The Khargan charged.
Kirin felt the cold air bite his scalp as he scrambled to his feet but the dog was there with a savage kick, his boot connecting with his bad knee and the lion staggered back. A second kick, this time to the other knee and he was forced to pivot on his weak leg, hissing at the lights that flashed behind his eyes. The Blood swung low and would have removed the man’s legs but he was gone, once again leaping high into the air and pulling his knees to his chest before sending both feet into the ribs of the lion, sending Kirin arcing backwards. He twisted in mid-air, tucking the blades and angling his body so that the Scales of the Dragon lashed upwards, lethal daggers striking the Khargan’s throat and jaw, leaving dragon lines once more across his face.
The necklace of lion claws, however, split and flew into the snow.
Kirin hit the ground on his shoulder once again, rolled over onto one knee, cursed his weakness as it buckled beneath him. He heard the hiss of the chain, ducked as it sailed past his head but the Khargan yanked and the hook doubled back, thudding into the plates that covered his shoulder. There was heat, there was pressure and he knew this would be bad. Swiftly, he swung his elbow, catching the chain to minimize the damage but the Khargan yanked again, pulling it tight and embedding the hook deep into the hollow beneath his shoulder blade. The dog yanked again and Kirin went with it, allowing the force to roll him forward and onto his feet. Both blades swung, were blocked by the Lion Killer, and they faced each other, foreheads almost touching and there was only the sound of their breathing on the plain.
***
They tossed the body of the Needle into the flames. Soon after, it was followed by the head of the Necromancer but his body was rolled onto the fire as it was too large to lift and dissecting his limbs in order to do so was abomination, lacking the honour they had promised. After a very long struggle, both corpses were engulfed in the fire and the flames leapt higher, burned hotter because of them.
Sireth sighed, looked down at his blade where both eyes sat. He lifted it carefully, closed his own eyes and slid them onto the pyre.
“Witch dead,” said Naranbataar and they looked at him, holding the unmoving body of the cheetah in his arms. Her eyes were open and they were as black as cauldrons. “She save Setse from arrows. She save me.”
“We’re not finished,” said Sireth. “We still have these.”
And he looked at the five eyes taken from the Needle. One blue, one brown, one gold and one half brown, half blue. But the white…
“We’re not finished.”
And he lifted the eyes of the Magic by the long yellow tendons and dropped them, one by one, into the flames.
***
They pressed their blades together, the scraping low, the steel sending sparks into the night sky. Their breathing frosted the air but they themselves were slick with sweat and their boots dug into the snow on the ground.
“The Fall of Ulaan Baator at the steel of Ulaan Baator!” cried the Oracle again.
“Teneg jinqir,” snarled the Khargan and he tugged the chain. Kirin hissed through his teeth and lights flashed again behind his eyes. He pushed them away.
“Killer of Oracles,” she shouted and out of the corner of his eye, Kirin could see her step into the circle. She was a slip of blood, her dagger dripping in the yellow moonlight. “You kill the Oracles of the Chanyu!”
There was a murmur from the crowd. Kirin could have sworn she was speaking Imperial but the dogs were understanding every word.
“The other Kingdoms respect their Magic and the Magic serves the people. Not the Chanyu! We torture and kill our Magic. It is a disgrace to the name of the People!”
“Qarbo jinqir!”
“You are cursed, Muunokhoi Gansorigar of Gobay. All the Oracles you have killed curse you!”
Another ripple through the crowd.
“The Eyes of Jia’Khan have killed Shar Ma’uul, the yellow cat of many lives! Under a yellow moon! He was killed under a yellow moon!”
The Khargan snarled, shook his arms as if to push the Shogun-General away but with the hook still burning in his shoulder, Kirin snagged the man’s leather coat with the Teeth of the Dragon, keeping him close.
“Shar sara, Shar Ma’uul,” she moaned and sank to her knees. “Yellow moon, yellow cat. Bad omen for the Chanyu. Bad sign for Muunokhoi Gansorigar of Gobay. His reign as Khan of Khans ends tonight.”
“Qarbo jinqir uu!”
A soldier pulled his bow, loosed an arrow that whistled toward the Oracle but, as before, an owl snatched it out of the sky. It flew over the crowd, dropping into a hand and people moved aside as a yellow cat stepped into the light of the fires.
***
Fallon Waterford-Grey lay quietly beside her husband on the Deer Stone, holding the baby in her arms. She had pulled the arrows from his body, tossed them into a pile on the ground. The snow was covering them now, like a white blanket. She had been trying to keep him warm but it was very cold and he had stopped shivering and she wondered how they would bury him when he died. Maybe they would burn him. Burn all the dead and she remembered a time, so long ago but only a year, when they had piled a Legion of dead soldiers and made a pyre that reached to the skies.
She had sung a sad song then but now, her throat was so tight she feared she would never sing again.
She hoped her kittens would have a good life in Pol’Lhasa and that the Empress would tell them stories about their mother and father and uncle and their journey in the Year of the Tiger and maybe the Year of the Cat because she was quite certain that they would all die here and no one would ever know.
“Metal,” said her husband.
She opened her eyes.
“Metal,” he said again and pushed up onto his elbows. “Metal dragons in the sky.”
Her throat grew tighter still as he saw her and his eyes, which had been growing black as ink, were blue once more. He smiled at her, sun, moon and stars all rolled into one.
“Hello, luv,” he said. “Are you an angel?”
She kissed him and squished between them, the baby cooed with delight.
***
People of all the races gave him a wide berth as he stepped toward the circle. He was an otherworldly sight – in fact, it seemed his feet did not touch the ground as he walked and his hair, loosed from the tight knot at his neck, was as white as his eyes. He looked around the circle, saw the Shogun-General and the Khargan with their locked swords, saw his lover kneeling covered in blood. The owl swept over them all before settling on his shoulder, home.
“The dragons are coming,” his voice echoed and like the Oracle, Kirin heard him in Imperial, but the dogs seemed to hear something entirely different. “Three metal dragons, cutting open the sky.”
“The Army of Bones,” said Setse.
“Soon,” said Shar and he held out his hand. She rose, taking it. “The Ancestors are here.”
Kirin shook the Khargan’s coat.
“Enx tajvan,” he growled, one last time. “Peace between us. Yes or no?”
“Never!” the Khargan roared and shoved Kirin away, the Teeth of the Dragon tearing the leather to ribbons under their steel.
Both Fangs sliced up as Kirin stepped back. He could feel the heat of the hook in his shoulder. The chain was wrapped around his arm between palm and elbow and he stepped further into it, began to loop it in great lengths from his hand. He pulled it tight and the Khargan snarled. Began to spin the loose chain now, looping it around ala Asalan, whipping it in great circles around the Bear who ducked first left then right to avoid the coils but to no avail. Soon, both lion and dog were bound in links of metal and the Khargan bellowed in fury, straining at the kushagamak with arms and chest until the chain shattered, the links flying into the crowd. With hook still embedded, Kirin stepped back holding the Blood in one hand, and the Jade and the chain in the other. He raised both swords to his eyes. They gleamed in the firelight.
“Te sha,” the Bear growled and lunged with ala Asalan, swinging it
like a cleaver. The Jade met it and sparks flew up into the night. But the Jade was poetry and she danced like a leaf on the wind, slipping under and over the iron sword, wrapping it in length upon length of chain and the Khargan slammed a fist forward, into the chest of the lion, only the lion was not there and the Blood met his wrist with the song of steel. The fist dropped to the ground and blood sprayed across the rocks.
The lion roared and plunged the red iron blade into the belly of the dog until the hilt of the Fang pushed against the leather of the coat. He felt his hand grow warm, could hear the rush of the crowd, saw the glint of the tip out the Khargan’s back. He twisted the blade until the Lion Killer clattered to the stone and slowly, he helped the man sink to his knees.
The sky was beginning to break. Pink, orange and red, blood red. Dawnglow red, stay in bed. He slid the Fang out and blood splattered onto the snow. The Kamachada iron was redder than red.
He breathed slowly, deeply. Crossed his arms, slid the blades up to the Khargan’s throat.
“Jalair Naransetseg,” he called but his eyes did not leave the Khargan’s. “Ask him one last time if there can be peace.”
She translated as she stood, hand in hand with Shar Ma’uul—Kirin could no longer think of him as Yahn Nevye—and the Khargan growled, even as blood appeared on his tongue, between his white, white teeth.
“Never,” he said in Imperial.
Kirin sighed, and swung wide his arms.
The head flew from the neck. It took a lifetime as it flew up into the dawn sky, iron hair and lion’s mane, before it hit the snow and rolled, stopping at the feet of Swift Sumalbayar.
The Shogun-General reached overhead, grabbed the hook still lodged under his shoulder blade, yanked it swiftly out and braced against the waves of heat and pain that burned through his flesh. He stood tall on the plain, swept his eyes across the sea of faces. Cat, dog, monkey. An ocean of many drops. They were spellbound. He looked for and found, the face of his brother, supported by the tigress, both bloody but standing. There were tears streaking Kerris’ grey face but he managed a smile. Kirin did not return it.
“Who is beta?” he bellowed. “Who is Irh-Khan to the Khan of Khans?”
And both Blue Wolf and Yellow Cat translated, his voice a heartbeat behind hers.
Swift stepped forward.
“I am Swift Sumalbayar, Irh-Khan to the Khan of Khans.”
“I am the Khanmaker,” said Kirin. “Swift Sumalbayar, you are now Khan Sumalbaykhan, First Khan of Khans. Son of the White Wolf, Father of the Jackal, now Ruler of the Chanyu, made by the Khanmaker without the death of a lion.”
He took a deep breath, gripped the Blood Brothers in both hands.
“Will you accept peace with the Upper and Eastern Kingdoms? Will you unite with us in defense of our lands and our ways in the face of the Ancestors?”
Dog and Cat translated and the new Khan met his gaze, held it for a long while.
“Enx tajvan,” he said finally. “Peace between us.”
Kirin sheathed both Fangs and, fist to cupped palm, he bowed.
The dog stared at him before stepping forward and grasping his elbow. Kirin frowned, remembering something similar between Sireth benAramis and Jeffrey Solomon.
“Do same,” said Setse. “Do same.”
Kirin stared. He had been fighting since sunset and every fibre of his body ached. He had been riding for over a month with monkeys and dogs. His brother back from the west, his lover back from the dead. His glass had been polished, shattered, rebuilt into something completely different than anything he could have ever imagined. But here he was in the Lower Kingdom surrounded by people of all races, conferring ultimate power to a dog because he was, in fact, the Khanmaker.
His life, he realized, was a strange and unexpected thing.
He stretched his stiff, bloody fingers and gripped the man’s elbow, their arms side by side and there was a murmur that rippled across the sea of faces like a wave.
The sky began to whine.
All the people on the Field of One Hundred Stones looked up as the shrieking grew louder and deeper and the earth rattled beneath their feet. Suddenly, three arrows shot across the sky, bright and shining in the morning light, leaving trails of white cloud behind them. The sky echoed with the sound of their passing.
“Dragons,” said Setse and Shar, his voice a heartbeat behind.
“Jets,” said Kerris. “The Ancestors have found us.”
“Bones next,” said Setse.
“The Army of Bones.”
Kirin sighed, realizing that the war had only just begun.
***
And so, the Year of the Cat ended with the death of a dog and the Year of the Dragon commenced with a trio of dragons racing across a new morning sky. It was fitting, it was poetic and most of all, it was epic, but cats are, after all, an epic people.
By noon that day, the Seer, the Major, the Archer and the Alchemist returned to the Field of One Hundred Stones. All soldiers, the Ten Thousand of the Khan and the Army of Blood, were given the task of clearing the Field of bodies, reclaiming the weapons and burning the rest. While the dogs stayed on the north plateau, and the Army of Blood stayed on the south plateau, there were few skirmishes and most of the time was spent quietly. There were no songs of celebration, there were no campfires or drinking or tales. This was a somber time, as peace had come at a very high cost and knowledge that the Ancestors were a reality in our land filled us all with dread.
The horses wandered freely and only a few dogs were trampled in their passings.
Bo Fujihara was dead and we all grieved his loss. I had known him for years as a fine statesman and an embodiment of the spirit of peace. All the Kingdoms of the World are lesser since his passing. He will be much missed.
The Magic was healed. Kerris had taken five arrows but he was as fit as ever I remember him. He spent his time either conferring with the new Khan and the Chi’Chen soldiers or making love to his wife. I wished he was more discreet but then again, that is Kerris. He will always be a free spirit and I was glad that he was there, with me during that time. It was, and always will be, important.
We are taking the combined army to Lha’Lhasa, historic seat of the Rising Suns of the Capuchin Council. We should be there in little more than one month, for the roads into Lha’Lhasa are narrow and treacherous and an army of this size will meet some difficulty. There, we will discuss our new roles as three distinct but unified Kingdoms. The falcon, Mi-Hahn, has been sent to Pol’Lhasa with the news and I expect to be met by some resistance but the Empress will see the wisdom of this action. I have yet to read her letter. For some reason, I am afraid. Dogs, weapons, wars, magic. These things I can accept but this woman has the power to slay me with a word. Still and ever, I suppose.
It is harder for a khamel to go through the Eye of a Needle than a proud man to enter the gates of NirVannah.
I am still, and will likely always be, a proud man. But I have been in the Prayer Room of the Empress. Perhaps that is my NirVannah. I hope I will find myself there again one day.
⁃ an excerpt from the journal of Kirin Wynegarde-Grey
***
He watched her as she sat on the snowy ground, surrounded by candles that flickered with unnatural light. They were Alchemy candles, not dampened by the snow or put out by the wind. Her hair was loosed, rising and falling around her face, calling like come hither fingers. It was dawn and they were leaving but here she sat, playing with candles and stones and the baby.
She turned her face, her profile long and elegant and proud and he could see her lips quirk at the thought of him watching her from the shadow of the Deer Stones.
“Will you join us, sidi?” she purred, her voice rich and smoky like incense.
“Yes,” he said. “If I may.”
And he waited for he knew it was coming.
“Of course.”
He moved around to stand in front of her, hands behind his back, let his eyes fall to the baby on its hands
and knees between the candles. He took a deep breath, a cleansing breath. Life was too short for any other kind.
“May I,” he began. “May I see him?”
She looked up quickly, her eyes as golden as an evening sun. It was good to see them gold.
“Your son? You wish to meet your son?”
For some reason, his eyes began to sting. He chased it away.
“Yes.”
And she smiled in such a way that he thought he would die right there as he stood, but he did not and she reached up and took his hand and lowered him down to sitting. Learner’s Pose, for his knee was weak, but still.
She leaned forward, lifted the baby and swung him to face the lion.
“Shogun-sama,” she said. “This—”
“Kirin,” he said. “You may use my name.”
“Names are powerful things.”
“Yes, Sherhanna-chan. They are.”
She smiled again and he could have sworn it was she who was blinking back the tears. She took a deep breath.
“Kirin-san,” she said. “This is your son, Kylan.”
From his place on the ground, he bowed at the waist. Just a little bow, fist to cupped palm.
“Kylan,” she said. “This is your father.”
The baby looked at him with his large bicoloured eyes. It did not move, merely hung there, staring.
“Here,” she said. “Hold him.”
And without waiting for his response, she passed the baby into his reluctant hands.
His heart was thudding in his chest. He didn’t know what to think, even less what to do. It wasn’t a sword, it wasn’t a horse, it wasn’t even a scroll. It didn’t hiss at him the way his niece, Solodad, had. It didn’t squirm, it didn’t fuss, it merely hung there from his gloved hands and he realized that perhaps the Teeth of the Dragon might frighten it but then, in a most unexpected reaction, it smiled at him.
“Oh,” he said, surprised.
“He likes you,” she said. “You may speak to him. I would like him to know the sound of your voice.”
The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom Page 112