The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (100 page)

“You are powerful.”

“You have no idea.” And the Seer
ducked in time to avoid the snowball that smacked into the jaguar’s head.

“Idiots!” cried the Major, now
little more than a speck against the snow. “We’re losing time!”

“She’s a delicate flower,” said
Sireth as he mounted his horse.

Yahn Nevye brushed the snow from
his head, slipped his foot into the sandal and followed.

***

He had been given his choice of
stallions from the Imperial stables and he had picked for himself a large blood
bay, its black mane roached, its tail bound like a topknot. His name was
Shenan. He was not alMassay, however. No horse could ever be alMassay. His
chest still ached at the loss and he tried never to think of it. A leopard had
been sent to fetch the young aSiffh from the stables of the House
Wynegarde-Grey. The colt had not come willingly and for some reason, it warmed
him to think of the young desert stallion tossing his head and rolling his
large eyes as they dragged him from his home, fighting the entire way along the
road to
Pol’Lhasa.

It reminded him just a little of
Quiz.

He had been assigned two
divisions of the Imperial Guard, an entourage of more than one hundred men, and
they rode out now along the mountains that led to the Wall and the Gate of Five
Hands. The road hugged the steep slopes so that only two horses could ride
abreast in most places and it reminded him of the road to
Sha’Hadin,
where bandits and avalanches and carts of careening chickens were a constant
danger. He could not keep his eyes from darting upwards just to make sure, but
all he could see was the expanse of purple shale, white drifts and the
occasional solitary farm. There was no sun today—the sky was heavy with
snow clouds, but the road was clear and all along the mountains, he could see
tigers driving the yaks that plowed through the drifts. Not speedy, but
efficient. Yaks could move through anything, he realized. Much labour in the
Empire was conducted behind the backside of a yak.

He had also been assigned a
Division Captain, a young lion by the name of Haj Li-Hughes. They were likely
the same age but for some reason, Li-Hughes seemed so very young.
 
He had overheard the soldiers whenever
he would move past, heard the term ‘Khanmaker’ whispered among them, felt their
curious stares. Shogun-General and Khanmaker, wearing the blood-red yori and
carrying the Fangs, riding a borrowed horse with another trotting freely at his
side. Above them all, the Imperial banner waved high and proud.

What a strange thing his life
had become.

Kerris could not be at the Gate
of Five Hands.

It was impossible, he kept
telling himself, but then again, almost a year had passed since Kerris, Fallon
and Solomon had sailed from the shores of
Ana’thalyia
in the bird-like
vessel called
Plan B
. He had no idea what had happened, what Kerris had
found, or if he in fact found anything at all. He didn’t know which disturbed
him more but set his mind not to think on it until he had heard the stories for
himself. And Kerris so loved his stories.

But Kerris could not be at the
Gate of Five Hands.

And so they rode for the better
part of the day on the trail that wound through the mountains, past temples,
around farms, through villages. Everywhere along their route, both white and
orange flames burned in the lanterns and torches and Kirin marveled at the
number of people that came to watch them as they passed. He wondered if it was
simply the sight of an Imperial force riding under the dual flame or whether
the announcement of the first Shogun-General had already reached their ears. He
wouldn’t be surprised. News moved faster than rushing water.

Soldiers of all Races were on
the road. The Empress had ordered all leave canceled, the entire army recalled
and had even begun the process of conscripting young men into service. The
roads were filled with warriors, some riding, most walking, others joined
together on carts on the way to the Wall. All stopped at the sight of the dual
Division and the Shogun-General leading them. Without exception, they bowed. He
could not help it. The sight of so many warriors quickened his blood.

They stopped for lunch at the
outpost of
Sri’Phan’kai,
ate a simple meal of rice and egg soup before
heading out again. It was their aim to make the temple town of
Teken’purana
and
if the snow stayed in the clouds, they would succeed. If it fell, their time
would be slowed and they might be forced to sleep on the trail. On roads like
these, in mountains like these, no one would ride in the dark. It would be
suicide, and death without honour was simply death. With orange and white fires
racing along the Wall, soldiers deserved better.

And so it was only a brief stop
at
Sri’Phan’kai
before heading out onto the road again. The rest of the
day was the same as the morning. The snow stayed up, the roads stayed clear,
and the torches of
Teken’purana
were lining the way as the skies folded
their grey cloaks into the wardrobe of night. Originally a census town, the
temple of
Teken’purana
had grown so large as to be considered a city on
its own and her winged rooftops shimmered in the shadows of the mountains. In
the daylight she was beautiful.

They were met by monks robed in
deep blue, led to a hall where they dined on duck, rice, noodles and curried
bananas. No one would talk to him without bowing, if in fact they talked to him
at all. He wondered if it was because of his new station or whether all monks
were the silent type and best left alone. He smiled as he thought of one in
particular and was ushered to his bed.

Sleep came swiftly, but in his
dreams, he was back in the gar with the knives and the dogs.

***

His grandmother would kill him
if she could see this and he shook his head, wondering what the fates had in
store to have led them here.

It was night and they were
leaving and the witch was filling her bag with the supplies from their strange
little tent. He watched her as she packed, her hands long and strong and
speckled like a rocky road. The tips of her fingers looked odd with claws
hidden and he could not keep his eyes from them, waiting for the secret daggers
to catch the candlelight as she moved. She was a predator, it was obvious. He
would ensure that he was not easy prey.

But Setse, she confounded him.

She sat cross-legged on the
ground, engrossed in the baby in her arms. It was a strange-looking creature,
thought Naranbaatar, with it’s tufted tail and mop of thick dark hair. But he
knew what it was that captivated his sister more than simple girlish instinct,
could tell the instant the child had turned its large unnatural eyes on him. He
could tell.

One eye was gold, the other
blue.

And if cats were anything at all
like dogs, then the child was an Oracle, like Setse. Very likely like its
mother.

“Now,” said the witch, reaching
for the child. He did not struggle as she slipped him into a pack over her
black-clad shoulders. She drew the bearskin over him now, hiding him completely
from view. “We will go now.”

Setse rolled to her feet but
Naranbataar stopped her.

“The sentries on your Wall will
see us,” he growled.

“They will not see.”

“And it’s black as coal out
there. These are dangerous mountains. One of us will slip on the ice and the
fall will surely kill us.”

The witch smiled at him, held
out a hand and light began to radiate from her palm. He stepped back, scowled,
set his jaw.

“Yes, certainly the sentries
will not see
that…”

She cupped her palm with the
other, pressed, released. The light was a glow now, blue in colour. Like his
sister’s eye. Like the child’s.

“Teach me, Rah!” Setse clapped
her hands. “Teach me everything!”

The witch fixed her eyes on him
before turning and slipping out of the gar.

“Of course.”

***

They press the pads of his
palms and the claws extend through the tips of his fingers. The dog lifts a
blade, turns it in the firelight…

Through the terror of his dreams
he heard the sound of horses.

He sat up, allowing his eyes to
adjust to the darkness, ears straining to hear the movement of
kunoi’chi
or hassasin. But there was only the sound of the wind and yet again, he sighed.
Another room not his own. He would grow accustomed to it one day, but not
today. He rose to his feet and moved to the narrow window.

Night over snowy mountains was a
beautiful thing. The waning moon painting everything in strokes of silver, the
ice giving it all back as an act of worship. The faint stars glittering like
water, the elements sleeping under cloud and frost. He could hear the deep
tones of chanting as monks from
Teken’purana
carried out their
devotions. There was no rest for them, these monks. They lived and prayed and
served their Order with their lives. It was a worthy calling and not for the
first time, he realized that he could have lived a happy life as a monk.

He smiled to himself, wondering
if Ling would approve.

He reached for his tail, shorter
now since the night in the gar. The Scales of the Dragon were an impressive
piece of armour, but the gold braces rubbed at the pelt, leaving bits raw and
blistered. He could not condemn them however. The fitting had been rushed and
there had been no time for adjustments. He wondered how long it would be before
it felt like home, like the kheffiyah or the gloves.

There again – another
squeal from the valley and an answer from the stables far below. Horses, yes.
He pulled on a cloak and left the room, making his way through the monastery to
the very lowest level where the horses were kept.
Teken’purana
was
different than
Sha’Hadin
in many ways – polished wood as opposed
to stone, window glass as opposed to none, in the heart of a small town as
opposed to isolated—but the stables were remarkably similar. He found
himself approving as he pushed the cedar door in on the smell of pine and
leather.

 
Lanterns provided dim light as two men struggled at the stall
of a small bay, and Kirin was shocked to see aSiffh rearing and kicking at the
boards. His eye was wild, his nostrils flared and the men were trying to catch
him with ropes and blankets. Kirin crossed the floor swiftly and they turned at
his approach. They were clearly from the monastery, wearing the deep blue robes
of service. They bowed, fists to cupped palms.

“Shogun-sama,” said one.

“
Sahidi
,” said the other.

“What is the problem?”

“There is a wild horse in the
mountains,” said the one. “It has been calling all night and this little one is
disturbed.”

“Likely a mare in heat,” said
the other. “Or an alpha trying to lure an innocent out for an easy kill.”

Kirin nodded. He had heard of
such tactics. Horses were deadly predators. It was only superior feline
intelligence that allowed them to control the creatures at all.

He turned to look at the young
stallion, standing on wire-tight legs, flanks heaving. The valley echoed again
with the squeal and aSiffh raised his head high, the stables splitting with his
answer.

Suddenly, he knew.

“Open the stall,” he said.

“
Sahidi
?”

“Let him out.”

“But the mountain horse—”

“Pony,” he said. “It is a
mountain pony. Open the stall.”

They did and aSiffh burst out in
a blur, racing out the doors of the monastery stables. He disappeared into the
shadows cast by the mountains.

Kirin leaned against the
doorframe, casting his eyes out as if to follow, his mind spinning with the
realization. He smiled to himself.

Kerris was at the Gate of Five
Hands.

***

Long-Swift folded his arms
across his chest and turned his face to the south. The wind was cold, plucking
at the fur of his cheek and he was grateful for the warmth of the gars at
night. Only betas slept in gars. The tens of thousands beneath them slept in
the pelts of bears, horses, yaks or other lesser peoples. Not cats. Never cats.
The skins of cats were far too thin for such wind. They were a frail but
persistent enemy.

So very far below at the heel of
Khazien
, the army stretched out almost to the rising sun. The smoke from
their fires blackened the sky and the flash of sharpening blades looked like
ripples on a winter lake.

He heard the flap of a tent and
the Khargan stepped up beside him. He smelled of woodsmoke, wotchka and Tu’ula,
his seventh wife.

“What is it?” the Khargan asked,
his voice like the rumble of distant thunder.

“A runner,” said Long-Swift.

“From?”

The Irh-Khan shrugged. “There is
no information yet.”

“Perhaps they have found another
Oracle.”

“Perhaps.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“I do not, no.” Long-Swift
turned to the Khan of Khans. “This is not protocol for finding an Oracle. The
entire Legion would have returned.”

“True.” The Khargan raised a
brow. “Shall I go down with you?”

“The men would be honored.”

“Naturally.”

Together, the pair turned away
from the cliff-face and the sight of tens of thousands gathered at their feet.

***

It was early morning when the
ice sheets of
Nanchuri Glacier
came into view. The mountain was very far
away, almost obscured by heavy clouds but one side was pure white and traveled
away from the cliffs at strange angles.