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

by Dickson, H. Leighton

  He laid a hand (that was not his hand) on the side of something cold and dark and metallic. It was a boxy sort of thing, and reminded him a little of an armored palanquin, something the army had tried to build several years ago, but it was a failure. The armor was so heavy that the guards carrying it could never get it off the ground. The army then wisely decided that if anyone important needed to go somewhere during any skirmish that might require armor, then those people had best rethink their plans.

  Kerris had thought that was one of the smartest things the army had ever decided.

  It took a moment for his eyes (not his eyes) to adjust to the darkness and the bright unnatural light that was beaming from behind his back (not his back), for what caused him to marvel was the sight of his hand, (not his hand) Solomon’s hand, on the side of the palanquin-like thing.

  There was no pelt.

  It was pale and thin and pinkish, and it reminded him of the palm of a Chi’Chen, and he realized with a sinking sort of feeling that they were crossing the entire Upper Kingdom, and quite likely a fair bit beyond, for a monkey.

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “So why are you here, Kerris? Where is your brother?”

  “Ah, I don’t know. I was…” He paused, thinking, trying to remember why he was here in the first place. “I was at the ocean, roasting some crabs…”

  “The ocean?! Why the hell are you at the ocean? I thought you were in Afghanistan?!”

  “Yes, we were…I don’t know why I was at the ocean. Perhaps it was a dream… The Seer was there…”

  “Oh dear…” And he felt strength sap from his body (not his body) and he leaned against the palanquin-type thing for support. “This is impossible.”

  For some reason, Kerris felt sorry for Solomon, monkey or no. He was lost and alone, and needed a friend. Certainly, he could pull himself out of his own funk to cheer the fellow up.

  “So is that the …Hum…hum…humland…”

  “Humlander, yes it is. I think I can get the thing working. It runs on solar cells, so if I can just roll it outside, we might just be fine. Getting it outside, however, is another story. I haven’t been outside yet, and I think there is significantly more overgrowth than the techies projected.”

  Kerris was quite confused, but then again, there was nothing new in that. Quite a number of things were beyond him. Even how he could be here, and yet not here at the same time confused him. How a monkey could get so far beyond Imperial borders confused him. How he could have been in Khanisthan, then at the ocean, then Swisserland. Quite beyond him.

  “Say, Solomon, how did you get –“

  Suddenly, he was snatched out of this body with the force of a lightning bolt and sent tumbling back into darkness, top over tail, spinning and falling, fast yet interminably slow and dizzying, until he landed in his own body, deep in that sinking pit in the earth. He gasped for air, which of course, there was none, and the shock of it all caused tremors to start wracking his body and he couldn’t even cry out because of it all, and suddenly, always suddenly, the ropes that bound his hands yanked upwards, yanked his shoulders upwards, dragged his entire body upwards along the filthy muddy walls and finally into the fresh clean air of dawn.

  ***

  The sun sent yellow daggers into the courtyard of Sri’Daolath and as the Captain stood waiting, the entire regiment of soldiers lined before him in perfect formation, casting shadows across the sand. Ursa had handed off their weary horses into the care of the garrison stables, and stood at his side, tail lashing in agitation. The Scholar and Alchemist stood even farther behind, Fallon not entirely sure what she should be doing, Sherah plaiting coins into her long black hair.

  The commander of the garrison stood in front of him, jaw set, shoulders squared, awaiting what ever fate might be meted out at the whim of this Imperial Captain.

  “Oh,” gasped the Scholar, and Kirin looked up. Two guards were escorting Kerris and Sireth towards the courtyard, and truth be told, they both looked terrible. Kerris had one shoulder tucked under the Seer’s arm, supporting him as they walked, and if he had to judge, Kirin would say that the Seer had seen the worst of it. In fact, other than the blood, bruising and the mud, Kerris looked as if he had spent the day at the beach.

  He could tell the Scholar was longing to rush up to the pair, but to her credit, she held her ground. He himself was itching to rush to his brother’s side, check him over, fuss like a hen over a lost and newly found chick, but he too held his stance, until both men stopped directly in front of him. Despite a split lip and swollen eye, Kerris smiled, still as brilliant as the sun.

  And for the first time in a very long time, Kirin felt the ease to smile back.

  “Are your injuries serious?” he asked the pair. The Seer was removing himself stiffly from the grey lion’s care, and his good eye threw a glare at the Captain.

  “Nothing that a soft bed and hard drink won’t cure, Captain,” was the acerbic reply.

  Kerris laughed at that. “Make it two hard drinks and I’m good.”

  “You will demand reparitions?”

  “What?” Kerris was dumbfounded. “Reparitions? Why ever would we demand reparitions?”

  “You are a member of a Royal House. You have been grievously wronged. It is your right.”

  “Oh, well… I don’t know…”

  “And you, sidi?”

  “Absolutely,” growled the Seer.

  “Good,” said the Captain, and he stepped toward the Commander of the fort, and assumed a stance to address not only him, but the entire company laid out before him.

  “Men of Sri’Daolath,” he began. “You are soldiers to the very core, strong and loyal and true. You are here by choice, defending a frontier few would deem defendable and that is a noble thing. An important thing. An honorable thing. The Empress herself will know how rigorously you defend these parts, she will know and she will be proud of the men who serve in the garrison of Sri’Daolath.”

  There was a murmured approval from the men. He waited until it had stilled.

  “These are dark and dangerous days. There are threats to the security of the Upper Kingdom. Threats from the North, as the dogs continue to make forays into our sovereign territory. Threats from the Southwest, as the bab’Hundi hoards persistently try the integrity of the Aegypshan Walls. Threats from rats, threats from Gowrain, threats from all manner of creatures that desire just a fraction of the glory that is ours by birth, war and heritage. But there is a threat to our nation that is more dangerous, more deadly, and more persistent than all these combined…”

  He let his words hang a moment, knowing each and every man was spellbound. He knew his audience well.

  “This one threat does not emanate from without the Great Wall, and it is a threat that resides here, right in the very heart and soul of Sri’Daolath. It is a threat that turns man against man, cat against cat, and that is the threat of Presumption, a judging of the nature and the quality of the blood. Men of Sri’Daolath, it is your duty to carry out the law, and that alone. It is not yours to weigh a cat’s measure on appearance or circumstance of his birth. Not the number of spots on his pelt, or the lack thereof. When cat has turned against cat, than we are no higher than the animals we subject, and we deserve to lose this Kingdom to dogs, rats, bears or monkeys. In fact, when cat turns against cat, we all but give the Kingdom over to them.”

  There was silence and wind.

  “I will die before I see our Kingdom lost by our own hand.”

  With a deep breath, he turned to Major Alexander Plantagenet-Khan. “Kneel.”

  The man obeyed, lowering himself to one knee, one hand on the ground, the other across his thigh, tail stretched out behind him, head bowed. He was prepared.

  “Oh no,” Fallon gasped, and clutched at Kerris’ sleeve.

  “Major Alexander Plantagenet-Khan, this garrison is under your command, and therefore all that goes on within these walls, and in the entire region of Daolath’Yar, is your r
esponsibility. Do you acknowledge this?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “As such, do you accept the demands of reparition that these men claim upon the errors committed under your command?”

  “I do, sir.”

  Kirin stepped aside. “It is undeniable that Sireth benAramis has mixed blood. What is also undeniable is the fact that he is the Queen’s Seer, one of the Council of Seven from Sha’Hadin. You did not give him that possibility.” He handed the Seer his long sword. “Sidi, reparition is yours.”

  Sireth stepped forward, gingerly took the sword in one hand, bounced it in his palm as if testing the weight, the balance, the grip. He raised the tip to his eyes, then swung it in an arc, then another. He paused, raised a brow, turned slightly to glance at the snow leopard.

  “Major, your sword, if I may?”

  She snorted, but gave it over, hilt first. Her eyes were sharp, her breathing swift. There would be blood spilled, she was sure of it.

  The Seer tested this sword as well, in his left hand. Rolled it in a slow backward arc, across the back of his hand. Did the same with the Captain’s, and then the Major’s, again and then again, until there was a blur of blade and silver and brown. In fact, he began to spin the sword, swing it over his shoulders next, around his back, exchanging them hand for hand. It was a dance, man and sword, and Kirin had to fight a smile, for the man was full of surprises. Kenshi. He should have known.

  All eyes were on the spinning blades until with a roar, they sliced down in dual arcs towards the kneeling man’s neck and stopped, only a whisker above, quivering but stilled.

  No one was breathing now.

  Slowly, with deliberate force of will, the last Seer of Sha’Hadin withdrew the blades, flipped the hilts in his hands and drove the points deep into the earth at the man’s knee, the silver wavering back and forth in front of his eyes.

  “I am satisfied,” said the Seer, and took several steps back to join the snow leopard. She could not bring herself to look at him.

  The Captain smiled wryly. “At a dual of swords, sidi?”

  “Like a rug, Captain.”

  Kirin turned to his brother. “Kerris?”

  “Ah, yes. My turn?”

  Hands clasped firmly behind his back, the grey lion ambled forward, frowned at the swords still embedded in the earth. He looked around at the company, the soldiers and the Seer, the Major and the Alchemist, the worried Scholar and his serious brother, then he leaned over, bringing his face down very, very close to the kneeling man’s.

  “Kerris…” he began slowly. “Balthashane…Wynegarde…Grey. That’s my name.” He straightened, poked himself with a finger. “My name.”

  And it was over. Just like that. Reparitions had been meted and met. Kerris ambled back to his crew, and the tigress gripped his arm tightly. He let her.

  Kirin shook his head, and when he spoke, it was soft and low, almost as if for the ears of lions alone. “These men are honorable, are they not, Commander? They do not repay evil for evil, dishonor with dishonor. It reveals much about a man’s character how he handles the difficult turns in life. Yes, it says much…”

  He raised his voice. “However, I am charged with the security of the Empress and the defense of her Kingdom. You will live to tell of this incident and you will tell it truly, do you understand?”

  The man did not meet his gaze, but he nodded soberly.

  “You will tell them, because they will ask…” Kirin stepped to the lion’s side, pulled his long sword from the earth, felt the blade flex and the leather mold into his palm. “They will ask because they will see –“

  He reached for and took the commander’s topknot, the shiny twisted length of mane that is the glory of all lions, and lion soldiers more so and with one small jerking motion, he sliced it off and tossed it to the ground under the man’s nose. There was not a breath anywhere.

  He flexed his grip and stepped away, just one step.

  “They will see and they will whisper –“ And again, two handed this time, one swift slice, a downward arc, the blade tasting earth yet again, and the commander choked back a cry, as the tuft of his tail was severed from his body, leaving behind a twitching tawny shaft, devoid of elaboration, of significance, of worth.

  “They will all whisper about your dishonor.” The Captain straightened and exhaled. “It remains to be seen how you will handle that.”

  He sheathed his sword. “You are dismissed from this company, and from the Empire’s service. Take your horse and personal possessions. Live long in peace but never return.”

  No one moved. Both Ursa and Sherah stood frozen, eyes gleaming at the show of authority in such few moves. A man’s life, his career ended, all status removed with two small slips of a blade. The rest of the garrison waited, disquieted and unsure but subdued and all eyes were fixed on the lions in the courtyard of Sri’Daolath.

  The Commander struggled to his feet. His dark hair, shorter now than Kerris’, swung into his face but he made no move to brush it away. He was obviously in some pain, as while the tuft on a lion’s tail has the appearances of just a puff of hair, it is still connected by bone and sinew, muscle and tendon. This pain, however, seemed to go much deeper.

  He nodded, bowed most formally, a feat considering the circumstances and stiffly strode towards his barracks. Naturally, Kirin did not bow back and his blue eyes scanned the company. “Who is second?”

  A young leopard stepped forward and bowed. “First Lieutenant Oswald al-Nagarwal, sir.”

  Kirin nodded. “The garrison is yours until the Empress sees fit to send you a lion. Until then, run it honorably and run it well.”

  “Sir.”

  With a deep breath, he turned to his party. “Time for tea.”

  ***

  My dearest Empress,

  There is only one thing I wish, for my life is full and complete, and that one thing is to be allowed, just once before I die, to call you by your name. It is the most beautiful name in all the Kingdom, and not only that, but to speak it in your presence, and yours alone, and that I might speak it again and again in the course of just one day, without fear of what others might think or say or do. There is much to be given and received in the speaking of one’s name.

  But, perhaps that is three wishes. I am bold to want so much.

  Yours always and only,

  Kirin

  ***

  Kerris shook his head.

  “It’s not good, Kirin. That wound should have been treated immediately. Not only has it festered, it looks like the original arrow may have pierced the lung. I wish I’d been told.”

  The Captain straightened, placed hands on hips. “You could barely walk, Kerris, let alone treat an injured horse. Can she be saved?”

  The grey lion made a face. “At the pace we’re keeping, it would have been better to leave her at the garrison.”

  “I’ll tell Ursa.”

  “Sorry.”

  Kirin ran a hand along the chest of the Imperial horse, the one that had carried Major Ursa Laenskaya to and from battles for almost 5 summers. The horse did not flinch, but its breathing was rasping and wet, and he knew his brother was right. Still, the thought of losing yet another of their party was not a pleasant one, especially one as magnificent as this. He set his face and turned to where the others were sitting.

  It was evening, a warm evening with red skies, faint breeze, and a roaring fire. Quiz had run down a young antelope, bringing a welcome change from their normal rations of milk paste, jerky and figs. They were nearing the border of Khanisthan, had traveled through several towns and villages, but mostly their company had been wild hares, gazelles, vultures and the occasional badger. It had been a week since the delay in Sri’Daolath and Solomon had come every night since.In his terms, ‘the Humlander was operational’, and Kirin could only take that to be a good thing. He was dreading their meeting.

  Kneeling at the fire, twisting the skinned and roasting antelope on a makeshift spit, Ursa glanced up as the Ca
ptain approached. His face said it all, and silent as a shadow, she rose to her feet and left. He did not watch her but crouched down to poke at the flames with a stick.

  “Is it bad?” asked the Scholar, tugging the tassels on her desert tunic. The bedrolls were spread, two leopards already fast asleep, preparing for their turn at sentry later in the night, and a somber mood had settled over the little party. All that could be heard is the distant wind, and the crackling of the fire.

  “Yes,” said Kirin softly. “It is bad.”

  “Will she have to…” she let her words trail off as she suddenly realized the answer to that question, and she covered her mouth with her hand. Sireth rose to his feet and the Captain watched him go, walking in his long, ground-covering strides in the direction opposite the horses. It was into the setting sun, and Kirin had to squint to follow, but when he was but a speck silhouetted in the distance, the man settled himself to the ground in what was likely a meditative pose. Indeed, the mood was heavy all around.

  “We need to find water,” said the Alchemist, daring to meet his eyes with her golden ones. There was no challenge in her gaze, no game, and Kirin found himself grateful. She had been fairly ostracized from service these past days, as neither Kerris nor the Seer would allow her to treat them, and it seemed as if she had finally begun to understand the toll her cryptic ways had on others. Trust was, after all, a freely given commodity. Once lost, it was not easily regained. “We have little left for tea.”

  Kirin nodded. “Kerris says there are hot springs in two days’ time. Have we enough to last until then?”

  “It will last,” she said, and she attempted a smile. He was weary of punishments, so he sent it back, half-hearted though it may be. It seemed to be enough.

  “I love hot springs,” sang the tigress. “Sometimes my father would take us up the mountains to hot springs near Parnum’bah Falls. Mother, do they stink! But after one dip in the water, you sleep like a kitten.”