To Walk in the Way of Lions

by H. Leighton Dickson

  “I’ll take it,” she managed to say, in a voice not quite her own. And he wrapped it up in dark paper and a string, and she slipped out of the bookshop through a back door, not entirely certain that she should be walking in sunlight at the moment. The shadows would be much safer.

  ***

  She found him on the third floor of one of the older buildings in the Gardens. It was a much older building, to be sure, its window glass dark and stained to minimize the afternoon sun, and she found herself approving. Alchemists were creatures of shadow, after all, of night and secrets and moonlight. Sunshine was an unwelcome diversion.

  In fact, there was nothing announcing his shop as anything other than a room for supplies or stores. There was no sign, no half-open door, no table of wares out in the front. There was, however an ankh, painted in red on the door post, a sign for those seeking, and she did not knock when she went in.

  The room was filled with incense.

  “You have something to leave with me?” the old tiger asked, not looking up from his stool where he sat, dipping candles in the dark.

  “For the First Mage alone.”

  “He follows at Sri’Gujar’Rhath.”

  “Of course.”

  Black-clad hands reached down to a large copper pot, dusty and lidded, at his feet. He blew the dust off, smoothed the cobwebs from its surface, flicked at the many spiders scrabbling for cover, and turned to present it to her. She began to reel in silken threads, attached to the red satin pouch bobbing ominously over her head. She caught it up in her hands and raised it to her lips.

  He watched with incurious yellow eyes the silver smoke escape its hiding place. He had seen it all before. He had done it himself. It was no mystery to him. Agara’tha had taught him many things.

  The silver smoke then made the journey from her lips to his copper pot, whirling and leaping like a sea of white horses. Before it could find its way out, he slipped the lid securely in place, and lowered it back to the floor at his feet.

  “Anything else?” he asked somberly.

  “Fire powder. As much as you can spare.”

  And with her package securely under her arm, she left the third floor of the old market building, the little red pouch following, small and insignificant, in her wake.

  ***

  “They don’t look like much.”

  Kerris rolled his eyes but he did not look up at his brother, merely kept running his hands down along the long fine legs.

  “They’re not supposed to look like much, Kirin. They’re supposed to work like much. And believe me, they do.” He ran his palm around to the fetlock and the animal obediently raised his foot off the ground. “Look, see? Feet as sound as any you’ll see in the Royal Stables, I’ll wager. And that’s the first thing that’s going to give out in the Dry Provinces, their feet.”

  He straightened up, his hands moving all up the stallion’s body, from the shoulder to the whither to the back. He gave the creature a friendly pat. It laid its ears back and nipped at him.

  “They’re all like this. Perfect for where we’re going.”

  Kirin was clearly skeptical. He stood outside the roped-off pen, hands on hips, brows low and dark.

  “But look at their backs – so short. Not a comfortable ride.”

  “But stronger, more durability.”

  “And those nostrils – I’ve never seen anything so huge.”

  “Perfect for breathing in great chestfuls of desert air.”

  “And their necks. Why such a crest?”

  “Heads’ carried high, to scout out the terrain.”

  “They’re such small things. There’s almost no muscle. It’s all tendon and sinew.”

  “Less muscle, less bulk, therefore less food needed. More efficient on the trail.”

  Kirin sighed. “I don’t like the tails. They’re higher set than Imperial horses, and stringy.”

  Kerris shook his head, his exasperation finally spilling out. “Now there you have me, brother. Sorry, my handsome beast, we simply can’t afford to be seen riding a horse with a stringy tail, now can we?”

  “How is the Seer going to sit such a horse, Kerris? He has legs of a cheetah! They’ll fairly drag along the ground!”

  The grey lion stepped out of the way of the desert stallion. “We don’t have to take them, Kirin. If you really don’t like them…”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t like them.”

  “And if you really don’t trust my judgment in terms of horseflesh…”

  “Kerris, no one has judgment like yours.”

  “I’m sure our present horses will be sound.” He swung his arm around to another ring, where three mares and foals stood, watching them. “And the mares’ milk paste, well, we’ll just have to make certain there are plenty of animals along the route for us to kill and eat, eh? I’m sure that won’t be a problem. The desert is always so obliging.”

  He turned to the lynx who was waiting on them. “Sorry, sidi, my brother is not impressed. Perhaps another day…”

  And he slipped out from under the rope and left the stockyard, his night-blue cloak snapping in his wake, leaving Kirin, the lynx and a dozen desert horses under the KhahBull sun.

  Kirin frowned and studied the horses, whose long, stringy manes and tails waved like banners in the hot wind. True, they were a scrappy-looking lot, small and fine-boned and far too lean for his liking, but then again, everything Kerris had said was true. It was his own preference for large, solid Imperial horses. His life and those of his men had been won or lost on the backs of such animals. These, these were a gamble, indeed.

  He stepped around to the ring holding the mares, and a young bay colt peered out at him from his mother’s side. Such large, round eyes, thought Kirin. But intelligence, yes, it was obvious. Even in one so young.

  “Hello,” he said quietly, smiling a small smile at the colt, and the little beast tossed its head defiantly, but did not budge. Kirin’s smile grew. “Aren’t you fierce, yes? A fierce wild young stallion? Should I be afraid?”

  The fierce wild young stallion raked the ground with tiny hoofs and snorted.

  “He likes you,” said a voice, and the Captain turned to see the Scholar, ambling up to him, her striped hair rising and falling in the growing wind, a small dark package tucked under one arm.

  He smiled at her, and for the first time this day, it did not feel forced.

  “I’m not convinced ‘like’ is the right word for it, sidala. But they are a fascinating lot. Kerris wants us to buy them.”

  “Oh.” She cast her emerald eyes across the make-shift paddock. “They look like they’d be good in the desert. And I have no desire to be riding a khamel for weeks on end. Their spines are worse than yaks.”

  “Good point, sidala.” And he turned to the lynx, an older, grizzled cat with squinty wise eyes and rough hands. The wind was lifting his silver hair as well, and Kirin noticed the vague twist of warning in the pit of his stomach. This wind had not been here earlier. “My brother is usually right about such animals. We’ll take the lot. I trust their tack is included?”

  “I will ensure it myself, sidi.” And he bowed, not quite formally, but acceptably, nonetheless.

  “Have them ready to leave at first light tomorrow morning, at the Governor’s stables, if you will.”

  As he turned to leave, he was assaulted at the sight of the sky. There were huge dark clouds moving from the north like an approaching army. He frowned as the wind whipped his sash about his waist, and he noticed the ropes encircling the horses begin to snap and dance. The horses themselves were growing agitated, and one need only look at the sky to tell why.

  “Where is Kerris?” he muttered.

  For some reason, he looked to the tigress, but she shrugged. It was all she could do to keep her hair out of her eyes and her package in her grasp. He looked to the lynx, who was still waiting patiently. Patience, it seemed, was a virtue of lynx. He stood like a statue. But Kirin realized the reason the man was squinting was to
keep the tiny bits of desert dust out of them. They were carried on this new breeze like daggers. He looked to the market place just outside the stockyards, vendors closing up shops, pulling colorful awnings across their market stands, wrapping merchandise with linens and tarps. The sky over the Waterless Gardens had quickly grown dark, covered in those swiftly moving clouds, now an almost greenish black like a bleeding of masi ink over a too-wet page.

  Kirin looked back at the lynx.

  “Are storms common this time of year?”

  “Spring is KhaBull is usually wet, sidi. We are enjoying an early summer. But this…” He had also noticed the anxiety of his horses, had motioned to his aides to round them up for shelter. “This sky is most unusual.”

  The Captain nodded once. “Sidalady tigress, I need to you make your way back to the Governor’s residence.” And with that, he spun on his heel and stepped toward the crowds. Fallon Waterford jogged at his side, wringing her laces, package safely tucked under one arm.

  “Do you want me to find the others, sir?”

  “No, I want you to make your way back to the residence.”

  “But you told us to meet at the closing of the Gardens, sir. They won’t be expecting to go back so soon…”

  This should not be hard, he fumed quietly, fists clenching as he walked. Just do as you’re told.

  “I will take care of that. Now go.”

  He lengthened his stride, not rushing, but moving very purposefully and fast. The clouds were almost upon them. People laughed, shouted, complained as they darted to and fro amongst the stalls, finishing up their shopping and heading home after an abbreviated day out. There were just so many people.

  “But what if –“

  “The markets are not a safe place for you at the moment. Please, sidala, just do as I ask.” The crowds, the blackening sky, no night-blue cloak.

  “Is Kerris calling this?”

  He was not sure why he was surprised, but he was, and he stopped in his track, swinging around to glare at her. His jaw moved and tightened, his brow drawn and dark, but he could not be angry with her.

  “No.” He said, too quickly. He sighed, furious with his own impatience. “Maybe. I - I do not know, sidala,” he measured his words carefully. “But if he is, then this is dangerous, and I need to find him.”

  “I can help.”

  “You can die.”

  “I won’t die. Promise.”

  A flash of lightning overhead, and Kirin turned away from the tigress and pushed his way into the crowd.

  ***

  “As good as new,” said the Seer with a smile.

  “I told you. You should listen to me.” Ursa tossed her head, smug with satisfaction as they stepped from the seamstress’ shop and into the heart of the marketplace. It had taken little more than an hour, as the seamstress had used very fine, strong threads and sewn the tear in the glove with tiny, precise stitches. Her belly was rumbling now, and she had a sudden urge for curried goat and beer. She was about to suggest they use the Governor’s rings for more than just thread when a closing rumble of thunder shook the afternoon sky.

  She frowned. Tents, banners and flags all whipped in the sudden wind, a hot desert wind that had not been there when they had entered the shop. From the squalls lifting the dust off the street, the sky beyond the yellow buildings was as black as night, with great sooty clouds billowing like an ocean hitting the shore. She had only seen the ocean once in her life. She never wanted to see such a thing again. It had disturbed her to her very core.

  She realized that the Seer was not with her.

  “Idiot! What are you doing now?!” she snarled, as she scanned her wake for the height of him, for a glimpse of his heavy brown cloak, and spied him through the rushing bodies, still standing outside the front door of the seamstress’ shop. Snorting, she marched back, ready to smack him with the heel of her hand.

  He wasn’t looking at her.

  She scowled. “What now?”

  “This is not a natural storm,” he said, his voice odd and otherwordly. His good eye glinted, sharp and shiny as a falcon’s. “It is Alchemy, and the Captain’s brother is in danger of it.

  “Kerris?” She wrinkled her nose, thinking, then her eyes flashed at him. “Kerris is doing this?!”

  “Not doing this,” he muttered, but she was already gone, disappearing into the crowds like a bolt of lightning, which was ironic, for at that moment, a bolt of lightning sliced across the skies, it’s roar so loud overhead that shoppers and merchants alike ducked for cover.

  He flexed the leather on the palm of his glove to see if it would hold, took a deep breath, and pushed after her into the Waterless Gardens.

  ***

  The Waterless Gardens were no longer waterless.

  The first drops were large, warm and heavy, splattering the dusty roads like stones, leaving pits and dark circles on the ground. Then they came faster, not as thick, but long and sleek, a volley of arrows hitting road and pelt alike in their sharpness. And then faster still, smaller, lighter but denser now, a veritable cloak of water spilling from the ink black sky, little shards of lightning in each drop.

  The Captain spied him in the center of the market square, a flap of night-blue under a huge limestone carving of a winged lion. People moved to and fro around him, not bothered by his presence, probably not really thinking he was a lion at all as they tried vainly to get out of the downpour, while he stood completely still within it, face upended to greet the rain, smiling.

  Kirin slowed his pace, grateful that his brother’s arms were still at his side. He glanced around at the market stalls, marched over to one, and pulled his short sword from its sheath. Fallon held her breath as, in one smooth flashing arc, he swung the sword and sliced a length of rope that held a variety of dried meats. The meats fell to the ground, and a spotted head peeked out of the canopy, about to complain but took one look at Imperial Gold and popped back in again. The Captain swiftly wound the rope palm to elbow and back again. As he turned to his brother, his hands began fashioning a slipknot out of one end of it, and Fallon could not help it as her heart leaped into her throat.

  “Kerris,” said Kirin, in a voice both soft and firm. “We need to go back to the Governor’s residence now.”

  “Yes,” said Kerris, still smiling at the sky, but he made no move to leave. The rain had slicked the pelt on his face, so that he looked like clay.

  “Give me your hands,” said Kirin, and his brother obliged, not really seeing him, absorbed in something no one else was seeing. The knots slipped over first one grey wrist, then the other, and the tigress gasped when the Captain pulled them tight, binding his brother’s hands like a prisoner. Even still, Kerris did not seem to notice. Once, twice, three times, he wrapped the rope round his brother’s waist and with one final tug, the Captain secured Kerris’ hands to his body.

  “There,” said Kirin, his tone reassuring and strong. “Safe. Let’s get you back to the residence, shall we? Kerris, look at me.”

  “She’s calling.”

  “I know. Look at me.” The golden hand reached up and drew the cloak’s hood over his brother’s head, pulling it low as to obscure the sight of the clouds from his eyes. “I bought the horses.”

  She could see the battle as Kerris fought to come back from wherever it was that he had been. “Horses?”

  “Yes. The desert horses. They’ll do nicely for this next leg of the journey. Thank you for finding them.”

  Kerris frowned and looked back up at the sky, but Kirin put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled his attention earthward.

  “And the new clothing – that should have been delivered by now. Let’s go check, shall we? Come, now. Move your feet.”

  Kerris obeyed, turning stiffly as if carved from stone, falling in at his brother’s side and together they began to slosh their way out of the Waterless Gardens. Fallon caught a glimpse of silver – Ursa Laenskaya on the far side of the market square, her own cloak drawn, hand on the hilt of he
r sword, pale eyes narrowed and scornful. Defensively, the tigress slipped in next to the brothers, amazed to hear the Captain still talking as one would to a frightened child or wild animal one was trying to tame.

  “And perhaps there is cocoa in the kitchens as well. I for one could use a large mug of cocoa. All this water is simply dreadful for the pelt, not to mention the mane –“

  The dark sky lit up as lightning forked overhead, directly above the market square, and its lover and constant companion, thunder, actually shattered two windows high above them. Fallon flinched, ducked as glass rained down on her head, and when she opened her eyes, she was surprised, no – amazed to see sparks crackling and leaping along the market’s dusty road towards them.

  No, she corrected herself again. Towards Kerris.

  Even bound like a trussed lamb, he was now the very picture of tension. He was holding his breath, every muscle taut, fingers stretched wide over the ground, raining water downward, while calling the sparks upward, up and into the palms of his bound hands. They crackled and buzzed like lightning rods. The clouds grinned wickedly overhead.

  “Captain,” she whimpered. Her hair was standing on end.

  And just like back in Sha’Hadin when the Seer’s life hung in the balance, the Captain of the Guard balled up his fist and sent it thudding into his brother’s abdomen, causing him to buckle forward, sparks flying in all directions. Lightning leapt from cloud to cloud, the wind howled at them, and Kirin hit him again, this time behind the ear and the grey lion dropped like a stone into waiting Imperial gold.