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

by Dickson, H. Leighton

  “It’s my fault. I thought I said the right thing.”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “It is your fault,” growled the Major. “You were the one who found him last night, Scholar. You gave him over. You.”

  That seemed to cut the young woman to the quick. “...oh...” was all she managed to get out before her composure crumbled like a child’s tower of sand and she buried her face in her arms.

  “Oh well done, Ursa. Why don’t you go kick some old people while you’re at it?”

  The Major resumed her pacing and save for the occasional sob, there was silence in the Great Room for a long time.

  Finally, Kerris pushed the tray away and sat back. He cast a worried look up the stairs, in the direction of the upper rooms.

  “So,” he said. “Where is he?”

  “What?” Ursa scowled.

  “Well, I’ve never actually had the pleasure of killing anybody myself, not intentionally and certainly not with a sword but I really can’t imagine that it takes too long, now does it? Not if you have the sword and the other fellow doesn’t. And Kirin is not the type to gloat over a dead body. He really doesn’t like getting blood or bits of stuff on his uniform. A bit fussy that way, he is. So then, why hasn’t he come down?”

  Fallon raised her head from the table. “Why hasn’t he come down?”

  “That was the question, yes.”

  “Free my hands...” Ursa’s voice was unnaturally soft.

  “Come again?”

  “He didn’t kill him... he cut the bonds...”

  They both glanced up at the Major. It was like looking into a stormy sky, one that was growing darker, more ominous by the moment. Suddenly, lightning flashed in her pale blue eyes.

  “AhmniShakra!”

  And like a thunderclap, she bolted across the room and up the stairs, with a bewildered Kerris and Fallon exchanging glances and scrambling on up behind.

  ***

  two hearts pounding, madness, the blood hot, too hot, racing, two lifetimes of memories mingling, merging, utter madness, sad old eyes smiling, weeping, three lifetimes now, your vision he is saying, the only key, rejoicing and devastation, your vision, old eyes, Ancient eyes, Ancestors, here and now, Captain... no...See it...please, no... Know it…I don’t want to know this...

  And suddenly, like a blow from a broadsword, Kirin’s soul was ripped in two, twisting him inside out as though his very heart were being torn from his chest. He heard a cry, a roar of pain that shattered his bones like a fall from a rooftop, until he realized it was his own voice he was hearing, his own voice, and then somehow, his brother’s. The room came spinning into focus.

  Kirin sat up, gasping for breath, fighting the pain and dizziness that threatened to send him back to the floor.

  “Kerris, Kerris, what are you doing? Where is the Seer?”

  “Are you alright, Kirin?”

  “Where?!”

  Under the broken window the Seer huddled in a ball on the floor, groaning and clutching his head in his hands. Sprawled on top of him was the Major, pinning him as she had once before, this time with a fistful of mane and a dagger at his throat.

  “Get away from him! Get away!” the Captain snarled as he lunged across the mahogany, throwing the woman’s taut arms aside, sending her dagger clattering across the room.

  “Sidi, can you hear me? Are you unharmed?”

  “I think so,” came the muffled reply. “Except...”

  “Except?”

  “Except I now have your headache.”

  With a deep puff of breath, Kirin knelt, fixing the Major with a stare she had seen precious few times in her life. His teeth were gritted, the muscles in his jaw rippled with fury.

  “What were you thinking, Major?” Each word was bitten in half. She had never seen him so angry.

  She drew herself up ramrod straight. “Sir. I thought he was attacking you, sir.”

  “What were your orders?”

  “Sir—”

  “Your orders?”

  She steeled her jaw, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks.

  “To leave you alone. Sir.”

  “And earlier?”

  “Not to touch him.”

  “Kirin, it did look rather odd,” said Kerris. “I mean it looked like he was cracking your skull like a coconut.”

  “Thank you, Kerris, but I don’t recall asking your opinion.”

  “So sorry, dear brother, but—”

  “That’s enough, Kerris. You have no business being in here, either.”

  “Please,” Sireth moaned as he pushed himself to his knees. “No arguing. It’s too loud.”

  “No business? No business? Kirin!”

  “Later, Kerris.”

  “Kirin—”

  “Too loud,” the Seer moaned again, wincing as his own voice roared through his temples like a morning gong. Just as the sensation was beginning to fade, green-sleeved arms were flung around his neck and this time, he was tackled by yet another woman. Thankfully, Fallon Waterford possessed neither the strength nor the fervor of the Major and she simply buried her tear-streaked face into his shoulder.

  “I’m so glad you’re still alive.”

  “Thank you, my dear,” he said, managing a thin smile. “I’m glad too.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and helped him to his feet.

  The Captain was already standing, hands on hips, casting dark, scathing glances between the Major and his brother, as if deciding whom to behead first.

  “Major, I hereby relieve you of your charge of guarding this man. For the duration of the journey, you will be responsible for the care and maintenance of the horses.”

  “Sir.”

  There was the slightest tremor in her voice, but she remained as straight and rigid as ever, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. It was as if she welcomed the chastisement.

  “Oh, giving away my job now, are you Kirin? Why don’t you just go ahead and make her your guide. And make me a Major while you’re at it. I need a new tunic after all, and I think I would look smashing in all that white leather.”

  “Kerris, I said later.”

  “Captain, if I may,” said the Seer, still panting as he slipped his gloves back over his hands. “The Major was ‘simply doing her job’, something you all take quite seriously it seems. You cannot punish her now because she is zealously concerned for your safety.”

  “You stand up for her now? After all she has done?”

  “Not at all, Captain. I stand up for her for what she has yet to do.”

  The object of their debate stood still as stone, her eyes not wavering from the form of her Captain. For his part, her Captain ground his molars together, feeling the strain as he worked to control his rising temper. This was not the way, he reminded himself, not his way, but he feared his way was slipping farther and farther out of his grasp, and would very soon be torn from him, in favor of another, much older one.

  It was madness.

  “Very well. Major, you are reinstated as this man’s guardian. You owe him your station. Do not forget that.”

  “No, sir.”

  “And Kerris...”

  The Captain now turned to his brother. Kerris drew the blanket tightly across his shoulders, as if trying to retain some of the indignation that had fueled him earlier. It was a difficult task. He sighed.

  “Kerris, go put something on.”

  “I need a new tunic, Kirin. An expensive one.”

  “Fine. Fine. The Empress will pay.”

  Immediately, Kerris brightened.

  “Alright then. Sidalady tigress, shall we go to the markets?”

  With a hapless shrug, Fallon slipped from the Seer’s side and accepted the arm that was offered her. The pair headed out the door and down the hall.

  The Captain turned to regard the Major, still as silent as her sword. Sireth benAramis stood at her side, towering over her as Kathandu towered over Pol’Lhasa. Too bad he wasn’t a snow leopard, Kir
in thought ruefully. The man actually might be a match for her. If she didn’t kill him first.

  “You may as well go too,” said Kirin. “It will be a long tedious day. See the sights. Buy what you will.”

  “Am I still under arrest?”

  “No, but you are still under suspicion.”

  “I feel so much better.”

  He was hard to ignore, this audacious mongrel but the Captain did admirably.

  “Major, you are to accompany the Seer to the marketplace. You are to see that he returns safely, and enjoys himself while there. That does not include being threatened by your weapons nor by your tongue. I trust I will not have to remind you of this again.”

  “No sir.”

  “Good. Now leave me alone. I much to think about.”

  “Sir.”

  He swung his back to them, crossing the floor to lean out the open window, thus signaling an end to the conversation. As Ursa and Sireth moved to leave, the Captain turned his face in their direction.

  “I wish you had not shown me,” he said softly.

  “I wish I had not seen.”

  And they left him alone, for indeed, he had much to think about.

  ***

  The morning was a bright and sunny one and by the time they reached the first of the stalls, the marketplace was full to brimming with bodies. Merchants, peddlers and beggars alike, calling for silver like so many children, eager-eyed and open-handed at a parent’s return. Oxen lowed from narrow billets and headless geese swung against headless rabbits, as shop after shop beckoned for attention. From silken scarves to idols of jade, from sacks of rice to over ripe oysters, the sights, sounds and most of all, smells of the marketplace were a delight to the senses, tempting even the most sensible of souls with her bounty of goods.

  The Scholar was drinking it in.

  “Wow,” she said as she picked up yet another item from yet another stall. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “That’s the fifth time you’ve said that this morning,” said Kerris. “Really, sidala, I think you’ve led entirely too sheltered a life.”

  “Oh, well, yes. I suppose you would think that, wouldn’t you? After all, you grew up in the Palace Courts and I grew up on a lowly pheasant farm in the jungle.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh, really?” She picked up another item, the likes of which she truly never had seen. “So what’s this, sidi world traveler?”

  “What’s what?”

  “This. Tell me, Kerris your name was, what in the Kingdom is this?”

  “It’s from the time of the Ancestors, it is,” came the gruff voice of the shop merchant, a jaguar with series of golden hoops running the lengths of both ears. Like the Inkeep, he spoke Hinyan, the Language of Commerce. “From the very first Dynasty, or thereabouts. Look, it’s even got his Imperial monogram.”

  Kerris took the bangle from Fallon’s hand, turning it over and over in his own.

  “Hmm. Saykoh. Never heard of him. But I’ve seen this type of thing before.”

  She folded her arms across her chest, grinning a sly, lopsided kind of a grin.

  “Oh really. You have.”

  “Really. I have. See.”

  He plucked at the pendants that hung round his neck. It was a confusing jumble, to be sure, made all the more unmanageable by the blanket still draped across his shoulders, but finally, he held one out. It was made of a different metal, this one silver as opposed to gold, but the flattened disk bore a remarkable resemblance to the bangle in his palm. He turned the disk to face her.

  “See, Tymechs. Some Old Fhae’roh, perhaps.”

  “Wow.” Fallon received the bangle back from her companion. “But, but what is it for?”

  “Purely ornamental, I should think. I’ve cracked a couple before and inside they’re full of springs and wires and odd rusted chips of steel. Nothing much to them, really. Why don’t you put it ‘round your arm. Or maybe your ankle. Might look rather fetching down there.”

  “Why does it have twelve symbols?”

  “I don’t know. Astrological, perhaps? You know, the monkey, the goat, the tigress...”

  She didn’t hear him, so intent was she on the face of the bangle, turning it one way, then the other to catch the light.

  “I don’t know. Kinda looks like a sundial to me.”

  Kerris and the shopkeep exchanged looks.

  “Right. Of course. That’s it. A sundial that you wear on your ankle. Brilliant. Trust the Ancestors to come up with something like that...” He leaned in to the jaguar, waggled a grey finger between them. “We’ll take it. Charge it to the big lion at the Inn. Right?”

  “Just keep that little snow leopard out of my stall, is all I ask. I’ve already had my share of ears pierced!”

  He roared with laughter. Obviously, news traveled fast around this little corner of the world. Or rather, on the very roof of it.

  Kerris laughed as well, taking Fallon’s elbow and ushering her away from the treasure trove of Old things. She was still pondering her new acquisition when suddenly she seemed to realize she was somewhere else.

  “Hey! I didn’t pay for this!”

  “Not to worry. Kirin did. Or rather, his Empress.”

  Fallon slipped the bangle over her wrist, sliding it as far as it could go. On such a thin arm, it went up quite far.

  “I think he likes her.”

  “Who?”

  “Your brother. I think he’s fond of the Empress.”

  “Mad about her. Absolutely starved for her love, I can assure you. Always has been, ever since we were children. But do you want to know something that’s even stranger?” He leaned in to whisper in her ear, and suddenly, his very closeness caused her pelt to tingle. “She’s mad about him too.”

  “No!”

  “Oh yes. Why do you think there is no consort? No heir?”

  “Wow...”

  “Not a word, mind. Or it’ll be my tail.”

  “I swear.”

  “On your father’s father’s father’s grave?”

  “And my mother’s.”

  Kerris grinned again, hooking his arm through hers.

  “That’s what I love about tigers. They know how to keep secrets.”

  Fallon nodded quickly. She was getting rather good at keeping them.

  ***

  Major Ursa Laenskaya scowled all around her.

  “They are looking at us. Why are they looking at us?”

  “This is a very isolated region, Major. These people see few visitors.”

  “I don’t like it. It’s bad for business.”

  “Perhaps your reputation precedes you.”

  She considered this. It seemed a reasonable thing.

  “Yes. Perhaps.”

  They passed a large octagonal stall, each side spread with an elaborate variety of goods, from hot cooked fruit to leather slippers to weapons. It appeared to be a family operation for two men and one woman, ocelots all, moved from table to table under the rough yak-hide canopy, bartering and selling in many tongues. In the very centre, an elderly couple sat, observing all but saying nothing. They nodded as Sireth passed by.

  From under a corner of a nearby stall, bright eyes darted in and out, hiding a small face behind a flap of curtain. A kitten, thin and dusty, having no more than seven summers to her credit was watching him with curiosity. Smiling, the Seer cupped fist to palm and bowed. The child disappeared.

  “Nice work,” the Major was saying. “Where did you find it?”

  “It has been brought by caravan,” answered one of the brothers from within the stall. He was speaking Imperial quite admirably. “From the white plains above Gobay.”

  “Hah. Stolen no doubt. From the corpse of some dead Dog.”

  The brother said nothing but merely watched as Ursa picked the weapon, testing its weight in the palm of her hand. It was a jamviyah, a short, sickle-shaped blade and her silver fingers curled about the hilt with relish. She held it oddly
, Sireth thought, for the blade seemed backwards, curving back under her wrist and into her body, as though she knew it intimately. But it was when she began to move, slowly, gracefully, swinging her arm out and away like a Chai’Chi mistress that he realized its lethal potential. It was indeed an intimate weapon, a scimitar forged for close combat, a scythe as personal as one’s very claws for it was common knowledge that Dogs had not the claws of Cats and envied them for it.

  Sireth shuddered. These were not things he wanted to know.

  “You are from Sha’Hadin,” came a very frail voice, speaking in the ancient tongue of the Manda’Rhin. He turned to see the elderly couple, standing now at the table nearest him, and for some reason, he was reminded of Petrus Mercouri. They were a small pair, ocelots with bright, glistening eyes, toothless smiles and fragile bones. Almost Sacred, he thought. It was a blessing how Age did that to people.

  “Yes. I am,” he responded in Manda’Rhin.

  “The last of the Seven.”

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  They bowed deeply and the man held his spindly arms open wide.

  “It is an honor to have you at our stall, sahidi. Anything you desire is yours.”

  “Thank you, but I have need of nothing.”

  “The monastery has been good to us, sahidi. It would please us to return some of that generosity. The jamviyah, perhaps?”

  Sireth noticed the prick of Ursa’s ears at the mention of the deadly weapon. It lay now amongst common daggers on another of the eight tables. He shook his head.

  “She has need of nothing, either. But thank you again. You honor me with your offer.”

  Hungry young eyes peered at him again from under the dusty flap.

  “Wait,” he said as he turned to leave. “Perhaps there is one thing...”

  “You need but name it, sahidi.”

  He could see Ursa’s gaze slide back to the blade. She seemed to be holding her breath.

  Clasping his hands behind his back, he breathed deeply a sickly sweet scent.

  “Is that the smell of honey-roasted bananas?”

  “Our specialty, sahidi. Hanshan, bring the Seer a kz’laki!”

  “Two?”