The Throne Room went silent once again.
The Empress turned and moved to the small wooden chair. It was the only thing in the room that was not carved, painted or layered in gold or jewels. Slowly, she climbed the steps, turned and lowered herself into the Ages Old seat, the symbol of Dynastic Power for longer than anyone could remember.
She sat a moment before responding, her voice as soft as a nest of swallows.
“Ambassador Fujihara and Kaidan will be allowed passage through the Gate of Five Hands.”
Chancellor Ho moved to speak, but thought better of it. She continued.
“They and a small party of diplomats will be escorted to Pol’Lhasa by a full regiment of the Imperial Guard, where I will grant them Imperial counsel. We will afford them all the honour of a Royal entourage while we discuss matters of peace and war and Ancestors.”
Again, silence.
“We will draft a response to be carried back to the Gate of Five Hands, to Ambassador Bo Fujihara and to Kaidan himself. It will be delivered personally by our very own Shogun-General. He has knowledge of such things, knowledge beyond any of us.”
The council murmured agreement.
“I order the immediate release of the Blood and Jade Fangs for this express purpose.”
“Indeed,” said the Minister of Arms. “Our very first Shogun-General should be well appointed.”
Again, murmurs of agreement. All except one.
“And the north, Excellency?” said the Chancellor. “The foundry of Shen’foxhindi is less than a week’s ride from Sha’Hadin.”
“You worry for Sha’Hadin now, Chancellor?” she asked, eyes flashing. “There was a time when you would have me diverted with fireworks and spectacles.”
Oh, such a dangerous game.
The Chancellor bowed low to the ground.
“The security of the Empire is my foremost priority, Excellency.”
“I know this, Chancellor. Your loyalty is never in doubt.”
She turned to the Ministers of Defense and the Wall.
“All leave is canceled for the army and forces are to be marshaled along the northeastern front. I sanction conscription notices for all men with more than twelve summers and grant your ministries full discretion in the fortification of the Wall.”
With knees and foreheads to the floor, her ministers bowed and Kirin knew beyond a doubt that the only music now was the beat of the drums of war.
***
It was not a normal gar, for the coverings were silks, frost and evergreen boughs. There was a small fire crackling in the center, and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized it was not a fire but many small fires – candles. At least ten of differing heights, filling the gar with the heady smell of smoke and incense.
Naranbataar tried to sit up but long, strong hands pushed him back down into the warm snow.
“Peace, little brother,” said a woman’s voice, deep and breathy and accented in very strange and foreign way. She was wrapped in blackness and shadows. “I have stitched your wounds but you will need rest.”
“Setse,” he said, trying to focus on the woman. There was something very strange in her scent. “My sister—”
“Is resting as well. You both will heal if you only rest.”
“Please, help her,” he said, and accepted the small lump of snow that she slipped into his mouth. It had a bitter, powdery taste but the water was good on his tongue.
Of course.”
There was a sound, a mewling sound like an infant. He saw her turn toward the candles, saw her profile in the flickering light. Her face was like nothing he had ever seen.
Delusions, he thought to himself. He was likely dying and only imagining what it would be like to be tended by the Enemy. The Enemy would not treat him, would not heal him. Would only skin him and rape his sister. That’s what the enemy would do.
“Sleep now,” said the woman again. His eyesight blurred and he saw nothing more for some time.
***
The morning stayed gray as the snow clouds settled in over their Mother, the Great Mountains. They were making good time. While the roads to Sha’Hadin were not well travelled, the trail was reasonably clear of drifts and ice. The desert horses did admirably but it became clear very quickly that Yahn Nevye was not comfortable on the back of a horse.
Ursa made sure to mention it every chance she had.
“So where are we going?” she growled. She had taken the fore and did not turn her head to speak. She had found a coat made from the pelt of a white northern bear and her hair swung in straight coarse lines across her back.
“I’m not sure,” said Sireth and glanced at the jaguar riding behind him. “Yahn? Do you know where we’re going?”
The jaguar swallowed and looked up. His eyes were wide and he appeared to be in considerable discomfort.
“No,” he panted. “The Wall somewhere. North, I think.”
Sireth looked back to his wife. “North, we think.”
She shook her head. “I am riding with idiots.”
He smiled. The fur around his mouth and chin had thin wisps of ice coating the tip of each hair. Marvelous, he thought to himself. A year ago, he was on the shore of a strange sea, with beaches of white sand and crashing waves and the thoughts of home had been turned upside down. He was home now wherever he was, as long as the snow leopard was by his side. While he loved Sha’Hadin, he loved Major Ursa Laenskaya more. She had become his home.
He was a very happy man. Even here, out on the trail to North somewhere, on the back of a horse yet again, for he knew he was riding with a purpose. With a wife and a noble purpose, any man could be truly happy.
He thought of the man riding behind him. It was difficult to get a sense of him, this jaguar. His motivations, his heart. It always had been—even when they had been studying together under Petrus Mercouri, Yahn Nevye had always been a closed book. “I prefer to keep the world out,” he had said the other night in the hall outside his door. He could not speak to falcons and yet had found a home in Agara’tha with Jet barraDunne and his world of shadows. Now, that home was gone and Sireth wondered how the jaguar truly felt about it.
No, without a wife or a purpose or even a home, it was obvious that Yahn Nevye was not a happy man.
High above them, Mi-Hahn cried, hunting.
“I shall meditate now,” he called to the snow leopard. “Perhaps I can find the thread and follow it somewhere.”
“If it leads to a dog, I will kill it and then you.” She swiveled in her saddle. “Close your eyes and ride. I will watch for you.”
“I know you will.”
He closed his eyes and was gone.
***
It fit like a glove. An ox-blood glove of strong tanned leather and he moved, twisted, bent and flexed within its confines. The leopards were watching him as he moved, looking for signs of ill-fit or rubbing but there were none. The yori was perfect, as comfortable as his old uniform and it made him feel almost powerful once again. Almost.
“And these,” said Leopard One as he stepped forward, a long purple box in his hands. “Tor has had these made for you…”
Tor. So that was his name. Kirin took the box, slid the top to reveal gloves of ox-blood red. They were ribbed and reinforced with steel. Slowly, he slipped his hand in one, made a fist. The leather creaked. It felt strange.
They could tell from his expression and Leopard Two – Tor - stepped forward now.
“I have made them specifically for you, Shogun-sama. They are a strong leather, yes? But soft. Good for gripping the Blood and Jade Fangs. They will hold to the hilts like paste.”
“Yes,” he said.
“But for you, do this…”
And he flexed his wrist.
Kirin frowned.
“No, no. Do this.” And he flexed again.
Kirin flexed his wrist and steel razors sprang from the fingers of each glove.
“Deadly, yes?” nodded Leopard One.
“Be
tter than claws,” agreed Two.
Kirin drew his hand closer, studied the five daggers with wonder. He could see the engineering, how the steel ran along the back of the hand mimicking the bones of his fingers. They came out of slits in the fingertips. They were sharp, curved and caught the light like ice.
“Miraculous,” he breathed.
“You bend your wrist back to retract them.”
He did so and the claws disappeared into the leather with a soft hissing sound. His heart thudded once as he realized what this meant.
The leopards were smiling.
“Both gloves are the same,” said Two.
“Ingenious, I’d say,” said One. “Simply ingenious.”
“We call them the Teeth of the Dragon.”
Both leopards beamed at that.
He flexed the wrist again, amazed as the blades popped out, shining in the lamplight. He swung his arm, drew it in close, then glanced up.
“Are they…?”
“Purely ceremonial?” said One. “Not at all.”
“The gloves are reinforced with steel,” said Two, stepping close and tugging a leather strap. “The same steel used in making katanahs. If you were going in to battle, you would make sure it is tightened on to the koteh like so…”
And he tugged some more, laced the strap into a buckle. “You will need a squire to help, Shogun-sama. There is much armour and many buckles.”
Kirin flexed his fingers once again, swirled his hand in the air in patterns of Chai’Chi. The daggers felt remarkably secure.
“And forgive us, Shogun-sama, but…”
“But we could not help but notice…”
As one, they looked down at his tail.
Still wrapped in the leathers made for him by Ursa Laenskaya, his tail was woefully underrepresented.
“I made a Khan,” he said softly. They looked at him. “Then unmade him.”
Leopard Two produced another box, a blue one this time, wrapped in silver threads. Inside was a series of golden bands and cords of red silk and he held them up in his fingers. The bands were chiseled with the imprints of dragons and he could feel the ridges as sharp as blades.
“Scales of the Dragon,” said One. “As deadly as they are beautiful.”
“The gold bands snap on to hold it in place,” said Two.
“No one will mock your tail now,” said One.
His throat was closing.
“When you lash, be mindful of your audience.”
“Indeed. You may do them a damage.”
He didn’t know what to say.
So with fist to cupped palm, he bowed to them.
“You have honoured me,” he said. “ I am forever in your debt.”
“Not at all, Shogun-sama,” said One.
“Indeed,” said Two. “To work on the yori for the very first Shogun-General of the Fanxieng Dynasty, that is our glory and honour.”
“Allow us the honour,” said One. “Of fitting the kabuto.”
He took a deep breath, cast his eyes to the helmet of hammered bronze. As leopards, they were considerably shorter than he, so he lowered to one knee. The knee twinged as he went down, reminding him of rats and the Battle tower of Roar’pundih. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Slowly, with great deliberation, he pulled the kheffiyah from his head.
Leopard One moved forward, lowered the kabuto over his head. Slipped the pheasant feather from its perch on the crown, dipped it into the hole to hook the bolt of mane that was left. Carefully, he pulled it up and through the hole so that it crested over the sweeping metal. It fell down his back like a ribbon.
He replaced the feather and stood back, admiring.
“Perfect, Shogun-sama.”
“You are worthy,” said Two. “Remember.”
“Yes, remember,” said One. “You are worthy.”
For some strange reason, his eyes filled with tears.
He rose to his feet and gathered the two leopards into an embrace worthy of a Seer of Sha’Hadin.
***
With the advent of winter, the days were short. Too short to continue long into the evening and so they made camp by a new rope bridge that swung across the Shi’pal River. They sat around a small fire, wrapped in yak-hide, drinking tea and roasting mice that Mi-Hahn had caught along the way.
“Do you remember this place?” asked Sireth as he poked the sizzling coals with a stick.
Ursa was all but hidden by the thick hide and from behind her curtain of wild hair she narrowed her eyes at him. “ You mean the bridge?”
“Yes.”
“There was no bridge.”
“Exactly. We were made to forge the river farther down.”
She snorted, spat bones into the snow, drew the hide up on her shoulders. “The Captain almost died in that river.”
“Yes. We did admirably that night,” he said. “All of us.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Yahn Nevye. Like Ursa, he too was almost hidden by the yak hide. “We can’t sleep in the snow like this. We’ll be frozen by morning.”
“Idiot,” growled the Major.
“Why can’t we find a cave or something? Make a tree-cover or walls of snow? Something? Anything?” He shivered, flattened his ears into his hair. Like Sireth’s beard, they were tipped with frost.
“Do you see any trees, idiot? Did you bring a spade for shoveling?”
Sireth smiled. “Loosen your knot. Let your hair warm you.”
The man snorted and looked away. Ursa rolled her eyes and picked at another mouse with her claws. Nevye was right, however. The night was very cold. Even the horses were huddled together, not wanting to expend the heat or energy needed to hunt. It seemed all they could do to keep the fire going tonight. They might very well be frozen by morning.
There was a thump and a rush of wings landed in the snow nearby. Mi-Hahn, Sireth thought. The young falcon was not a skilled hunter and frequently caught her prey by force, knocking them out of the sky by speed alone. But he could hear Mi-Hahn’s voice high above and he sat up to study the shape in the moonlight.
“It’s an owl,” said Yahn Nevye. “He’s caught a chiwa.”
The Seer cocked his head. “How do you know this?”
Nevye shrugged.
“He can’t talk to falcons. Maybe he talks to owls,” grunted the snow leopard. She was not looking at the owl. Her pale eyes were fixed on the flames as if willing them to warm her more than the hide.
Sireth sat back and studied the jaguar now. Nevye was watching the dark shape as it jabbed with its short, lethal beak.
“What is his name?” he said after a while.
Nevye did not look at him.
“What is his name?” the Seer repeated.
“Hunts in Silence,” Nevye said.
“Hunts in Silence,” said Sireth. “Fascinating.”
“He is young. His mate was killed by an eagle this summer, before their eggs hatched. He is alone. But he hunts well and will find a new mate in the spring.”
“He talks to owls,” Sireth muttered under his breath. The world was a wondrous strange place. “Can he hear you?”
“What?” Now the jaguar did look back. He seemed preoccupied. “What’s that?”
“The owl. Can he understand you when you speak?”
The man snorted again. “I don’t speak to owls.”
“Have you tried?”
“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. Seers of Sha’Hadin speak to falcons, not owls.”
“You don’t speak to falcons,” grumbled the Major.
“Try,” said Sireth. “Tell him to look at you.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Tell him.”
The jaguar tugged the yak hide higher onto his shoulders but in the firelight, Sireth could see his yellow eyes dart to the distant brown shape, now busy tearing at flesh and sinew under its talons. The bird was quite intent and the snow was growing dark with blood.
“Call him by his name.”
Nevye’s tail whapped under the hide but he said nothing.
“I am going to sleep,” said Ursa. “Wake me when the idiot dozes off. I will kill him then, toss his body to the owls.”
And she bundled down in the snow. She looked like a small yak sleeping.
“Good night, my love,” said the Seer. “I will see you in your dreams.”
“We pass Nanchuri Glacier tomorrow,” she murmured under the hide. He could see the slivers of her eyes, pale like the moon.
“Yes, I believe we do.”
“Then my dreams will be sweet and filled with blood.”
She closed her eyes, smiling.
He sighed and looked to the jaguar. He could see his profile in the firelight, wondered what could motivate a man like that. Wondered what Dharma had sent his way and if he was running from her as well. Dharma was a cruel mistress. She chased many men.
Suddenly, with ribbons of pink swinging from its beak, the owl looked at them.
It was like a bolt of lightning but then the bird lifted from the snow, the remains of the chiwa in its claws. He was swallowed by the darkness.
“Well, well,” said Sireth as Yahn Nevye turned to look at him. “Perhaps many more things will change at Sha’Hadin before I’m through…”
With that, he sunk deep into the warm snow, tugging the yak hide over his head.
Yahn Nevye stayed awake for much longer.
***
The Throne Room was filled on all sides with colour.
Ministers from every office in Pol’Lhasa were present. Ministers, Under-ministers and clerks as well, everyone eager to see the presentation of the Blood and Jade Fangs to the very first Shogun-General of the Fanxieng Dynasty. It was twilight but the many torches and lanterns in the room filled it with gold and warmth, and while the wind howled outside these walls, inside it was as oppressive as a jungle.
He strode down the length of it, saw Chancellor Ho standing near the Throne, dressed in robes of Imperial Gold. Still, he kept his eyes fixed only on the Empress on the plain wooden seat. His heart was steady, his mind detached, for in truth, he could not believe any of it was happening. This last week had been a dream. None of it real or possible or true. At any time, he would awaken to find himself back in the tent of the dogs, waiting to be cut into pieces by their blades.
The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom Page 82
