They had still not heard from Solomon.
It was late afternoon and Kerris sat cross-legged on the dusty ground, a grid drawn in the sand, placing stones in the squares. Placing them, removing them, then placing them again. He shook his head and dug in a pocket for a set of sticks with red and gold and black strings attached at the ends. He fiddled with them for a minute or two, before shoving them back in his pocket and scrambling to his feet. Turning back to the direction from which they had come, he scooped a handful of the dirt, let it trail out between his fingers, studied it as it moved on the faint and very hot breeze. Finally, he let out a puff of breath, wiped his hands on his trousers and turned to his brother who, naturally, was standing, hands on hips, waiting.
“Sorry, Kirin.”
The Captain sighed and squinted into the sun. They had met with a river, a huge wide river set deep in a gorge that seemed to have no beginning, and apparently, no end. Kerris Wynegarde-Grey, First Geomancer to the High Court of Pol’Lhasa, was confounded.
“The earth says there are mountains in all directions, and trees and rivers. This river is like the Shi’pal, it twists and turns and we may have even crossed it at one point or another. We need to cross it again somewhere, but going either way will not lead us where we think we want to go, which, to tell the truth, we don’t really know, do we?”
“Kerris…” Kirin growled.
The grey lion threw up his hands. “Well, it’s true! We don’t even know if Solomon is alive or not, and without that blasted star, it seems we can’t even talk to him anymore.” He glanced at the Seer. “Am I right?”
Sireth benAramis shrugged. He, the most powerful Seer of the Council of Seven, had no clue. “I am baffled,” was all he said. At his side, Ursa Laenskaya snorted. To her credit, she didn’t hit him.
Kerris continued. “And what’s worse, you’ve lost our maps!”
“We were attacked—“ began his brother.
“—Yes, yes, I know. In the foothills of some not-so-very-big mountains, yes you’ve told me. But honestly, Kirin, the maps?”
Kirin felt his temper flare, but he also felt Ursa’s eyes on him, allowed that ice-blue fire to try him yet again. He shook his head.
“Yes, Kerris. I was not acting wisely then. I…I was wrong.”
Behind him, the snowy chin rose, just a little.
The admission seemed to take the steam out of the grey lion’s rant. He was, by nature, an easy going cat, not prone to anger or histrionics, preferring life to run along as smoothly as possible for as long as possible. It was his turn to sigh now.
“Alright, alright. I’m sorry, Kirin. But honestly, you really had better think this through. If we go that way,” he swept an arm west, “We could stumble upon a narrowing of the river, or a shallowing of the gorge because at some point, it will narrow out but then again, we could be going the wrong way and miss some sort of bridge crossing the river that way, at or before some rather large lake…” And he swept his arm east, for emphasis. But finally, he shrugged. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Geomancy is not an exact art.”
There was no response. He was completely right. Without Solomon, they were lost.
“You said we cannot go around it,” Ursa now, arms folded, tapping her foot in agitation. “Are you so sure we cannot cross it?”
They all peered over the edge to look.
The gorge was very deep, its walls sheer cliff faces, rock-dwelling pines and shale. Just getting down to the river would be a problem for a cat. The horses would be another matter entirely.
“Well,” said Kirin. “We may have to.”
“Oh yes?” Kerris surprised them all by laughing. “And what if Solomon is waiting for us at that rather large lake over there, and we manage to survive crossing this river at some point either east –“ he swept his arm east – “Or west—“ he swept his arm west – “and keep on going without him? What then?”
“You don’t know there’s a rather large lake….”
“Oh yes I do but –“
“How do you know?”
“Well, the land says so! This river is one long, twisty bugger. And look at those mountains on the other side. That practically shouts ‘rather large lake’, now doesn’t it? But that’s not the point. The point is, without Solomon, this journey is point less. Finding Solomon is the point.”
There was quiet for little more than a heartbeat, before the Seer whirled and walked away, hands clasped behind his back, bringing a swift and sudden end to the bickering. He walked fifty paces, crossed his legs and dropped himself to the ground. High above, the falcon cried, dipped a wing and headed west.
“Lions,” Ursa snorted, and followed her charge, stopping only to loosen the tack of the three packhorses accompanying them.
One silver, one gold. Yin and Yang. Always opposing, always in conflict. It was simply the way of things.
***
The 112th Legion of Khan Baitsuhkhan had run all day. They could. They were trained to run until they died if need be. They had run for months now, since the star had changed, with only a small interruption when the star disappeared. They had been confused then, unsure of whether to change course, keep on going, or return home. Fortunately, they had brought an oracle, given to them by their Khan for success on their journey. He had told them what to do, this oracle, and now, as the lieutenant jogged up, he could see the creature strapped to the lieutenant’s back, a load quite unlike any of the packs the others were carrying.
Like them, the oracle was a dog.
A small dog, to be sure. The size of a child, with thin coat and bulging eyes and a sickly pallor to his gums, but a dog he was, and as an oracle, he was revered and despised at the same time. The others feared him. The leader needed him. He could talk to the other mystics that had been trailing the star along with them, or sense them, or whatever oracles did that was so special. It was unnerving, unnatural, but marvelous at the same time.
The sun was setting and several of his betas had begun to assemble the fire. They were stopping for the night.
The lieutenant dropped to one knee.
“Lord,” he said.
The oracle peered over the man’s shoulder, brown eyes wide and bloodshot. “Lord?” he said in a voice as thin and threadbare as his coat.
“We are near?” growled the Leader.
“Yes, Lord. Quite near.”
“I can smell them,” grinned the lieutenant.
The Leader grunted. They could all smell them, cats and horses less than three days run from here, and it had set their blood racing. It would all be over very soon.
“Can you tell if there are lions?” he asked and the Oracle licked his lips.
“Yes, Lord. Two lions.”
“Good.” He nodded, wiped the sweat from his brow, and began to unpack for the night.
***
Sherah al Shiva licked her fingers and snuffed out the candles, one by one, that lit up her chamber. Finally, there was only one left, on a wick. No candle.
“Wake up, little sister. We must go.”
“Mmm?” Fallon Waterford yawned and yawned again, so that her tongue curled inside her mouth. She stretched out her arms above her head and sat up, blinking slowly. “What?”
“I have packed your things. It is very late. The city will be shut up for the night.”
“What? We’re going?” Even as she was asking, she was moving. Ever obedient. “Why are we going?”
“There is bad kharma approaching. We need to warn the others.”
“The others? You mean, Kerris?”
“Of course.”
The tigress pouted, brows furrowed, arms wrapped around her chest. Suddenly no longer so obedient. “Oh no. Oh, I don’t think so. I think I’m going to go home in the morning.”
“No, little sister. We must finish our journey.”
“Nooo.We mustn’t.”
Almost swallowed by shadow, Sherah turned around, golden eyes gleaming. “He didn’t want to leave you. He loves you.
”
“No. I don’t think he does. I don’t think anything of the sort.”
“It is true. The Captain told him that we would surely die if we continued. He did not wish to see you die. Again.”
The tigress swallowed now, tightened her grip around her ribs. “He could have stayed.”
“And let his brother die without a guide?”
The battle was brief, for the child was hopelessly in love. It was merciless, to be sure, but necessary. It was the way of things.
“Here,” said the Alchemist, handing the Scholar a night-black cloak. “You must wear this.”
“Oh. Okay. How are we going to get out of the city?”
Holding the burning wick in her palm, the Alchemist smiled. “I believe I know the way.”
Somehow, Fallon believed that she did.
***
As four cats bedded down on the bank of an unknown river, and a pack of dogs bedded down under the moon in the northeast and two women slipped out of a room in a residence in Sharan’yurthah, five cats rode in through that city’s very gates. Five cats dressed, naturally, in black.
The party swept into the Magistrate’s residence, cloaks billowing, a most impressive sight. The Magistrate, for his part, was draped in silken night robes, a long cap dangling from his orange brow. He had barely the time for slippers, being roused so urgently in the middle of his deep sleep, and had he not been such an amicable fellow, he could have been miserable indeed. Instead, he stood in the high arched agora of his residence, arms folded in on himself, awaiting the party that had so disturbed his dreaming. He straightened up at the sight of them.
They came like an arrow, one man leading, and the Magistrate’s breath caught in his throat. A tiger, white as the moon, so soon after another Imperial party. It could have been coincidence.
He bowed, most formally, just in case.
“Antonio Seetharaman Trebanian Yu, Magistrate of Sharan’yurthah. Welcome to our city.”
None of the five bowed. Bad form, but that was Alchemy.
The white tiger pulled off his gloves as he glanced around the room. “Jet barraDunne, First Mage of Agara’tha, Counsellor to Her Most Revered Excellency, Thothloryn Parillaud Markova Wu. I need a cup of tea.”
The Magistrate clapped his orange hands. “Please, esteemed sahidis, join me by the fire. We shall speak—“
“I do not need to speak to you, sidi,” said the silver cat, waving his gloves in the air. “What I do need is a cup of tea, a warm bed, and news of the Imperial party led by Kirin Wynegarde-Grey.”
“Forgive me, sahidi. In which order would you like these things?”
barraDunne stared at the smaller man for a long moment before his face broke into a wide smile, as brilliant as the stars in the sky. “Well said, most honorable Magistrate! Well said.” He swept down in a perfect bow, actually dusting the floor with the tip of his long braid. “I forget myself. Please forgive me. A place by your fire would be most welcomed.”
And he stepped forward, placing a hand on the Magistrate’s shoulder. “And, along with the tea, several bowls of Shiryian Arak? My companions here have never had the pleasure.”
The Magistrate smiled as well. “The pleasure will be entirely mine, sahidi. Come…” And he turned on his heel, marveling at how his luck had changed these last days and wondering if this was a sign of good things to come.
***
As the party of five swept in from the stables to the residence, a party of two in secret swept out.
Unlike the Magistrate of TheRhan, Antonio Seetharaman Trebanian Yu was not a keeper of horses. Oh he kept them well enough, but they were not for him things to be treasured or adored. His stables were adequate, but small. Army horses were kept in the garrison to the northeast of the city. So, it was to the stables that Sherah al Shiva and Fallon Waterford went that night, dressed in their cloaks of deepest black.
These stables, like many stables in the Dry Provinces, were open to the night sky, little more than fine fences with limestone posts and clay-tiled floors. There was some shelter, however, to protect against mid-day sun, but for the most part, the animals slept under the stars. There was one guard on duty. He rose as the women approached.
“Sahidali,” he said hesitantly. “Your horses have just been watered—“
“Excellent,” purred the Alchemist, and she continued moving closer to the man, so close that he could feel her breath on his cheek. Her golden eyes gleamed from under her hood. “We will be needing them again. The saddles are where, sidi?”
Her lips so close to his, his breath leaving his body, his head floating high, higher as her hands ran over his chest, up to his throat, stroking his jaw. “Third alcove past the door…” he croaked.
“You will help us saddle them, sidi?”
He breathed out. “Of course.”
She turned to the Scholar. “Follow me,” and slipped into the stables, the guard stumbling at her heels.
“Wow,” muttered the tigress. “I wonder how she does that…”
***
Fallon tugged the cinch of the black horse and stepped back. He was a magnificent animal, with a proud arched neck, thick feathering on his feet and a tail that dragged on the ground. Definitely not the horse she’d rode in on, but Sherah had assured her it was fine to borrow this one, as she knew its owner ‘quite well’. Sherah herself had disappeared into the stables with a bag of what might have been fire powder, the red satin pouch, the candle-less wick and the stable guard. Not entirely the safest combination, Fallon thought, but this was Sherah’s plan. She was interested in seeing how they would manage to get out of a gated city so late at night, and how she’d manage to get past the line of tigers at the Empire’s frontier.
Just as she was thinking these things, Sherah slid up to her. There was no sign of the fire powder, the wick nor the guard. The pouch, however, bobbed behind her, a little fuller than it had been before.
“We need to go,” she said, as she swung her long legs up and onto her black mare.
“Okay.” Fallon mounted as well, but swiveled in her saddle to study the cheetah. “Where is your candle?”
“Hmm…” said the cheetah. “That is a mystery.”
There was a great boom from behind them, as a wall of flame began to unfurl from deep within the stable, and together the women spurred their horses out into the night.
***
Kerris awoke to the sound of his stomach rumbling.
He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around. The sun was beginning her ascent into the dawning sky, bringing brushes with her to paint the colors of morning. Purple, pink, crimson then gold, which somehow turned the sky blue in the process. He’d never been much of a painter, but it had always fascinated him, these colors of the sun. It was a puzzle, and Kerris was fond of his puzzles.
The horses were milling about, content with grazing dry grass at this early hour, and he felt a pang of disappointment. Imperial horses were reknowned hunters, but even Quiz had failed to bring anything down since they’d left Sharan’yurthah, and the possibility of famine on this last stretch of their journey was taking an ugly shape in the reaches of his mind. That would not be a good thing, he reckoned, spending over half a year traveling this far only to run out of food before the end of their quest. At least right now, they had water, but for how long was another question.
He looked around the sputtering fire. Kirin was asleep in his bedroll, looking as peaceful and content as ever he could, his golden mane spilling across the ground like wheat. The Seer was sleeping as well, face in his arms, blind-eye closed to the sun, and Kerris wondered what it would be like to have such a limitation. Then again, the man saw in many other ways so perhaps it wasn’t a problem. Ursa, he assumed, hadn’t slept at all, as she sat cross-legged, watching everything with her sharp eyes. She was staring at him, now. He grinned and shook his head. The woman was relentless.
“Good morning, love,” he said quietly. “Would you like me to put on the tea?”<
br />
“Yes,” she answered.
“Did you keep watch all night?” He rummaged through his pack, pulled out a package wrapped in oil-cloth, began to undo the string.
“Yes.”
The wrappings parted to reveal a large amount of dates, ideal food for desert crossings. He peeled one away from the rest and popped it in his mouth.
“Mm, wonderful. Here, this will take the edge off your belly.”
“I value the edge in my belly.”
He grinned again. “I’m sure you do, love. But it may be awhile before we get anything richer. I might venture a fishing hook or two in that river.”
“That is a good idea.”
He found the kettle now, filled it with water from the skins, tossed in a handful of dried tea leaves and set it in the fire to boil. He began to assemble the cups.
“Any luck with your Seer?”
“He’s not mine and no, still nothing. I let him sleep.”
“Kind of you.”
“He is not a soldier.”
“No, he’s not.”
“Neither are you.”
“That is true.”
He had made it a point not to look at her, to busy himself with the fire and the tea and the preparation of his hooks, and he wondered at her easy conversations this morning. It had to mean something, but with Ursa, one never got too far. Still, he found himself curious and enjoying it.
“It is not his fault,” she went on. “There has been no discipline for his soul out here. It is too busy.”
“I see.” When, in fact, he didn’t.
“Solomon is not trying. Or maybe he is dead.”
To Walk in the Way of Lions Page 17