The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (50 page)

It broke her heart, and yet
warmed her to her very toes.

So carefully, she set the mugs
down on the floor and rapped on the wood. After a moment, Kirin Wynegarde-Grey
opened the door and she almost didn’t recognize him. Mane loosed, uniform
exchanged for simple linens, he looked as if he had stepped out of a very
different life, a very different world, and it suddenly made her wonder about the
choices cats make that lead them one way or another, and about how many Broken
Roads he himself had faced in his lifetime.

“Um, I, um, didn’t want to, you
know, intrude or anything…”

He smiled at her, an old weary
smile, and she realized also that this incident with Kerris had not been his
first.

“I have cocoa…”

He brightened. “Ah yes, thank
you,
sidala.”
And when he bent to
help her with the mugs, his hair swept the floor before his fingers even
reached. “This is precisely what we both need.”

“How…um…”

He rose and looked at her,
holding both mugs now, brows raised, waiting for the questions that he knew
were coming.

“Um, how is he?”

“He will be fine in the morning,
sidala
. Thank you for all your help
today.”

“Oh, anytime, you know. I’m just
always, you know… around…”

“I know.” He made a move to turn
back into the room, but paused. “One more thing, if I may ask of you…”

“Oh, yeah sure.”

“Tell Sireth and the Major that I
will not be meeting with Solomon if he comes tonight, and that I do not wish
Solomon to be leaving his ‘Swisserland’ yet, not until I have met with him
first. Is that clear,
sidala?”

“Yep. Clear.”

He smiled again. “You should
sleep now.”

It was as kind a dismissal as she
could have hoped for, and as he turned to close the door with his heel, she
spied a glimpse of grey, wrapped in a thick woolen blanket, sitting on the
floor in a far corner of the room. He looked very ill, and the door closed on
that last sight, ensuring that she would not sleep one wink at all that night.

***

Dearest Momma, Pappa, Devon, Tamsin, Rowan, Soren and Bronwyn,

I cannot begin to describe the things I have seen and done since
joining this sojourn from the University. I am traveling in the company of
lions, under the Imperial banner, and I have met the Empress herself. I have
been in the Palace of Pol’Lhasa, the monastery of Sha’Hadin, several
battleforts along the Great Wall and am now leaving KhaBull for the Dry
Provinces. This is the most amazing adventure I’ve ever been on. Oh yes, my
birthright has been amended to grant us status in the Court of the Empress, so
I think Pappa can charge more for his eggs.

Say hello to Tor, Wat, Shin, Jael and Richard for me, and give all the
kittens many, many kisses. I love and miss you all.

Fallon Waterford, Scholar in the Court of the Empress

***

The views along the HighWay
through Khanisthan were fascinating. The Great Mountains, which had still
towered over the fabled city of
KhaBull
had begun to recede, as if their Good Mother were looking away from these wild
children, intent on lavishing her attention upon the more beautiful, talented
or troubled ones instead. Khanisthan was independent. Kahnisthan did not need
her Mother’s attention. Or perhaps, she did not want it.

Sireth benAramis sighed from atop
his new mount. The colors of this region intrigued him. Sands of gold, peaks of
orange, outcroppings of purple, all beneath a vast blue sky, but it all seemed
discolored somehow, hazy. In fact, everything in sight seemed to be stained
like old tea, and he realized that it was the sunlight here, subjecting
everything under its brush as if the sun herself laid her head down on the
foothills, spilling her golden tresses across every rock and grain of sand,
giving even the blue a tawny hue. So very different from the stark boldness of
the mountains or the jeweled depths of the jungles. He had painted mountains
and jungles before. Never a strange, sun-soaked, tea-stained land like this.

He let his gaze wander across the
river of horses that wound ahead of him, marveling at the lack of color now on
horseback and he wondered whether it really had been the grey coat who had
purchased their new clothing. It all smacked of the Captain as each and every
rider (leopards included) were outfitted in desert gear of a most practical,
pragmatic nature. He himself had traded his brown leather outer garment for
rough-hewn linen of a similar shade, (although he had insisted on wrapping it
like a more traditional kimonoh), and he had only begun to become accustomed to
the kheffiyah that draped over his head and shoulders, protecting both from the
blistering desert sun. In fact, the entire garb reminded him of the
multi-layered robes of
Sha’Hadin
,
layers upon layers of clothing to keep the elements at bay, to be added or
removed as the need arose. He had also insisted on using the orange sash, which
usually bound him from shoulder to hip, as an obi instead of the drab black one
provided. Some things he would not set aside. Ritual was important to civilized
society, and cats were, after all, a civilized people.

Both the Scholar and Alchemist
were draped in silks and linens, exchanging forest greens and sultry blacks for
undyed fabrics, similar in colors to the sun-soaked landscapes. The Scholar’s
father’s menswear had been traded for desert menswear, all of it covered in a
dull tan thobe, cinched at her narrow waist with a sash of ox-blood brown. The
Alchemist still wore black, but a goat-pelt black, no trace of silver vestments
to be seen. Clearly, she had not approved, and had taken great care to arrange the
fabric so that glimpses of pale golden pelt peaked through at unexpected
intervals. They both also wore headcoverings called
khemhirs
, in tan and black, but again the Alchemist had jewels and
coins woven into the very fabric of her clothing so that they caught that
remarkable sunlight and scattered it in all directions.

Even the Captain, riding his
proud Imperial horse, wore similar linens but, like himself, still insisted on
keeping some elements of his former uniform. His sash of Imperial gold still billowed
like a banner at his waist, and his thick leather obi sported both long and
short swords.

It was a desert officer’s
uniform, more formal that those of the civilians, but less so than the one he
worn previous and he still managed to make it seem imposing and regal and
serious.
But of course,
thought
Sireth,
that could just have been the
Captain himself.
He would look that way no matter what he wore.

Only Ursa, stubborn, wild,
willful Ursa, had flatly refused the new clothing, and he could tell it was
taking its toll on her. She was breathing in swift shallow breaths, her hair
piled atop her head and her silver pelt was marbled with streaks of sweat. He
knew the Captain was keeping an eye on her, lest she succomb to the heat and
drop unceremoniously off her mount. It would happen any time now, he knew.

And finally, their outfitter,
Kerris, completely at home in layered tunics of natural linen, but he was so
far ahead of their party on that little mountain pony of his that he was no
more a speck and puffs of dust in the distance. He had made himself scarce
these last days after the marketplace, tending the new horses, nursing mares
and three foals that were now traveling with them. There was a darkness rising
in him, the Seer could tell, since his night in the
Lhahore
jail cell, and it was threatening to overtake him. He
understood it well, that darkness. He fought it himself at times.

He was forgetting something.

Rather, he was not remembering
something, and that was worse. His memory had always been sharp, but now, there
was something nagging, something he knew, but couldn’t recall to mind,
something that he had needed to tell the Captain. There was a danger in store
for them and the success of this mission, but it was gone. Gone from his mind
after the kiss from the Alchemist…

He narrowed his eyes, the one now
focusing singularly on her black-robed back. What could she do, this cheetah,
this sorceress, this puzzle wrapped in black silk? Could she really have
summoned the storm in the marketplace the other day? Could she have made him
believe she was his wife, known her voice, her smile, the name of his daughter?
Could she really have snatched a vision out of the mind of the most powerful
Seer of
Sha’Hadin?
She would have to
be not only Alchemist, but Seer as well, a practitioner of both Arts and Gifts,
a first fruit of Jet BarraDunne’s dream of Unification.

He
might
have to kill her after all.

As if sensing his thoughts, she
turned in her saddle, her painted lids lowered, her golden eyes locking with
his, and she smiled cryptically before turning back to face the front, nodding
as the Scholar rambled on and on about the quality of tea and desert horses.

He shook his head, closed his
eyes, and slipped away, all under that remarkable, tea-colored Khanisthan sun.

***

“Well?” asked Kerris, as he
skidded his mountain pony to a walk beside alMassay. The great Imperial horse
grumbled and Quiz laid back his ears and snapped. A Big Yin and Little Yang. It
was the way of things. “What do you want to do?”

“We’re riding under the Imperial
banner,” Kirin sighed. “Do you think they’ll chance it?”

“Well, there appears to be eight
of them, and there’s only nine of us. The road is narrowing, they have the
advantage and we have horses and women. It’s very tempting.”

Ursa trotted her horse up to the
brothers, and they were three riding side by side in the setting desert sun.
She snorted.

“Let them come. The leopards and
I will finish them in no time.”

“And can you guarantee that we
won’t lose a cheetah or tigress or mongrel in the fray?”

Kerris leaned back, surveyed the
hills that were growing darker under a deepening red sky. “No, love. We need a
plan.”

She spat on the ground, but did
not argue.

It had become clear to all but
the civilians that their caravan was being watched for some time now, as the
low lying hills that flanked the road constricted, leaving only a narrow path
between the slopes. Bandits, most likely, after fine horses and finer women as
Kerris had said, an Imperial banner only serving to increase the temptation,
not deter it.

“We can keep going until
nightfall,” Kerris suggested. “We should be able to make
Dowlath’Yarh
in 3 hours or so. It’s a garrison town. They won’t
touch us there.”

“And if they attack
before
nightfall?”

“If they have bows, we’re dead anyway.
It doesn’t matter when they attack.”

Ursa snorted. “We take the
leopards and ride straight down their throats. They will not be expecting that,
and they will scatter like chaff on the wind.”

“She has a point,” Kerris
grinned. “And not just at the end of her blade.”

Kirin grunted wearily. This was
not at all what he was hoping for, although he knew that bandits were a very
real and constant threat on the byways of
Khanisthan.
A part of her wild bloodthirsty nature, of course. He turned to study the caravan,
the Scholar and Seer now watching with growing concern, the Alchemist not
concerned in the least. The leopards had faces like stone, giving nothing away,
awaiting orders that would keep them riding onwards or heading for the hills
and the evils awaiting them there.

The Captain sighed.

“Kerris, take the civilians, the
mares and foals and go as fast as you can towards
Daolath’Yar.
Once you start moving, they will know something is
afoot and will likely begin their attack. We will do as Ursa suggests. The
leopards, the Major and I will split up and bear down on these bandits from
opposing directions. Hopefully, we can keep them occupied until your group is
out of range of their bows.”

Kerris sighed now. “We’ll lose
the foals. They’re exhausted as it is. We can throw them over our saddles. Pray
they don’t struggle too much – carrying a struggling foal on the back of
a galloping horse is a bugger even for an experienced –“

“Kerris,” his brother
interrupted. “It’s not the safety of the horses that concerns me.”

“Ah, yes. Just say the word.”

The Captain turned to Ursa. She
was as tight as a strung bow.

“We have four leopards. Give them
their orders. Be discreet.” There was not a discreet bone in her body. She
peeled off like an arrow, released.

Kerris grinned. “Our leopards
know what’s going on, guaranteed. As do our bandits I suspect.”

Kirin sighed. “Tell the women,
please. I’ll tell the Seer. Be ready to move in a heartbeat.”

“Right.” The very soul of
discretion, Kerris Wynegarde-Grey eased back on his pony, causing the animal to
slow its rapid trot and fall in line with both Scholar and Alchemist. It looked
perfectly natural. Normal. Discreet.

Kirin circled alMassay and
brought him around at the side of the Seer’s new desert mount. Sireth did not
look at him, kept his gaze fixed ahead, but there was a hint of a smile on his
lips.

“Bandits?” he asked, as if it
were the most natural question in the world.

“Yes,” said Kirin. “Eight. We’re
riding into a noose.”

“I know.”

“Ursa, the leopards and I are
going to take this straight to them, but I want you and the women to follow
Kerris as fast as you can. There is a garrison ahead. We will join you there.”

“And if you don’t make it?”

Now, the Captain turned to look
at him.

“Vision?” he asked, brow arching.

“Odds. Your arrogance will get
the better of you one day.”