks.
Kathandu,
and
Charta,
and
her greatest daughter, virgin
Shagar’mathah
,
Empress of the Earth. There were others, to be sure, such as her sister
Mathah’kalu
or consort
Khanshen’kalu
but none could rival
S
hagar’mathah
for size. Cats of all races
had tried to scale her but all attempts had failed miserably and their bones
fed her avaricious slopes. She alone was virgin. She alone was pure.

Unless,
of course, one believed the recent exploits of Kaidan. Legend Kaidan, onetime
hostage then first ambassador to the
Chi’Chen.
Myth Kaidan, cat of
unknown Race, in one story lion, in another tiger, in yet another ghost.
Clever, wily and untouchable Kaidan, hero of the people, heralded by bards
everywhere. Now, the most current of these tales being that Kaidan had indeed
conquered
Shagar’mathah,
that he had
wooed her and won her and left his cloak like a flag on her very summit. On
that matter, Kirin did not know what to think. He usually tried not to think
about it. Thoughts of Kaidan invariably gave him a headache.

Now,
the Lower Kingdom had been ceded the northwestern ranges, for reasons
inexplicable to cats. It was not that they had not been defendable. The Great
Mountains offered cats great protection and the Wall had only proved that fact,
simply reinforcing this natural barrier. Rather, it seemed that somehow, at
some time, a cruel bargain had been struck, and someone had delivered over to
dogs a portion of their Good Mother. Perhaps it had been Her own plan for with
her strong arms, she could at once embrace her chosen people and keep their
enemies at bay.

So
having begun at
Sri’Varna
all the way to
the garrison town of
Panther
in the
Zashkar Pass,
the Mountains were angry and steep, howling and
raging because of this unworthy bargain. But west, beyond
Panther
, the
anger subsided and the mountains grew bored, the wind lost interest and the
Wall leveled to more manageable straights. Even still, it took five days before
they could see the domes and spires of
Lhahore
. Solomon had not come at
all, on any night during their trek and Kirin found his spirits buoyed at the
chance of returning home. On the eve of the sixth day, they arrived at a battle
tower high above the city to find a falcon, not Path, awaiting them.

It
bore a parchment, sealed with the Imperial seal and the scent of lotus.

My dearest and most noble
Captain,

I trust this falcon finds you at
the tradestown of
Lhahore
, well and strong on your journey, and that
your people are likewise. Our Mother, the Great Mountains, is sure to bless you
with safety and good speed as you make the difficult pass through her breast.

I am pleased to inform you that
the First Mage of
Agara’tha,
Jet barraDunne, has graciously agreed to
assist in the supervision of the monastery of
Sha’Hadin
. His priests
have already begun the delicate procedure of assuming the daily operations, and
he has succeeded in locating former Council candidate, Yahn Nevye, to oversee
that the transition is smooth. Jet has assured me that none of their unique
traditions or practices will be lost during his stewardship. Rather, he insists
that my Seers might be strengthened and supported by the presence of their
brothers in the Arts, during this time of bereavement and change.

Although I wish in my heart of
hearts to see you and your party return to the safety of
Pol’Lhasa,
your
mission has not changed. Imperial justice must be sure and swift, and I know
you to be both.

With highest and most honorable
regards,

Thothloryn Parillaud Markova Wu

He folded the tiny slip of
parchment and slid it into his sash, frowning. There should have been two but
perhaps it was all for the best. The first held his loathe secret. It was
better to be ashes on the scarlet Inn’s floor.

With a sigh, he turned back to his
party, now in the process of removing the tack from their horses’ backs. He
watched them all in turn, the Major with her quick, sharp movements, the
Alchemist with her slow, languid ones. Naturally, Quiz required no untacking so
Kerris was being useful as he aided the still limping Scholar with her new
mount. He pulled the saddle from the high back and slipped the bridle over the
long, rather Roman nose. She was chatting constantly, even as his back was
turned, and hobbled around behind him like a kitten, leaning on the Seer’s
twisted bamboo staff for support. The Seer, himself, was shouldering his saddle
as the Captain approached.

“Who is Yahn Nevye?”

“Yahn Nevye?”
The Seer paused before lowering the saddle to the ground.
           
“What
of Yahn Nevye?”

           
“Who is he?”

           
“He
is a Seer from
Sha’Hadin.
Or at least, he was. He’s on sabbatical. Why?”

           
“He
has charge of the monastery.”

           
“Really?”
The man raised his brows. “Now that is interesting.”

           
“He
was a Council candidate?”

           
“Yes.
He was expected to take Chen Bundi’s seat two years ago.”

           
“But
he didn’t.”

“No.”
The Captain waited, knowing there was more but benAramis turned back to his
horse and reached for its bridle. “How did they find him?”

           
“The
First Mage located him.”

     
      
The reins
swung as the man spun round. “The First Mage? I was right, then!”

 
          
“Sireth
benAramis is never wrong.”

He had not seen her move, but she
was there, a smoke-wraith at his side.

“You have news of the First Mage,
sidi?”
breathed Sherah.

He ignored her and folded his hands
behind his back. “So then,
Sha’Hadin
is in good hands.”

The Seer shook his head. “I have
seen nothing from them these past days. Nothing. For me, this is unsettling. My
attempts are met with walls, my thoughts deflected like light on mirrors. That
is not natural.”

“Perhaps there is nothing to see,”
suggested the Alchemist.

“And perhaps that is what the First
Mage wishes us to believe.”

Kirin had no patience for
squabbles. “Is Yahn Nevye a powerful Seer?”

“Yes.”

“More powerful than you?”