The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (51 page)

“Likely,
sidi.
But not today.”

“Naturally.”

Kirin shook his head. The man was
impossible. He looked off to the hills, once the Mother’s Arms, now alien and
dangerous, and not at all protective. Could see flashes of movement, puffs of
dust, darker shadows against the rocks. He could also see glints of metal
– bows most likely and felt a constriction in his chest. Kerris had been
right – bows in this terrain were decidedly superior, and these bandits
had the advantage of cover as well. It was a risky plan, but he could think of
no other. It was rash, bold and unpredictable, and that, he wagered, gave them
an advantage themselves. It might be the only thing that would save them.

He cast his eyes to his caravan.
It looked for all the world like a rag-tag gypsy band, save for the Imperial
banner that waved above them, carried by Wing. Or was it Per? Kerris was on his
feet, scooping up one struggling foal after another, laying them across first
the Seer’s then the Scholar’s saddle. He had been right about that, as well.
The babies were exhausted. They did not fight much. The mares grumbled and
nickered, but it kept them all the more close. Kirin did not feel much like
losing his investment so soon after their purchase.

He caught Ursa’s eye. She had one
hand on the rein, the other on the hilt of her sword.

The leopards were silent, as
usual, their own horses moving stiffly, almost prancing, as if they too could
sense the danger, the excitement, the call to battle. And finally, he smiled,
because truth be told, he felt it too, his own blood running thicker, his
breath coming faster, his own hands itching for the comforting feel of leather
on steel.

Kerris swung the last foal then
himself up across Quiz’s sturdy back, and glanced at his brother, ready.

The Captain breathed a deep
breath and drew his long sword from its scabbard with a swift, singing motion.

“Ride!”

***

With impeccable precision, the
Imperial caravan split into three, as 15 horses thundered towards three
different targets. Quiz led the civilians and their desert horses at breakneck
speed, an equestrian arrow flying along the gravel road. Ursa and two leopards
peeled left, Kirin and the other two charging right, as arrows of a different
kind flashed through the skies. Cries rose from the mountains, and one by one,
cats leapt to their feet, crossbows and long-bows firing at will. It was only a
matter of moments before the Imperial horses were bounding up the slopes,
dodging and weaving to avoid the rain of tipped steel, swords singing in the
fading sun. Arrow after arrow thudded into flesh, cat and horse alike, but the
soldiers kept coming, until their steel found marks as well, and blood was
spilled across the rocks.

Now, there are two facts that
many who are not trained in the Imperial guard do not know. The first fact is
that most cats do not understand
cats,
let alone horses, and the second fact is that Imperial horses love to kill.
They are not trained to do so but they are predators by nature, one of the most
deadly known to cats, and it is only the fact that we are more intelligent, use
language and can reason that have enabled our people to harness such raw power.
Horses can live on grass, the same way a cat can live on vegetables, but to
both, it is the flesh that they prefer, so when six cats on horseback stormed
up the hills of the Great Mountains, it was really in essence, twelve soldiers
who went.

alMassay reared, his great hooves
raking the red sky, and came down on the ribcage of a tiger. Movement to his
right and the short sword left it’s scabbard, sailing across the distance to
rend yet another ribcage, this one belonging to a jaguar. Whirling on back
legs, the Imperial horse engaged to lunge forward again and again, as Kirin
snatched the kodai’chi from the collapsing body, his katanah cleanly removing
head from shoulders as it fell.

A cry from behind, and horse and rider
spun to see one of the leopard guard (Per, if Kirin recalled correctly) clutch
at a quivering length of arrow newly embedded in his throat. He was dead before
he hit the ground. He also saw one of the horses stumble, several arrows
piercing its neck like spines, and yet another leopard thrown to the rocks.

Kirin leaped from the back of his
stallion, knowing he wouldn’t even need command the beast to hunt down its
prey. alMassay spun of his own accord and bolted up the mountain side, in the
direction of the last killing arrow, and screams were heard as he went. The
guard’s horse, its rider gone, its master finished, was wild with the smell of
blood, and it too followed alMassay up the mountain, its hooves finding
catflesh of their own to rend and crush. On foot, Kirin scrambled towards Ursa,
who was battling hand to hand with two cheetahs, tall and leggy and long of
reach, but their size could in no wise match her ferocity or skill, and by the
time he reached her, her opponents were twitching on the rocks, more red than
tawny, and she turned to face him with a grim smile.

He had to admit she was a
marvelous sight.

“I myself have killed two,” she
announced. “Wing, Per, Luke, Oded?”

“Per is dead,” said Kirin,
sliding both katanah and kodai’chi home, glancing ‘round the terrain with wary
eyes. “’Massay and I have also killed two. That leaves four at most…”

First one, then another, and
finally the third leopard rose from the rocks, bending to wipe bloody swords on
dry grass. As one, they looked up, nodded. Kirin ground his teeth, satisfied.

“I believe we have removed the
threat, Major,” he said, feeling the sudden drain of energy that always
followed a battle, no matter how short. “Is your horse sound?”

Her grey mare, nostrils flaring,
eyes wide, snorted in defiance. It had a broken arrow embedded in its massive
chest, and Ursa laid a hand against it, fingers bracing either side of the
shaft. The horse twitched but did not move as, in one swift sure motion, she
yanked it free. These arrows were not barbed, so only a small hole remained.

“She is sound.” Ice blue eyes
gleamed at him and he found himself approving. The desert horses were fast, to
be sure, but nothing in all creation was as astoundingly beautiful as an
Imperial horse on the battlefield. She frowned. “You have been hit?”

The Captain looked down. The
shaft of an arrow stuck out of his side. He reached down and yanked it out in
the same manner. It ripped at the leather of his obi, taking part of the
Imperial gold sash with it. He held it up, its metal tip flashing in the
sunset.

“Hmm. Kerris may know desert
horses and desert apparel, but nothing stops arrows like Imperial leather.”

She smiled at him then, proudly
showing off the scratches and tears in her white doeskin. She too was
unscathed.

“Find eight bodies. Ensure they
are dead.”

“My pleasure,” she muttered, and
stomped off over the rocks, both swords high and singing.

“We need to catch up to the
others as soon as possible,” Kirin muttered to himself, and he too began to
pick his way over the blood and through the rock.

***

At first, they were little more
that dust clouds on the horizon, and in the growing twilight, it was impossible
to tell if they were friend or foe. The horses were exhausted, and Kerris eased
up on the pace as the strange cavalry approached. A banner waved above them,
but silhouetted against the sinking sun, it was impossible to read. He slowed
Quiz to a walk and prayed they weren’t more bandits.

“Grey coat, this is not good…”

It was the Seer. His tone was
serious.

“No, no look. It’s a garrison
patrol. Wonderful! Hello,” Kerris called out, as ten riders spread out to
encircle their little band. “Are you from
Sri’Daolath?”

Four riders dismounted, began to
move in towards the men. Kerris hopped from Quiz’s back, moved to meet them.

“Where is your Captain?” he
called. “The rest of our party needs your help.”

Two uniformed leopards grabbed
each arm, and the grey lion yelped in surprise.

“Say, that’s uncalled for! We are
an Imperial party –“

And for the second time in three
days, a fist thudded into his gut, doubling him over like a sack of millet.
They proceeded to beat him to the ground. The two other leopards grabbed at the
Seer, hauling him too down off his horse, raining blow upon blow on his head
and torso. He did not resist.

“No!” shouted Fallon Waterford,
Scholar in the Court of the Empress. She sprang from the back of her exhausted
mount, raced towards her companions, but was blocked by a large horse. She
looked up to see a lion in desert uniform.

“What are you doing?” she sputtered.
“You can’t do this!”

“I am Major Alexander
Plantagenet-Khan, commander of
Sri’Daolath,
and believe me,
sidalady
tigress, you
would be amazed at the number of things I can do.” And without waiting for
another word, he bent down and scooped her up in his saddle and turned into the
sunset. “Bring the mongrels and their stolen horses. We shall show them how we
keep Imperial law in
Khanisthan.”

And he spurred his horse into the
west, flanked by two on either side, leaving six of his own leopard guards binding
the hands of the prisoners and rounding up the terrified horses, dragging all
along the now dark road into the sunset.

Of Sherah al Shiva and her
night-black mare, there was no sign.

She turned the parchment over in
her hands.

It smelled of cinnamon and sand
and something else, medicinal and sharp. Her insides tightened at the thought.

The prayer room of the Empress
was filled with cushions, so praying could take days if needed. She had not
removed herself from within its rice paper walls since she had received it, the
parchment from so very far away. It had been a breach of protocol, a personal
letter sent for her eyes alone, and Chancellor Ho had bristled at the very
idea. But to his credit, he did not open it, allowed it to be presented to her
at first light after the falcon’s arrival from far desert lands. It contained a
secret and a proposal and her heart thudded as she considered.

Her heart broke as she prayed.

For in fact, she had received two
parchments, in a very short span of time. Both from desert lands. Marvellous
how dharma worked that way.

One was dying. The other would
surely die.

So once again, she knelt before
the shrine of her Ancestors, those small proud women who had ruled for
centuries. Chose a scent, this one of pine and cedar, lit it and waited for the
tip to glow before laying it in one of the many incense pots that adorned the
prayer room. The odors filled her nostrils and she breathed them deep.

One was dying and would serve his
Empire with his last breath. It was noble, sweet and pure, but would surely
kill the other, as surely as a blade to the heart.

She knew what she was being asked
to do. Duty demanded she do it.

He would have it no other way.

Tears spilled down her face as
she prayed.

***

“Would you like honey in your
tea,
sidala?”

“Um, sure, thanks –
Wait no!
No, I don’t want tea!” Fallon
Waterford sprang to her feet. “I can’t drink tea when my friends are being
dragged behind horses in the middle of nowhere! How can you think such a
thing?”

She paced towards the small
windows, arms wrapped around her ribs. The compound outside the commander’s
office was dark – the moon was but a sliver tonight — but well lit,
as torches burnt on frequent posts dotting the garrison yard. Soldiers moved
briskly in pairs to and fro, obviously busy doing whatever things garrison
soldiers did at night, but Fallon could see no sight of them – the
‘mongrels and their stolen horses’, and she was certain they had not made it to
the outpost yet.

“We are not in the middle of
nowhere,
sidala.
That is insulting.”

“Well, well, I’m sorry. The
middle of somewhere, then.”

“Simply because we are isolated
does not mean we are uncivilized. Cats are a civilized people,
sidala.
The art of
Chado
is not lost to us, even here in ‘the middle of nowhere’.”

“Civilized?” She swung around,
suddenly realizing how shrill and girlish she must surely sound. She tried
desperately to become a snow leopard but there was just no stopping the wild
thudding of her heart. “What is civilized about what you have done? Even if
they
were
mongrels, there is no law
in the Kingdom that allows such treatment of
any
citizen, Pure or otherwise.”

“There is no law concerning the
treatment of mongrels at all,
sidala.”
Commander Alexander Plantagenet-Khan lowered himself behind his desk, smiling a
patient, long-suffering sort of smile as he raised a delicate bowl to his lips.
“It is akin to principles concerning the treatment of one’s cattle, goats or
children. It is always up to the discretion of the owners and authorities at
hand.”

“You would drag children behind
an Imperial horse?”

“Sidala,”
he chided her, shaking his head. “We would keep it to a
walk.”

He smiled at her and she realized
that he was a very good-looking man. A lion with dark, straight mane pulled off
his face and neck in an elaborate top knot. He seemed older than Kirin, but
younger than Sireth, and he was strong and fit of build. His office was
pristine, beautifully appointed in fact, even for one ‘in the middle of
nowhere’, and to her dismay, he had books stacked neatly on shelves lining the
walls. It was possible, likely even, that he had read them and that meant he
had a mind for learning. Everything about him was impressive, completely,
absolutely and utterly impressive, and she realized also that that was one of
the pitfalls of lions.

He went on. “We are charged with
the keeping of order in
Daolath’Yar
and the surrounding region,
sidala.
I
can assure you that mongrel bands are the chief instigators of disorder.”

“But we’re not mongrels!”

“You
…are not a mongrel,
sidala
.
That is obvious. And how you could allow yourself to be tainted with such an
alliance is a sad commentary indeed. Were your parents strict? Or not strict
enough?”

To her credit, she did not chase
his train of thought. “Your men are presently dragging Kerris Wynegarde-Grey,
Geomancer of the Imperial Court, and Sireth benAramis, last Seer of
Sha’Hadin—”
Suddenly, she clapped
her hands over her mouth, remembering that no one was to know of the death of
the Council. Yes, utterly girlish. She was hopeless.

“Is that what they told you,
sidala?
You have been yearning too much
for adventure, I think…” He sipped his tea with a smile.

She shook her head. “You are
gonna be in sooo much trouble when the Captain finds out…”

“Captain?”

“Of the Queen’s Guard. Captain
Kirin
Wynegarde-Grey.” She turned her
back to him to stare out the window. “Yep, sooo much trouble…”

She could have sworn she heard
his teacup rattle and she smiled to herself. It was the only thing there was to
smile about.

***

There was an odd glow in the
distance. It looked like a torch, but not quite, and he realized with a
sickening lurch what it was, for he had seen it on several occasions before.

“Alchemists,” he growled, to no
one in particular. Ursa was at his side, her grey trotting as if it had never
had an arrow embedded in its chest. She was snarling, her marbled tail lashing
from side to side across the back of her mount.

“Where are the others?” she
growled under her breath.

“I suspect we’ll soon find out.”

Sure enough, the dim outline of a
black-clothed figure on a black horse, palm glowing with unnatural light,
became more and more visible. They reined their horses in next to hers.

“Why are you not with the others,
sidala?”
he snapped. He was exhausted
and in no mood for her games.

She could tell, and immediately
lowered her gaze. “There was an incident,
sidi.
With a garrison troop.”

“And?”

“They have been taken to
Sri’Daolath.”

“Taken?”

“As prisoners,
sidi.”

“Blast,” he muttered under his
breath. This night was not getting any shorter. “Lead on,
sidala.”

Golden eyes still averted, she
smiled.

“Of course.”

***

He could see torches up ahead,
although truth be told, it was difficult seeing anything beyond the backside of
the horse in front of him. He had never been led like this, hands bound, jerked
onto and off of his feet at regular intervals behind a jogging horse, and he
had to admit that he didn’t like it overmuch. Just when you thought you’d found
a rhythm, a way to move your legs without hearing them cry out at every
footfall, then the horse would change its pace, or the terrain would change its
consistency, and you would be forced all over again to try and adapt to the
newness, else stumble in the trying.

That,
he had learned quite quickly, was not pleasant at all.

The Seer had been stumbling as
much as he, if not more so, but he couldn’t see him well in the darkness. His
own right eye was swollen shut and he longed to flop into some well-stuffed bed
and wake up to this having been some wild, sakeh-induced nightmare. But as the
wooden walls of a battle fort came into sight, he realized that this night
would not be getting shorter anytime soon, and that well-stuffed bed was as
likely as a good cup of tea.

Finally, closed inside the gated
walls, the horses came to a stop and he dropped to his knees. It was all he
could do to keep from falling over, and he risked a glance at the Seer. He had
done likewise, and from the utterly passive look on his face, he had gone
somewhere safe, somewhere deep inside where no soldier could intrude. It made
Kerris certain that this experience had not been
his
first.

Quiz squealed from behind. They
had roped the pony and dragged him as well, using many ropes and lashes and
whips to keep him in check. It was one of the few things that warmed him,
knowing his pony could easily have broken free of his tethers and made a break
for it, but it was only a wild affection for his rider that kept him anywhere
near. He could hear the sounds of the soldiers cursing, the sound of whips
cracking, and without really knowing what he was doing, he found himself on his
feet, yanking the rope free from the leopard’s hands. He threw himself toward
the pony, a battered intercessor in Quiz’s defense.

They beat him to the ground with
ease.

Suddenly, there were hands at his
face, and the tigress was tenderly lifting him from the dust. She hugged him
and he could have sworn that she kissed him, although his head was spinning and
he couldn’t be quite sure. He could taste her tears and he also realized with
some curiosity that this child of a woman had the same determined spirit as
Quiz and possessed the same wild affection for him.

It also warmed him more than the
tea.

The soldiers pulled him to his
feet and he swayed a bit, not quite sure his legs would hold. Fallon was with
the Seer now, hugging and weeping and he felt a pang of jealousy, until he
heard the Seer whisper the name
“Khalilah”,
and suddenly everything was all right on that front. He found that odd.

A dark shape loomed in front of
him.

“Your name?”

Kerris tried at first, paused to
spit out some blood he’d just found on his tongue, then tried again.

“Kerris Wynegarde-Grey.”

He just said it. Didn’t make it sound
like Kirin. Didn’t make it sound impressive or commanding or strong. Just a
name. His name. And awaited the blow that would surely come.

It did, a back-hander that caused
him to stagger a step or two, straight into the arms of the leopards.

“Liar. I will ask you again,
mongrel. What is your name?”

“Ah, Kerris Balthashane
Wynegar—“

Another blow. “That is a lion’s
name. An old name in the Imperial Tongue. One last time. What is your name?”

He swallowed. He didn’t want to
be hit again. What in the Kingdom could the man possibly want? He would surely
give it to him if only he knew.

“Kerris…” he repeated
tentatively. “Balthashane…” he swallowed again. “Wyn-“

And the last, from which he could
not recover and a heavy blackness swallowed him up.

***

He could hear the young tigress
sobbing as the grey coat went down.

The dark-maned lion turned to
him.

“And you, mongrel. What, is your
name?”

The mongrel smiled.

***

My dear Tiberius,

It is quite likely that I will not be returning from wherever it is we
are going, so it is with great sadness that I ask one last thing of you. I know
what has happened to
Sha’Hadin
, I
have seen it as though I were there with you. My heart breaks for you and for
all we have lived and worked and now ultimately died for, but this is the way
of things. I ask you to take care of the falcons. The new clutch is soon to
hatch, and Alchemists will do no good to such young impressionable souls. Free
them or destroy them. It is your call.

It was an honor to serve with you.

Most sincerely,

Sireth benAramis

***

When Kerris awoke, he was in a
pit.

He could tell, because he’d been
in a pit once before, and for a very long time. Weeks. Or had it been months?
Months engulfed by smug, angry earth. He didn’t like it in the least, not then,
not now. He wished he’d stayed asleep.

It was very tight, room to turn
around and that was it. Room to sit, but knees at awkward angles bent in, or
bent under. After an hour or so, both positions were blisteringly
uncomfortable. You could struggle to stand, but there was no rest in that, and
after a while your legs would shake and force you back to sitting, with your
knees at awkward angles bent in or bent under.

It reeked down here. From
ages-old urine and rotting excrement and cold vomit and he gagged back the rush
of panic.
Too deep.
He concentrated
on the smell of the earth, its richness, its clay tang, tried to imagine
himself snuggled in the Mother’s Arms and that she would never let him go but
then he remembered that he was in a pit and that image only served to increase
the terror that was swelling within. While the sky and the water, the rain and
the lightning loved him, the earth did never had.

Too deep. Too dark. Too much earth.

He tried to slow his breathing,
remembering what he had learned in
Chai’Yogath
–
in through the nose, out through the nose. Not the mouth. The mouth
led to panting, then gasping, then screaming. No, through the nose kept
everything steady.

The earth was going to kill him.