The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (40 page)

“Not
in
Nepal
anymore?”

Phunh’jah.
We should make
KhahBull
in five more days.

“KhahBull?
You mean Kabul? Afganistan?”

Khanisthan
.
Is Swisserland close?

“No. Still far north and farther
west. How far does your Kingdom extend?”

Far.
All the way to Aegyp
.

“Well,
I guess the human race hasn’t done too badly after all.”

Hmmm.
What do you look like?

“Oh.
Um, hang on. I’ll show you a photo. I think I can pull one up...”

Pale fingers of skin and dirt and
short flat claws moved across the strange surface, another surface coming to
light, a painting-that-looks-like-life flashed in front of his eyes
- not
his eyes –
brown eyes, intelligent but unnatural in their brown-ness,
pale skin, crinkles, tiny folds, as if carved by tiny tiny claws, straight
nose, the nose different, not as broad as cats and without a pad, a wide
smiling mouth, similar mouth, similar lips, small ears, bushy brows, high
cheekbones, no pelt, no pelt.

Otherwise not so different at all.
The face of an Ancestor.

“There
you go, that’s me. At least, a clean me, without this scruff of a beard. So how
about you? What do you look like, my friend?”

 
He had to tred softly here.

Gold,
he said finally.
Gold hair, blue eyes. I
am a soldier.

“Is Kerris your brother? He sounds
like you.”

Yes. He is. He is our Geomancer and Guide in
these regions.

“So,”
the body seemed to shift, settle, get comfortable, as one might when conversing
with an old friend. “How many are traveling with you, then? And what’s your
society like, anywayyyy. iisss ittttttttt vvvverrrymmillitaaaaaaaaaaaarrr.....”

His
painting was blurring, the dark, bright room was blurring, fading. His fingers
- not his fingers -
split and peeled away, growing fainter, fainter, and
suddenly, his fingers
were
his fingers once again.

He
let his hands fall away from the Seer and glanced around the room. He needed to
catch his breath. He needed to find his balance. Fallon Waterford was kneeling
beside them, her emerald eyes wide with wonder.

“Wow,”
she breathed. “Did it work?”

“Captain.”

He
turned in the direction of the voice. Ursa stood in the doorway, the Alchemist
a black shadow behind. The Major did not look pleased.

“Major,”
panted the Captain. “Where is my brother?”

“Kerris...”
She spat the name out, scowling and lashing her tail.
“Kerris
is in
jail.”

Kerris awoke to the jangling of
keys.

It was not altogether an uncommon
sensation, for it was not altogether an uncommon occurrence. He had often found
himself waking in various locations, from
Chi’Chen
palaces to watery
ocean caverns. And yes, on the odd occasion, jail cells. It always involved
tigers, these penitentiary occasions, and this time he could distinctly
remember stripes. Ah well, at least he was waking. The how’s and why’s of it
were never particularly important to him. With a deep breath, he pushed himself
up to his elbows to see his brother silhouetted in the doorway.

“Oh,
hello Kirin.”

He
could see by the unnatural stillness that his brother was angry. Furious, in
fact. Kerris couldn’t help himself. It was too rich, really it was.

“Shall
I pretend to be dead? Would you be happier to see me this way?” He lay back
down, folded his hands across his chest. “Cold? Stiff? Dead? Deceased? Tripping
merrily down that Last Road?”

“Kerris.”

“I
could say hello to Father for you, if you wish. He won’t be wanting to be talk
to
me
anytime soon, now will he, given the circumstances of his passing.”

“Kerris...”

“Say,” he said, pushing back onto
his elbows. “I could ask those Seers what really happened, couldn’t I? They
would be fairly new here. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

“Kerris,
stop.”

The command was a whip, and a
terrible silence descended. A line had been crossed, both ways. Slowly, ever so
slowly, the grey lion rolled onto his feet, dusting bits of straw and ages-old
gaol grease from his tunic. He stared at his brother, blue on blue, silver
against gold. It was Kirin who looked away first, letting his eyes roam the
features of the tiny cell. The cobwebs, the black walls, the unwashed chamber
pot, tipped and reeking from weeks of overuse. There was no window, no candle,
nothing to commend it to its royal occupant. Nor the one who had come to free
him.

“Why
do you do this, Kerris?” he whispered.

“Same
as ever, dear brother,” Kerris answered. “Same as ever.”

Kirin
turned, not wanting to see it, the flash of that which he knew lived, deep and
darkly, behind those eyes. He began to walk away.

“I
wasn’t drunk, Kirin,” his brother called after him. “For once, I wasn’t drunk.”

He
ignored him, and left the cell alone. But the door was open.

***

He led alMassay up the winding
stone stairs ofthe battle fort. The corridor echoed with the sound of hoofs and
snorts, creaking leather and tinkling buckles. The animal was getting quite
good at navigating such unlikely stretches, and his attitude was, as always,
willing and ready. He reached up to pat the great neck.
More dependable than
soldiers, more faithful than men.

And
much more predictable, too.

Kerris
had gone on ahead, not stopping to dismount, but rather leaning forward and
burying his face in wild tangles of mane. Quiz had sailed up the steps like a
mountain goat, not remotely winded by the lion on his back. The sound of his
hoofbeats had disappeared within moments.

That
weight, which so often lightened when his brother was around, settled back
heavier now. Morning sunlight streamed in from above, and with a grim set of
his jaw, he led his horse out onto the rampart of the Great Wall.

Blue
eyes quickly scanned the party assembled before him. Four leopards and their
mounts, one remaining pack horse, very heavily laden now. The tigress, the
cheetah, the snow leopard and one Imperial horse, notable for its empty saddle.

Kirin felt his claws curl into his
palms.

“Where
is he?”

The
Major swung down from her grey. “Sir, Kerris has started out ahead of us. I
tried—”

“Not
Kerris. The Seer.”

“Oh.”
She glanced up, high up the tower, squinting in the sunlight. “He won’t come
down, sir. He says he’s waiting.”

“For
what?”

She
shook her head, but did not snort or spit. Under normal circumstances, he would
have found her lack of reaction intriguing. She seemed to sense this and
frowned.

“I can not kill him. I cannot carry
him. I am at a loss.”

“Major,
you and the others head out. The Seer and I shall follow presently.”

“Sir?”

“Head
out.”

But his back was already turned to
her, hands on the hilts of both swords, disappearing into the doorway of the
battle tower of
Lhahore.

***

Sireth benAramis leaned out over
the Wall, breathing in the colors laid out before him. Perhaps he could see it
more clearly from within, the gold of the hills, the purple of the mountains,
the blue of the skies. He could never paint this, never could have, not even
before the blinding. There were simply not enough colors in the palette to
capture every nuance, every expression in the face of their Good Mother. She
was unmatched, magnificent.

He
closed his eyes.

Petrus? Petrus, can you hear me?
Petrus, are you there?

“Long
or short?”

He
turned to see the Captain striding towards him from the tower keep.

“What did you say?”

“Long
or short? Which is your preference?” In a swift flash of steel, both katanah
and kodai’chi were held out to him. “I would suggest the long. It would afford
you more reach.”

“Swords?
Captain, I won’t fight you.”

“All
I asked was that people be ready to leave upon my return. All you needed do was
get on your damned horse. Was that so very difficult,
sidi?”

Sireth
said nothing or perhaps he hadn’t the chance.

“Insolence and defiance at every
turn,” the Captain went on. His blue eyes were blazing, the tips of the
outstretched swords quivering in the morning stillness. “I will not have this
mission compromised by your presumptions. I simply will not. Now choose. Long
or short.”

“I
will not fight you, Captain. Not now.”

“It
was you who issued the challenge, so long ago,
sidi
. Or have you
forgotten?”

“I
have not forgotten.”

“Then
take it up now. And perhaps tomorrow you will be more amenable.”

“It
wouldn’t be fair."

“You
should have thought of that before issuing the challenge,
sidi.”

“I
meant it wouldn’t be fair,” Sireth smiled. “To you.”

That
took him completely unawares. The arrogance of it, the sheer absurdity. Looking
back on it, Kirin wondered if his mouth had been hanging open, for the Seer
seemed compelled to explain.

“I
have been meditating all morning. I am fresh and well rested and at peace with
our situation. You, on the other hand, are far from it. You are angry with your
brother, yet you seek to set your claws on me. Your blows would be misdirected
from the start. It would be child’s play.”

“You
would beat me?” He was stunned, incredulous, unable even to form a response.
“At a duel of swords, you propose to think that you would, that you could
beat
me?”

“Like a rug, Captain.”

The
audacity, the sheer nonsense. He had run out of words. The
absurdity.
It
made him laugh. And it came out of him, even as he tried to contain it. First
it shook his chest, rattling about like a cobra in a basket. Then his
shoulders, heaving them like many wild horses. Finally from his mouth, bursting
forth like a river breaking a dam. He laughed a long time, even as he sheathed
the swords and walked over to stand beside the Seer, to lean out over the high
geniculated cornice. And even then, as he wiped the tears from his eyes, shook
his head in futility, he was still laughing.

“Ah
yes.” He shook his head again, laughter all but spent. The smile that remained,
however, was sad. “Yes, you are right. Sireth benAramis is always right.”

He could make out the party of
horses, fading into dark shapes on the grey-gold Wall.

“I am angry at my brother. He
confounds me sometimes.”

“It
would seem a great many people do.”

“That
is true,
sidi.
A weakness?”

“The
way of lions. Do you want to know the first thing I learned when I came to
Sha’Hadin?”

“Yes,
I would.”

“Well,
actually, the first thing is that they have no window panes and it’s
insufferably cold. But the second thing,” and he paused, seeing if the Captain
was with him, “The second thing is that the only glass we can polish is our
own.”

Kirin
thought on this, long and hard, leaning out that morning over the plains of
Lhahore
.

“I don’t know if I can,” he said
softly. “His actions are inexcusable. It is a matter of honor.”

“There
is no such thing as honor, Captain. There is only desire, and the sorrow that
it brings.”

“Spoken
like a true Brahman,
sidi.”

“Brahman
and
Untouchable.” The Seer turned to him, raising two fingers
theatrically. “Tell me then, where is the
Bushido
in that? In the
accepting of one’s caste, or the rising above it?”

And he turned his fingers, held his
hand high. Path the falcon, unseen for days, settled onto them, talon bells
jingling, a slip of parchment bound securely in place.

“You see, she asked me to wait. How
could I refuse?”

Kirin cursed himself, his lack of patience,
his dark, dark glass. He had so much to learn.

Sireth
unwrapped the message, passed it to the lion, slipped the hood over her eyes.
The bird hopped to his left shoulder, home.

“There is no honor, Captain
.
Nor
is there
Bushido
. But there are a great many other things. You must
simply look for them and accept what you find.”

They
turned and crossed the parapet, towards the cedar door to the stone stairwell.
As they headed down the steps, Kirin couldn’t stop the grin from returning.

“You
truly believe you can beat me?”

“At
a duel of swords?” The Seer grinned back. “Like a rug.”

***

The trek from
Lhahore
to
Gujar’Rath
was a long one, but manageable, due to the evenness of the Wall and surrounding
terrain. For some reason, from
Lhahore
to the
Pass KhyaBar,
the
Wall had been built on the plain, not the mountains, and it had long been a
subject of debate and speculation. In fact, if Kirin remembered correctly, it
was Chancellor Ho’s pet project, to rebuild this section of Wall and push the
northern border even further north, to the
Khash’koran
. A feline claw
into the belly of the dog, he had said. Kirin suspected there was more to it
than that.

He
had had no part in these discussions, naturally. It was not his arena. He had
no national say. His was solely the defense of the Empress, the maintenance and
training of her personal Guard. But he was familiar enough with Court politics
to know there was more involved than a simple policy of national security. The
Phun’Jah
could easily be protected by increasing the allotment of guards and
improving their supplies. An expansion of the Wall along such sweeping lines
would be met with war. Dogs were fiercely territorial, even more so than cats.
Cats were, in fact, innately generous - one only had to understand the terms of
the
Chi’Chen
concessions to know this. Before you could take the Wall
into the mountains, you would have to take the mountains. This, against a
massive army of dogs and the innumerable swarms of rats that infested these
foothills, would be no easy task.

He
let his gaze drift over the peaks now distant in the east. The land sloped and
rolled and stepped and he had no doubt it had once been quite beautiful. There
was the bed of what once may have been a powerful river, now dry. It was a
desolate land, abandoned save garrison towns, isolated mining villages, gypsy
caravans and bandits prowling the salt flats. Chancellor Ho cared for none of
this. No, this was not about the
Phun’Jah.
This was about the Mountains.
The Great Mountains. This was about strength and unity of a Kingdom known for
these very things, about a people who identified themselves by the majesty of
her peaks and the depths of her valleys. It was pride and it was purity and she
was their Good Mother. Theirs and theirs alone.

It
was a vein of nationalism that Kirin shared, but to a degree, feared, for it
led down roads he would rather not travel. It spoke of pragmatism over people,
a trait he was seeing far too much in himself of late. The Scholar and the Seer
had been swift to point it out. The Seer, riding two horses ahead, had lived on
such roads. It had scarred him, made him barbed and defensive and hated by
those in the Imperial Courts. He was seen as a compromise to order and
stability and to the accepted way of things.

Kirin,
on the other hand, embodied this ideal.

He
had been proud of it too, before embarking on that fateful road to
Sha’Hadin.
Now he was not so confident. He had become aware of the glass.

The
Seer had been right. He could forgive Kerris, he knew he could. It had been
hard for him, too. A grey lion born into a world of gold. It was remarkable and
therefore marked him different in a world where difference was shunned. He had
been entertained as a curiosity, no more. Tamre Ford-d’Elsbeth would never have
considered a match with Kerris Wynegarde-Grey. No family with high-born
daughters would. Even his own mother had pushed the marriage on Kirin as the
only eligible heir, when she knew, she
knew
his heart belonged
elsewhere.

He
grinned to himself. Another road best not traveled. Chancellor Ho probably
hated him too.