The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (95 page)

He
lowered his eyes, convicted.

“Besides,”
she added. “You have the head of a sham’Rai now. It is entirely worthy.”

He
could die now and happily.

“The
falcon from
Sha’Hadin
is young,” she said. “She prefers to sit on my
head.”

A
smile tugged into his cheek. “Mi-Hahn.”

Still,
she did not look at him.

“Excellency—”

“Ling.”

“Ling.”

“Say
it again, until it finds a home on your tongue.”

“Ling.”

“Again.”

“Ling.”

“And
again.”

“Lyn-ling.”

Now
she did look up, humour dancing in her golden eyes.

“Perfect.
I accept.”

He
moved to sit up, made certain the red silk spread draped modestly across his
hips. He had never been a man to do this. In fact, he had felt certain he would
live his entire life without this manner of pleasure but two remarkable women
had intervened. First is luck, the saying went, and all in all, he was a very
lucky man.

She
laid her brush down on the paper.

“Was
I your first?”

golden
eyes, long strong hands, the smell of incense

“There
is no hiding,” she reminded him.

“There
was another,” he said, surprised to find no shame. “Once. I wanted to kill
myself. She convinced me otherwise.”

The
Empress Thothloryn Parillaud Markova Wu now Lyn-ling, was weighing him in her
stare. He held it, allowing himself to be weighed. He would likely be dead by
sunset regardless.

“Did
you love her?”

“I
think so. Yes, I did.”

“Do
you still?”

He
thought on this before answering.

“A
part of me, yes. Still.”

She
studied him a while longer before picking up the paper, blowing across it to
dry the ink. Even in such a simple act, she was glorious.

“There
is a new Captain of the Imperial Guard. Captain Shyam Smith-Honshu.”

“He
is a good choice.”

“Chancellor
Ho was insistent.”

He
nodded.

“Was
my Chancellor involved in any of this? In the deaths of my Seers and the
devastation of
Sha’Hadin
? In the beating of my Captain at the hands of
our enemies
?”

His
heart thudded once. He still woke in the night because of the dreams.

“Your
silence tells me all.” She lifted the paper to the lantern light. “What do you
know of the history of the sham’Rai, Kirin-san?”

“The
sham’Rai.” He began slowly. “The highest order of
Shah’tyriah,
warriors
bound only to one master until death.”

“We
do not have this position in our court.”

“No
longer, no.”

“Why
not?”

“I
don’t know.”

“In
the days of the most Ancient of Ancestors,” she blinked slowly. “The sham’Rai
served the Empire with loyalty, fealty and honour. A sham’Rai served only one
master and would do so until his death, or the death of his master. He would
accrue no power for himself, no personal wealth or lands or titles. Service to
his master was reward enough and he embraced the Way of the Warrior with his
heart, mind, soul and strength.”

“Bushido.”
He nodded.

“This
document is a return to the ways of the sham’Rai and the reinstitution of the
Shogun amongst the
Shah’tyriah
caste. The sham’Rai are to be chosen by
the Empress of the Upper Kingdom and accorded all respect and honour worthy of
their calling.”

“There
will be resistance, Ex—” he caught himself. “Ling.”

She
laid the paper down, folded her hands in her lap.

“I
am an Empress with an infant child and without a husband, with a fine Imperial
Captain but a treacherous advisor. I am vulnerable and need the protection of a
sham’Rai. My own Shogun-General.”

She
raised her chin, a gesture of pride.

“You,
Kirin-san, have shown honour above and beyond that of a normal warrior. You
have beating in you the heart of a sham’Rai and it is my wish that you take on
the role of very first Shogun-General of the Empire.”

He
couldn’t believe what she was saying.

“I
have sent word for the Imperial armory to begin construction of the yori and
kabuto from the Ancient designs, to be fitted to your exact measurements. Also,
I have sent the order for both the Blood and Jade Fang to be retrieved from the
Archives. They will be your brothers now.”

The
Blood and Jade Fangs
. Swords of history, of myth and legend. Always
copied, never rivaled.

There
was no expression on her face. She was as beautiful as a swan, as sharp as
steel.

“You,
Kirin-san, shall no longer be referred to as Captain Wynegarde-Grey. Rather, I
now and forever more convey upon you the rank of Shogun-General, personal
bodyguard to the Empress of the Fangxieng Dynasty for as long as you live and
breathe. Will you accept this position?”

Suddenly,
the kheffiyah and all notions of his death were forgotten.

“With
honour,” he said and bowed low to the ground, forehead touching the pillows
that covered the floor.

The
silk at his hips fell away and she smiled.

The Last Seer of Sha’Hadin

It was almost dawn when Mi-Hahn
returned and she chirruped and flapped as he fussed over her at the window’s
ledge. The sun was peering over the peaks of the Great Mountains and the sky
was only beginning to streak with purple and red. It was cold, however, and his
breath frosted like smoke from his mouth. Snow had fallen overnight, coating
the Valley of the Seers like the pelt of a snow leopard and he smiled at the
thought.

He could see her down below,
leading a group of sixty or so in the Sun Salute of morning. She was a Chai’Chi
mistress—her movements slow and graceful, her control unrivaled, her
balance unmatched. He could tell from the robes that her compatriots were
mostly monks from
Sha’Hadin
. There were a few brothers from the Arts
joining the exercise, although significantly more were sitting on the rocks
surrounding the valley, making patterns with candle and stone. It was an
interesting sight, the Gifts and the Arts together, and he was surprised that
it didn’t boil his blood. It would have years ago.

He was a changed man.

Mi-Hahn chirruped again from the
window and he felt the man before his footsteps announced him. Even still, the
steps were quiet and Sireth found himself taking a deep cleansing breath as
Yahn Nevye appeared to stand beside him at the window.

They did not look at each other.

“She will have all of them out
before long,” said the jaguar, peering out at the morning ritual taking place
in the valley. “You are a very brave man to have married a woman like that.”

“What time are you leaving
today?”

Nevye smiled. “I am not leaving,
brother. I have told you so.”

“Hmm.” Sireth smiled now. “My
wife is a beautiful woman, yes?”

“Very.”

“Skilled, disciplined, strong.”

“It seems so.”

“She is also deadly. It would
take but a word from me—no, a mere arch of a brow to see her slip into a
man’s room, slit his throat and be back in my bed before the pillow had grown
cold.”

“I am not leaving.”

Sireth stroked the young
falcon’s breast. She mouthed his hand with her sharp beak.

“You refuse to wear gloves,”
said Nevye. “Why?”

“Gloves are used to keep the world
out. After what I’ve been through, I realize this is the wrong approach. I can
harness the power of the world far better with my hands free and sensing.”

“The brothers of
Agara’tha
never wear gloves.”

“True indeed. And yet you still
wear them, brother. Are you conflicted in your calling?”

“Not at all. I prefer to keep
the world out.”

“You limit your skills.”

“Life has limited my skills.”

With that, the jaguar fell
silent and Sireth slid an eye to study him. He was an interesting man, he’d
come to realize. He had seen perhaps thirty-two summers, was of medium height
and strongly built, with a wide nose and deep-set, yellow eyes. His hair was
sandy and ringed like his pelt, roached on top and pulled back in a tight knot
at the base of his neck. He wore the brown robes of
Sha’Hadin
but had
spent two years learning under Jet barraDunne, First Mage of
Agara’tha,
himself.

A very wicked tenure.

Finally, he turned to face Yahn
Nevye, leaning his hip against the window and cocking his head like the falcon
on the ledge.

“Did you know what the dogs
would do to us, Yahn? When you made your little plans in Chancellor Ho’s winter
garden? Did you have any idea whatsoever the suffering that would come of it?”

The man clasped his hands behind
his back, fixed his eyes on the dawning sky.

“No, I didn’t.”

Sireth studied him a while
longer, before turning his attention back to the falcon. She hopped onto his
hand, talon bells jingling.

“Well then,” he said. “That is a
beginning.”

He lifted the bird up to his
shoulder and turned, leaving the jaguar alone by the window over the Valley of
the Seers.

***

They had run all morning, their
pace rough and uneven as their boots sank into drifts of snow. They had been in
the mountains for days now, moving steadily south and east as they went. The
hunting had been good, but Naranbataar was growing tired of the gamey taste of
hare and grouse. His grandmother had made the best soup in all Karan’Uurt, his
grandfather the best yak, and he found his mouth watering at the memory.

They had eluded the soldiers but
he knew they were near. They had almost been caught outside a small gathering
of yurts, when his sister had insisted they trade pelts for a bow and set of
arrows. He had approved of the arrows instantly, however. They were fletched
with crane and tipped with bone. They whistled when they flew.

It was noon then when a flash of
gold appeared behind a strange peak. A wall, high above them, riding the
mountain like the crest of a dragon.

He pulled up short at the sight,
bending over and dropping his hands to his knees. He shook his head.

“Setse,” he panted. “Stop.”

She swung back, smiling.

“No, Rani. We’re almost there.
See?”

“There? We’re going there?”

“Yes. There.”

She clapped her hands, twirled
in the snow. Her reindeer coat flapped like wings.

“Setse,” he sighed and stepped
through the snow to her side. “Setse, that is the Wall of the Enemy. We’re not
going there.”

She caught his hand in hers,
blue eye unnaturally bright in the shadow of the mountains. “Yes, Rani! That is
exactly where we need to go.
Ulaan Baator
is there. I know I will find
him!”

 
“Setse, please. We can’t go there.”

“Kuren
Ulaan Baator
. He
will save us. I’ve seen it.”

Cities. It was all she talked
about. The Khan of Khans was taking all the Oracles to his fortress-city of
Ulaan
Baator
. It was a miracle that they had escaped the gathering, but with the
restless way she was talking, perhaps it wasn’t a blessing.

“We will keep going east. East,
Setse. We can keep moving—”

“Hurry, Rani! He’s there!”

“Setse,
no!”

He snatched his hand away and
she blinked in surprise. She took several steps backward, began glancing around
like a frightened child.

“Oh, eyes. Eye of the Needle,
Eye of the Storm. Ulaan Baator and an army of blood. Eyes. Dragons. Oh the
blood, so much blood…”

He cursed himself for his
reaction and immediately moved to gather his sister in his arms. She was
pulling at her hair like a mad woman and shaking, eyes focused on something he
could not see, could never see. He loved her, but still.

“It’s alright, Setse. We’ll go a
little further. We’ll go.”

“Oh the Eyes…”

Together, they sank into the
snow and still he held her, stroking her hair and speaking to her with soft
words. But his eyes were fixed on the wall of gold in the distance and dreading
the fall of night.

***

The yori was remarkable.

It had been fashioned out of the
thickest of leathers and dyed a deep, ox-blood red. The stitching was elaborate
and as he ran his gloved fingers over the seams, he could see patterns woven in
silk thread. Dragons. The chest and back pieces were stitched together with
entwining black and gold dragons, the symbol of the Fangxieng Dynasty. Clasps
of lotus studded the work.

“Exquisite,” he breathed and the
two leopards straightened at his word. He couldn’t tell them apart, these two
leopards and he wondered if they were twins. He had taken to calling them
Leopard One and Leopard Two. They had not taken their eyes off him as he
examined the armour on the bamboo stand, likely because of his appearance. He
was wearing the kheffiyah once again and the sight of a lion hiding his mane
was unusual and therefore, suspect. He was also wearing only a kimonoh and obi,
along with split-toed sandals for lounging. It was a foreign thing for him, but
one he was in no hurry to exchange. He had spent two years in the field, so
this last week in the Imperial residence of
Pol’Lhasa
—in Ling’s
company exclusively—was a welcome indulgence. It had given him remarkable
insight into her world. She ruled an Empire from a single floor.

The leopards were armourers from
the Ministry of Defense Archives. She had commissioned them a week ago after
her announcement to the council her plans to reinstate the sham’Rai class of
warrior. It had been hotly debated, as many in her council suspected her
motives. It was not only Chancellor Ho who hated him now.

Because of this, he was still
waiting on the release of both Blood and Jade Fangs from the Armory. As legend
had it, the swords had been instrumental in the Battle of Roar’pundih, beating
back Legions of Dog Soldiers at the hand of General Li Tam-Mountbatten. Now,
they lived under plates of silvered glass in the
Kharta’keia
shrine of
the Palace. No one dared touch them.

He studied the
soteh
and
koteh
,
the plated sleeves that would support and protect his arms. Gold medallions
bolted into the leather, with iron casings that would surely stop the sharpest
of swords or the swiftest of arrows. Next, the chestpiece or
doh
,
reinforced with steel rings and looking to weigh more than a horse. Shin braces
and thigh wraps of smoked leather and shoulder
osodeh
finished the
armour. What took his breath away however was the helmet, fashioned from
hammered bronze that fell from the face like liquid metal. In fact, the tooling
gave it the impression of a lion’s mane and he smiled to himself at the irony.
It boasted the Imperial crest, along with the crest of the House
Wynegarde-Grey. Several tail feathers from a pheasant graced the crown.

He lifted the helmet, testing
its weight and finding a small hole in the very top. He frowned, curious.

“For the queue,” said one of the
leopards. “Ancient sham’Rai would shave their heads, save for a single queue.
See here?”

And the other flipped open a
massive book that they had brought up from the Archives with them. The pages
smelled of dust and shadows, but the images were as bright as the
sky—sham’Rai from Ancestral times and the rise of the early feline
dynasties. They had been quite correct. Without exception, the feline sham’Rai
(lions all) would shave their manes, with only a long bolt of hair left to fall
from the crown.

“The helmets are very hot,” said
leopard one. “Less mane is better for soldiers.”

“Hard for lions,” added leopard
two and they both nodded. “Lions are proud of their manes.”

“According to Emperor Felix
Augustus Asharbupal Kono, Third Emperor of the Tong Dynasty, a sham’Rai who
would not shave his mane for duty could not be trusted.”

“Too proud.”

“Indeed.”

As one, they looked at him.

He studied the helm for a long
moment, not really seeing it, before laying it back on its stand. Then, slowly,
carefully and with great deliberation, he reached up and slipped the kheffiyah
from his head. He held his breath.

As one, they bowed, fist to
cupped palm.

“Shogun-sama,” said One.

“The yori is perfect,” said Two.

He felt an odd rush of
exhilaration.

He began to slide the Seer’s
thick leather gloves from his hands.

“And what,” he asked, stretching
his fingers wide.” Do you think you can do with these?”

***

The day had begun like any other
in winter. Dark nights rolled into dark mornings and the clouds stayed low and
heavy over the Great Mountains. The days were short and finished early at this
time of year. Darkness and wind and snow and darkness. That was the cycle of
life at the battle tower above the Gate of Five Hands. The only thing anticipated
was the gong for evening meal.

And so, it was with a puzzled
frown that Captain Kimball Windsor-Chan heard not a gong this evening, but
drums.

He looked up from his desk, out
the small narrow window that afforded him a view out over the
Botekoshi
Gorge
and the Five Hands Pass. In the blackness thrown by the shadows of
the Mountains, he saw lights flickering.

There was a rap at his door,
followed by a leopard.

“Captain,” said the leopard.
They were a quiet lot, his leopards. Efficient, experienced, well-trained.

“Why the drums? Is there someone
at the Pass?”

“Forgive me but the Lieutenant
has asked to see you at the High Gate, sir.”

“Why?”

“He does not know the colour for
monkeys, sir.”

The Captain blinked slowly. He
was an old lion but strong and his golden mane was pulled back into a tight
top-knot at the crown of his head.

“The colour for monkeys,” he
repeated. “I don’t understand.”

“For the oil, sir.” The guard
nodded swiftly. “Blue for rats, orange for dogs, yellow for gowrain. But
Lieutenant Yu-Carlyle does not know the colour for monkeys.”

The lion was out the door in a
heartbeat and the Wall spread out like a stone serpent at his feet. The wind
plucked at his uniform, the grey clouds billowing in from the northwest and the
mountains shone like dark water under them.

Far, far below, lights rippled
like a wave upon the shore.

“White,” he growled. “White for
monkeys.”

Under the red and gold banners
of the Eastern sun, an army was moving toward the Gate of Five Hands.

***

The Wall of the Enemy towered
above them, built into the mountainside that rose steeply from the ridge. The
snow had stopped early but the wind was stinging and he knew it would be a
bitter night. He could not believe he was here, could not believe he was so
near the Wall of the Enemy, and not for the first time, he wondered how long he
could keep his sister safe. Her gift was making her reckless. They would both
surely die for it.