The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (4 page)

“No, Excellency. I was delivering
your last terms to the
Chi’Chen
ambassador during the time of his
confirmation.”

“You have heard of him, though.” It
wasn’t a question.

“Such a man on the Council,
Excellency? Who hasn’t heard of it?”

“And what are your thoughts on the
matter?”

She was watching him carefully,
weighing the meaning behind his words. He would choose them well.

“You have allowed it, Excellency.
That is Enough.”

That seemed to be Enough, then, for
her.

The Empress reached out a gold-clad
hand. The falcon sprang from its unwilling host to its Imperial one, bleating
its displeasure. She smoothed the ruffled feathers before transferring both
falcons back to the pedestal and replacing the hoods.

“There is a new star in the
heavens—“

“Yes!” exclaimed Fallon, clapping
her hands together. The leopards flinched but still did not move. “We’ve all
seen it! Everyone in the University is so curious as to what it means!”

Kirin sighed yet again. This child
had no training. Indeed, he wondered if she possessed any sense at all.

“Our Alchemists are working on
divining the answer to that, child,” said the Empress. “And my dear Petrus
believes that this youngest council member has seen something of it, but
refuses to speak of it.”

“Refuses, Excellency?” growled the
Captain. “This cannot be allowed.”

“Sometimes oil is more effective
than a stick for opening a lock, Captain. That is why I sent for you.”

He lowered his gaze, shamed by his
temper. She touched his arm and he was instantly restored.

“You four, with the addition of
Kerris Wynegarde-Grey, will journey to
Sha’Hadin,
to discover who or
what is killing my Seers. You will use any and all means at your disposal, all
of your venerable skills to see that it is stopped and stopped soon. Without
the Gifts of Farsight and Vision,
Pol’Lhasa
,
DharamShallah,
and
all of the Upper Kingdom will be vulnerable and once vulnerable shall surely
fall.”

Her deep, soul-searching eyes
burned into them like the sun. All four - Ursa Laenskaya, Fallon Waterford, Sherah
al Shiva and finally, Kirin Wynegarde-Grey, Captain of the Guard. Yes, most
especially, her Captain.

“To you I bind our lives, our
civilization, our future. Do not fail me.”

And she added one final word, which
when spoken from those lips, could break bone.

“Please.”

***

“He is dead,” said the physician.

There was a long silence in the
Hall of the Seers. Of course, they had known he was dead. They had felt him
pass violently at the End of the Second Watch. There seemed no stopping it.
Physicians, acolytes and attendants could offer little more for sympathy than
silence.

The physician nodded and left the
two men to grieve alone. The central hearth was smoldering now, its embers
dying as a cool wind reached its fingers inward towards their kneeling forms.
Surrounding the hearth, three tiny flames flickered from three earthen bowls,
the last of seven oil lamps still burning in the Hall of the Seers. Small grey
fingers reached to snuff one out and darkness advanced into the room.

“Did you see it this time?” came a
rich, quiet voice. The voice of a lion, accented in the tongue of the Old
Courts. “Please, Petrus, tell me you saw it.”

“No, Sireth,” said the elder as he
struggled to his feet. “Again, I did not.”

“It
must
be wrong. Perhaps this time... perhaps I...”

He did not finish, but let the
words hang with a sigh. He did not move to get up.

The old man regarded him gently.
“Sireth benAramis is never wrong.

“I would give anything to be wrong.
Just this once.”

Tattered brown robes swept the
floor as Petrus laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

“Your vision is the only key,
Sireth. Do not disparage it. It may be the only thing we have.”

The one called Sireth pulled at his
hood, hiding his angular face further in shadows and bent lower, as if calling
the warmth from the hearth.

“What now, Petrus? What if we can’t
stop this?”

“Then we can’t.”

“I don’t understand. This makes no
sense.”

“You should sleep.”

“I can’t sleep anymore. There is no
peace in sleeping.”

Petrus Ishak Raphael Mercouri, the
Ancient of
Sha’Hadin
, smiled and slipped his frail hands into his
sleeves. He turned to stare out the black window.

“There never is.”

***

Kirin watched her for several long
moments as she sat by the great charcoal brazier in the kitchen. Ever since he
could remember, she would be up with the servants, tending them as a
shepherdess tends her sheep. She would not cook nor would she clean, for she
was too well bred - a lioness of the Imperial Courts. But she would be there at
first light of dawn, working on some tapestry or piece of porcelain that
required a lady’s touch. This morning, with her tea at her side, she
embroidered a slip of purple silk with beads so tiny that she held them on the
tips of her claws.

“Mother.”

She looked up at him, eyes small
and dewy and brilliantly blue, before bending back to her work.

“Sit with me.”

“I haven’t much time.”

“I know, my son. But sit.”

He could do nothing but obey, so he
pulled up a magnificently embroidered stool in front of the brazier. Silently,
a servant placed a cup of hot, sweet tea at his side. Her attendants sat on
similar stools behind her, passing her beads and refreshing her tea as
required. It had always been this way, and its familiarity warmed him more than
the coals.

“He is home,” she said.

“I was informed.”

“He has something for you.”

Kirin smiled. “I am not surprised.”

“How is Lyn-ling??

Now he felt the warmth in his
cheeks.
Lyn-ling.
The pet name for the Empress since a kitten in the
Imperial Nursery. Only a handful of people could get away with calling her
that, only nursemaids and nannies and Mother. She knew the secret places in his
heart.

“She is well.”

“Good.”

She nodded quietly, pursing her
paper-thin lips, her small, bird-like fingers weaving intricate patterns into
the silk. She did not look at him, would not, and he knew she had something on
her mind. While part of him cried to get moving, the other ordered him to sit.
It would be dishonorable to do otherwise. Her long golden hair was streaked
with silver and pulled up into a knot of many braids. She wore a kimonoh of
Imperial gold, the mark of their noble heritage. Patiently, like the
maid-servants, he waited on her.

“I have spoken with Tamre
d’Elsbeth-Ford,” she said.

His heart sank. “Yes.”

“Her daughter has made inquiries.”

“Yes.”

“Dellanana is a lovely young woman.
A lioness of fine features, grace and intelligence. You would be well matched.”
Still, she would not look at him. “I would like you to consider her.”

He said nothing.

“I am growing old, my son. I do not
wish to face our Ancestors with nothing to show for my life but crafts and
dreams and no heirs to your father’s legacy.”

She held up the slip of silk. It
was a kitten’s presentation gown. She smiled now, few of her teeth remaining.
It puckered her face like a withered apple.

“But more than these, I wish you to
be happy.”

“I am happy, Mother.”

“You will be more happy with a
wife.”

“I will consider her.”

“Your brother will be happy to see
you.”

She bent back to her work. It was a
dismissal. Quietly, he rose to his feet and bowed his most formal bow. She
deserved it.

“I will bring him home safely, if
not soon.”

She nodded again and he left the warmth
of the kitchen, feeling a familiar weight fall heavy on his shoulders.

***

Kirin padded up the winding stone
staircase in utter darkness. There was no danger for each step was as familiar
as a finger or a toe. Indeed, he often felt as if this place were a part of him
- his heart, perhaps, or his soul. It had been their ancestral home for at
least ten generations, longer if the city’s record-keeper was to be believed.
And he treasured every step, every stone, every hearth in its ancient halls,
every measure of what it was and what it had always been.

The House Wynegarde-Grey.

He stopped at the uppermost door.
The outside wood was surprisingly clean, not at all what he knew the
other
side to be. On the
other
side, there would be etchings and
carvings and paintings, and every gap in the wooden surface stuffed with paper
or fabric or twigs, transforming ordinary cedar into something extraordinary.
Something other-worldly. Something that reflected the uniqueness of the
individual living behind it.

With a subtle shake of his tawny
head, Kirin pushed it open.

What had the Empress said?
Deep in his bed. Of course, she had been right. She was always right.

He crossed the woven mats tossed
carelessly across the floor and threw open the shutters, then the windows
themselves, allowing great gusts of cold air and sunrise to tumble down to the
blanket-covered mound in the centre of the room. The room smelled of leather,
pine and old ale, and he noticed the bottles also tossed carelessly across the
floor. He sighed.

If Kerris was drunk, this would be
a problem.

The blankets began to stir. Kirin
nudged them with his boot.

“Wake up, dung beetle.”

“Mm. Go away.”

“The dawn sends you her greetings.
As does your Empress.”

“Kindly give the dawn and Lyn-ling
my regards,” mumbled the blankets and a grey tufted tail whacked the floor.
“But tell them I shall chat them both up later. I’m far too drunk for sunny
conversations, thank you. Now go away.”

“I’m serious, Kerris. You were
summoned to the Palace last night. Your ‘services’ are needed, drunken or
otherwise.”

A groan escaped the blankets and a
grey head appeared, propped up on grey elbows.

“Kirin, are you serious?”

“I just said I was.”

“Why?”

“I shall tell you that when you’re
standing.”

Blankets and animal skins were
tossed aside as Kerris Wynegarde-Grey climbed out from his makeshift bed.

“Welcome home, Kerris,” Kerris
grumbled. “How was your trip, Kerris? Where were you off to this time, Kerris?”

“Later.”

“Later, Kerris. You’re needed,
Kerris. Nothing quite like 4 hours of sleep, is there, Kerris? So very good for
the bones...”

He stepped into a pair of doeskin
trousers, slipped a loose linen tunic over the tangle of pendants around his
neck and pulled on his yak-hide boots, ones with brightly-colored laces. He ran
his hands through his mane of ashen grey, which fell just below the chin - far
too short for a Race that prided itself on its crowning glory. It gave him the
perpetual, tousled-headed look of one just rolling out of bed.

Not an entirely inappropriate
image.

In other than pelt, he could have
passed for his brother for in fact they were twins, identical in form and
feature. The same eyes of deepest blue, the same rich, rumbling voice in the
oldest of accents, the same height, the same build, the same regal blood
coursing through their veins. One silver, one gold.

As different as the stars from the
sand, or waves from the shore.

“Alrighty then…Pahguah...wind
stones...very special sticks...”

He looked around the room, grabbing
articles of dubious importance, stuffing them in his trouser pockets. He was a
most unusual Geomancer.

“Right.” He slapped his thighs.
“I’m ready. Let’s go.”

“Inspiring,” said his brother. “A
vision of readiness. Are you really drunk?”

“Absolutely,” Kerris grinned. “Not
really. Maybe. I just liked the bottles. Perhaps I shall make something of them
someday. I brought you something.”

His hand dug into one pocket, then
another. He dumped the pouch. He scratched his head.

“Uhm, hang on... Now where did I
put that thing? Where’s my cloak?”

“In the hearth.”

Kerris spun around, frowning.

“Hmm. Not a good place for it. It’s
new, you know. I lost my old one. Can’t seem to remember where...”

He pounced on the smoldering fire
pit, snatching the cloak and shaking it out like a flag. Ashes and bits of
charred wood rained to the floor as he rummaged in a deep pocket to produce a
pendant, which he proudly dangled from long grey fingers. Swinging at the end
of the leather was something flat, triangular and white. Kirin eyed it with
suspicion.

“Is that a tooth?”

“A shark’s tooth, actually. The
bugger tried to have me for breakfast. Instead,” he patted his stomach. “We had
him. He was quite surprised.”

“The ocean! You went to the ocean?!
Kerris, you idiot!”

“You’re welcome.”

“Why would you go to the ocean,
Kerris? The Empress has no agenda there.”

“Agenda? Who needs an agenda to go
to the ocean, Kirin. Winter in
Hindaya
is decidedly more pleasant than winter here..” His eyes gleamed with the
memory. “More tigers too.”

Kirin shook his head.

“And
am I to assume that you went to the edge of the world - in the company of
tigers
?”

“A whole pride of them, actually.
They paid me too. It was great fun. I love tigers. I should have been born a
tiger.”

“Yes, Kerris. You should have.”

Kirin took the pendant, still
dangling from his brother’s fingers. He slipped it over his neck, tucking it
under two layers of leather.

“There. Are you happy?”