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

by Dickson, H. Leighton

  Images of candles and vats of dried organs flashed, unbidden into his mind and Kirin suppressed a shudder. It was necessary. Many of the Leopard Guard were of the Old Religions and to deny them final sacraments would diminish the honor of their deaths. With a sigh, he agreed, and she slunk from their company like a shadow. Kerris was following her with sleepy eyes.

  “She’s quite the creature, don’t you think? I’ll bet she’s a good cook.”

  “A cook?” Kirin stared at his brother, shook his head. “Yes, Kerris. I’m quite sure she’s a good cook.”

  “Ah, well. I’m quite enjoying the powdery white thing she gave me…”

  “I don’t care what she gave you, as long as you’re alive.”

  Kirin reached out, tried to pat the ashen grey hair into place. It wouldn’t go. He gave up.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Kerris, however, was not hearing him, finding himself in a warm and twisty world of snow and powdery white things and his brother’s voice. At the moment, it was a very good place to be.

  ***

  It was obviously the place to be.

  It had no name, this strange cobbled building with tiled roof, scarlet wash and small, blackened windows. It had no sign above the door, no crest nor emblem to distinguish it from any other dwelling on the road to Sha’Hadin. To the general populace, it was known simply as ‘the Inn’ or, to the more poetically inclined, ‘The Inn on the Roof of the World.’ Perched on the crest of this great, remote mountain, it was an agora for all sorts of activity, serving both commerce and recreation with equal, alcoholic measure. Naturally, it was also the epicenter of all matters illegal, from whoring to the opium trade to bartering in stolen goods. It was constantly busy, this strange, cobbled Inn and even more so after dark, when the sun drew her starry blanket to cover her eyes and the impish moon came out to play.

  The noise and laughter from the Inn died quickly away as the band of strangers walked through the door. In fact, the smoky room grew suddenly silent, the only sounds being the clinking of sakeh pots and the thudding of boots as all eyes turned toward the newcomers. Soon, even those sounds ceased as a young lion of regal bearing crossed the wooden floor to the bar.

  “I wish to speak to the owner,” said the lion.

  There were three cats behind the bar and two of them fled, leaving a heavy-set tiger with small, yellow eyes.

  “That’d be me,” said the tiger, in a different tongue.

  “Is Hinyan the tongue of these parts?”

  “Maybe.”

  “My name is Kirin Wynegarde-Grey,” he said in Hinyan. “I am Captain of the Guard of Empress Thothloryn Parillaud Markova Wu. We are here in her service.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We need rooms. Four rooms, actually, and the use of your—”

  “We’re full.”

  Kirin took a deep breath.

  “I say again, we are in need of four rooms for the night. And stabling for several horses.”

  “And I say again, we’re full.”

  The tiger was grinning, egged on by the snickers of the crowd. He was accustomed to being a rather big koi in this small pond. Captains and guards and empresses had little to do with his day-to-day living, up here on the Roof of the World.

  The Captain leaned across the bar.

  “I’m afraid I must insist you accommodate us, sir. You and your guests will be well reimbursed, and you yourself will be doing a great service for your Queen.”

  “Well, why don’t you just tell her Excellency to get on up here herself. I’d be more than happy to service her in person...”

  That drew lewd crows from the drunken crowd. The lion was as still as a statue.

  “That, sidi, was a very bad answer.” He straightened up from the bar. “Major?”

  The dagger whistled past his head and thudded into the heavy cedar barrels behind the bar. The Innkeep’s head snapped back, his body also thudding into the barrels, pinned as it was by the tuft of a black-tipped ear. He screamed and twisted, trying to pry the silver hilt out of his hair, when a strong, tawny hand touched his chin.

  “Do not struggle, sidi, for if you pull it out, I’m afraid I will have to ask the Major to pierce the other. Now, do I have your full attention?”

  The tiger gave a swift nod. A thin line of blood began to trickle down his neck.

  “Very good.” Kirin laced his fingers across the bar. “As I said earlier, we have need of four rooms, stabling for our horses, and exclusive use of your, your ‘lobby’ just for tonight. Do you agree? Say yes.”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  “Major, you may retrieve your dagger.” With a slight bow, he nodded to the pinned Innkeep. “Thank you, sidi. We are in your debt.”

  He turned away from the bar, catching Ursa’s arm as she strode past him. With his other hand, he stroked a lock of his thick, smooth hair. Several strands were broken.

  “That was close, Major.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  The Captain strode to the centre of the room, taking a position where all eyes could see.

  “Sidis, sidali. Thank you for your patience, but I’m afraid I must ask you all to leave. The Inn is closed for the night.”

  Many furtive glances bounced off his tall Imperial form, but oddly enough, no one moved to obey. He sighed deeply. Sometimes people confounded him.

  His hand fell to the hilt of his long sword, the katanah. It was drawn rarely, for it was rarely needed, but its presence was a reminder to all not only of his authority, but of his ability to see that his orders were carried out.

  In a smooth, fluid motion, he flung the sword from its scabbard, sending it sailing through the air like a shirh’khin, tip over hilt to thud into the wood of the far door. It wavered a moment, then grew still. Along its blade were bits and pieces of the various patrons – a lock of hair, a sliver of fabric, a slice of leather, all skewered into the door like a feline shish’khebab.

  “Iaijutsu,” breathed the Major. “Well done.”

  Kirin sighed. “Now, I believe the door is that way.”

  “Bye! Good night, now! Thanks for calling! Come again!”

  Politely, Fallon held the door for within seconds, the lobby was empty, save the ten newcomers, and the tiger behind the bar.

  Kirin turned back to the Innkeep.

  “Sidi, we have traveled far, and endured much. What do you have on your menu for supper?”

  Swallowing hard, the tiger disappeared into the kitchens to prepare supper for ten unexpected, uninvited guests. And for the first time in memory, the Inn on the Roof of the World was closed for business.

  ***

  In Imperial once again, the Captain addressed the four guards standing before him.

  “You will split your shift, tonight. One will guard this corridor, for I in no wise trust these people. A second will guard the stables, for the same reasons. The other two will sleep and relieve the first at the end of the Second Watch. I leave it to you to decide amongst yourselves who will take the first shift.”

  As one, the leopards nodded and split into pairs with perfect precision. Kirin smiled to himself. He was proud of his men, of their dedication to duty and unwavering commitment to the Empire. He could not have trained them any better. It weighed heavily upon him that they had lost so many so soon.

  He shook his head and stepped back into the room.

  It was a small room, one of the four that had been so ceremoniously ‘selected’ for them by the Innkeep and his meager staff. It was adequate, cozy even, with dark mahogany walls and floor of the same. But it, like every other corner in this two-level building, was in desperate need of a mop and a broom, and the bed linens spoke volumes to years of satisfied customers. Just to think of it sent shudders up Kirin’s spine.

  None of this seemed to matter to Kerris, however. He was sprawled facedown on one of the thick mattresses,, shirtless and bootless and apparently tumbling headlong into dreams. The Alchemist had given him yet another of the s
trange ‘powdery things’ and its effect had been almost immediate. Kirin crossed the floor to ensure that his brother was indeed still breathing and to check on the conditions of his wounds. He shook his head. It seemed as though the wounds were closing up already and he wondered if something more than competent stitchery was involved.

  He walked to the window and threw open the smoky glass pane.

  The moon was rising over the Great Mountains.

  It glistened off the snow, giving the night a surreal midday glow. There were countless stars in the clear sky, including the newest and it reminded him of winter. Silver peaks towered all around them, and in his mind’s eye, he could see Pol’Lhasa, nestled deep within the Mother’s Arms. He prayed they were sleeping well.

  More especially, that she was sleeping well.

  But he also knew that she would be concerned that they had not arrived as promised. She was not one to tend to her own comfort when those under her care were in need.

  No, she would not be sleeping well at all.

  And for that simple fact, neither would he.

  ***

  “I can’t sleep.”

  Sherah al Shiva turned to her companion.

  “You are in pain?”

  “Oh, no, not really. Not ‘pain’, really, just... sore. Stiff. You know...”

  Fallon Waterford rolled her head forward, wrapping her hands behind her neck and stretching the muscles along her shoulders and back. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed and her elbows and knees stuck up all over.

  “I don’t often get swept up in avalanches and go flying off cliffs and have to climb up handsome young lions everyday, you know. In fact, I think the closest I’ve ever come to that kind of thing was the time I built a catapult... Yeah, that was close...”

  “A cat-a-pult?”

  “Yeah, I read about one once in a very old book. It’s kind of a ground-based ‘sling for rocks.’ Apparently the Ancestors used to ‘pult’ cats. Anyway, I tried it out, and it worked really well but when I tried to pult someone, he sailed up and away and into the sky and never came back. Which was a shame, since he was my very first suitor and all. My only suitor actually. I never really figured out why, considering I have such pretty markings.”

  Sherah smiled. “You are very amusing.”

  “That’s not what my father said.”

  “I can help you with your neck.”

  Fallon glanced up from her rather awkward position on the bed.

  “You can?”

  The Alchemist pulled her long legs from underneath her and rose from the mattress. She crossed the room to where several of her bags lay, some neatly packed, others in total disarray. When she straightened up, in her hands was a small black bundle. She began to unroll a strip of leather.

  Fallon watched as she folded the leather back on itself to reveal a long row of needles, shiny and sharp. Sherah held several up to the candlelight.

  Um, Sherah? My, my neck is feeling much better, really...”

  “Oh no,” purred the cheetah, and she crossed the floor towards her. “I don’t think so...”

  ***

  “I don’t think so.”

  Ursa and Sireth studied the bed.

  “Not to worry, Major. I am accustomed to sleeping on the floor. You may have the bed.”

  Pale blue eyes flashed at him. “You are old. I will sleep on the floor.”

  “Thank you for the sentiment,” he replied. “But you are of a Pure Race, delicate of limb and fragile of form. I would hate to see you bruise your pelt.”

  She snatched a dagger from her hip and lunged.

  Instinctively, he closed his eyes, wincing at the sound of steel tearing cloth. After a brief moment, he opened his eyes again to find himself in one piece.

  The mattress, on the other hand, was not so fortunate.

  With a nasty smirk, she slid the dagger back into its sheath.

  “Did you think I was going to hurt you, Seer? That would be disobeying orders, wouldn’t it?”

  “I daresay.”

  Stiffly, she stepped up onto the hard board of the bed and, placing one bootheel on the far half of the mattress, kicked it off the bed.

  “Your side.”

  She pivoted, and did the same, until the two halves lay on opposite sides of the frame.

  “My side.”

  Sireth watched her step down onto ‘her side’, curling her white-clad legs underneath her. She began the process of removing all the swords, knives and shir’khins strapped all over her body, her upper arms, her thighs, her back, deep within her boots. Each was then viciously slammed, point down, along the wooden frame, until she had formed a fence of silver steel, further heightening the separation between them.

  She rolled her sleeves up to her elbows and, with a toss of her marbled hair, flipped onto her belly, back arched, legs taut, rising onto the points of her toes. She began to push herself up and down on one hand. He found himself impressed with the well-defined musculature of her arms.

  He cleared his throat once again and moved to ‘his side’ of the bed. He turned his back to her and began to loosen his sash.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Hmm?”

  She peered at him through a curtain of hair. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I was going to remove my robe.”

  “Why? Why?!”

  “Well, it seems you took this room’s only blanket along with ‘your side’ of the bed. I shall use my outer robe as a blanket for myself.”

  She did not respond, but continued to stare at him, eyes sharp, breathing shallow. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought her afraid.

  He tugged at a brown leather sleeve, showed the linen and a flash of orange underneath.

  “There are many layers.”

  “Good,” Ursa snapped quickly. “It will get cold here in the night.”

  And in a swift motion, she flipped over onto her side, back to him, beyond the fence of silver daggers.

  Sireth lowered himself onto the mattress, deciding that for the time being, it might be safer to leave his robes on. With furrowed brow, he watched her for a while longer, before shaking his head and reaching for the candle.

  “Good night, Major.”

  “If you snore, I will kill you.”

  He blew out the flame.

  ***

  The Inn was as dark and quiet as a panther. The guard on duty stood at complete attention, his spotted ears swiveling at any and all sounds, but there were few this night, save for the crackling of the great hearth that warmed the place. He could hear the Captain, moving about in his room, unsettled and sleepless as he wrestled with the losses of the day. He could hear the brother, letting out the occasional moan of pain as the Alchemist’s strange medicines began to wear thin.

  From the middle room, he could hear voices, as the Scholar rambled long into the night. Her rapid-fire conversations were punctuated by whines and whimpers as if she were being pricked by many sharp points. He could hear the Alchemist herself, humming in strange, exotic keys.

  From the far room, he could hear nothing at all and wondered if the Major hadn’t killed her charge sometime during the night. He would not have been surprised. She terrified him.

  He yawned, stretched his arms over his head, flexing his sharp, black claws. Not long to go now, he thought and soon, he would be relieved, sent to slumber in a room down the hall. He was looking forward to it.

  It was the middle of the Second Watch.

  ***

  She opened her eyes.

  She did not know how long she had lain there awake, for the room was clothed in blackness. Pale moonlight shone in from the cold, night sky, but clouds had covered the stars, dimming their usual brightness.

  She could hear breathing.

  Rapid, shallow breathing, like the sound of a cornered enemy, seeing its death in her face. It was a sound she knew well.

  There was a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye and she r
olled to her feet, crouched and poised to spring. Her pupils grew wide and she could see shadows now, and moonlight glinting off the furniture. A figure was pressed into the far wall, back flattened against the oily wood. It was a tall figure, the mane long and dark, and she knew at once it was the Seer.

  She rose to her feet.

  “What?”

  He did not look at her, did not seem even to have heard, his gaze fixed on the window, with its dirty, smoked glass. She scowled and moved around the bed towards him.

  “What is it? Answer me.”

  “Animals...”

  “What? What animals?”

  “Everywhere... animals...”

  “Your voice—“

  The last thing she remembered was the smell of leather as the blow sent her backwards into a much deeper blackness.

  ***

  Kirin opened his eyes.

  He did not know how long he had lain there awake, for the room was clothed in blackness. Something was wrong, he knew it instinctively and rather than let it eat away at him, he rolled off the mattress and out of bed.

  He checked once on his brother, still deep in sleep but moving as if in dreams. He pulled on his boots, gathered his long hair into a queue at the back of his neck and crossed the room to the door.

  The guard was waiting at the door.

  “Sir,” was all he said.

  “Where?”

  “The Major’s room, sir. I—”

  The guard’s explanation was interrupted by the sudden shattering of glass. Kirin bolted down the corridor, the leopard on his heels and together they threw open the door to the Major’s room. A gust of cold wind greeted them. Kirin grabbed a torch from beside the doorframe and shone it into the shadows.

  “Major?”

  There was a groan from beside the bed, and without hesitation, the Captain rushed toward it. Ursa Laenskaya lay in a crumpled pile on the floor, a smear of blood at her mouth. He took her elbow and helped her to her feet.

  “He hit me,” she murmured softly, spitting a mouthful of blood. With greater force, she snarled.