Snow in the Year of the Dragon

by H. Leighton Dickson

  He did not bow. Neither did Yamashida.

  “We have been commanded to meet the Capuchin Council,” the General said. “By the only Sun in the Sky, Emperor Hiro Watanabe himself. I am Li Yamashida, General of the Army of Winding Rivers that winds no more. This is Kirin Wynegarde-Grey, First Shogun-General of the Upper Kingdom, Khanmaker, and Commander of the Nine Thousand Dragons.”

  A murmur went through the people.

  Yamashida turned, gestured to Long-Swift and the man stepped forward. Behind the blue robes, the people stepped back.

  “Swift Khan Sumalbaykhan, Khargan of the Lower Kingdom, Ruler of the Chanyu. With him is his first wife Sherah al Shiva of Pol’Lhasa’s courts.”

  “Second,” said Swift. Compared to the man in blue robes, his voice was like grinding stones. “She is second wife, but first Khanil of the Chanyu.”

  Moto bowed, ever so slightly.

  “My mistake. Esteemed Khanil Sherah al Shiva.”

  Baby on hip, Sherah smiled cryptically, swaying like a cobra rising from a basket.

  The Chi’Chen crowd exchanged glances. Odd, thought Fallon, but not surprising. She had been wrong to assume only cats were influenced by caste and race.

  “We are honoured to be in such company,” said Yamashida, inviting Kerris forward. “And this is our own dear and legendary Kaidan, first ambassador between the Kingdoms and truest friend of the Chi’Chen.”

  Fallon felt her heart swell with pride. Kerris was more than they knew, more than he knew, and far more than any of the Empires deserved. She loved him so very much.

  She would not tell him. Not yet.

  Yamashida waved a hand at her.

  “This is his wife, the Lightning.”

  She swallowed as all eyes fell upon her, smiled an awkward little smile, waved an awkward little wave.

  Moto looked back to Yamashida.

  “Shin Sekai is a community of peace and order,” Moto said. “All are welcome to bask in the light of the Rising Suns.”

  She could see Yamashida’s jaw set. He said nothing.

  “But tonight,” Moto continued. “You must eat and sleep. In the morning, you will rise to begin three days of ritual cleansing before you will be ushered into the presence of the Rising Suns. If you are in accord, you are welcome. Otherwise, we bid you go on the winds of the Snow.”

  She bit her lip now. The threat was unmistakable, but the mention of food and sleep easily overshadowed it.

  “We accept your terms,” said Kirin in Chi’Chen. “With honour.”

  The man smiled but without his eyes. He did not nod.

  “There is also a very large army,” Kirin continued. “Three days beyond your northern border. The Nine Thousand Dragons is comprised of cats, monkeys, dogs and horses. We humbly ask that you send as much food as you can to care for them. It is a unified force still driven by its stomach.”

  “I am proud to inform you that the moment you crossed under the Celestial Mountain Gate, rations were sent out to the Nine Thousand Dragons,” said Moto. “Such a force, so close to our borders, might be viewed as an act of aggression. Feeding such a force, so close to our borders, might therefore be viewed as an act of good will.”

  “It will be viewed as such.”

  “I am honoured.”

  And he stomped his feet three times. Six sylph-like girls moved towards them, bowed with knees and clasped hands. Their hair was pulled back into low knots and long beaded braids fell from locks at their temples. They wore woven bracelets, golden collars and kimonohs of wool. Fallon smiled, remembering Emperor Watanabe’s daughters, how delicate, beautiful and wild they were.

  “Follow,” said Moto. “The Moonflowers will show you to your levels. There, Others Not-Flowers will assist your preparations.”

  “Moonflowers,” Fallon whispered to herself. Chi’Chen was a pretty language, with as much spoken in tone, pitch and cadence as in word. She looked back at the woman with the baby. This was not a Moonflower. No, this woman would be an Oakbranch or a Waterstone or Rockwood. Lovely language, Monkey.

  “The Snow,” Moto continued, “Will take your horses.”

  The guards moved forward toward the horses. The dogs growled and even Naranbataar laid back his ears as the monkeys wove between them like threads.

  “Take care of him,” Fallon said as a guard moved to take her rein. “I’ve lost so many horses these last two years. I really don’t want to lose another. It’s very bad for my reputation among horses. They’re such gossips and telltales.”

  The man stared at her. She tried to smile but he turned his back, dragging her horse behind him as he disappeared into the shadow of the mountain.

  Quiz grumbled as a guard moved toward him. The pony wore no bridle and therefore had no rein to take. The man thought for a moment before sliding a bamboo staff from the straps on his back. He tapped the pony’s haunch and Quiz squealed, small ears laid flat against his head.

  “Don’t, my friend,” said Kerris to the monkey. “He doesn’t like sticks.”

  The man stared for only a moment before tapping the pony’s haunch once again.

  Quiz snapped his teeth, narrowly missing the man’s curved tail.

  Fallon’s heart thudded in her chest as lightning cracked across the night sky and thunder echoed through the canyon.

  “I said don’t,” Kerris repeated. “Or your stick will become a lightning rod and you will have a very sore arm in the morning. If, in fact, you still have one.”

  “Li,” growled Kirin. “The honour of the Snow?”

  Yamashida spoke and the guard stepped away, slid the staff across his back. Kerris smiled again and bent down, pressed his face into Quiz’s mane.

  “Go on, now,” he said. “Go with the others. Keep them safe and bite that bugger hard if he hits you again.”

  The mountain pony grumbled but joined the herd, taking one final snap at the guard as he went.

  “Marvelous thing, lightning,” said Kerris and the sky rumbled one last time above their heads.

  “To your levels,” said Moto. “Meals and beds await.”

  The Moonflowers turned and shuffled out of the heart of the city, carrying little fans in their tails as they went. Too weary to protest, the party followed and as they made their way through the tents and firepits. Fallon threw one last glance back to the woman with the baby. She was gone but at the roaring, blazing mouth of the kiln, there was a silhouette working the bellows. It turned its face and for a brief moment, their eyes met before it turned back to the kiln and the fire.

  “Meals and bed, luv,” said Kerris. He reached out his hand and she hurried to take it. As she fell in at his side, she tried to still her racing heart, certain now that she had not been mistaken or imagining or daydreaming.

  No, neither monkeys nor life were that simple any more.

  There were Gowrain in the New World.

  ***

  “No,” said Ursa. “Not all Nine Thousand. There would never be enough food.”

  The War Council nodded, but she knew they weren’t listening. Seven men of wisdom and knowledge, experience and power – the War Council of Pol’Lhasa sat on cushions around a low table and had heard not one word she’d said during the debriefing. Not one word on the Army of Blood, the Oracles of Jia’Khan, or the Battle on the Field of One Hundred Stones. Barely a glimmer of interest when she described the weapon called Maiden that blew holes in stones like a needle through cloth. No, all eyes were fixed on her husband as he knelt before them in the learner’s pose, eyes closed, hands draped loosely in his lap.

  He had said nothing for four hours and the War Council was at a loss. Her husband was now inarguably the most powerful man in the Kingdom – Last Seer of Sha’Hadin and newly appointed First Mage of Agara’tha. The Empress had accepted his insolence where others would have been beaten within an inch of their life. Not only accepted it but called him hero and praised him from the wooden seat in the company of the entire court. Sireth benAramis, he of the spotted hands and
tufted tail, he with the voice of a lion and the beard of a mountain cat, gypsy and priest, Brahmin and untouchable, had changed the world by his very existence. Truthfully, Ursa didn’t know whether to be proud or terrified.

  And so she had answered as best as she could their milk-toast questions regarding the Army of Blood, the new Shogun-General, the uneasy alliance of Upper, Eastern and Lower Kingdoms, along with the bloody appointment of a new Khan. She had deliberately left out the pair of interracial marriages. Yahn Nevye and Jalair Naranseteg were not important enough to warrant mentioning. However, she debated sharing the fact that the Khargan’s new wife was a cheetah. It would come up soon enough if the Alchemist had her way.

  “Very well,” said Chancellor Ho and she raised her eyes to meet his yellow gaze. “I believe that the War Council is satisfied for now. Am I correct, Minister Singh? Minister Chow-Chirac?”

  “The Major has been most thorough,” said Minister Singh, a sleek leopard in green robes.

  “Most thorough,” echoed Minister Chow-Chirac, a lion in General’s armor. “However, I would have liked to have heard from her husband.”

  “Yes,” said Minister Ardahvan, a cheetah with a twisted lip. “A War Council is no place for meditations or prayers.”

  “On the contrary,” said Sireth benAramis, his first words since being ushered into the room and she cursed him under her breath. “It is the perfect place for it.”

  And for the first time in four hours, he opened his eyes, brown as a carob bean, brown as the earth.

  Unnatural.

  “You are new to me,” her husband continued, “As I am to you. We are both curious, are we not? It is to be expected.”

  Slowly, he rose to his feet, towering over the men as they sat on their cushions, their papers and plans, brushes and inkpots strewn across the low table. She felt a charge sweep through the room and her hand twitched, wishing it could move from its place behind her back to the hilt of her sword where it belonged.

  “Our Empress has admitted to spies in the palace. I serve the Empress, so how best to do so than to scry the spies from their holes in high places.”

  “And have you been scrying officers and servants in the entire palace these last hours, sahidi?” asked Ho. “Or have you been scrying us?”

  “Both,” he said. “But mostly you. I am the Last Seer of Sha’Hadin. I must be careful with my trust.”

  Her heart thudded at his words and she fought to contain it. He was bold to the point of foolishness and she prayed they would leave the War Room together and alive.

  “And?” said Chow-Chirac. “What are your conclusions, oh Esteemed Last Seer of Sha’Hadin?”

  “Those are insights best shared with the Empress herself,” he said.

  “Your insolence is unbecoming,” said Ardahvan. “You should advise the War Council of your visions, so we may best chart the course of the Empire.”

  “My insolence is a result of my personality,” he said. “I am a difficult man. Ask my wife if you doubt.”

  Her fingers curled, keening for steel.

  “We do not doubt,” said Ho and he leaned forward, steepled white fingers under his chin. “But tell us, are there spies among us, sahidi?”

  “Perhaps we are the spies?” asked Singh.

  “Or are we noble servants of the Empire?” asked Chow-Chirac.

  He was thinking, she could tell, weighing what he knew against what he feared and choosing words that would defend both. She did not envy him his position, and yet, he never made it easier.

  “We are an Empire on the verge of war,” he started. “And you are all servants to the core. Some serve the Empress firstly, some the integrity of our Empire, and others the code of Bushido. I can assure you that, from what I have seen, all serve what they believe to be the best interests of the Kingdom.”

  She could have sworn she heard each man release a cleansing breath. Ho sat back.

  “You have answered wisely,” he said. “But carefully, as to avoid the question.”

  “As you have said.” He raised a brow. “Wisely.”

  She would have hit him, had there not been officers in the room.

  “Tell me,” said Ho and he aimed his little flat face directly at the Seer’s. “Are there spies in Pol’Lhasa?”

  “Spies, operatives, lookouts, informants, it is all the same,” said her husband. “You all have people watching other people, bringing you information in ways outside official channels. You, Minister Ardahvan, have three calligraphers reporting to you on the activity of Minister Singh. Minister Singh has a lieutenant and a captain who slip him Minister Chow-Chirac’s sentry patterns every night along with his tea, and Minister Chow-Chirac has his hand in deep in the pocket of Minister Juan Jing-Carlos at the School of One Hundred Thoughts. Their Scholars are everywhere in the Palace. And Chancellor Ho…”

  He stopped himself and she was glad. Ho’s nails were digging into his knuckles and she knew it would be moments before a bead of blood stained the white. It was as much threat as it was terror. Sireth smiled.

  “Chancellor Ho’s cleverness behind the scenes have made it so that the Empire has a new Shogun-General and a new First Mage of Agara’tha. I am here, instead of Jet barraDunne, and for that, I am grateful.”

  And to her surprise, he bowed. Just a little.

  Ho relaxed his grip. Blood was averted for now, if not for long.

  “So, if we may take our leave,” the Seer continued. “My wife and I are exhausted. We have recently returned from the Plains of Tevd and have had only hard ground and Wall stone as a bed in all that time.”

  “You have a commission to take up,” said Ho.

  “And we’ll be leaving in the morning. But first, a good long night in a soft bed. The Empress has arranged it.”

  “I have arranged it, sahidi,” said Ho. “There is no spare room in the Palace but the Room of Enlightened Shadows should be adequate for one night. No bed, but cushions on the floor should suffice for one accustomed to austerity.””

  “Again, you have my thanks.”

  “It is my duty.”

  “And you do it so well.” He smiled at them all. “Good night, esteemed friends. As the newest member of the War Council, I look forward to many lively conversations in the future.”

  And with that, he swept from the Council Room with theatrical flair, a Leopard Guard holding the door for him as he went. She fell in at his side, happy to find her hands on the hilt of her swords, home.

  “Well?” she growled.

  He did not look at her, kept his face forward as he walked.

  “This place is filled with spies and hassassins,” he said under his breath. “We need to leave at once.”

  “But the Empress?” she snapped. “I promised three lessons.”

  “We’re taking her with us.”

  He was a long way off before she realized that she had stopped dead in her tracks. Sacrilege, Blasphemy, Treason, Laying Hands on the Royal Person. The list of crimes rolled through her head. They would be dead before they left Pol’Lhasa, and swiftly, brutally. There would be no honour in their deaths. She wondered if they would kill the Empress. It would be the perfect time. There was already a Sacred kitten and Ho would be named Regent. It was madness.

  Vain, mongrel, gypsy madness.

  There is only desire and the sorrow that it brings.

  She gripped the hilt of her swords and followed.

  ***

  It was curious, Kirin thought, how the Moonflowers were so adept at separating them without using a single word. In fact, he thought they might just be more effective than the Snow in that regard. He wondered if the fans they carried were weapons, or if any of them had been trained to kill.

  First, at the base of the mountain, Li Yamashida’s Snow were sent to the barracks by a mere glance of the eyes. Then up a flight of stone steps into a mountain very much like Sha’Hadin. But where Sha’Hadin’s steps were open to steep drops below, these were narrow and claustrophobic, with white sto
ne pressing in on all sides. In fact, had he not been carrying his helm, the pheasant feather would have swept the ceilings clean.

  The two leopards were led to a room where four Chi’Chen women waited at the open doorway with tea, hot towels and faces as hard as the stone. The leopards looked back once before disappearing through the door and Kirin wondered if he would see them again.

  Leaving the dog soldiers next in a room much the same, they made their way up another set of stairs. Mirrors reflected light up and down the corridors, and had it been another day, he would have enjoyed studying them, but his belly was grumbling and the promise of sleep was far more compelling. Another sharp wall and they left Yamashida in a room with four women to tend him. The Moonflowers stopped at another door and gestured with barely an eyelash at Naranbataar. He was holding the baby and glanced from the Alchemist to the Moonflowers.

  “No,” growled Long-Swift. “Jalair Naranbataar serve the Khan of Khans. We stay with him.”

  Kerris translated, although Kirin wondered if Sherah al Shiva weren’t fluent in monkey. She could speak any and all languages, for all he knew. Nothing would surprise him regarding her.

  The Moonflowers exchanged glances, gestured in their graceful way and the Khargan strode into the room. The four women chattered at the Moonflowers, clearly not willing to attend a party of three plus a baby. As they argued, the Alchemist slipped forward, taking the baby from Naranbataar’s arms, and followed her husband through the door. She paused, turned back, golden eyes gleaming from the young man to Kirin and back again.

  “Come,” she said. “You serve the Khargan.”

  Naranbataar stood up straight.

  “I live to serve the Khan of Khans,” he said.

  As he moved to follow the Khanil into the room, he paused and slipped the Maiden over his shoulder. He held it out to Kerris.

  “Best with you,” he said.

  “Right, then,” said Kerris. He took it, slid it across his back.

  And with a swift nod, the young dog disappeared into the room. The Chi’Chen women threw up their hands and followed. Cats and Moonflowers moved on.