“And you weren’t suspicious about an animal that wears clothes?”
“I was,” said Dell. “Ask 6. I thought it was strange but he said it was a hunting adaptation, like a magpie.”
“Magpies don’t carry swords.”
For his part, 6 said nothing.
“So, the other one?” she asked. “The male? Where is he?”
Dell looked down again as 6 pushed back in his chair.
“Hey, I’m not Jiānkeeper.”
Dell shook his head.
“The Compound crowds are crazy to see him. They’re putting him in with the leather-back.”
“What? He just got here.”
“I know! But comms have been cancelled and people want to watch—”
“Mā de!” she swore. “Get Compound on the feed. I need that grey out now.”
And on a table in a corner of a lab ignored by a staff watching a linguist speak to an animal, a sword began to move.
***
He stood on the mound under the tallest of the stones, sifting the air for scent but the wind was blowing from the north, taking all traces with it. The plain was dark, the stones darker and the laughing moon hid her face behind her blankets of cloud. It was a very cold night, but still there was no snow. Indeed, the Plateau of Tevd was a strange and holy place.
There was a sound on the wind, a pulse, a heartbeat growing louder and he turned to wake the others when the song entered his head once again.
He smiled, welcoming her back as her voice slid up and down in her strange, exotic keys, musical and mysterious and so very other. The second voice joined in, young and sweet and inexperienced and he wished of all things to add his voice to the mix but he was a soldier and he did not sing. Still, he could listen and enjoy and imagine and he leaned back against the stone and closed his eyes when suddenly, there were horses thundering up onto the mound, shattering the music of the night.
He staggered backwards, pulling his sword and swinging but the horses struck him with their bodies, sending him reeling to the ground. He could hear the others shout and bark and he scrambled to his feet, snatching the sword from the cold hard earth. There was a figure, darker than the dark stones and he could see dual glints in the moonlight, swung his sword up and the night rang with the song of steel. He struck the long sword, ducked and swung again, deflected this time by the short. He scrambled down the mound, spun and swung, hearing the scrape of blades and seeing sparks leap from the clash of iron. To his right, his beta was fighting hand to hand with a very small warrior and he could tell it was a woman. She moved like a dancer, her hands and feet everywhere at once but he could not watch for the swords were upon him once again.
He snarled and lunged forward, bringing his sword up in an arc that disemboweled most opponents but the steel was jerked aside by silk, lengths and lengths of night black silk, looping and wrapping around his blade and he fought it but there was another woman and she moved like the night, like smoke and shadow and he wasn’t certain of where she was or where he was, and he snarled and rushed forward but a boot sent him backwards, thrashing but trapped in length after length of black silk. He wrested himself to his knees but froze as a flare of light erupted before his face.
The barb of an arrow was pointed between his eyes, and he could see a dog at the end of the bow. Behind him, a lion holding two swords, one at his throat, the other at his beta. Another dog, a little slip of a girl, stood over the third who lay unmoving on the stone, but next to him, so close he could see the gold in her eyes, was the Singer of the Songs inside his head. She smiled at him.
Another cat came, bent down to his level. Long-Swift recognized the eyes of the moon in an instant, wondered how such a thing could have happened in a man.
“Enx tajvan,” said the cat. Peace. He spoke the Language perfectly, without accent. “Dajgui. Namaig Yahn Nevye gedeg. Che oilgoj bainuu?”
Long-Swift snarled, lunged forward but the bowstring squeaked as the dog pulled it taut. The cat held up a spotted hand.
“Ugui, ènx tajvan, eregtai. Peace, brother. We come in peace.”
The cat stood, gestured for him to do likewise and slowly, warily, the Irh-Khan rose to his feet, arms and torso still tightly bound in silk. He threw a glance at his men and the girl straightened.
“I did not kill them,” she pouted and he noticed in the moonlight that one of her eyes was blue.
“Who are you?” he growled.
“Jalair Naransetseg, Granddaughter of the Blue Wolf.”
The Oracle, the little girl who had evaded the 110th for months. He had so many questions for her.
“This is my brother, Jalair Naranbataar, Master of the Bow. And Sherah al Shiva, Magic and Shadow. Shar Ma’Uul, Powerful Seer and…” She looked to the figure towering over them all in the darkness. “Kuren Ulaan Baator, Shogun-General of the Upper Kingdom.”
He narrowed his eyes. The girl noticed.
“The Khanmaker,” she added proudly.
He swallowed as the words of the Eyes echoed in his mind.
“Come, Swift,” said the Singer in fluid Language. “I will make tea.”
***
They sat in a circle of candles. Both betas were bound at the wrists and knees with bolts of black silk and the archer had his arrows fixed on them lest they move. They would not take tea and growled such vulgar obscenities that Long-Swift was beginning to wish they had bound their mouths instead. For his part, only his wrists were bound and he stared at the tiny cup with horror.
“Drink,” said the Singer and she raised a similar cup to her lips.
“You seek to poison me.”
“No.” She sipped her tea and he noticed her eyes, ringed with inky blackness, remembered the eye in the tent guilt with gold. “Just tea.”
The lion was speaking and Long-Swift could not help but stare. Lions were icons to his people, totems of great importance. Killing one made you a Khan. Seeing one changed you forever.
“So, I hope you understand,” the yellow cat was saying in the Language. “This is not a mission of war. The Upper and Eastern Kingdoms wish Unification with the Kingdom to the North.”
“Never,” he spat.
“Stranger things are happening, Lord,” said the cat.
“I am not Lord,” growled Long-Swift.
“Irh-Khan,” said Oracle and the other dog, her brother, glanced at her.
“Irh-Khan of the Khan of Khans?”
“This is treason against the Chanyu.” Long-Swift laid back his ears. “You will both be disemboweled and left to die on a field of ravens.”
“We will disembowel them and paint them with honey and bury them in an ant hill,” snarled the red dog.
“We will rape the women and disembowel the men and paint them all with honey and bury them in an ant hill in a field of ravens,” snarled the long-nosed one.
“Shut your mouths!” snarled Long-Swift. “You dishonor the Khargan with your talk.”
“The Khargan dishonours himself with the Eyes of Jia’Khan!”
“Silence!”
“The Eyes of Jia’Khan?” asked the yellow cat. “Eye of the Needle…”
“Eye of the Storm,” finished the Oracle.
Long-Swift growled but said nothing.
The cat turned and spoke to the lion. The lion spoke to the Singer who nodded. She reached to slip a blade, thin and sharp, from within the crush of her night-black hair, and Long-Swift knew she was renzeg. Killer, Hassassin, Ninjaah.
She sliced the silks at his wrist and sat back.
“Stay calm, Lord, or the Khanmaker will remove your feet,” she said, her voice smooth as the silks on his pelt and she smiled. “Only your feet.”
The lion began to talk when suddenly, the yellow cat rose to his feet. The Oracle did the same and they stood together, looking out over the Field of One Hundred Stones.
“Horses,” they said at the same time. “Red and Blue Desert Horses cross the Holy Plateau of Tevd.”
The cat spoke a heartb
eat behind the girl and Long-Swift shuddered. It reminded him of the Eyes and he wondered if this was how such a thing began.
They sat for several hours until moondown when horses thundered up to the Deer Stones on the Holy Plateau of Tevd.
***
“Two Necromancers?” Kirin growled, lashed his tail and the Scales of the Dragon struck against a Deer Stone, chipping it. “Are you certain?”
“Eye of the Needle,” said Sireth.
“Eye of the Storm,” finished Kirin. “Yes. I understand now.”
“I didn’t ask for that,” said Yahn Nevye as he sat facing the sunrise, arms wrapped around his knees.
“Be grateful,” said Kirin. “You would be dead.”
“But Setse would be alive and that was what mattered. Now, I owe my life to a Necromancer.”
“You owe your life to many people, sidi. You owe your life to the Seer and to the Major and to me and Sherah al Shiva and Kerris Wynegarde-Grey and ultimately to the Empress of the Upper Kingdom. It is not your life. Not anymore. Not once you crossed the border into the Kingdom of the Dogs.”
“Still, she shouldn’t have done that,” he said, shaking his head. “She, she shouldn’t have done that.”
“We all do things we shouldn’t, sidi,” said Kirin.
The jaguar fell silent.
“Necromancy is a dark art,” said Sireth. “It involves the trading of souls. Yahn, you said Setse would live if you died. What do you mean by that?”
The jaguar sighed. “We were crossing the bridge and the attack came. It was going to kill her, to crush her soul and take her life. I felt it so clearly…”
Sitting next to him, Setse laid her head on his shoulder.
“So I asked it to crush mine instead. It was a good trade.”
“Not good trade,” the Oracle grumbled.
Nevye sighed.
“You should kill me now,” he said. “My life has been given to the Eyes. They control my destiny.”
“Maybe not,” said the Seer.
“You know they do. How did I make those markings on the stone? Why?”
No one had an answer for him, save the one he already knew.
“What if I take a sword, try to kill any of you?” He shook his head, sighed. “You should kill me now.”
The Oracle slipped herself under his arm. Ursa growled at them, her long marbled tail lashing behind her back.
“And you, sidala?” the Seer asked, turning to the Alchemist. “Whose soul did you trade for his?”
Sherah said nothing.
The jaguar looked over at her.
“Whose soul did you trade for mine?”
“My own,” she said quietly.
“No, no, no,” Setse moaned.
“Therefore, I will trade for hers,” said Kirin. “It was my wish, after all.”
“I’m quite certain that was the point,” said the Seer. “They make Khans out of the body of a lion, imagine what an Oracle like this could do with the soul of one.”
The Irh-Khan growled, turned to Sherah, spoke quickly. She looked up.
“The eyes,” she said. “The Oracle wants the Shogun-General’s eyes.”
Kirin grunted.
“If it’s an eye he wants, he is welcome to one. I know two leopards who would be delighted to make me a patch.” He grinned at the thought. “One made of Kamachada iron with daggers or blades or barbs of some nefarious sort.”
And he flexed the Teeth of the Dragon. Claws of steel shone in the moonlight.
Sireth benAramis smiled at his friend.
“We may be able to avoid such things. Our clever Scholar has a plan.”
They all looked at him.
“It will require sacrifice on all our parts, dedication and will and honour and perhaps even blood…”
Ursa spat on the ground but they were all silent as his words sunk in.
“We have three days,” Kirin said quietly.
They looked at him.
“Three days until the New Year. The Year of the Dragon is almost upon us and a Dragon year is one of fire. There will be no peace in a Dragon year.”
The claws slipped back into his gloves and he set his jaw. It had been broken so long ago.
“Three days, then, to follow the Rabbit and make peace with our enemies.”
“Cat,” purred the Alchemist. “In Namyanese, it is the Year of the Cat.”
Kirin grunted.
“It is fitting, then. We have three days left in the Year of the Cat to make peace with the Dogs.”
***
“Well, I just want to thank you for getting me my clothes. Not that it was cold in there or anything but, well, I’m just used to wearing clothes. Animals, now they don’t have a problem not wearing clothes, but people, well there’s just something about people that makes them want to wear clothes. My name is Fallon Waterford-Grey by the way, Scholar in the Court of Empress Thothloryn Parillaud Markova Wu, Twelfth Empress of the Fangxieng Dynasty, Matriarch of Pol’Lhasa and Most Blessed Ruler of the Upper Kingdom. I am honoured to meet you.”
And she bowed, fist to cupped palm.
Damaris Ward blinked slowly, tried to bow but it felt strange, bowing to an animal. But once she had uploaded the translation algorithm for IAR Chinese into her feed, she had to admit the animal could not in fact be called an animal, for she was speaking— communicating at a level as high, if not higher than many of the residents of CD Shendoh.
“Damaris Ward, Head of Security. I am…honoured to meet you too.”
“Damaris. That’s a pretty name. It means gentle, I think. You don’t really look gentle, though. You look strong.” The young woman rubbed her round belly. “Ooh, I’m hungry. Is there any food and by food, I mean fruit? Like an orange or a pear? Not a pineapple and certainly not those disgusting blood-infused paste slices which might be fine for animals, but even then, not really. And maybe tea? A big cup of Hindayan tea? I do like it with milk and honey but if you don’t have any that’s fine. Milk and honey, that is, ‘cause it’s not fine if you don’t have tea. Tea is really important, even if it’s clear. My mother would drink clear tea but not me. Nope, I like my milk and honey! Have you seen my husband?”
They were in the main lab, out of the quarantine cell, and she was surrounded by the staff. They had brought her clothing and she had dressed quickly, the many layers of silk, linen and wool and silk a colourful contrast to the drab jumpsuits of residential living. It was a good thing the creature was friendly for it seemed the staff couldn’t help but touch her. Her pelt was indeed like a tiger’s, thick and warm and very soft.
“Your husband is in another compound,” Ward said, hoping the grey was still alive. “He’ll be here soon.”
“And Solomon? Is he in a compound too?” She blinked eagerly and Ward could not help but look away.
“He is with our Supervisors. Debriefing.” Ward turned to the staff. “Find some fruit and get the Compound on the Feed now. Go!”
They scattered, leaving the Security chief with Dell, Persis and the young ‘tiger woman’ who called herself Fallon.
“De-bree-fing,” said the woman. “That’s a word I’ve never heard. What does it mean?”
“One moment,” said Ward, and she raised a hand to the back of her skull. “Where are you? Why? No, don’t. Don’t you dare! Jeff7? Jeff, no!” She stamped her foot. “Gāisǐ!”
The three looked up at her. She didn’t know what to say.
“There is about to be an incident,” she said quickly. “I have to go—”
A labkeeper peered in the room.
“Jiān Ward?”
“What?!”
“The sword is moving…”
“A sword? What sword?”
“Ooh,” said Fallon. “My husband’s sword? The katanah?”
“Yuh, señorita. It’s banging against the ceiling in the next lab…”
The tiger woman blinked again.
“He must be calling it and if he’s calling it, then it’s important. Ar
e you sure he’s alright?”
The screens above them, which provided the yellow light, flickered.
Damaris Ward swung on Dell and Sengupta.
“Find her husband. Get him out of that compound now!”
If Jeffery Solomon was in fact doing what he said he was doing, all hell was about to break loose, unleashing all manner of wild on CD Shenandoah.
The Army of Blood
Ten Thousand Dog Soldiers running at dawn is an impressive, awe-inspiring thing. In fact, it is a terrifying thing, as they move like a sandstorm or thunderclouds or hail. They are unstoppable and they trample everything in their path. From horizon to horizon, they cover the Plateau of Tevd, heading south and rippling like the shadows of night. They move around the Deer Stones that interrupt their path, flowing around them the same way swift-moving water flows around rocks.
For hour upon hour, the Plateau echoes with their footfall, rumbles like the strongest earthstorm, raising clouds of yellow dust that carry on up to the skies. To witness such a sight is holy, for it speaks well of the power and might of the Chanyu, the Kingdom of the People of the Wolf.
One day apart and to the south, it is the same story.
Seven thousand horses trotting at dawn is an impressive, awe-inspiring thing. In fact, it is a terrifying thing, as they move like a sandstorm or thunderclouds or hail. They are unstoppable and they trample everything in their path. From horizon to horizon, they cover the Plateau of Tevd heading north and rippling like the shadows of night. They move around the Deer Stones that interrupt their path, flowing around them the same way swift-moving water flows around rocks.
The Army of Blood is no longer a dragon but a tsunami perhaps seventy across and hundreds deep. At the head, a Grey Ghost on a mountain pony, a monkey to one side of him, a tigress to the other. For hour upon hour, the Plateau echoes with their hoofbeats, rumbles like the strongest earthstorm, raising clouds of yellow dust that carry on up to the skies. To witness such a sight is holy, for it speaks well of the might of the Upper and Eastern Kingdoms and the power of the dream of Unity.
Between these two armies, at a large mound of One Hundred Stones, a man stands alone on a plain. He is practicing Chai’Chi’Chuan, a dance with swords. He is Shah’tyriah, the highest warrior caste of the Upper Kingdom and he dances with both katanah and kodai’chi. The Blood Fang and the Jade Fang are his brothers. The only music that of his breathing and it is controlled and disciplined and counted. His mind is free as his body moves through the stances in the thin hazy air of Tevd. He is wearing no armour, only linen and wool and a tattered golden sash. His hands are bare, the clawless tips shine white in the bright morning sun. His tail is free of Scales, free of brace or gold or silken thread. From his head, a cue of golden mane ripples like a banner in the wind and the swords flash and sing like music.
The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom Page 107
