The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom (98 page)

Again, silence.

“We will draft a response to be
carried back to the Gate of Five Hands, to Ambassador Bo Fujihara and to Kaidan
himself. It will be delivered personally by our very own Shogun-General. He has
knowledge of such things, knowledge beyond any of us.”

The council murmured agreement.

“I order the immediate release
of the Blood and Jade Fangs for this express purpose.”

“Indeed,” said the Minister of
Arms. “Our very first Shogun-General should be well appointed.”

Again, murmurs of agreement. All
except one.

“And the north, Excellency?”
said the Chancellor. “The foundry of
Shen’foxhindi
is less than a week’s
ride from
Sha’Hadin.”

“You worry for
Sha’Hadin
now,
Chancellor?” she asked, eyes flashing. “There was a time when you would have me
diverted with fireworks and spectacles.”

Oh, such a dangerous game.

The Chancellor bowed low to the
ground.

“The security of the Empire is
my foremost priority, Excellency.”

“I know this, Chancellor. Your
loyalty is never in doubt.”

She turned to the Ministers of
Defense and the Wall.

“All leave is canceled for the
army and forces are to be marshaled along the northeastern front. I sanction
conscription notices for all men with more than twelve summers and grant your
ministries full discretion in the fortification of the Wall.”

With knees and foreheads to the
floor, her ministers bowed and Kirin knew beyond a doubt that the only music
now was the beat of the drums of war.

***

It was not a normal gar, for the
coverings were silks, frost and evergreen boughs. There was a small fire
crackling in the center, and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized
it was not a fire but many small fires – candles. At least ten of
differing heights, filling the gar with the heady smell of smoke and incense.

Naranbataar tried to sit up but
long, strong hands pushed him back down into the warm snow.

“Peace, little brother,” said a
woman’s voice, deep and breathy and accented in very strange and foreign way.
She was wrapped in blackness and shadows. “I have stitched your wounds but you
will need rest.”

“Setse,” he said, trying to
focus on the woman. There was something very strange in her scent. “My
sister—”

“Is resting as well. You both
will heal if you only rest.”

“Please, help her,” he said, and
accepted the small lump of snow that she slipped into his mouth. It had a
bitter, powdery taste but the water was good on his tongue.

Of course.”

There was a sound, a mewling
sound like an infant. He saw her turn toward the candles, saw her profile in
the flickering light. Her face was like nothing he had ever seen.

Delusions,
he thought to
himself. He was likely dying and only imagining what it would be like to be
tended by the Enemy. The Enemy would not treat him, would not heal him. Would
only skin him and rape his sister. That’s what the enemy would do.

“Sleep now,” said the woman
again. His eyesight blurred and he saw nothing more for some time.

***

The morning stayed gray as the
snow clouds settled in over their Mother, the Great Mountains. They were making
good time. While the roads to
Sha’Hadin
were not well travelled, the
trail was reasonably clear of drifts and ice. The desert horses did admirably
but it became clear very quickly that Yahn Nevye was not comfortable on the
back of a horse.

Ursa made sure to mention it
every chance she had.

“So where are we going?” she
growled. She had taken the fore and did not turn her head to speak. She had
found a coat made from the pelt of a white northern bear and her hair swung in
straight coarse lines across her back.

“I’m not sure,” said Sireth and
glanced at the jaguar riding behind him. “Yahn? Do you know where we’re going?”

The jaguar swallowed and looked
up. His eyes were wide and he appeared to be in considerable discomfort.

“No,” he panted. “The Wall
somewhere. North, I think.”

Sireth looked back to his wife.
“North, we think.”

She shook her head. “I am riding
with idiots.”

He smiled. The fur around his
mouth and chin had thin wisps of ice coating the tip of each hair.
Marvelous,
he thought to himself. A year ago, he was on the shore of a strange sea, with
beaches of white sand and crashing waves and the thoughts of home had been
turned upside down. He was home now wherever he was, as long as the snow
leopard was by his side. While he loved
Sha’Hadin,
he loved Major Ursa
Laenskaya more. She had become his home.

He was a very happy man. Even
here, out on the trail to North somewhere, on the back of a horse yet again,
for he knew he was riding with a purpose. With a wife and a noble purpose, any
man could be truly happy.

He thought of the man riding
behind him. It was difficult to get a sense of him, this jaguar. His
motivations, his heart. It always had been—even when they had been
studying together under Petrus Mercouri, Yahn Nevye had always been a closed
book.
“I prefer to keep the world out,”
he had said the other night in
the hall outside his door. He could not speak to falcons and yet had found a
home in
Agara’tha
with Jet barraDunne and his world of shadows. Now,
that home was gone and Sireth wondered how the jaguar truly felt about it.

No, without a wife or a purpose
or even a home, it was obvious that Yahn Nevye was not a happy man.

High above them, Mi-Hahn cried,
hunting.

“I shall meditate now,” he
called to the snow leopard. “Perhaps I can find the thread and follow it
somewhere.”

“If it leads to a dog, I will
kill it and then you.” She swiveled in her saddle. “Close your eyes and ride. I
will watch for you.”

“I know you will.”

He closed his eyes and was gone.

***

It fit like a glove. An ox-blood
glove of strong tanned leather and he moved, twisted, bent and flexed within
its confines. The leopards were watching him as he moved, looking for signs of
ill-fit or rubbing but there were none. The yori was perfect, as comfortable as
his old uniform and it made him feel almost powerful once again. Almost.

“And these,” said Leopard One as
he stepped forward, a long purple box in his hands. “Tor has had these made for
you…”

Tor.
So that was his
name. Kirin took the box, slid the top to reveal gloves of ox-blood red. They
were ribbed and reinforced with steel. Slowly, he slipped his hand in one, made
a fist. The leather creaked. It felt strange.

They could tell from his
expression and Leopard Two – Tor - stepped forward now.

“I have made them specifically
for you, Shogun-sama. They are a strong leather, yes? But soft. Good for
gripping the Blood and Jade Fangs. They will hold to the hilts like paste.”

“Yes,” he said.

“But for you, do this…”

And he flexed his wrist.

Kirin frowned.

“No, no. Do this.” And he flexed
again.

Kirin flexed his wrist and steel
razors sprang from the fingers of each glove.

“Deadly, yes?” nodded Leopard
One.

“Better than claws,” agreed Two.

Kirin drew his hand closer,
studied the five daggers with wonder. He could see the engineering, how the
steel ran along the back of the hand mimicking the bones of his fingers. They
came out of slits in the fingertips. They were sharp, curved and caught the
light like ice.

“Miraculous,” he breathed.

“You bend your wrist back to
retract them.”

He did so and the claws
disappeared into the leather with a soft hissing sound. His heart thudded once
as he realized what this meant.

The leopards were smiling.

“Both gloves are the same,” said
Two.

“Ingenious, I’d say,” said One.
“Simply ingenious.”

“We call them the Teeth of the
Dragon.”

Both leopards beamed at that.

He flexed the wrist again,
amazed as the blades popped out, shining in the lamplight. He swung his arm,
drew it in close, then glanced up.

“Are they…?”

“Purely ceremonial?” said One.
“Not at all.”

“The gloves are reinforced with
steel,” said Two, stepping close and tugging a leather strap. “The same steel
used in making katanahs. If you were going in to battle, you would make sure it
is tightened on to the koteh like so…”

And he tugged some more, laced
the strap into a buckle. “You will need a squire to help, Shogun-sama. There is
much armour and many buckles.”

Kirin flexed his fingers once again,
swirled his hand in the air in patterns of Chai’Chi. The daggers felt
remarkably secure.

“And forgive us, Shogun-sama,
but…”

“But we could not help but
notice…”

As one, they looked down at his
tail.

Still wrapped in the leathers
made for him by Ursa Laenskaya, his tail was woefully underrepresented.

“I made a Khan,” he said softly.
They looked at him. “Then unmade him.”

Leopard Two produced another
box, a blue one this time, wrapped in silver threads. Inside was a series of
golden bands and cords of red silk and he held them up in his fingers. The
bands were chiseled with the imprints of dragons and he could feel the ridges
as sharp as blades.

“Scales of the Dragon,” said
One. “As deadly as they are beautiful.”

“The gold bands snap on to hold
it in place,” said Two.

“No one will mock your tail
now,” said One.

His throat was closing.

“When you lash, be mindful of
your audience.”

“Indeed. You may do them a
damage.”

He didn’t know what to say.

So with fist to cupped palm, he
bowed to them.

“You have honoured me,” he said.
“ I am forever in your debt.”

“Not at all, Shogun-sama,” said
One.

“Indeed,” said Two. “To work on
the yori for the very first Shogun-General of the Fanxieng Dynasty, that is our
glory and honour.”

“Allow us the honour,” said One.
“Of fitting the kabuto.”

He took a deep breath, cast his
eyes to the helmet of hammered bronze. As leopards, they were considerably
shorter than he, so he lowered to one knee. The knee twinged as he went down,
reminding him of rats and the Battle tower of
Roar’pundih
. It seemed
like a lifetime ago.

Slowly, with great deliberation,
he pulled the kheffiyah from his head.

Leopard One moved forward,
lowered the kabuto over his head. Slipped the pheasant feather from its perch
on the crown, dipped it into the hole to hook the bolt of mane that was left.
Carefully, he pulled it up and through the hole so that it crested over the
sweeping metal. It fell down his back like a ribbon.

He replaced the feather and
stood back, admiring.

“Perfect, Shogun-sama.”

“You are worthy,” said Two.
“Remember.”

“Yes, remember,” said One. “You
are worthy.”

For some strange reason, his
eyes filled with tears.

He rose to his feet and gathered
the two leopards into an embrace worthy of a Seer of
Sha’Hadin
.

***

With the advent of winter, the
days were short. Too short to continue long into the evening and so they made
camp by a new rope bridge that swung across the
Shi’pal
River. They sat
around a small fire, wrapped in yak-hide, drinking tea and roasting mice that
Mi-Hahn had caught along the way.

“Do you remember this place?”
asked Sireth as he poked the sizzling coals with a stick.

Ursa was all but hidden by the
thick hide and from behind her curtain of wild hair she narrowed her eyes at
him. “ You mean the bridge?”

“Yes.”

“There
was
no bridge.”

“Exactly. We were made to forge
the river farther down.”

She snorted, spat bones into the
snow, drew the hide up on her shoulders. “The Captain almost died
in
that river.”

“Yes. We did admirably that
night,” he said. “All of us.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Yahn
Nevye. Like Ursa, he too was almost hidden by the yak hide. “We can’t sleep in
the snow like this. We’ll be frozen by morning.”

“Idiot,” growled the Major.

“Why can’t we find a cave or
something? Make a tree-cover or walls of snow? Something? Anything?” He
shivered, flattened his ears into his hair. Like Sireth’s beard, they were
tipped with frost.

“Do you see any trees, idiot?
Did you bring a spade for shoveling?”

Sireth smiled. “Loosen your
knot. Let your hair warm you.”

The man snorted and looked away.
Ursa rolled her eyes and picked at another mouse with her claws. Nevye was
right, however. The night was very cold. Even the horses were huddled together,
not wanting to expend the heat or energy needed to hunt. It seemed all they
could do to keep the fire going tonight. They might very well be frozen by
morning.

There was a thump and a rush of
wings landed in the snow nearby.
Mi-Hahn,
Sireth thought. The young
falcon was not a skilled hunter and frequently caught her prey by force,
knocking them out of the sky by speed alone. But he could hear Mi-Hahn’s voice
high above and he sat up to study the shape in the moonlight.

“It’s an owl,” said Yahn Nevye.
“He’s caught a chiwa.”

The Seer cocked his head. “How
do you know this?”

Nevye shrugged.

“He can’t talk to falcons. Maybe
he talks to owls,” grunted the snow leopard. She was not looking at the owl.
Her pale eyes were fixed on the flames as if willing them to warm her more than
the hide.

Sireth sat back and studied the
jaguar now. Nevye was watching the dark shape as it jabbed with its short,
lethal beak.