The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (41 page)

It
was late in the evening he pondered these things, as torches from the towers of
Sri’
Gujar’Rath
came into sight. A troupe of guards were awaiting
them there, led by a handsome, dark-maned lion. The Captain called his own
troupe to a halt.

“Sir,”
said the lion. “I am Major Lucas Roth-Dhaliwar, commander of
Sri’Gujar’Rath.
We have been expecting you.”

And he executed a most formal bow,
fist to cupped palm.

Naturally,
Kirin did not. “Good,” he said, swinging down from his horse. “And the
parchments?”

“All
we could muster, sir. As you might imagine, there is not much call for paper
here.”

“We
will take only our need. Please, have someone see to the horses. Has my brother
arrived?”

Roth-Dhaliwar
exchanged glances with the leopards at his side.

“The grey one,
sidi?”

Kirin
steeled his jaw, finding the comment suddenly grating. “

That would be him.”

“He’s, ah, he’s in the stables,
sir.”

“In
the stables. Of course.”

“Yes
sir. Actually, he’s cleaning them...”

***

The legs, Fallon thought.
Definitely the legs.

Or perhaps, the pelt, buttercream
and white with fine black spots, begging a lingering stroke of the fingers. Or
the hair, black as night and down to the fullness of her chest, drawing the eye
as it went. Or the way her body curved and arched when she moved, a hint of
possibility and stealth or or just the
way
she moved or or or her eyes,
all painted and golden and knowing, or her voice, deep and dark and breathy...

Fallon
sighed. Who knew what it was that made men look at Sherah al Shiva the way they
did? She had seen it happen time and time again and could tell the immediate
disjunction of self from soul when it did. It was if they were transfixed, lost
in the sheer art of her. She couldn’t dismiss it, however, their base, primal,
powerful reactions, for at that exact moment, she was looking at Kerris
Wynegarde-Grey in precisely the same fashion.

He
was cleaning the stables.

He
was forking the last of fresh straw onto the newly-scrubbed floor. Both cloak
and tunic were discarded, tossed over a cedar beam and the pelt of his chest
was a glistening dark grey. She thought – with an odd, detached sort of
thought – that he wasn’t nearly as broad as his brother, his musculature
not nearly so defined, and his pelt not nearly so littered with battle scars.
The ones she had given him, however, stood out like stripes, white tiger
stripes down the length of his back. His pendants swung and snapped as he
worked.

With
a deep puff of breath, the grey lion paused to wipe his brow with a forearm. He
surveyed the stalls, and nodded swiftly.

“Well, I think that’s it. Looks
much better. Smells better too. Horses deserve so much better. Why don’t people
understand?”

And then he noticed her, standing
at the foot of the stair.

“Oh, hello
sidala.
You’re
all here now, are you? It’s about time.”

She
separated from the protective cover of the stairwell.

“Yep. We’re all here.”

“I
suppose Kirin wants me up for supper, or something. Well, tell him I’ve already
eaten, thanks. I was starving.”

He stepped over to a far wall,
leaned the fork with others along the brickwork.

“I think we’ll have to rethink our
portable lunches. Soup may be tasty, but it’s nowhere near filling enough for
this kind of journey.”

Her
mind was racing, thinking of all sorts of interesting and appropriate
responses, but she had suddenly gone mute. It seemed important to listen now,
taking in what he said, and more importantly, how.

He
had snatched a straw broom from the same wall and was now sweeping small loose
flakes into the stalls.

“So I was thinking milk-paste.
We’ll need to arrange for goats somewhere along the line, or cattle, or now -
wait a moment, a nursing mare. Yes, that might do it. She could come with us,
wouldn’t slow us down...”

His voice trailed off as he swept,
swept, swept.

“Milk-paste?”
she asked hesitantly.

“Yes.
You dry milk into a paste, put it in a canteen with some rice or millet, add
water first thing in the morning, and by mid-day, you have porridge. Not very
tasty but it fills your belly for the rest of the day.”

She
brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face and stepped forward again. Her
heart was in her throat.

“Are you alright?”

“What?
Me? Oh yes, I always talk to myself. Not to worry.”

“I
mean, after last night, and and and this morning, I just wondered...”

She shrugged, feeling very
inadequate and young.

“Ah, yes, well.” He looked down for
a moment, then he shrugged too. “Too many vices, I suppose. They catch up with
me from time to time.”

“I,
I just thought...”

“Thanks.”
He smiled at her, a different one this time, sadder, a glimpse of starshine
usually hidden by sun. “Say, how’s your leg?”

“Oh,
that...” She glanced down, raised her ankle, gave it a shake. “Funny thing
about legs...”

He
laughed and she flushed with pride that she had caused it.

“Kerris!”

They
hadn’t heard the jingle and clop of horses and suddenly the Captain was there,
leading the great Imperial stallion down the stair and into the stable. Kerris
was at his side in a flash.

“Here,
let me take him. I’ve cleaned this place up, top to bottom. It wasn’t fit for a
yak.”

He caught the reins, led the horse
to a large corner, pointing and shouting directions as the others filed down
the stair.

“Over there, over there, and you,
ah, over there! Kirin, I’ve been thinking, we really should consider milk-paste
for our mid-day rations, once we reach
KhahBull
. We will, of course,
have to arrange for a mare...”

And
Fallon stepped back to watch it all, the shift sudden like a closing door, and
she understood a great deal more than she had expected, but still nowhere near
what was there.

***

The meal had been bland, tasteless
but filling. Root vegetables and salt pork, unsweetened green tea. It was the
way of things here in
Sri’
Gujar’Rath
and Kirin had assured
Major Roth-Dhaliwar that improvements would be made in their stationing. The
commander had seemed pleased at this. So now, like so many nights before, they
huddled round the charcoal brazier, embers creating warm edges on everything,
waiting for Solomon to arrive.

Fallon
hugged her knees to her chest and looked around. The Seer was sleeping, the
Major curled at his side. It seemed that she too slept, and to Fallon,
completely natural that she should. It was only when she saw a sliver of
ice-blue from behind black lashes that she realized otherwise. She shook her
head. The woman was relentless.

The
Alchemist slept as well and Fallon studied her face for a long time. There were
no baiting airs in sleep, no place for suggestion or lure. Her lips were parted
slightly, like a child’s and the tigress felt a wave of guilt wash over her. It
was so easy to presume with this one, to assume and infer and to judge this
mother of kittens, regardless of the circumstances of their births. She was
what she was, or more likely, what life had made her. Who knew what truly lay
beneath?

Then
the brothers. She shook her head again. What puzzles they were, trading
strength for strength as day trades with night. Sun for moon, clouds for stars,
gold for silver. It couldn’t have been easy, being who and what they were, born
to privilege and duty, weights to bear whether or not they were wanted. She
couldn’t fathom such a life, for either one. Double-edged swords, they were,
brilliant and sharp and grave and quick. Perhaps that was it. They were, after
all, twins. Two edges of the same sword. They both cut deep.

And
so they sat, the Captain, the Scholar and Kerris, around the brazier, spokes of
a waiting wheel. The Captain was running an ivory comb through his long golden
mane, ensuring no ripple or snag in its satin finish. With his hair down like
this, he looked very young.

“We
need maps,” sighed Kerris, sitting in a ball, chin in hands. He always looked
young.

“I
know. But Kerris,” Kirin looked up. “I honestly have no idea how we can get
them. After
KhahBull
, I honestly don’t.”

For a moment, he was not the
Captain but a man, a brother, a fellow traveler on a dark road.

Kerris
chewed his bottom lip, frowning.

“I mean, if we still go west, we
have the many roads and the Wall
is
under construction for a very long
way past
KhahBull.
North all the way to through
Khanisthan
to the
Khash’phian.
And from there, there is still work through
Shiryia,
and the Dead Lands. They are laying foundations in
Aegyp,
you know.”

“But
that’s south.”

“Oh.
Yes, you’re right.” He sighed again. “Well, we must know something by
KhahBull.”

The ivory comb caught in a very
small tangle. The Captain glowered at it and continued to comb all the more.

“What about Solomon?”

“What
about Solomon?”

“Well,
he seems to know something of the land. Remember how he sounded when he
realized where we were?”

“And
his strange words. But Kirin,” he straightened his back as they moved well into
his territory. “You can’t draw maps from hearsay. Not accurate ones.”

“We
may have no choice.”

“And
if he says, ‘Go north to the big mountains’, and meanwhile, on the way to the
big mountains, there are more mountains? And you think ‘Are
these
the big mountains’ or are these
just medium mountains and the ‘big’ mountains are even farther beyond? If so,
where’s the pass? Or perhaps there’s a canyon in between? Or a lake?” He sat
forward now, “Oh yes, a lake, right between us and the big mountains. Do we
take the left bank or the right? Because invariably, one leads to the big
mountains, and the other to the very heart of
Gowrain
country and we are
all shish’khebabs for supper.”

Kirin
laughed softly and Fallon would have too, had she not been in deep,
wheel-spinning thought.

Kerris
grew serious.

“Why is he there, Kirin? I would
very much like to know how a tiger comes to a place where even Kaidan hasn’t
been.”

Fabled
Kaidan. Legend Kaidan.
Kirin shrugged, grinning.

“Perhaps Kaidan
has
been
there. Perhaps he’s simply… forgotten?”

At
that, Kerris laughed so loudly that jolted everyone from their slumbers, even
the leopards.

“Shush,”
shushed Kirin, but
even he was still grinning as his brother fought for control. Fallon was
grinning too, but she didn’t really know why. Something to do with Kaidan.

“Oh
my, oh my,” Kerris panted, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Now that was
terribly funny, Kirin. Really, it was. Some hope for you yet.”

The
Captain nodded and the others, not particularly awake but not anymore sleepy,
rolled to sit, bleary eyed and patient. She waited until it had gone very quiet
again, very still, before

Fallon cleared her throat.

“I,
I think I have an idea.”

The Captain eyed her from under his
curtain of hair. “That
is
why you’re here,
sidala.”

“Yes,”
purred Kerris. “A Scholar in the Court of the Empress, you know.”

 
She felt the heat rush
into her cheeks and thankfully, the Captain seemed to notice.

“Go on,” he said softly.

She
squeezed her knees. “Well, do you remember the night at
Sri’Varna?
When Sireth almost went over the Wall?”

“Rather
memorable one, that. My legs are still sore,” grinned Kerris, but the Captain
had furrows on his forehead, eyes steely as he scrambled to follow.

“It,
it’s an observation I’ve made since the start, since the very first night back
in the monastery.”

At the mention of the monastery,
Sireth rose and took a place by the brazier, another spoke in the wheel. The
Major did likewise. Only the leopards and the Alchemist did not.

“When
Solomon comes,” Fallon went on. “He not only exists in Sireth’s soul, but in a
way, in his body as well. When the cold came, Sireth froze. When the rats came,
he ran. I think, for that very brief span of time, for however long they are
connected, they
are
connected, body and soul.”

It
was there, just beyond his grasp. What the tigress was saying made sense. He
knew where she was going, but she had made a leap in reasoning that he simply
could not make. He was soldier, not scholar, after all. But it was there, right
there, just at the edge of his reason...

“If
he does really and truly know our lands, then Solomon could draw our maps in
Swisserland. There and therefore,” she inclined her head to the Seer. “Here.”

She
glanced around, suddenly afraid of the laughter that was undoubtedly coming, or
the scorn or other such things as she had experienced in her short, sheltered
lifetime. It was always like that at home. Her father and her sisters had
smiled and patted her head, shaken their heads or laughed in outright
dismissal.

Funny though
, she thought
in retrospect
, her mother never had.

“Brilliant,”
said the Captain. “That is brilliant,
sidala
. Once again, you have
rescued this mission. I thank you.”

He stood and twisted his long mane
into a queue down his back.

“Kerris, get the parchments and
chalks. The good ones, the ones that last, inks and brushes. Tonight we find
Swisserland.”