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

by Dickson, H. Leighton

“I said enough!”

  Once again, for a fleeting moment, Kerris resembled his brother in more than just face. But when he turned back to the Scholar, he was Kerris once again.

  “Nothing can heal this kind of break, sidala. And since it’s an Imperial horse, Kirin has to take care of it. But not to worry, his sword is sharp, his aim sure. The creature will be dead before it even knows it has been struck.”

  “Oh...oh no...” Emerald eyes brimmed.

  “Yes, well...” Kerris huffed and looked round at the faces. “I guess I’d better get to those provisions. We have only one packhorse now. We may have to leave some books—”

  “Not my books—”

  “And some Alchemy stores.” He glanced at the pouch, bobbing and full at the end of its tether. “You might want to consider leaving that.”

  “No.”

  “Believe me, sidalady cheetah, Kirin is not too well-disposed toward it at the moment. Or for that matter, you.”

  She looked up at him. The paint around her eyes had streaked with her tears and she looked almost vulnerable.

  “I cannot leave it. It is my life.”

  “No.” said Sireth. “It is your death.

  “I cannot leave it.”

  “I can leave my books,” said Fallon, biting back her own tears and wincing anew. “If I can get them when we come back.”

  “You shall have them, then,” said Kerris and he started up the pole-ladder. The silence he left behind roared louder than the wind.

  ***

  He was handsome, she had to give him that.

  In fact, Andreas Wolchenko Verona Chiraq was perfect.

  He was young and courtly, as well mannered as any in her Imperial company. He held his tongue when it was wise to do so, and offered opinions that made her think. His family was Sacred and very old, dating back to the Second Dynasty and well spoken of by the people of the region. They had governed Abyssinia well throughout the ages and DharamShallah had grown used to their tithes and tributes.

  And, as all of his people, he was gold. Like a lion.

  The Empress had to smile to herself. The man had been chosen by the First Mage himself, his pick for suitor for the Empress’ hand, and she knew in her heart of hearts the very reason. Not the only reason, however, so as not to offend with the error of simplicity. Still, she found herself reminded in many ways of her Captain. His eyes, while not blue, were as green as jade and reflected a depth of thoughtfulness and humor that she found most appealing. His laugh was effortless and natural, but not overdone, his discretion commendable. He was well read, well taught, well groomed. All in all, the perfect match. The First Mage was not valued counsel for nothing.

  As they reclined on silk cushions of crimson and blue, she studied Chiraq over her plum wine. It had been a lovely evening. They had dined on roasted pheasant, set out on platters to look in death as they do in life. They had tasted the chocolate from Hindaya and the marzipans from Hirak. They had been entertained with the koto and sitar and bamboo flute. He was altogether pleasant, in form, in manner, in conversations, and she found herself counting the reasons why she should be grateful for such an agreeable match.

  There was, however, a problem. With his eyes.

  She could tell when someone was impressed with her. She could tell when someone was overwhelmed with her position, her opulence, her power. She could tell when someone was fearful, proud, cloying, false or deceitful. She could also tell, from close inspection of one set of blue eyes in particular, when someone was absolutely and unconditionally in love with her, enthralled with her every nuance, would lay down his life in a heartbeat. She was skilled at discerning all these things, so it was not difficult at all to tell when someone was hiding something behind the deep spheres of color that were his eyes.

  “What is her name?” she asked over her glass and smiled when his gaze lowered. Again, to his credit, his composure remained secure.

  “You are every bit as wise as I was told, Excellency. It is inexplicable.”

  She did not lower her own gaze, however, this alone informing him that his comments would not suffice. She waited, but not for long. He took a deep breath.

  “Bellethsa di Montagne, Excellency.”

  He smiled shyly. She wondered if her Captain might look the same when confessing the name of the one he loved.

  “That is not a Sacred name, Andreas.”

  “No, Excellency. She is a scribe from our courts. An ocelot of good breeding.”

  “You know this cannot be, Andreas.”

  “I know, Excellency. As does she. But I would not presume to lie to my Empress.”

  “But you would marry your Empress.”

  “It would be an honor, Excellency.”

  Marvelous, she thought to herself, how kharma works in us all. She brought her chalice to her lips.

  “The First Mage has chosen well. Perhaps too well. You are everything I would want in a suitor. Yes, you are a perfect choice.” She nodded, sipped her plum wine. “Perhaps he knows me too well.”

  The night went on like lemonade, sweet and bitter, and by the end, she dismissed him with riches to bless his family and the family of Bellethsa di Montagne, the ocelot scribe in the courts of Abyssinia.

  ***

  Kirin watched her with sharp, sifting eyes, wishing for once that he might see as a Seer sees, deep into the hearts and souls of the unwary. She confounded him, this woman of blackness and incense, even now as she sat crosslegged on the stormy parapet, her candles wavering but not going out, her tangle of hair lifting and falling like the wings of a raven. She was drawing chalk circles on the stone, dropping pebbles in between the interwoven lines. She shook her head and repeated the process many times. All the while, she hummed but it was not a sweet singing.

  He stepped out of the shadow of the tower.

  “Sidala.”

  “Sidi.”

  “Your actions today were unforgivable.”

  “Yes.”

  She had still not looked up at him, and he thought this was a large part of her power. She forced one to act, forced one to move, when out of courtesy and propriety, it should have been her obligation. He would not tolerate it.

  “Sidala, look at me.”

  It was almost his undoing. Her eyes were wide and wondrous, no longer blackened by the thick paint she wore and they shone like lanterns in a gale. He steeled himself against them.

  “I have killed an Imperial horse, tonight, sidala. Perhaps in Agara’tha, they have little value, but here and now, they are all we have. Do you understand this?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you?”

  “I do.” She nodded, no hint of duplicity now in either voice or expression. She was somber and serious but preoccupied and she turned back, waving a hand over her circles. “This cannot be.”

  He stepped towards her now, towering over her, a dark shadow against the darker sky. “What cannot be?”

  “The numbers. The numbers do not lie. They can tell nothing but the truth.”

  “And what is the truth they are telling?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Sidala.” It was not a question.

  “Six,” she whispered. “The numbers keep saying six.”

  Something told him he should know this, should know the significance of what she was saying, and somewhere, it rattled him to the very core.

  “What of it?”

  “Seven is the number of perfection, sidi. But six...”

  “Yes?”

  “Six is the number of man.”

  Blast, he thought. She was a diviner as well. He should have known. He should have been told.

  “The numbers are wrong.”

  “The numbers are never wrong.”

  He crouched down low to her, meeting her gaze directly. Then with a slow, deliberate motion, he wiped away her circles and gathered her pebbles. He pressed them into her palm.

  “The numbers are wrong.”

  Golden eyes dropped to the
floor. “Of course.”

  “And we will not speak to the others of their error.”

  “No, sidi.”

  “Two nights past, after we crossed the Shi’pal—”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Cocking his head, he sat back on his haunches. “You drugged the Major?”

  “In her tea. Two tablets of hawk’s thorn.”

  He was surprised at his own mild response. He should be furious.

  “Why?”

  Again, she looked at him and the force of her almost pushed him over.

  “You required sleep. When Solomon comes, you do not sleep.”

  “Thank you, sidala, but my needs are not your concern.”

  “Of course.”

  Rather quickly, he rose to his feet.

  “You will not do this again.”

  She bowed, almost touching her forehead to the stone. With a deep breath, he left her to her chalk and candles.

  ***

  Solomon did not come again that night but this time, somehow Kirin was not surprised. He and the Major had sat up for the entirety of the second watch but the Seer had slept like a kitten, without even a flicker of an eyelid to disturb him. The Captain himself was so exhausted that he welcomed the respite and found sleep came quickly once he laid his head. He had no dreams that night.

  The next days were like the previous, wet and cold and stormy. They were entering the Zashkar Pass, the Wall cleaving the Great Mountains like a magician’s trick. The Upper Kingdom claimed the south-eastern range, for it was these that boasted the most spectacular peaks. Kathandu, and Charta, and her greatest daughter, virgin Shagar’mathah, Empress of the Earth. There were others, to be sure, such as her sister Mathah’kalu or consort Khanshen’kalu but none could rival Shagar’mathah for size. Cats of all races had tried to scale her but all attempts had failed miserably and their bones fed her avaricious slopes. She alone was virgin. She alone was pure.

  Unless, of course, one believed the recent exploits of Kaidan. Legend Kaidan, onetime hostage then first ambassador to the Chi’Chen. Myth Kaidan, cat of unknown Race, in one story lion, in another tiger, in yet another ghost. Clever, wily and untouchable Kaidan, hero of the people, heralded by bards everywhere. Now, the most current of these tales being that Kaidan had indeed conquered Shagar’mathah, that he had wooed her and won her and left his cloak like a flag on her very summit. On that matter, Kirin did not know what to think. He usually tried not to think about it. Thoughts of Kaidan invariably gave him a headache.

  Now, the Lower Kingdom had been ceded the northwestern ranges, for reasons inexplicable to cats. It was not that they had not been defendable. The Great Mountains offered cats great protection and the Wall had only proved that fact, simply reinforcing this natural barrier. Rather, it seemed that somehow, at some time, a cruel bargain had been struck, and someone had delivered over to dogs a portion of their Good Mother. Perhaps it had been Her own plan for with her strong arms, she could at once embrace her chosen people and keep their enemies at bay.

  So having begun at Sri’Varna all the way to the garrison town of Panther in the Zashkar Pass, the Mountains were angry and steep, howling and raging because of this unworthy bargain. But west, beyond Panther, the anger subsided and the mountains grew bored, the wind lost interest and the Wall leveled to more manageable straights. Even still, it took five days before they could see the domes and spires of Lhahore. Solomon had not come at all, on any night during their trek and Kirin found his spirits buoyed at the chance of returning home. On the eve of the sixth day, they arrived at a battle tower high above the city to find a falcon, not Path, awaiting them.

  It bore a parchment, sealed with the Imperial seal and the scent of lotus.

  My dearest and most noble Captain,

  I trust this falcon finds you at the tradestown of Lhahore, well and strong on your journey, and that your people are likewise. Our Mother, the Great Mountains, is sure to bless you with safety and good speed as you make the difficult pass through her breast.

  I am pleased to inform you that the First Mage of Agara’tha, Jet barraDunne, has graciously agreed to assist in the supervision of the monastery of Sha’Hadin. His priests have already begun the delicate procedure of assuming the daily operations, and he has succeeded in locating former Council candidate, Yahn Nevye, to oversee that the transition is smooth. Jet has assured me that none of their unique traditions or practices will be lost during his stewardship. Rather, he insists that my Seers might be strengthened and supported by the presence of their brothers in the Arts, during this time of bereavement and change.

  Although I wish in my heart of hearts to see you and your party return to the safety of Pol’Lhasa, your mission has not changed. Imperial justice must be sure and swift, and I know you to be both.

  With highest and most honorable regards,

  Thothloryn Parillaud Markova Wu

  He folded the tiny slip of parchment and slid it into his sash, frowning. There should have been two but perhaps it was all for the best. The first held his loathe secret. It was better to be ashes on the scarlet Inn’s floor.

  With a sigh, he turned back to his party, now in the process of removing the tack from their horses’ backs. He watched them all in turn, the Major with her quick, sharp movements, the Alchemist with her slow, languid ones. Naturally, Quiz required no untacking so Kerris was being useful as he aided the still limping Scholar with her new mount. He pulled the saddle from the high back and slipped the bridle over the long, rather Roman nose. She was chatting constantly, even as his back was turned, and hobbled around behind him like a kitten, leaning on the Seer’s twisted bamboo staff for support. The Seer, himself, was shouldering his saddle as the Captain approached.

  “Who is Yahn Nevye?”

  “Yahn Nevye?” The Seer paused before lowering the saddle to the ground. “What of Yahn Nevye?”

  “Who is he?”

  “He is a Seer from Sha’Hadin. Or at least, he was. He’s on sabbatical. Why?”

  “He has charge of the monastery.”

  “Really?” The man raised his brows. “Now that is interesting.”

  “He was a Council candidate?”

  “Yes. He was expected to take Chen Bundi’s seat two years ago.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “No.” The Captain waited, knowing there was more but benAramis turned back to his horse and reached for its bridle. “How did they find him?”

  “The First Mage located him.”

  The reins swung as the man spun round. “The First Mage? I was right, then!”

  “Sireth benAramis is never wrong.”

  He had not seen her move, but she was there, a smoke-wraith at his side.

  “You have news of the First Mage, sidi?” breathed Sherah.

  He ignored her and folded his hands behind his back. “So then, Sha’Hadin is in good hands.”

  The Seer shook his head. “I have seen nothing from them these past days. Nothing. For me, this is unsettling. My attempts are met with walls, my thoughts deflected like light on mirrors. That is not natural.”

  “Perhaps there is nothing to see,” suggested the Alchemist.

  “And perhaps that is what the First Mage wishes us to believe.”

  Kirin had no patience for squabbles. “Is Yahn Nevye a powerful Seer?”

  “Yes.”

  “More powerful than you?”

  “No.”

  “Is that why you were chosen to the Council Seat instead of him?”

  “No. Yahn Nevye cannot speak to falcons.”

  “What of it?”

  “It is the falcons who choose.”

  Kirin shook his head, finding it ironic that seven of the most powerful and influential cats in the Kingdom were chosen...by birds.

  “We are not going back.”

  “As you wish.”

  The man tried to smile, but the Captain thought it was a thin smile, the smile of a man struggling to resign himself to something. Something far dee
per than the loss of Sha’Hadin. He could not consider it now.

  Kerris looked up from checking one of the horse’s feet.

  “Well, if we’re not going back, then where are we going? I mean, Solomon hasn’t put in an appearance for many nights now. And we can’t navigate on the maps we made back at the Inn. They are nowhere near accurate.”

  Kirin folded his hands behind his back. “I have an idea.”

  All eyes were on him now. He shouldered their scrutiny well. “Tonight, the Seer and I shall hold AhmniShakra.”

  The Seer stared at him. “You’re serious.”

  “I am always serious, sidi.”

  “But you are not gifted. We will only reach the second level. It won’t be enough.”

  “It will have to be.”

  “Very well. Since I shall be doing the bulk of the work, you will allow me to prepare? Have ‘the stableboy’ see to my things.”

  And without awaiting permission, Sireth turned, robes swirling, and strode into the massive tower keep.

  “You should not allow that,” growled Ursa, before trudging after her charge.

  “I know,” said the Captain. He too turned and left the rampart for the company of soldiers.

  ***

  They had dined well that night, as the Guard did most nights in the battle tower over the tradestown of Lhahore, on wild boar and brown rice and quail-egg soup. The atmosphere in this tower seemed almost animated as if the proximity of the town cast her own busy reflections up to the Wall itself. As the sun lay her head down, her warm, golden mane spilt over her clouds and bathed the skies in beauty. From high above, torches began to spring to life within the town’s dark centre and temple bells and gongs summoned her people inside for the night.

  Fallon yawned and stretched, reaching her arms high above her head and enjoying every tweak and twinge of muscle that it brought. She was almost healed, the bruises from her fall paler and less painful with each passing day and her ankle could hold her weight for a rather good length of time. She was certain that, between the Seer’s bamboo staff and the Alchemist’s wraps and remedies, she would be walking on it in no time.