The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (43 page)

Stepped
back, felt a scaly tail under his boot, crushed the spine with the other.
Swing,
swing, pivot, strike.
Harvest them like wheat, he kept telling himself,
like ripe, bloody wheat.

***

The glass cracked with the veins of
a spider’s web as the hairless, monkey-like fingers scrabbled at it. They were
hanging from their scaly tails, smashing at it with things they held in their
hands.

“This is wrong,” said Kerris as he
pulled the tigress from the window. “This is all wrong.”

They
could see the grotesque faces, the black glittering eyes and lipless
rasp-toothed mouths, raking the panes as if they could chew it like meat. But
what was worse, was the fact that within their scaly hands, were stones.

“Tools?”
Fallon dug her claws into Kerris’ arm. “I didn’t think they used tools.”

“They
don’t.”

The grey lion wrested free her grip
and sprang to the packs, rummaging through in desperation. The window split
with a groan, and many scrabbling hands pried at the shards. They still hung
upside down but now there were more, using their fellows as ladders, smashing
the panes with their skulls.

“Knives, forks, did they leave us
nothing?”

“My
staff?” It was the Seer.

“Good.”

“Fire powder?” It was Sherah and
Kerris’ head snapped up.

“Better! Where?
Where?!”

She,
like the Seer and Scholar, was standing in the middle of the room, and she
seemed as terrified as the rest of them. She pointed a trembling finger.

“The sealed bag, with, with the
scarlet clasp.”

There
was a thump overhead and sprinkles of wood rained lightly down onto their
heads.

Fallon
looked up. In the middle of the high ceiling was a wooden hatch with a long
rope serving as a latch keep. The hatch was bumping.

“Oh
mother,” Fallon swallowed. “Hurry...”

***

Pain had turned his eyesight red.
Time had slowed too, and the battle, to Kirin, was a dance. He could not miss a
step, every movement vital, one slip would be his death. He felt too heavy for
this dance, the poisons he knew, and his knee twisted whenever it bore weight.
Pivot,
pain, swing.
Even his swords, normally an extension of his very hands, were
heavy and slow. They slipped in his grip from the blood on the hilts. It was
only a matter of time.

Something struck his shoulder
between the blades, and he staggered forward.
Wrong,
he thought,
bad
move.
His balance was compromised. Even through the leather brigandine, and
the leather underneath, he could feel the claws. Teeth sank into his neck and
he sent the short sword back to pierce the skull.

He heard the squeal but a second
set of teeth closed across his wrist.

It was only a matter of time.

***

“Hurry!”
shouted Fallon. “The hatch!”

It began to lift away from the
ceiling. Black, scaly fingers pried into the gap. With barely a thought, she
leapt for the latchkeep, caught it. Still they pulled her up, fingers scraping
at her hands, her legs swinging wildly as her feet left the floor. Mercifully,
arms wrapped round her waist, and she did not need to look down to know it was
the Seer, adding his weight to hers.

The
cord burned in her palm but together, they pulled it back down, closing off the
terrible squeals. Severed fingers dropped to the floor like twigs.

Kerris
was at the window, flinging handfuls of fire powder around the panes. There was
a sharp shattering sound, and the window spat its glass across the floor. The
creatures followed, squeezing over their fellows, impaling each other on the
slivers and shards, but oozing through nonetheless. With a deep breath, he
tossed a torch into the powder and ducked away as the entire frame burst
outwards, sending flame far out into the night sky.

The
hatch thumped and thumped again. Splinters of wood rained down into Fallon’s
face. Blinking them away, she could see gaps now in the wood above her. Her
heart leapt to her throat. They were using their stones now to dig and chip.
The wood was strong, but she wasn’t at all convinced that it would hold against
this.

“Kerris!”
she shouted, but he couldn’t hear, leaning out through the pane as he was,
staring up to the very top of the tower. His ashen hair whipped in the winds.

“There’s
more of them,” he called out. “By the Kingdom, how did they get all the way up
there?”

“Kerris!”
she shouted again, and almost lost her hold on the rope latch. Her hands were
aching and raw, and the hatch jerked and bumped as rats tugged the other end.
“Kerris-your-name-was!! Up here! Look here
now!!”

He
turned – “Damn.” and took a step toward them when chittering caused him
look back. “Double damn.”

They were at the window again.

***

He
didn’t remember stumbling. He didn’t remember the wave of creatures crash over
him as he went down to his knees. He did however, distinctly remember a woman’s
voice, carrying over the howl of the winds, and the flashes of steel as
throwing stars and
shir’khins
whipped past him and beside him and above.
He did remember the slice and tang of swords and death squeals of rats, and it
all blurred into one last roar until the quieting of the night and the welcome
clacking of high bootheels on stone.

When
he had finally caught his breath, and was able to wipe the blood from his eyes,
her face was there, brows drawn, mouth in a tight bow. He was able to smile at
her, for everything had worked out right after all. He had known it would.

It
had only been a matter of time.

***

“The staff!” shouted Kerris. “Where’s
the staff? Never mind! Found it!”

The light in the tower hold became
eerie and dark as the grey lion snatched the remaining torch from its perch on
the wall. He flashed it at the creatures climbing through the window, pushing
them back, but only so far, as their numbers forced them, uncaring, into the
breech. The ones that made it through, he smacked hard with the staff. Flash
and smack. Flash and smack. It was not a particularly effective strategy.

The
noise above her grew louder. Not just chitters and squeals now, but a growl, a
low, gutteral drone like the buzz of angry bees. Fallon yelped and was almost
torn out of the Seer’s grasp. A chunk of meal wood struck her in the forehead and
she could see faces through holes in the hatch. They were trying to squeeze
themselves through.

One from the window launched itself
onto Kerris’ shoulder and he staggered, the tip of the staff touching the
window. Rats began to climb it instantly.

Like a wraith, Sherah was suddenly
at Kerris’ side, snatching the creature from his shoulder and hurling it toward
the others. She spun and snagged the powder bag next and began to circle the
room, spilling a trail of black behind her. For a brief moment, Fallon could
see her, understood immediately what it was she was doing, had an idea of her
own.

“What
is she doing?” growled the Seer from below. “Alchemists and their infernal
circles.”

Once
Sherah had completely surrounded the room, Fallon twisted an aching hand free.
A rat was climbing down the rope latch toward her.

“Quickly!” shouted the tigress. “Sherah,
throw me the bag! Get Kerris!”

The
cheetah did as she was bid, tossing the powder and pulling the grey lion away
from the window. She wrested the torch from his hand and threw it onto the
circle.

The
room was engulfed in flames. Fallon felt the Seer shudder and press his face
into her back. With a deep breath, she shoved the bag into the rat’s
scrabbling, scaly hand and let go of the rope.

The
hatch swung upward, taking the rat and the bag of fire powder, with it.

“Get
down!” she shouted, dropping to the ground, the Seer falling with her. “Don’t
breathe! Close your—”

The
boom drowned her words as the flames were sucked upward, up over their heads,
threatening to take them all with it, up and into the night sky above. Then a
second boom, pushing them down now, forcing the air from their lungs, scalding
their rounded backs with heat. The flames thundered and roared all around them,
until, finally, after what seemed like ages, there was silence.

Fallon
coughed and coughed again. She lifted her head. The tower hold was in
blackness, lit only by moonlight from the shattered window. Even the flame
circle had burnt itself out. But, she noted with some satisfaction, there were
no rats.

Kerris rolled onto his knees. A slice
of moonlight illuminated his face. It was scratched and sooty, but for some
reason, he was grinning at her.

“Well,
sidalady
tigress,” he
said, “That’s one story you can tell to your kittens. And see? Not a golden
lion in the lot.”

There
was a pounding at the door. It was the Major, there was no mistaking it, and
Kerris disengaged himself from the others on the charred stone floor. He threw
open the bolts and swung open the door.

“Hello, Ursa, my love. Welcome to
the
Roar’pundih
Rat and Grill.”

“Idiot,” Ursa snarled. “Your
brother is wounded. Come if you care.”

With
that, she spun and disappeared down the stair, Kerris a reeling grey shadow at
her heel.

***

It is an odd place, that place
between waking and dreamless sleep. Some things can be recalled with razor
sharpness, like voices or snatches of conversations. Other things, like passing
time and pain, can be recalled only in vague and twisted ways. At one point, he
found himself wondering if this was the Vision plain, the road of Farsight
where Seers journey and falcons soar through the souls of men. It was certainly
not the
Nihr’Vannah
, for it was neither empty nor enlightened. In fact
it was a terrifying place, he decided, not a place he would tarry, and he
fought its grip whenever he was aware. Somehow, long, strong hands kept pushing
him there, to this very place. It had given him a headache that had rent his
skull for days.

Or
perhaps, that was the incense.

So
he knew how it would be when finally he left that place and found himself
staring into the golden eyes of the Alchemist.

“There
you are,” she purred. “Lie still. I will fetch some tea.”

It
seemed prudent, so he obeyed, letting his own eyes adjust to the darkness, to
the soft light flickering across the stone ceiling. Candles, he noted, no
torch. Alchemists were strict believers in
feng
shui,
the Art of
Chi.
And, he also noted gratefully, as she knelt
with a steaming cup in hand, of
Chado,
the Art of Tea.

She
helped him sit, propped several stiff cushions behind his back, and knelt back,
a curious smile playing with her lips. It was only then that he noticed two
things. First, his uniform was gone, and second, Kerris, all grey and
night-blue, face down on a bedroll beside him.

“Where?”
His voice scratched in his throat. He cleared it. “Where is my uniform?”

“Being repaired,” she said. “Rats
are not respecters of good leather.”

He
frowned. A wrapped tunic and sarong were not his choice of attire, no matter
what his situation.

“It will be repaired soon?” Not
quite a question.

Her eyes smiled this time. “Soon.
But hush. You will disturb your brother. I believe this is the first time he
has slept since you were stricken.”

“How
long?”

“Three
nights, two days...”

“Not—”

“Plague?
No, not plague. Just poison.”

He
sighed this time, shoulders sagging. So much time lost. Too much. He sipped his
tea.

Kerris
mumbled in his sleep and lifted his head from the pillows. He seemed about to
roll over and go back to sleep, but for some reason, he paused, blinking as if
not comprehending the change in scenery. Kirin allowed himself a small smile
now. His brother looked terrible.

With a startled yelp, Kerris bolted
to his knees.

“Kirin!
Oh, how do you feel? Are you fine now? Are you? Really?”

“I
will be fine when I am in uniform.”

“Oh
that. Yes, well, that’s out for—”

“Repairs.
Yes, the Alchemist told me.”

With
bright, brimming eyes, Kerris turned to the cheetah. He was wringing his hands.

“Is he alright, really? The poisons
are gone?”

“The
poisons are gone. It does not usually take so long, but…” She turned her face
to the Captain. “There were many bites.”

“I
seem to recall,” Kirin said, moving his knee at the memory. “It was unnatural
the way they attacked.”

“Yes, that’s what Ursa said. Like
they had marked you, singled you out somehow.” Kerris sat forward. “Kirin, they
were using stones to crack the window glass. I’ve never seen them use tools
before.”

“I
will need to speak to Commander Tripp-Jonesthon about this. He may have an
explanation.”

He shifted on the blankets, just
now realizing that he was on the floor. Somehow, it had seemed much more
comfortable only moments before.

“Was anyone else hurt?”

“Several
of the soldiers, but our Alchemist soon put them to right with her ointments
and her tea.” He beamed at her, high praise from the prince of such. “Dear
Sherhanna. She’s been a godsend these past few days, haven’t you?”

Kirin
looked at her.

“Sherhanna?”

The
woman smiled again, cast her eyes downward. “An old name. One I have never gone
by.”

“But
it is your true name,” said Kerris. “You told me so. The one your parents gave
you before your consecration.”