He cast his eyes to his caravan. It looked for all the world like a rag-tag gypsy band, save for the Imperial banner that waved above them, carried by Wing. Or was it Per? Kerris was on his feet, scooping up one struggling foal after another, laying them across first the Seer’s then the Scholar’s saddle. He had been right about that, as well. The babies were exhausted. They did not fight much. The mares grumbled and nickered, but it kept them all the more close. Kirin did not feel much like losing his investment so soon after their purchase.
He caught Ursa’s eye. She had one hand on the rein, the other on the hilt of her sword.
The leopards were silent, as usual, their own horses moving stiffly, almost prancing, as if they too could sense the danger, the excitement, the call to battle. And finally, he smiled, because truth be told, he felt it too, his own blood running thicker, his breath coming faster, his own hands itching for the comforting feel of leather on steel.
Kerris swung the last foal then himself up across Quiz’s sturdy back, and glanced at his brother, ready.
The Captain breathed a deep breath and drew his long sword from its scabbard with a swift, singing motion.
“Ride!”
***
With impeccable precision, the Imperial caravan split into three, as 15 horses thundered towards three different targets. Quiz led the civilians and their desert horses at breakneck speed, an equestrian arrow flying along the gravel road. Ursa and two leopards peeled left, Kirin and the other two charging right, as arrows of a different kind flashed through the skies. Cries rose from the mountains, and one by one, cats leapt to their feet, crossbows and long-bows firing at will. It was only a matter of moments before the Imperial horses were bounding up the slopes, dodging and weaving to avoid the rain of tipped steel, swords singing in the fading sun. Arrow after arrow thudded into flesh, cat and horse alike, but the soldiers kept coming, until their steel found marks as well, and blood was spilled across the rocks.
Now, there are two facts that many who are not trained in the Imperial guard do not know. The first fact is that most cats do not understand cats, let alone horses, and the second fact is that Imperial horses love to kill. They are not trained to do so but they are predators by nature, one of the most deadly known to cats, and it is only the fact that we are more intelligent, use language and can reason that have enabled our people to harness such raw power. Horses can live on grass, the same way a cat can live on vegetables, but to both, it is the flesh that they prefer, so when six cats on horseback stormed up the hills of the Great Mountains, it was really in essence, twelve soldiers who went.
alMassay reared, his great hooves raking the red sky, and came down on the ribcage of a tiger. Movement to his right and the short sword left it’s scabbard, sailing across the distance to rend yet another ribcage, this one belonging to a jaguar. Whirling on back legs, the Imperial horse engaged to lunge forward again and again, as Kirin snatched the kodai’chi from the collapsing body, his katanah cleanly removing head from shoulders as it fell.
A cry from behind, and horse and rider spun to see one of the leopard guard (Per, if Kirin recalled correctly) clutch at a quivering length of arrow newly embedded in his throat. He was dead before he hit the ground. He also saw one of the horses stumble, several arrows piercing its neck like spines, and yet another leopard thrown to the rocks.
Kirin leaped from the back of his stallion, knowing he wouldn’t even need command the beast to hunt down its prey. alMassay spun of his own accord and bolted up the mountain side, in the direction of the last killing arrow, and screams were heard as he went. The guard’s horse, its rider gone, its master finished, was wild with the smell of blood, and it too followed alMassay up the mountain, its hooves finding catflesh of their own to rend and crush. On foot, Kirin scrambled towards Ursa, who was battling hand to hand with two cheetahs, tall and leggy and long of reach, but their size could in no wise match her ferocity or skill, and by the time he reached her, her opponents were twitching on the rocks, more red than tawny, and she turned to face him with a grim smile.
He had to admit she was a marvelous sight.
“I myself have killed two,” she announced. “Wing, Per, Luke, Oded?”
“Per is dead,” said Kirin, sliding both katanah and kodai’chi home, glancing ‘round the terrain with wary eyes. “’Massay and I have also killed two. That leaves four at most…”
First one, then another, and finally the third leopard rose from the rocks, bending to wipe bloody swords on dry grass. As one, they looked up, nodded. Kirin ground his teeth, satisfied.
“I believe we have removed the threat, Major,” he said, feeling the sudden drain of energy that always followed a battle, no matter how short. “Is your horse sound?”
Her grey mare, nostrils flaring, eyes wide, snorted in defiance. It had a broken arrow embedded in its massive chest, and Ursa laid a hand against it, fingers bracing either side of the shaft. The horse twitched but did not move as, in one swift sure motion, she yanked it free. These arrows were not barbed, so only a small hole remained.
“She is sound.” Ice blue eyes gleamed at him and he found himself approving. The desert horses were fast, to be sure, but nothing in all creation was as astoundingly beautiful as an Imperial horse on the battlefield. She frowned. “You have been hit?”
The Captain looked down. The shaft of an arrow stuck out of his side. He reached down and yanked it out in the same manner. It ripped at the leather of his obi, taking part of the Imperial gold sash with it. He held it up, its metal tip flashing in the sunset.
“Hmm. Kerris may know desert horses and desert apparel, but nothing stops arrows like Imperial leather.”
She smiled at him then, proudly showing off the scratches and tears in her white doeskin. She too was unscathed.
“Find eight bodies. Ensure they are dead.”
“My pleasure,” she muttered, and stomped off over the rocks, both swords high and singing.
“We need to catch up to the others as soon as possible,” Kirin muttered to himself, and he too began to pick his way over the blood and through the rock.
***
At first, they were little more that dust clouds on the horizon, and in the growing twilight, it was impossible to tell if they were friend or foe. The horses were exhausted, and Kerris eased up on the pace as the strange cavalry approached. A banner waved above them, but silhouetted against the sinking sun, it was impossible to read. He slowed Quiz to a walk and prayed they weren’t more bandits.
“Grey coat, this is not good…”
It was the Seer. His tone was serious.
“No, no look. It’s a garrison patrol. Wonderful! Hello,” Kerris called out, as ten riders spread out to encircle their little band. “Are you from Sri’Daolath?”
Four riders dismounted, began to move in towards the men. Kerris hopped from Quiz’s back, moved to meet them.
“Where is your Captain?” he called. “The rest of our party needs your help.”
Two uniformed leopards grabbed each arm, and the grey lion yelped in surprise.
“Say, that’s uncalled for! We are an Imperial party –“
And for the second time in three days, a fist thudded into his gut, doubling him over like a sack of millet. They proceeded to beat him to the ground. The two other leopards grabbed at the Seer, hauling him too down off his horse, raining blow upon blow on his head and torso. He did not resist.
“No!” shouted Fallon Waterford, Scholar in the Court of the Empress. She sprang from the back of her exhausted mount, raced towards her companions, but was blocked by a large horse. She looked up to see a lion in desert uniform.
“What are you doing?” she sputtered. “You can’t do this!”
“I am Major Alexander Plantagenet-Khan, commander of Sri’Daolath, and believe me, sidalady tigress, you would be amazed at the number of things I can do.” And without waiting for another word, he bent down and scooped her up in his saddle and turned into the sunset. “Bring the mongrels
and their stolen horses. We shall show them how we keep Imperial law in Khanisthan.”
And he spurred his horse into the west, flanked by two on either side, leaving six of his own leopard guards binding the hands of the prisoners and rounding up the terrified horses, dragging all along the now dark road into the sunset.
Of Sherah al Shiva and her night-black mare, there was no sign.
Pits and Pitfalls
She turned the parchment over in her hands.
It smelled of cinnamon and sand and something else, medicinal and sharp. Her insides tightened at the thought.
The prayer room of the Empress was filled with cushions, so praying could take days if needed. She had not removed herself from within its rice paper walls since she had received it, the parchment from so very far away. It had been a breach of protocol, a personal letter sent for her eyes alone, and Chancellor Ho had bristled at the very idea. But to his credit, he did not open it, allowed it to be presented to her at first light after the falcon’s arrival from far desert lands. It contained a secret and a proposal and her heart thudded as she considered.
Her heart broke as she prayed.
For in fact, she had received two parchments, in a very short span of time. Both from desert lands. Marvellous how dharma worked that way.
One was dying. The other would surely die.
So once again, she knelt before the shrine of her Ancestors, those small proud women who had ruled for centuries. Chose a scent, this one of pine and cedar, lit it and waited for the tip to glow before laying it in one of the many incense pots that adorned the prayer room. The odors filled her nostrils and she breathed them deep.
One was dying and would serve his Empire with his last breath. It was noble, sweet and pure, but would surely kill the other, as surely as a blade to the heart.
She knew what she was being asked to do. Duty demanded she do it.
He would have it no other way.
Tears spilled down her face as she prayed.
***
“Would you like honey in your tea, sidala?”
“Um, sure, thanks – Wait no! No, I don’t want tea!” Fallon Waterford sprang to her feet. “I can’t drink tea when my friends are being dragged behind horses in the middle of nowhere! How can you think such a thing?”
She paced towards the small windows, arms wrapped around her ribs. The compound outside the commander’s office was dark – the moon was but a sliver tonight — but well lit, as torches burnt on frequent posts dotting the garrison yard. Soldiers moved briskly in pairs to and fro, obviously busy doing whatever things garrison soldiers did at night, but Fallon could see no sight of them – the ‘mongrels and their stolen horses’, and she was certain they had not made it to the outpost yet.
“We are not in the middle of nowhere, sidala. That is insulting.”
“Well, well, I’m sorry. The middle of somewhere, then.”
“Simply because we are isolated does not mean we are uncivilized. Cats are a civilized people, sidala. The art of Chado is not lost to us, even here in ‘the middle of nowhere’.”
“Civilized?” She swung around, suddenly realizing how shrill and girlish she must surely sound. She tried desperately to become a snow leopard but there was just no stopping the wild thudding of her heart. “What is civilized about what you have done? Even if they were mongrels, there is no law in the Kingdom that allows such treatment of any citizen, Pure or otherwise.”
“There is no law concerning the treatment of mongrels at all, sidala.” Commander Alexander Plantagenet-Khan lowered himself behind his desk, smiling a patient, long-suffering sort of smile as he raised a delicate bowl to his lips. “It is akin to principles concerning the treatment of one’s cattle, goats or children. It is always up to the discretion of the owners and authorities at hand.”
“You would drag children behind an Imperial horse?”
“Sidala,” he chided her, shaking his head. “We would keep it to a walk.”
He smiled at her and she realized that he was a very good-looking man. A lion with dark, straight mane pulled off his face and neck in an elaborate top knot. He seemed older than Kirin, but younger than Sireth, and he was strong and fit of build. His office was pristine, beautifully appointed in fact, even for one ‘in the middle of nowhere’, and to her dismay, he had books stacked neatly on shelves lining the walls. It was possible, likely even, that he had read them and that meant he had a mind for learning. Everything about him was impressive, completely, absolutely and utterly impressive, and she realized also that that was one of the pitfalls of lions.
He went on. “We are charged with the keeping of order in Daolath’Yar and the surrounding region, sidala. I can assure you that mongrel bands are the chief instigators of disorder.”
“But we’re not mongrels!”
“You…are not a mongrel, sidala. That is obvious. And how you could allow yourself to be tainted with such an alliance is a sad commentary indeed. Were your parents strict? Or not strict enough?”
To her credit, she did not chase his train of thought. “Your men are presently dragging Kerris Wynegarde-Grey, Geomancer of the Imperial Court, and Sireth benAramis, last Seer of Sha’Hadin—” Suddenly, she clapped her hands over her mouth, remembering that no one was to know of the death of the Council. Yes, utterly girlish. She was hopeless.
“Is that what they told you, sidala? You have been yearning too much for adventure, I think…” He sipped his tea with a smile.
She shook her head. “You are gonna be in sooo much trouble when the Captain finds out…”
“Captain?”
“Of the Queen’s Guard. Captain Kirin Wynegarde-Grey.” She turned her back to him to stare out the window. “Yep, sooo much trouble…”
She could have sworn she heard his teacup rattle and she smiled to herself. It was the only thing there was to smile about.
***
There was an odd glow in the distance. It looked like a torch, but not quite, and he realized with a sickening lurch what it was, for he had seen it on several occasions before.
“Alchemists,” he growled, to no one in particular. Ursa was at his side, her grey trotting as if it had never had an arrow embedded in its chest. She was snarling, her marbled tail lashing from side to side across the back of her mount.
“Where are the others?” she growled under her breath.
“I suspect we’ll soon find out.”
Sure enough, the dim outline of a black-clothed figure on a black horse, palm glowing with unnatural light, became more and more visible. They reined their horses in next to hers.
“Why are you not with the others, sidala?” he snapped. He was exhausted and in no mood for her games.
She could tell, and immediately lowered her gaze. “There was an incident, sidi. With a garrison troop.”
“And?”
“They have been taken to Sri’Daolath.”
“Taken?”
“As prisoners, sidi.”
“Blast,” he muttered under his breath. This night was not getting any shorter. “Lead on, sidala.”
Golden eyes still averted, she smiled.
“Of course.”
***
He could see torches up ahead, although truth be told, it was difficult seeing anything beyond the backside of the horse in front of him. He had never been led like this, hands bound, jerked onto and off of his feet at regular intervals behind a jogging horse, and he had to admit that he didn’t like it overmuch. Just when you thought you’d found a rhythm, a way to move your legs without hearing them cry out at every footfall, then the horse would change its pace, or the terrain would change its consistency, and you would be forced all over again to try and adapt to the newness, else stumble in the trying.
That, he had learned quite quickly, was not pleasant at all.
The Seer had been stumbling as much as he, if not more so, but he couldn’t see him well in the darkness. His own right eye was swollen shut and he longed to flop into some well-st
uffed bed and wake up to this having been some wild, sakeh-induced nightmare. But as the wooden walls of a battle fort came into sight, he realized that this night would not be getting shorter anytime soon, and that well-stuffed bed was as likely as a good cup of tea.
Finally, closed inside the gated walls, the horses came to a stop and he dropped to his knees. It was all he could do to keep from falling over, and he risked a glance at the Seer. He had done likewise, and from the utterly passive look on his face, he had gone somewhere safe, somewhere deep inside where no soldier could intrude. It made Kerris certain that this experience had not been his first.
Quiz squealed from behind. They had roped the pony and dragged him as well, using many ropes and lashes and whips to keep him in check. It was one of the few things that warmed him, knowing his pony could easily have broken free of his tethers and made a break for it, but it was only a wild affection for his rider that kept him anywhere near. He could hear the sounds of the soldiers cursing, the sound of whips cracking, and without really knowing what he was doing, he found himself on his feet, yanking the rope free from the leopard’s hands. He threw himself toward the pony, a battered intercessor in Quiz’s defense.
They beat him to the ground with ease.
Suddenly, there were hands at his face, and the tigress was tenderly lifting him from the dust. She hugged him and he could have sworn that she kissed him, although his head was spinning and he couldn’t be quite sure. He could taste her tears and he also realized with some curiosity that this child of a woman had the same determined spirit as Quiz and possessed the same wild affection for him.
It also warmed him more than the tea.
The soldiers pulled him to his feet and he swayed a bit, not quite sure his legs would hold. Fallon was with the Seer now, hugging and weeping and he felt a pang of jealousy, until he heard the Seer whisper the name “Khalilah”, and suddenly everything was all right on that front. He found that odd.
To Walk in the Way of Lions Page 4
