To Journey in the Year of the Tiger

by H. Leighton Dickson

  For a brief moment, there was no sound but the wind. Kirin glanced around at the faces behind him - six inscrutable, one wide-eyed and eager, the last anything but. Eight faces, all waiting, each looking to him for the order to move out. He cleared his throat and gave it.

  ***

  It had been an early start this morning in the Throne Room of the Empress, and Chancellor Ho stifled a yawn. It may have started early, he mused darkly, but start it had. There were scores of people in the room now, from white-robed attendants to musicians playing calming tunes on flute and koto. There were two other Chancellors waiting to see her, of Roads and of the Imperial Stable. They would have to wait now. He knew they would not be pleased.

  It seemed that lately none of them were.

  He approached her royal form as she stood lighting a stick of incense in a high window. She did not turn as he stepped in at her side.

  “They will stop this,” she said softly.

  “Yes, Excellency. I am quite certain they will.”

  “But then again, they may not.”

  “True again, Excellency.”

  “And perhaps you will have your wish after all.”

  “None of this is my wish, Excellency. Petrus has been a long time friend.”

  Her breath was a fan as she blew across the tip of the stick. It glowed orange, raising fingers of smoke into the morning air. She laid it in the bowl and turned to regard him.

  “What do you wish, Chancellor?”

  “Naiamus Ivanoff Terrence Satinder from Calca’thah awaits presentation, Excellency.”

  “I have not forgotten, Chancellor. I will consider no man until this matter is resolved.”

  “But Excellency, all is prepared.”

  “My council is dying.”

  “But your people are not, Excellency. They are expecting a New Year’s festival. Are we to make them bear the burden of our affairs?”

  He lowered his eyes respectfully, but his heart was pounding in his throat. He could be killed for such insolence. He steeled his lush white jaw.

  “And our young Captain has gone to such lengths for the mounted drills.”

  The Empress’ black tailed lashed once and all breathing in the Throne Room ceased. She swung toward him and leaned in close, her voice no more than a whisper.

  “You think I am a koi, Chancellor, swimming to the top of the pool at the dip of your finger. Very well. I will see Naiamus Ivanoff Terrence Satinder of Calcah’thah presented. I will be entertained by the ceremonies, the fireworks and the mounted drills. I will do as you advise. As always, my will is yours. But my soul will be elsewhere. And my heart...”

  She froze, golden eyes gleaming, not knowing whether to be angry with the Chancellor for his insight, or terrified with herself for her blasphemy.

  “My heart, like my soul, will be with my Seers, both of them, Chancellor, in the mountains of Sha’Hadin.”

  With that, she straightened and turned back to the incense, allowing breathing to resume with that small gesture.

  ***

  It was several hours before they came to the first signs of people. In fact, the Captain had found it odd that, despite its remoteness and isolation, there had been absolutely no indication that the road they were traveling was little more than a wild mountain path, used by goats, yaks or other feral creatures. But when the leopard in the fore swiveled in his saddle, Kirin knew something was ahead. He prodded alMassay forward.

  “Wow,” he heard the Scholar exclaim from behind, “Where did all this come from.”

  For suddenly and without warning they were in the middle of a marketplace.

  Stalls of flapping leather and booths of bound willow crowded the narrow highway on all sides, stretching for a good distance up and down both sides of the mountain, and creating narrower alleys between the shops. Goats and lambs wandered freely among the stalls, bleating and jingling with the bells of ownership. Chickens darted between the horses’ legs, the fortunate few still retaining their heads. The cool mountain air was heavy with scents - steamed fish, sizzling coals, bubbling vats of fatty stew, all playing havoc with sensitive nostrils. Wafts of incense struck like fists, only to be replaced by something even stronger a few paces further.

  People pressed in from all directions, cats of every race speaking in every conceivable language, congregating right here in the remotest of places, selling wares from all reaches of the Kingdom. Without exception, their clothing was drab, layer upon layer of tan linen and brown wool, undyed leather straps and unpolished buckles. So very different from the pageantry of DharamShallah and life in the Palace Courts. Weathered faces watched them as they rode through the crowds, many with small, rough-hewn pipes clenched between their teeth, puffing and nodding and following them with wary eyes.

  Kirin felt his own eyes grow sharp. It was his experience that places like these often bred malcontent and thievery. The crowds did little to allow the Imperial party passage and he disliked the feeling of bodies scraping along his shins, had no patience for wares thrust up under his nose as he rode by. One little nick from a loose blade could maim a horse for life, and he knew that unsavory reputations could be forged on much less.

  “No, no thanks,” the Scholar was insisting, “Really, it’s lovely but, but I can’t...”

  He twisted in his saddle. Two horses behind, she was surrounded and because of it, the leopards behind her were stalled, unable to force their way further. Immediately behind him, the Alchemist seemed to be having trouble as well, as many hands reached up to tempt her with stones and silks and meats of dubious origin. Worse yet, she was leaning forward, golden eyes gleaming, almost as if she were tempting them back.

  Once again, he cursed the presence of civilians, sat deep in the saddle and applied pressure to the reins.

  Slowly at first, then with greater force, the great Imperial stallion began to back up, its haunches and lethal hooves clearing a path unlike any Royal banner as vendors scrambled to get out of the way. It wasn’t until they were fully beside the Alchemist’s mare did the Captain snag her bridle and release the pressure, allowing his stallion its head. Like a spring wound over-tight, alMassay leapt forward, pulling the mare with him in a powerful lunge that dispersed both merchants and merchandise in every direction. A leopard followed suit, and soon both Scholar and Alchemist were free of the mass of bodies that had detained them. Still, it was not easy going and at some point, he lost count of the stomped feet and crushed tails and cries of panic from people foolhardy enough to stay in their way.

  After what seemed like ages, the marketplace was gone and the road so congested became a ghost road once more.

  The Captain let out a sigh of relief. Still riding beside him, the Alchemist smiled.

  “You are not accustomed to crowds, sidi?” she purred, her eyes smiling with heavy-lidded humor.

  “On the contrary, sidala, I am quite accustomed to crowds. I simply do not like them. They are dangerous.”

  “People are dangerous, sidi. In any number.”

  He studied her a moment longer before turning his gaze back to the mountain still rising into the clouds.

  “True enough, sidala.”

  He spurred his stallion forward, putting some distance between them.

  ***

  “Civilians! I can’t believe this!”

  “Ah, Ursa. You are as gentle as a spring shower.”

  She snorted, her hair almost breaking free of the knot as she tossed her head in disgust.

  “I hate civilians. This is completely unacceptable.”

  Kerris studied the ox-cart directly ahead of them, askew on the narrow trail, its feathery contents spilling down the mountainside, its rear wheel rattling desperately over the edge. An elderly man, a jaguar with bad teeth, was pleading with them for help, chattering in a broken version of the Imperial Tongue and pointing wildly as if none of them had seen.

  “We have no time for this. His ox is unhitched. He is safe. I feel no need to lose our remaining light to save a
cart full of chickens. Stay if you want. We’re moving out.”

  Like a silver-tipped arrow, the Major and her guards struck the trail once again, she in front, they fanned out behind, picking their way slowly toward the over-turned cart. The mountain pony did not budge however, its small hoofs clinging to the sandstone as if frozen. Small, hairy ears pricked and lay back, pricked and lay back, giving it the impression of a little old man, deep in a puzzle. Kerris loved puzzles. Quiz hated them.

  And for some reason, Quiz hated this. This was the perfect place for an ambush, Kerris agreed silently. The mountain rose up steeply on one side, and the narrow ledge that had been their trail now flattened out, in a wide, almost level plateau. Below them, the gradient was less steep, but deadly still, for to start a fall would surely see it to its stony end. Giant rocks dotted this section of trail like spikes on the back of a sleeping dragon. The mountains were full of such stories, of creatures much larger than cats and to his credit Kerris believed them. He had seen too much not to.

  He scanned those giant stones with narrowed eyes.

  He heard the moan of hollow wind, the drum of Imperial hoofs fading away.

  He studied the elderly man, who suddenly seemed not nearly so desperate for help, nor nearly as elderly, as he too watched the trio attempting to pick their way around the cart and get to wider ground.

  Make your move, old man, thought Kerris, his heart thudding in his throat. All three of them are completely defenseless. Now is the time!

  As if reading those very thoughts, the jaguar turned back, fixing the grey lion with a glare that could freeze blood. There was a flash and something metallic slid out from a sleeve.

  “Ursa!” Kerris howled as he dove from Quiz’s back and onto the rocky path, the dagger slicing through the air where his head had just been.

  He scrambled to his feet towards the great rocks.

  Somewhere high above, another blur of movement and the hiss of arrows being loosed.

  The Major heard it too and threw herself forward on her mount, even as an arrow thudded into her arm. One of the guards let out a yelp, arching his back as a bolt from a crossbow pitched him from his horse. Regaining his footing was impossible and he tumbled head over tail, sliding down shale and bouncing off rocks in the fall that would never end.

  Grey hoofs scrabbled on sandstone and the Major’s mare pivoted on its back end, tucking up its forelegs and spinning in place. With the arrow still embedded in her upper arm, Ursa drew her long sword and charged.

  From behind the huge rocks, the pair of attackers stood and fired again, their crossbows sending lethal bolts whipping across the distance. Diplomacy had never been the Major’s strong suit. Her reflexes however were without match and the lead arrow was deflected easily by her steel. The second sailed hissing past her cheek. With amazing power in its haunches, her mare took great leaps up the mountainside, bringing them within striking distance of the bandits. A scruffy-looking young jaguar raised his weapon and fixed the snow leopard with point-blank accuracy. Her steel flashed again, locking into the crossbow’s frame and she forced her mare forward so that the frame was pointing at the sky. With a cry, she flung wide her arm, sending both crossbow and sword clattering to the shale. And with another cry, she yanked the bolt from her own arm and tackled the much larger man with relish.

  The surviving leopard was also charging up the sheer escarpment, bringing his own steel to bear upon the second jaguar of the pair. Another arrow went wild and panic seized the man. He turned tail and began to scramble back along the path, the horse gaining easily and knocking him to the ground. The guard was on him in an instant.

  Kerris, however, had seen none of this. As was his habit, he was completely unarmed and now pre-occupied in avoiding the elderly jaguar’s murderous intentions. He had successfully made the giant rocks his cover, keeping at least one stone face between him and his attacker, but the man was persistent and Kerris soon found himself running out of rocks.

  He flattened his back against the last stone, eyes scanning the wide expanse of plateau left before him. He could run for it, he wagered, for he had always been fast but in order to avoid the daggers that would likely be sent flying at his back, he would have to weave and dodge and that, he decided, on this terrain would be a very bad idea.

  The fur on the back of his neck began to tingle.

  With a deep breath, he ducked as a dagger struck the rock where his head had been. He snagged the wrist, twisted and forced the man face-first into the stone. Pleased with the effect, he twisted some more until the jaguar yelped and sagged in the grey lion’s grip.

  “Please sidi, please,” moaned the man. “This was not my idea! It was my sons! They are so hard on their mother and I, so hard. Right now she sits at home, weeping. Please, sidi, spare her more agony, please.”

  Tears welled up in old, yellow eyes.

  “Drop your dagger, sidalord jaguar, and I shall consider it.”

  The rusty blade slid down the rock to disappear into a tuft of dry grass at the base.

  “Pleeese, sidi…”

  Kerris stepped back. He kept one hand locked around the man’s wrist, but allowed the elder to pull himself into a shaky stand, free hand clasped over his eyes.

  “Thank you sidi, thank you for your kindness...”

  The tears streamed down his face openly now, making glistening brown stripes along his cheeks. The old shoulders began to heave as shaky fingers reached for Kerris’ tunic.

  “Oh, thank you, good and kind sidalord grey lion. You are so merciful to a pathetic old man, so merciful...”

  “Yes, right, well...”

  Kerris began backing away. There was spittle on the old man’s lips and the grimy fingers had hooked his tunic. He was pulling himself closer.

  “You must be a good son to your father, sidalord grey lion. Not like my sons. They are hard on their mother and I, so very hard...”

  Kerris tried to dislodge the fingers. He glanced around for Ursa but could not see her as the hands traveled up his shirt-front, tugging his collar, patting his cheek...

  “But my sons, my sons are all I have. I have trained them well, no?”

  Kerris cursed his own stupidity for within a heartbeat, those grimy old fingers had found his throat. Black claws began to extrude.

  Without thinking, Kerris grabbed the old man’s throat in the same manner, his own grey claws pricking the tawny pelt. He was not entirely certain if he could take another life so easily, but hopefully he wouldn’t have to find out.

  “I wouldn’t do that, sidalord very-ugly-old jaguar. I really wouldn’t do that at all...”

  He smiled his most charming smile, praying that his bluffing skills and fabled good luck would not fail him now.

  “Let’s just see what we have here, shall we? You are old and a jaguar, your claws are brittle and you likely cannot flex them as quickly as you did in your youth. I, on the other hand, am in my prime, aren’t I? A lion and a grey-coat to boot. I’m charmed. You can’t kill me, but I can quite easily kill you. You will be dead, while I may be only slightly... inconvenienced.”

  It worked. It always did. He could see it, plain as day, as the old man swallowed and quickly rethought his plan. Could see the wheels spinning behind his eyes as he thought and thought some more.

  “If I let go,” the jaguar hissed. “You promise you won’t kill me?”

  “I promise,” said Kerris.

  “On your father’s life?”

  “Hm. How about on his death?”

  The old man released a long breath when suddenly, he gasped and fell forward into Kerris’ arms.

  The sharp tip of a blade appeared out of the man’s tunic, the force of the steel pushing both lion and jaguar backwards and to the ground. The blade showed no signs of slowing and continued towards Kerris’ chest like the tusk of a charging elephant. Only when the tip was firmly implanted in linen and grey fur did it stop, just short of breaking the pelt. Behind and at the other end of it, hovering above him,
Major Ursa Laenskaya stood grinning.

  “Need help?”

  “Doing quite fine on my own, actually, love,” Kerris said, delicately picking himself off the well-sharpened point and rolling out from under it. “I had him thoroughly confounded.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell your brother.”

  With a push of her high boot heel, Ursa sent the jaguar’s corpse rolling down the cliff face. They both watched until it was little more than puffs of sandstone far, far below.

  “You sure he was dead?”

  She sheathed her weapon.

  “He is now.”

  The surviving guard was awaiting them at the over-turned cart. He and Ursa each grabbed a corner and, like its unfortunate owner, it was dumped unceremoniously down the mountain, wood and wheels and feathers raining in its wake. Ursa seemed to take morbid pleasure it watching it go.

  “All those poor little chickens.” Kerris shook his head. “Really Ursa, now I see why you wear white.”

  She mounted her horse in one smooth motion.

  “Why?”

  “The blood shows up so much better.”

  Her smile was as terrifying as it was beautiful. She tossed her head and headed out, the surviving leopard leading the spare horse behind. Kerris whistled for Quiz and followed.

  ***

  Kirin growled at the sight.

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “Oh!” he heard Fallon Waterford exclaim. “Oh my, that’s terrible!”

  There, on the narrow path before them, lay an over-turned ox-cart.

  He rubbed his forehead. He was getting a headache.

  With a hand held high, he stopped the party and all horses ground to a halt. Two elderly people, ocelots as old as the mountains, stood at the side of the road, nodding and smiling gentle, toothless smiles. It was clear they were expecting the Imperial party to come to their aid. Both oxen were still hitched, one animal standing, the other lying quietly under tangled yoke and leathers. Fruit, fresh and dried, had spilled from a split in the rough wood. Flies were gathering.