The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (47 page)

The
man smiled nervously, bowed again, as if the very act could appease this wraith
of a lion, and the armed ghost at his side.

“You need only ask,
sidi.
We
are also servants of the Empress.”

“Indeed?
Then, perhaps, a place at your fire? As I said, we will not make
KhahBull
tonight. I would sleep much sounder to the songs of your pipes.”

Ursa
threw a scowl at him. That was not the plan. To her credit, she kept her
tongue.

Likewise,
the man seemed just as uncomfortable with the idea. In fact, activity slowed to
a stop, and now all people exchanged nervous glances. The man clasped his
hands.

“Yes, of course,
sidalord
lion,
you would be welcome, of course, but...”

“But?”

“
Sidi,
we are a gypsy band. Our means are simple, our accommodations more so. We are
not accustomed to entertaining those such as yourselves.”

“There was a day,” Sireth began,
“When gypsy hospitality was not as exclusive as the company of lions. All were
welcome in the name of Dharma.”

There
was a moment of silence, then the man threw wide his arms.

“Come and be welcome. What little
we have is yours.”

“The
water and wrap would be fine,” Sireth stepped forward into the firelight and
pulled back the hood. “Of course, if you have any famous
KhahBull
khava...”

A
cheer went up from the company, along with a good number of relieved sighs, as
one mongrel joined his own. Ursa, suddenly feeling very alone, kept her hands
on her hilts, and followed him into the fire.

***

She learned more about the Seer
that night, than in all the days they had shared company. She learned he had
been born to a caravan of gypsies, much like this one, on the outskirts of
Calcah’thah.
That he had been the younger of two sons, that his grandfather had been a
Pure-blood lion who also traveled with the company, his mother a dancer and
fortune teller, and that he had never known his father. In fact, he was so open
with these people, complete strangers as they were, that she more than once
found herself wondering what it was that made him so different in the presence
of the Captain and the others.

It
was, of course, the issue of Race.

As
she scanned the faces of the men and women and children (yes, a few children
were up at this late hour, drinking the bitter strong mixture called khava and
listening with sleepy ears to the stories), it was obvious that none of them
could lay claim to a particular Race of people. Tiger stripes were mixed with
leopard spots, jaguar rosettes with tufted tails. Even the smaller cats seemed
indeterminate, as caracals and sandcats and ocealots merged and blended, with
ear tufts and bobbed tails alternating with alarming ease. She could have sworn
there was a woman with Sacred blood running through her veins, masked however
by lynx-like ribbons of grey.

There
was, it appeared to her, no discrimination whatsoever when it came to breeding,
their caste uniformly Untouchable, but to the last one, they seemed happy and
they tried very hard to make her feel welcome.

She
shook her head. The Scourge of the Kingdom. She knew that every last one of
them should be killed, but tonight, she would draw sword against none.

So,
as the last watch of the night crept to a close, the barrel-chested man, whose
name was Thomas Adonalli, brought them two bedrolls and bid them goodnight.

Sireth
flapped his open and stretched out, lacing his fingers (he had removed the
gloves at some point during the night. She was surprised. She hadn’t seen him
do so) across his belly and closing his eyes. Ursa stared at him for a moment,
then frowned.

“What
are you doing?”

“Going
to sleep. At least, I will, once you stop talking.”

“We
have to go now.”

“We’re not going anywhere.”

“We’re
not staying here. We have to go back. The Captain will be furious.”

With
a deep sigh, the Seer pushed himself up on his elbows.

“I told you I was going away. Did I
not break it down into words small enough for your Pure ears?”

She
stared at him.

“A-way.
A
way. Not
your
way. Gone. Leaving. No more to be present in your
company.”

“The
Captain—“

“The
Captain is under the spell of a witch. I will not ride with such as she.”

“You
ride with me. And I will not stay here.”

“And
that is your choice.” He shook his head. “I gave you the option of stopping me
as soldier, or joining as friend. Do you intend to kill me now?”

“I
have to bring you back.”

“How?”

She
sat back on her haunches, cast her eyes to the pink horizon. She was thinking.
He could tell by the furrows on her brow, the particular way she pursed her
lips.
moonlight and silver
She looked at him.

“I will beat you senseless,
commandeer one of these oxen and take you back like a sack of millet.”

He
stroked his beard.

“That would work, yes...” A thought
struck him. “Or...or you could tell the Captain you tried to bring me back, I
resisted, and you were forced to kill me. You still, I believe, have my blood
on your sword.”

“You,
a priest, council to the Empress, would have me lie?”

“To
keep my freedom, I would do anything.”

“You
are running away.”

“Yes. Absolutely,” he said. “It is
the only thing that has kept me alive all these years. Major, look at these
people. There is not a one of them older than I. What does that tell you?”

“They
are not good at it.”

“Don’t
make me go back.”

Again,
she paused, studied this time the stars, the faint glow of sun at the first
murmurings of day. Longer this time, for when she looked back at him, her stare
was level and calm.

“I will not lie. But I will not
tell him where you are.”

In
fact, he could not believe her. It was something bigger than he’d thought her
able, and an unexpected wave of guilt carried over him.

moonlight and silver

“Thank you,” he whispered.

he will die in her arms

She rose to her feet, silver hair
blowing again in the breeze.

“He will barricade off the city, so
I suggest you do not go there. He will also have many, many guards at his
disposal, so I suggest also you go quickly. Do not travel with this caravan. It
is too conspicuous.”

And
with that, she turned on her heel, and walked away, feeling his one-eyed gaze
on her back and wondering exactly what method the Captain would choose to kill
her.

***

There was something about the dawn
that always drew him outside. Even as a child, he would be found practicing
Chai’Chi
,
back in the cobbled courtyard of the House Wynegarde-Grey, or on one of the
many fields or hillsides surrounding the manor. It was as if the air was newer,
the sunlight purer, than anytime later in the day. Indeed, he believed it was.
Each day started off like a mewling babe, fresh and innocent. It was the aging
that made every thing dark and complicated.

So
it was this morning, the morning after the chaotic night-before, that Kirin
found himself performing the Sun Salute on grass for the first time in a long
time, just outside the Wall and the first leg of their journey in
Khanisthan.
He had not slept at all, but was not weary, as the Major came into view. She
was alone.

Her
silver hands were curled into fists at her sides. Her lips pursed and tight,
her posture stiff, she walked straight up to him and bowed most formally,
something he had rarely seen her do before. He held up a tawny hand, released
the last cleansing breath, and turned to face her.

“Major?”

“Sir.
Captain, the Seer...” She seemed lost for words. In fact, for a fleeting
moment, she seemed quite simply lost. But it passed, and she looked up at him,
shoulders square, chin raised. “The Seer...”

“Is
obviously not as fast as you are, Major.”

“Sir?”

He looked over her shoulder.

And
she turned to see the Seer trudging over the rise in the path behind them.

The Captain frowned.

“That
was not wise, Major. He could have slipped away had he the will. And then, I
assure you, I would have had to kill you. I would not have liked that. Really,
I would not.”

She said nothing, her ice-blue eyes
fixed on the man now approaching them. He stopped before them.

“Captain.”

“Sidi,
we need to speak.”

“I
thought as much. I simply needed to get... away...for a time. The Major was
good enough to accompany me.”

“Indeed.” Kirin raised a brow, but
inclined his chin. “Now, it’s my turn.”

And
the two men turned their backs to the woman, and walked away, into the bright
pink dawn of a new morning.

***

And so, it was that day, they
passed out of the
Phun’jah
and into the province of
Khanisthan
.
They made good time during those next days, made good maps during the nights.

There were no more rats. There were
no battles, no bandits, no brushes with death. In fact, there were no other
remarkable incidents to mar the journey at all, and it seemed they had fallen
into an ease with each other that was, Kirin felt, extremely commendable.

Something
had happened, however, and some
things
were happening that, while not
openly evidenced, were running swift and strong, dark undercurrents in a still
lake. Alliances were being forged, others burned, and a tapestry was taking
shape, threads shuttling and weaving in intricate patterns to make a banner of
bright color and terrible darkness. There is a saying, ‘All roads lead to
Pol’Lhasa.’
Here, the roads had broken, shattered, and were taking vastly different,
dizzying directions, but leading slowly, inexorably, to the same terrible
place.

They were passing through the
glass.

To be continued in Part 2:

“To Walk in the Way of
Lions”

by H. Leighton Dickson

http://www.amazon.com/Lions-Tails-Upper-Kingdom-ebook/dp/B008HHPVDO/ref=pd_sim_kstore_1

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(Book 2 of Tails from the Upper
Kingdom)

by

All
rights reserved.

ISBN-13:
978-1478127093

Copyright H. Leighton Dickson

Most Beloved Excellency,

We are leaving the
Phun’jah
and the Great Wall, for the roads and byways of
Khanisthan. It is now difficult, if not impossible, for us to contact you by
falcon. Therefore, accept this message as a farewell, until and unless our
fates lead us otherwise. There are messages bound herein from those of us who
wished and I know that you will see to it that each is delivered to the
appropriate hand. My own is also enclosed for yours alone.

Captain Wynegarde-Grey

It has often been said that, as
DharamShallah
sits high on the Great Mountains as the jeweled crown of the Upper Kingdom,
then
KhahBull
, in the eastern flank of Khanisthan, beats its bloody
heart. She is a wild city, a proud city, an angry city. She has a history, to
be sure, but one so shrouded in myth and folklore that it is impossible to
determine which tales are true, and which merely wish. It is easy to believe
that this one city fought off for ten generations a siege of dogs. There is no
rat problem in such a city, as her legends would tell of a lone piper, leading
all vermin from within its walls to scorching death in the salt flats beyond,
and that even today, bodies of the vile creatures still can be found, etched in
red stone. It is easy even to believe the boasts of unearthing relics from Ancient
days beneath her very foundations, statues of
Asherbupal
and
ThanThanagoth,
and the restoration of their feline faces smashed in from ages long past. These
cats are such people.

No matter its history, glory or
riches, the one thing that cannot be ascribed to
KhahBull
is
Kaidan. Kaidan belongs to
DharamShallah
, to
Mepal
and to the Royal Houses. The Great Mountains are his mother,
Shagarmathah
his bride, the courts of
Pol’Lhasa
his home. (I know this is
true, for I know Kaidan himself. He is everything people say of him, and more.

 
They had been entertained that night in the governor’s
mansion, a fine house overlooking the minarets of the city and the ribs of the
Mountains. The governor, a small, grey-striped man of Sacred blood, had been
most intrigued by their journey, for it was not often that he had guests from
Pol’Lhasa.
Of course they said little, but accepted his hospitality nonetheless, and slept
well in beds stuffed with feathers for the first time in weeks. That morning,
they left the horses with the governor’s stable commander, a fine lion by the
name of Harrison Omar-valDelane, and made their way into the fabled heart of
the city, the
Waterless Gardens.

Now this is an odd name, to be
sure, for it is neither garden, nor waterless. It is paradoxical and poetic,
but cats are, after all, a paradoxical, poetic people. It was a marketplace, as
huge as most cities, with shops under tent flaps and shops in three-story
buildings. There were shops that sold pearls, and shops that sold elephants.
There were shops that sold meats and shops that sold animals to make the meats
sold in other shops. In fact, next to the canton-city of
LanLadesh
and the sprawling bustling wreckage that is
Cal’Cathah,
it is said that
KhahBull
is the busiest, most profitable
marketplace in all the Upper Kingdom. This too, is easy to believe. Many taxes
are gathered there.

The Captain hated it on sight.

As he stood at the entrance to
the markets, hands on hips, blue eyes sifting the crowds that moved all about
him, he was a most impressive, imposing sight. His long mane, held off his face
in its simple queue, fanned in the dry breeze, along with the tattered golden
sash. His tail, normally so still and reserved, whapped the dusty ground in
frustration. Like a rock in a river, he just stood there, tides of people
flowing around him, buyers and sellers alike, coming and going, ebbing and
flowing, everyone giving him a wide berth. He was a lion. He wore Imperial
gold. It was, and still is, the way of things.

He
set his jaw and turned to face his people.

“This
is to be an enjoyable day,” he said, forcing a smile. “You are all free to do
whatever you wish. Go wherever the desire takes you. The governor has given us
unlimited credit. All you need do it present your rings—“ He indicated the
ring he wore on his right thumb. It bore a stamp pressed in gold. “And the
merchants will indulge your purchase. One of the few benefits of our stations,
I should think.”

“It
hardly seems fair,” muttered the Seer. “To work hard for a living, only to be
left with only a promise of remittance at the end of the day...”

“They
will be reimbursed,” he said.

“Will
they?”

“Of
course. The governor is an honorable man.”

The
Seer gazed at him for several moments, then looked away. “Of course he is.”

Kirin ground his molars.
This
was to be an enjoyable day,
he reminded himself. It would not do well to
start it off with a futile debate. “We must meet here tonight, at or just
before the curfew gong. Is that understood?”

Everyone
nodded, but no one moved. They were still looking at him.

“Very
well. Go. Enjoy yourselves. Go.” And he spread his hands, feeling for all the
world like a mother ushering her children to a forbidden playground.
“Go.”

Without
a second look, the Seer whirled and strode off into the crowds, the Major his
silver shadow. They were gone in moments. The tigress too, and the cheetah, and
finally the leopards, still in uniform, but off duty, all disappearing into the
crush of bodies that was the
Waterless
Gardens.
All but one.

 
He turned to see Kerris, leaning against a stone wall, arms
folded, the end of a smoking cigarash in his teeth.

Trust Kerris to know there was
something else afoot. Things had been strained between the brothers these last
days. An un-named but familiar wall had sprung up between them and neither had
possessed the will to bring it down. It had always been there, it just ebbed
and flowed like the tides, never really cresting, never reaching the shore.
Dark eddies under the surface, swift currents running deep. It was the way of
things.

“I pulled the sticks this
morning,” said Kerris as the Captain moved to lean against the wall at his
brother’s side. “They said ‘Lightning’ and ‘Red’…”

Kirin’s heart sank. He glanced up
at the sky, vast and blue with only wisps of clouds.

“…But I hear no storm. The air is
quiet.”

Kirin frowned. “Maybe the sticks
are wrong?”

“Maybe.”

They said nothing for some time,
and neither of them looked at the other. The smoke from the cigarash was giving
him a headache. He sighed.

“Are you up to a little
shopping?”

“Depends,” Kerris said. “On the
governor’s coin?”

 
“Mine. I believe our party is
ill-prepared for the next leg of our journey. I would like to improve this
situation.”

“Hmm,” the cigarash waggled up
and down as he thought. “Leather uniforms have no place in the desert. You and
Ursa and Sherah will be dead of sun sickness before the week’s up.”

“So...?”

 
“So. We need new clothing and…”

 
“And…”

Kerris’ eyes dropped to the
ground for a heartbeat, deciding the best approach to his next request. He
looked up now and set his jaw. “And horses.”

“Horses?” Kirin blinked.
That was most unexpected.
“But we can
avail ourselves of the Governor’s Stables—“

“Not
Imperial
horses, Kirin. Desert horses.”

He studied his brother’s face for
a long time. He honestly didn’t know what to think. Kerris was such a puzzle.
He continued.

“Desert horses are smaller,
tougher than Imperial horses. They are bred for desert living, can go for days
without water, like khamels. In fact, I was considering whether or not we might
need khamels, and if our journey was to remain in these dry places, I would
seriously recommend them. But if this ‘Swisserland’ is so much farther beyond,
then horses are still preferable. Khamels are a bugger to ride in mountains and
jungles both, and they can’t be trusted to forage during the night and return
back for duty the next morning. Horses can.”

Kirin let his own eyes wander the
crowded streets of the
Waterless Gardens
as
he thought it through.
It was a
sensible request.

“I will not give up alMassay,” he
said finally, turning to look back at his brother. “I would rather die with him
in the heat than leave him in some Governor’s stall.”

“And I Quiz,” said Kerris,
smiling for the first time in days. “I don’t think he’d let me go anyway. He’d tear
the damned place apart and catch up with me even if I was on the other side of
the world.”

Kirin grinned at the thought.
“The Major might need some convincing…”

Kerris pushed himself off the
wall, puffed a few good smokey puffs on the cigarash before tossing it to the
ground and crushing it under his boot.

“Oh, her grey can come, that’s
not a problem. As long as we have desert horses as the majority of the caravan,
we should be ahead of the game. Besides, I’ve found a local breeder who happens
to have a few nursing mares. Remember that milk paste I was talking about…”

And side by side, the brothers
left the gate and disappeared into the currents of the
Waterless Gardens,
and for a time, the light and dark halves of the
interlocking Tao wheel fit.

***

“That one.”

“No no, Dansin! Don’t choose that
one! Choose
that
one!”

“Um…”

Sireth smiled at his audience.
“Choose, please.”

The jaguar frowned, chewed his
lower lip. “Very well,
sidi.
I know
it is under that one.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

Sireth lifted the coconut shell
with a flourish. There was no peanut underneath.

A rousing cheer went up from the
audience, and the jaguar dug about in his wide trousers for coins. The peanut
rocked gently under the middle shell, unpicked by any in the crowd, and Ursa shook
her head. The last Seer of
Sha’Hadin
had
made himself a tidy sum this afternoon, utterly confounding and entertaining
shopkeepers and tourists alike that had wandered his way.

“My turn! Let me try!” shouted a
young tiger in the crowd, but Sireth raised his hands.

“The games are over, friends. I
must now go and spend my earnings. Perhaps, I will simply redistribute this
wealth to some of your poorer neighbors along my way.”

Ursa shook her head again. He had
seemed completely in his element today, in and out of the crowds and stalls of
the
Waterless Gardens,
but truth be
told, it hadn’t disturbed her overmuch. After the night spent at the gypsy
caravan, she had been much more at ease with his radical lifestyle and
unorthodox tastes. At least he hadn’t bought her a
kz’laki.

As they strolled through the
marketplace, he counted the coins in his palm. “Enough for one of those blades
you liked, perhaps. Have you seen one yet?”

She tossed her head. “Pah. I have
no need for any dog-blade. My steel is sharp enough.”

“Then what shall I do with this?”
The coins jingled in his palm. One wedged in the sliced leather of his glove.
She grinned. She had given him that slice.

“New gloves.”

He laughed and his good eye
glinted in the bright sunshine. “No, but a seamstress perhaps. That is a
brilliant idea, Major. Thank you.”

She pursed her lips, and said
nothing more, but he could not help but notice that she raised her chin just a
little higher, and together, the pair set out to find a leather craftsman
somewhere in these
Waterless Gardens.

***

It was sheer luck that she
happened on a bookstore.

She had wandered alone for a good
two hours, taking in the sights and smells of the marketplace. This was so
different from the market on the narrow mountain path on the road to
Sha’Hadin,
but then again, perhaps not
so different. People were people. They all needed to live.

So when luck led her up to this
storefront, she couldn’t believe her good fortune, let out a squeal of delight,
and stepped inside.

The smell made her close her
eyes.

The smell of old, old books,
older paper, dust and leather covers and ink, and she breathed in deep, letting
it take her back to the university and the most wonderful place on earth - the
library. She wondered why smells could do that so easily, transport a cat to
such places in their memories more quickly than thought or sight. Just one of
the many things she turned her mind to when she stopped to think

There were a few patrons in the
shop, two young jaguars, a caracal and an elderly lion, all browsing quietly
and she smiled to herself as she began the delight of examining the spines of
so many books, arranged on tall ebony shelves that reached to the ceiling. The
just-as-tall windows, she noticed, were not drawn, but slatted, as sunlight was
as dangerous to books as candle and flame, and the high sun caused beams to
slice through the dusty air like ribbons.

Some of the books were new,
written in monasteries and universities scattered about the kingdom. Some were
volumes of poetry, song-lyrics and legends. A series on the exploits of Kaidan
– his adventures, his captivity, his negotiations. Others were manuals,
how-to books on animal husbandry, religion, modern warfare. There was also tome
upon tome of the history of the Upper Kingdom, the geneologies of the
Empresses, the concessions with the
Chi’Chen,
the expansion of the borders. Her fingers were itching to pull each and every
volume from its shelf, lovingly fold open the jackets, gently turn the pages,
and breathe it all in.