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

by Dickson, H. Leighton

  Long-Swift watched as the Khargan dropped his hand on the top of the runner’s dark head, allowing it to remain for a long moment, before swinging the other to cup the man’s jaw. A simple twist of those powerful arms and the runner slumped to the ground.

  The Khargan turned to him.

  “Dispatch Tumal Goarnagaar and the 2nd Legion. Burn Karan’Uurt to the ground and kill all who live there.”

  “Lord.”

  “We leave for the Wall today.”

  With that, he strode back through the camp toward the fist that was Khazien, soldiers parting before him like wheat in a field. He was gone from view in a heartbeat and the camp resumed their breathing.

  Long-Swift glanced at the many faces spread around him.

  “You heard the Khargan!” he snapped. “We leave for the Wall today!”

  A roar went up from the camp and, as one, each man bolted for their gear, packing up their few possessions, their tin cups and the rations they had remaining.

  For his part, Long-Swift looked at the body on the ground and briefly wondered what sort of girl could elude the 110th Legion. He turned and followed the Khan up the mountain.

  ***

  They were following the cliff line far below the Wall and had gone surprisingly far under the strange glowing palm of the witch. It had grown more treacherous with each step, as the path on which she was leading them was not in fact a path at all but rather a ledge running along the ever steepening cliff face. But now, as the sun was turning the sky pink, sweeping the shadows of the night with her golden brooms, they had stopped in a narrow plateau of snow and shale. He could not bring himself to look down. It was dizzying and terrifying and once again he found himself wondering why he had let the woman lead them. This was not the way he wanted to die.

  High above, they could hear voices of soldiers echoing down from the Wall, snatches of conversation and laughter carried on the wind. He could see the lights from their lanterns, marveled at the cauldrons burning orange and white. Under the cover of the mountains at night, they could travel, merely dark shapes against the darkness of the cliffs, but soon they would lose even that. Arrows would find them easy marks by sunrise.

  Mugoh pines grew up the mountainside. They had been a nuisance during the night, catching clothing and scratching pelt, but now Naranbataar watched as the witch pulled silks from her pack, draping them across the branches and down to the snow. From another pack, a white powder, which she lifted to her lips and blew like a soft north wind. Instantly, the silks were covered in frost.

  Another gar.

  He shook his head. She was resourceful. He would give her that.

  “In,” she said, lifting one corner. “We shall sleep now and travel again tonight.”

  Naranbataar narrowed his eyes. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

  “Inside.”

  “No. No more. My sister and I—”

  He stopped, cut off by the quiet whine behind him. Both he and the witch turned to see Setse staring off to the west. She was transfixed.

  “Oh, oh Rani…” she moaned.

  “Setse?”

  “Oh, no, we must go back.”

  “Setse, you’re talking nonsense.” He reached for her, to find her shaking but not from the cold.

  “Oh no, oh no. Rani, this is bad. We must go back!” And she began to wail.

  High above them, the voices turned to shouting and Naranbataar clasped a hand over his sister’s mouth.

  “Quickly,” hissed the witch. “Inside.”

  He wrapped Setse in his arms and forced her under the silks.

  The witch cast her golden eyes upward for only a heartbeat before she too followed.

  ***

  The Wall arched along the Great Mountains, flashes of gold against the dark dark stones. The snow had stayed up yet again and he could hear the faint rush of the Botekhoshi, the river that forged a gorge in the mountains and separated Upper and Eastern Kingdom in the Northeast. The Upper Kingdom extended a great deal southeast, but here along the spine of their Good Mother, it was the axis for all three Kingdoms. He wondered if the Lower could truly be called a Kingdom. Dogs were notoriously unruly. Their many Khans proved it.

  From the road, Kirin could see the blazing of the alarm fires. Orange and white, burning side by side. He could never have imagined such a thing had he not seen it with his own eyes. Had not two falcons been sent in one night. And while he did not believe in omens, the weight of war was beginning to settle onto his red-clad shoulders. It was a strange sensation, at the same time sinking his heart and stirring his blood. He did not know what to think anymore.

  aSiffh had returned, the young desert stallion happily trotting now beside the Imperial warhorse and Kirin wondered if it had indeed been Quiz in the mountains last night. He missed the pony, found himself hoping to catch a glimpse of the wild mane and bramble-filled tail yet again. And yet again, he thought of his brother.

  So it was as the sun was beginning to sink into the peaks that the two Divisions came upon the first of the great gates that led to and from the Five Hands Pass. The Wall was redoubled here and for a good way along the river, for the Pass itself was a bridge, a large curving iron and stone bridge that served to cross the Botekhoshi into the land of the Chi’Chen. Embassies had been built on both sides, flew both the twin dragons of the Fanxieng Dynasty and the red and gold sun of the Eastern Kingdom. It was an uneasy peace, but it was peace. Kirin was thankful for that.

  He had been here twice before on diplomatic missions, and the Embassy town of Kohdari had not changed overmuch. It was in reality, an army base much like the border city of Sharan’yurthah and as they rode through the streets toward the Gate, he could see the state of readiness in the forces here. They were also feeling the tension, he knew it, with the quiet industriousness and intense focus that fell before a battle. Swords were being sharpened, star glasses polished, canons equipped with fresh tinder and dry powder. Horses were being shod with iron and armor fitted with new steel. Even the women and children in the army town were involved, as the dual flame blazed from every lantern on every street corner. It was impossible to feel anything but dread and anticipation in equal measure. It was the way of things.

  The Gate of Five Hands towered over the end of the road. It was a massive structure of at least four stories, with ebony pillars, winged rooftops and dancing cranes carved into its double doors. The doors swung open and three men stepped onto the road, two leopards and one old lion in Imperial gold. Kirin felt his heart lurch at the memory. He was not a sentimental man but he still kept the sash hidden under the yori for luck.

  He drew Shenan up and felt the Dual Division’s one hundred horses fall in behind. The street was filled for a very long way with his troops, quiet and still now save for the clinking of bits and snorting of the horses. From many windows, he could see faces pressed up against the glass. Surely it had to be an impressive sight.

  He dismounted, laid a hand on aSiffh’s dark neck before turning to the lion dressed in gold. He bowed.

  The lion bowed back.

  “Shogun-sama,” said the lion. “I am Captain Kimball Windsor-Chan. It is an honour to have you in our camp.”

  “You do me the honour, Captain,” said Kirin. “Kohdari never fails to impress me with its dedication and service.”

  Windsor-Chan bowed again. Kirin noticed the man’s eyes, green like new bamboo, flick to the swords at his hips. The legend of the Fangs had obviously reached the Gate of Five Hands.

  “I have two parchments from Pol’Lhasa,” Kirin said. “I am to deliver one to Ambassador Han and the other to Ambassador Fujihara. Are they inside the Gate?”

  “Both, sahidi, in the Friendship Room. I will take you to them presently. Lieutenants Smith and Dharwani will organize meals and barracks for your Division, as well as stabling for the horses.”

  “You honour us all, Captain. You can never take a fine horse for granted. Even this little one…”

  aSiffh tossed his head.r />
  “That is not an Imperial horse, Shogun-sama,” the Captain smiled.

  “Not yet, no. He is from Khanisthan. Desert stock. Worth their weight in sand.”

  “I will take you at your word.”

  “There may also be a mountain pony following as well. Ensure that none of your men shoot him. He is important to me.”

  “I will, Shogun-sama.”

  The men turned and stepped through the double red doors. Inside was dark, with very high ceilings, stone floors and large Chi’Chen paintings on the walls. They were brightly-coloured and vibrant, not his taste at all but then again, he knew little of art. It was not his world.

  The Captain led him to a set of wooden steps.

  “Kaidan?” asked Kirin as they began to climb. “The parchment said Kaidan?”

  “Ah, Kaidan…” He could hear the smile in the man’s voice. “He can drink a monkey under a floor mat.”

  Kirin could not help it and he found his own face stretching in a smile. His heart was racing like young aSiffh.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “He most certainly can.”

  The Captain swung around. “You have met him, our Kaidan?”

  “I have.”

  “I had never believed he was real until this week. But now, I believe every story. Every one of them.”

  Kirin said nothing. It was obvious he was being taken to the very top floor.

  Finally, the wooden stairs ended and through large windows, Kirin could see the entire Botekhoshi gorge, the river and the iron bridge, all growing purple with the coming of night. There were lights from the Embassy on the Eastern side and in his mind’s eye, he saw the courtyard and the vases, the pruned trees and the ice sculptures of the Chi’Chen compound. His heart thudded at the sight beyond the compound, however – lights from hundreds, if not thousands of campfires. It was an army, he knew.

  But why?

  Windsor-Chan was waiting patiently, hands clasped behind his back. Kirin nodded and together they left the expanse of glass toward a room with closed doors. It was called the Friendship Room. He had been here twice before, delivering terms to Chi’Chen Ambassadors over the years and he remembered it clearly. Inside, it was spacious, peaceful, clean. Walls of rice paper, the floors polished pine, the furniture simple and spare. He had always loved this room. It spoke to his soul.

  The Captain paused before sliding open the doors.

  “So, you have met Kaidan, then, Shogun-sama?”

  “Yes, Captain. Believe me when I tell you I have.”

  “Then, you know what to expect?”

  Kirin took a deep cleansing breath, tried to calm his heart. “One never knows what to expect with Kaidan.”

  The lion smiled once more before sliding the rice paper doors open.

  In truth, there was no way in the Kingdom he could have expected this.

  The once simple room was a shambles, desks upended, carpets covering them, stools upside down or set upon lanterns on the walls. Those walls were ringed by Imperial leopards and Snow Monkey Guards with swords in hands and folded origami hats on their heads. A Sacred man sat on the floor beside a monkey, arranging a tower of brass bells between them. Kirin recognized the Ambassador-Magistrate Theophillus Bertrand Anyang Han of Kohdari and Chi’Chen Ambassador Bo Fujihara. In their laps sat two kittens, both very grey with exotic stripes around their eyes and against a far wall, a young tigress sat, crosslegged, a large garrison book in her lap.

  In the middle of it all, a grey lion lay on his belly, spinning the dice for soldiers and diplomats alike, a bottle of sakeh at his side.

  They all looked up at him from the floor.

  “Hello Kirin,” said Kerris and he smiled.

  Kaidan

  Nine Months Earlier

  Kerris Wynegarde-Grey had never liked the earth. In point of fact, the earth had never liked him, so he felt quite justified in his singular lack of affection. He always preferred the water and the snow, the clouds and the wind. They were obliging friends but now, after weeks spent rising and falling on the heaving mantle that was the sea under an endless expanse of sky, for the first time in his life he found himself wishing for the feel of something solid under his boots.

  He had grown accustomed however, to the deck of the sailing ship, one hand on the wheel, the canvas flapping high above his head. The wind was strong and cold and smelled of salt, the water was happy and grey and bounding with fish, the skies went on forever. On the ship herself, there were dials and screens and ropes and rigging and for the first time in his life, Kerris Wynegarde-Grey felt like home.

  But the earth was calling.

  He had heard it a full two days before they saw it and when they did see it, it was little more than a low dark slip on the horizon. But it was land and after so many weeks spent searching, the finding had set their hearts racing. They had not weighed anchor, however but had been skirting this land for days with the distant shore always in view. Jeffrey Solomon had insisted they chart more northerly, toward the body of water he had called ‘St. Lawrence.’ Fallon had been delighted to hear of a sea named after a lion. Cats were very good at names, she had insisted. Apparently, even the Ancestors knew this.

  One hand firm on the wheel, he slipped the other into his pocket, pulled out a few smooth stones. They were talking to him, whispering, pleading. They were only small stones, very good at telling him the weather or the lay of the land, but here on the ocean, surrounded by so much water, they were lost and afraid. He flattened his palm and willed them to rise.

  Naturally, they did not.

  He willed them again, felt the round hard emptiness of them in his mind, felt the laughing of the wind, the mocking of the waves. The stones didn’t know what to do, merely rocked along with the boat in his palm. They were only stones. They couldn’t move. He growled, whapped his grey tufted tail and shoved the stones back into his pocket.

  He turned his eyes to the back of his very young wife, bent over the railing of the ship, emptying the contents of her stomach into the waters. A part of him felt bad for her. Pregnancy and sea-faring apparently did not go hand in hand. She had done well, all things considered, but the mornings always got the better of her. At those times, they were both happiest on opposite sides of the boat.

  “Almost done, luv?” he called over the roaring of the wind and the sea.

  “Oh yeah, almost,” came her voice in return. “I think there’s a bit of fish I didn’t quite get. Oh wait—” She bent a little lower, made a terrible retching noise, her slim back heaving over the rail. “Nope. Nope. There. Got it.”

  He smiled.

  She straightened and turned, wiped her mouth with her thick cotton sleeve. It was very windy on the open deck and her striped hair whipped all around her face. It used to be orange and black and rather plain, but now, after a good bolt of lightning, it rippled like white caps on water. Fallon Waterford-Grey. Only in her nineteenth summer, already pregnant with twins.

  She tried to smile back but he could tell her heart wasn’t in it.

  “I do love fish, honestly I do. But mother, the thought of an orange right now, or a pear…Or a pineapple. Oh what I would do right now for a big, juicy pineapple… Oh no…Oh mother…”

  Her emerald eyes grew round and suddenly, she whirled, turning back to the railing and heaving once more.

  He sighed and looked back at the shore.

  Metal

  He frowned. There were instruments of metal on the ship but they felt different, precise, useful. He had learned to read a barometer, although his own predictions usually proved far more accurate. He had learned to use a sextant, although the stars sang to him at night. He had learned to use a variety of Ancestral tools but to be honest, his own instincts had proved more than adequate and at times he found himself wondering how the Ancestors had grown so powerful when their tools seemed so clumsy. Still, the ship was a marvelous thing. He could quite happily spend the rest of his life on her wooden decks.

  No, the metal was not com
ing from the ship.

  “Hey,” he heard a voice and turned his head to see Jeffrey Solomon emerge from the cabin below. It never occurred to him anymore to question the sight of the Ancestor. The three of them had been close company for weeks and Kerris knew more about Ancestors than he had ever dreamed possible. Certainly, more than he had ever wanted to know. They were a strange and curious people and he liked Solomon very much.

  The man was as shaggy as a yak, but his browny-pink face was relatively clear of pelt, with only a minimum of nicks and cuts. Shaving, he called it, and with a katanah no less. Yes, a curious people indeed.

  “You did a fine job this time,” said Kerris. “You’re getting better.”

  The man ran a hand along his chin. “Yeah, well, shaving with a long sword is tricky business. I’m constantly surprised that I haven’t killed myself somewhere along the way.”

  Kerris grinned. “We’re not in Kanadah yet.”

  Solomon smiled. “I put the sword back on your bunk.”

  “In the sheath?”

  “Yep. In the sheath as ordered.”

  “Did you clean off the soap?”

  “Yes, I cleaned off the soap.”

  “Did you polish the tang?”

  “You’re sounding like your brother.”

  “Funny how life is,” said Kerris.

  “Funny indeed.”

  Solomon turned to study the tigress. She was braced at the railing, rising and falling with the movement of the ship. One hand was gesturing and it looked like she was talking to herself.

  “How’s our Scholar in the Court of the Empress?”

  Kerris followed his gaze and sighed. “Is it supposed to be like this?”

  “Every woman is different,” said Solomon. “But the rocking of the boat doesn’t help. She’s a trooper.”

  “Trooper?”

  “Uh, fighter.”

  “Oh, she is that. I’m terrified for our kittens. I’ll have no more peace ever, not one moment.”

  The Ancestor grinned, knowing it to be quite true.

  Kerris frowned. “There’s metal in the sky.”