Authors: H. Leighton Dickson
“We all do things we shouldn’t,
sidi,”
said Kirin.
The jaguar fell silent.
“Necromancy is a dark art,” said
Sireth. “It involves the trading of souls. Yahn, you said Setse would live if
you died. What do you mean by that?”
The jaguar sighed. “We were
crossing the bridge and the attack came. It was going to kill her, to crush her
soul and take her life. I felt it so clearly…”
Sitting next to him, Setse laid
her head on his shoulder.
“So I asked it to crush mine
instead. It was a good trade.”
“Not good trade,” the Oracle
grumbled.
Nevye sighed.
“You should kill me now,” he
said. “My life has been given to the Eyes. They control my destiny.”
“Maybe not,” said the Seer.
“You know they do. How did I
make those markings on the stone? Why?”
No one had an answer for him,
save the one he already knew.
“What if I take a sword, try to
kill any of you?” He shook his head, sighed. “You should kill me now.”
The Oracle slipped herself under
his arm. Ursa growled at them, her long marbled tail lashing behind her back.
“And you,
sidala?”
the
Seer asked, turning to the Alchemist. “Whose soul did you trade for his?”
Sherah said nothing.
The jaguar looked over at her.
“Whose soul did you trade for
mine?”
“My own,” she said quietly.
“No, no, no,” Setse moaned.
“Therefore, I will trade for
hers,” said Kirin. “It was my wish, after all.”
“I’m quite certain that was the
point,” said the Seer. “They make Khans out of the body of a lion, imagine what
an Oracle like this could do with the soul of one.”
The Irh-Khan growled, turned to
Sherah, spoke quickly. She looked up.
“The eyes,” she said. “The
Oracle wants the Shogun-General’s eyes.”
Kirin grunted.
“If it’s an eye he wants, he is
welcome to one. I know two leopards who would be delighted to make me a patch.”
He grinned at the thought. “One made of
Kamachada
iron with daggers or
blades or barbs of some nefarious sort.”
And he flexed the Teeth of the
Dragon. Claws of steel shone in the moonlight.
Sireth benAramis smiled at his
friend.
“We may be able to avoid such
things. Our clever Scholar has a plan.”
They all looked at him.
“It will require sacrifice on
all our parts, dedication and will and honour and perhaps even blood…”
Ursa spat on the ground but they
were all silent as his words sunk in.
“We have three days,” Kirin said
quietly.
They looked at him.
“Three days until the New Year.
The Year of the Dragon is almost upon us and a Dragon year is one of fire.
There will be no peace in a Dragon year.”
The claws slipped back into his
gloves and he set his jaw. It had been broken so long ago.
“Three days, then, to follow the
Rabbit and make peace with our enemies.”
“Cat,” purred the Alchemist. “In
Namyanese, it is the Year of the Cat.”
Kirin grunted.
“It is fitting, then. We have
three days left in the Year of the Cat to make peace with the Dogs.”
***
“Well, I just want to thank
you for getting me my clothes. Not that it was cold in there or anything but,
well, I’m just used to wearing clothes. Animals, now they don’t have a problem
not wearing clothes, but people, well there’s just something about people that
makes them want to wear clothes. My name is Fallon Waterford-Grey by the way,
Scholar in the Court of Empress Thothloryn Parillaud Markova Wu,
Twelfth Empress of the Fangxieng Dynasty, Matriarch of
Pol’Lhasa and Most Blessed Ruler of the Upper Kingdom. I am honoured to
meet you.”
And
she bowed, fist to cupped palm.
Damaris
Ward blinked slowly, tried to bow but it felt strange, bowing to an animal. But
once she had uploaded the translation algorithm for IAR Chinese into her feed,
she had to admit the animal could not in fact be called an animal, for she was
speaking— communicating at a level as high, if not higher than many of
the residents of CD Shendoh.
“Damaris Ward, Head of
Security. I am…honoured to meet you too.”
“Damaris. That’s a pretty
name. It means gentle, I think. You don’t really look gentle, though. You look
strong.” The young woman rubbed her round belly. “Ooh, I’m hungry. Is there any
food and by food, I mean fruit? Like an orange or a pear? Not a pineapple and
certainly not those disgusting blood-infused paste slices which might be fine
for animals, but even then, not really. And maybe tea? A big cup of Hindayan
tea? I do like it with milk and honey but if you don’t have any that’s fine.
Milk and honey, that is, ‘cause it’s not fine if you don’t have tea. Tea is
really important, even if it’s clear. My mother would drink clear tea but not
me. Nope, I like my milk and honey! Have you seen my husband?”
They were in the main lab,
out of the quarantine cell, and she was surrounded by the staff. They had
brought her clothing and she had dressed quickly, the many layers of silk,
linen and wool and silk a colourful contrast to the drab jumpsuits of
residential living. It was a good thing the creature was friendly for it seemed
the staff couldn’t help but touch her. Her pelt was indeed like a tiger’s,
thick and warm and very soft.
“Your husband is in another
compound,” Ward said, hoping the grey was still alive. “He’ll be here soon.”
“And Solomon? Is he in a
compound too?” She blinked eagerly and Ward could not help but look away.
“He is with our Supervisors.
Debriefing.” Ward turned to the staff. “Find some fruit and get the Compound on
the Feed now. Go!”
They scattered, leaving the
Security chief with Dell, Persis and the young ‘tiger woman’ who called herself
Fallon.
“De-bree-fing,” said the
woman. “That’s a word I’ve never heard. What does it mean?”
“One moment,” said Ward, and
she raised a hand to the back of her skull. “Where are you? Why? No, don’t.
Don’t you dare! Jeff7? Jeff, no!” She stamped her foot.
“
Gāisǐ!”
The three looked up at her.
She didn’t know what to say.
“There is about to be an
incident,” she said quickly. “I have to go—”
A labkeeper peered in the
room.
“Jiān Ward?”
“What?!”
“The sword is moving…”
“A sword? What sword?”
“Ooh,” said Fallon. “My
husband’s sword? The katanah?”
“Yuh,
señorita.
It’s
banging against the ceiling in the next lab…”
The tiger woman blinked
again.
“He must be calling it and if
he’s calling it, then it’s important. Are you sure he’s alright?”
The screens above them, which
provided the yellow light, flickered.
Damaris Ward swung on Dell
and Sengupta.
“Find her husband. Get him
out of that compound now!”
If Jeffery Solomon was in
fact doing what he said he was doing, all hell was about to break loose,
unleashing all manner of wild on CD Shenandoah.
The Army of Blood
Ten Thousand Dog Soldiers
running at dawn is an impressive, awe-inspiring thing. In fact, it is a
terrifying thing, as they move like a sandstorm or thunderclouds or hail. They
are unstoppable and they trample everything in their path. From horizon to
horizon, they cover the Plateau of Tevd, heading south and rippling like the
shadows of night. They move around the Deer Stones that interrupt their path,
flowing around them the same way swift-moving water flows around rocks.
For hour upon hour, the Plateau
echoes with their footfall, rumbles like the strongest earthstorm, raising
clouds of yellow dust that carry on up to the skies. To witness such a sight is
holy, for it speaks well of the power and might of the
Chanyu,
the
Kingdom of the People of the Wolf.
One day apart and to the south,
it is the same story.
Seven thousand horses trotting
at dawn is an impressive, awe-inspiring thing. In fact, it is a terrifying
thing, as they move like a sandstorm or thunderclouds or hail. They are
unstoppable and they trample everything in their path. From horizon to horizon,
they cover the Plateau of Tevd heading north and rippling like the shadows of
night. They move around the Deer Stones that interrupt their path, flowing
around them the same way swift-moving water flows around rocks.
The Army of Blood is no longer a
dragon but a tsunami perhaps seventy across and hundreds deep. At the head, a
Grey Ghost on a mountain pony, a monkey to one side of him, a tigress to the
other. For hour upon hour, the Plateau echoes with their hoofbeats, rumbles
like the strongest earthstorm, raising clouds of yellow dust that carry on up
to the skies. To witness such a sight is holy, for it speaks well of the might
of the Upper and Eastern Kingdoms and the power of the dream of Unity.
Between these two armies, at a
large mound of One Hundred Stones, a man stands alone on a plain. He is
practicing
Chai’Chi’Chuan
, a dance with swords. He is
Shah’tyriah
,
the highest warrior caste of the Upper Kingdom and he dances with both
katanah
and
kodai’chi.
The Blood Fang and the Jade Fang are his
brothers. The only music that of his breathing and it is controlled and
disciplined and counted. His mind is free as his body moves through the stances
in the thin hazy air of Tevd. He is wearing no armour, only linen and wool and
a tattered golden sash. His hands are bare, the clawless tips shine white in
the bright morning sun. His tail is free of Scales, free of brace or gold or
silken thread. From his head, a cue of golden mane ripples like a banner in the
wind and the swords flash and sing like music.
A dog sits on the mound of Deer
Stones, watching, and knows, in his heart of hearts, that everything has
changed. Behind him high on the mound, hidden and private, a cat and a dog are
lovers. It is quiet and sad, for they know they will likely not live to see the
next morning and he wonders at the road that led them together. Three cats and
a dog have gone north toward the Army of the Khan to kill the Eyes of Jia’Khan
and he is left here, with the lion that moves like poetry. He wonders if he
could ever move like the lion, where steel and bone are one. Swift knows that
for him, for the Irh-Khan of the Bear, he is a changed man and nothing will
ever be the same again.
His sword lies at the lion’s
feet. It is long and curved like a creek. They have not given it to him because
he is their enemy and they are right in not trusting him. He looks over his
shoulder at the runners, tied to the stones with cords of black silk and
remembers the Singer, leaning into them as if in a kiss, as if drawing the
breaths from their very mouths. Her eyes look very black after that but the
runners no longer strain or curse. In fact, it is as if they are dazed and they
remain slumped against the stones like dead men.
He feels the lion’s eyes upon
him, bluer than the moondown sky and he holds the gaze, allowing himself to be
measured. He is a warrior still—Irh-Khan of the Khan of Khans and he
knows that, like the lovers, he too will not likely live to see the next
morning. It has been a good life, but he wonders at the people over the years,
regrets not knowing the lives of those he has killed. He wonders now if he is
the one who is captured. His sword is at the feet of a lion, after all.
The lion moves his foot and the
curved sword flies through the air. Swift catches it by the grip, holds it in
his hand. He has never named it. It is just a sword, taken from a fallen rival
years ago. It is not beautiful but it is effective. He would name it Blood
River, or just River, if he were that kind of man.
The lion gestures and Swift
rises to his feet. And so dog joins lion on the early morning plain of Tevd as
the lion teaches the dog to dance.
***
There was a small circle of
seven Deer Stones in the middle of the north plateau and for the better part of
the day, the Ten Thousand flowed past. There were no stragglers. Stragglers
were not permitted in the Khargan’s Ten Thousand. The last soldier in the pack
would be beaten severely with sticks on the soles of his feet. He would never
be slow again, no matter how his feet might bleed. Life as one of the Legions
of the Khan was as brutal as it was glorious. Only the hardest and the best
found homes there.
The seven Deer Stones waited for the last wave of the Ten
Thousand to pass, waited for the better part of the day until the last of them
disappeared on the horizon. Then, they moved, stepping out and stretching to
the skies. Horses rose and shook the dust from their manes, snorted and
stretched and yawned. They began to amble away in search of dried grass, snow
or mice.
Naranbataar flopped onto his
back.
“How possible?” he muttered in
halting Imperial. “I live with Setse my life but never believe I could people
so hide.”
The Last Seer of
Sha’Hadin
smiled, understanding the sentiment as he stretched his long arms to the sun.
“Our Alchemist,” he said. “She
is a mistress of many skills.”
“Kunoi’chi,”
growled the
Major but she too stretched like the
Chai’Chi
mistress that she was. “
Ninjhustu
boasts a deadly skill set.”
“Merely illusion. A common skill
set for a woman,” purred Sherah al Shiva and she arched her long, strong body
like a bow. “Men see what they wish to see. They are easily deceived.”
Ursa snorted but did not
disagree.
“You ice powder hide us,” said
the dog and he pushed up on his elbows. “In mountains below Wall. Ice powder,
silk, magic.”
“Of course.” She turned her
proud face to the Seer. “Swift said the Oracles cannot run like the Army. They
move as they move and make camp at night with the Khargan.”
“He will be dead before
tonight,” said Ursa and she pulled her dual swords, flashed them in the thin
air of Tevd.
Sherah’s eyes were almost black.
“The Oracles will know we are here.”
“But the Khargan won’t,” said
Sireth. The blackness had only ringed one of his. “He will be expecting the
Oracle to help him defeat the Captain—”
“Shogun-General,” corrected
Ursa.
“Shogun-General, my mistake, but
the Oracle will be dead.”
“We stop Oracle so lion stop
Khan,” said Naranbataar. “But lion not kill Khan.”
“That,” said the Seer. “Is up to
the Khan.”
“Khargan not join,” said the
dog. “Khargan fight to death.”
“Let him,” growled Ursa. “The
Shogun-General and the Army of Blood will crush him.”
“Perhaps,” said the Seer. “But
that is not our battle. We have only one task.”
She snorted again, but lifted
her swords to the sun and one by one, they turned to the north to wait for the
Eyes of Jia’Khan.
***
An eerie yellow dust rose from
the earth as the Ten Thousand made the Field of One Hundred Stones. It was
early evening, the air was unnaturally still and the sky was golden with the
dying of the sun and very hazy with yellow dust. They had slowed to a walk once
the Stones had come into view because visibility was limited and the Stones
were everywhere. It had been a long run and they were tired but the scent of
cats and horses was overpowering and all thoughts of bedrolls or khava or horns
of wotcha were forgotten.
ala Asalan
in hand, the
Khargan moved onto the mound, sending several betas ahead to secure the Stones.
He could hear the sliding of his army’s steel, could hear the creak of
bowstrings being drawn but there was no sound louder than the rush of his blood
in his veins.
“Lord!”
He whirled, spied a beta between
the massive stones and marched over to his side. Two runners lay slumped
against a stone and the smell of wotchka was thick on their breaths. He nudged
them with his boot. They did not respond.
“They were insubordinate,” came
a familiar voice and he turned to see Long-Swift sitting at the edge of the
mound, sword across his knees. “I corrected them.”
“Long-Swift? What are you
saying?”
“They wanted to kill the lion,
Lord. I would not let them.”
And he nodded with his chin into
the south plain where a figure was barely visible in the yellow haze.
The Bear grunted and stepped
forward, narrowing his eyes against the thickness of the dust. It was an Enemy
in blood-red armour astride a blood-red horse. The animal was dancing on the
spot, tossing its head and champing its bit and the Khan felt a rush in the pit
of his stomach.
“You are certain it is a lion?”
“It is a lion.”
The Khargan looked to his left
then to his right. A wall was formed as the Ten Thousand lined up to flank him.
They seemed to go from horizon to horizon but he knew they were perhaps five
hundred wide, twenty deep and he could see the bows and swords drawn,
halah’bards and spears and axes gripped in powerful double-handed fashion.
Beyond them, the Plateau of Tevd extended even farther, meeting dark mountains
and Enemy walls but even the mountains were impossible to see for the clouds of
yellow dust.
“Is there an army?”
“You can smell it.”
“The dust is too thick. It is their
Magic.”
“Yes.”
“We have Magic of our own.”
“Where are the Eyes?”
“They come.” The Bear snorted,
unclipping the
kushagamak
from his hip. “They always come.”
***
It was twilight when the
lurching form of the Eyes of Jia’Khan came into view on the Plateau of Tevd. He
was surrounded by a Legion, sixty soldiers walking as slowly as he. In fact,
Mi-Hahn had spied them early on and Sireth had seen them a long way off. He
knew the Oracles felt him too and they skirted the edges of each other’s minds
like shadows of night. He could hear their voices try to enter, kept them out
but it was like stopping oil with the hands. Everything was blackened in time.
“That was unexpected,” growled
Ursa and she hiked her swords high. “They will have archers.”
“We have an archer,” said Sireth
and he looked at the dog. Naranbataar bit his lip.
“Not enough arrows,” he said.
“We have enough,” purred Sherah
and she wrapped black silk around her face.
The Legion was a wall but the
Oracles towered above them all, a massive silhouette in the yellow dusk. Sireth
was amazed at its size, bigger even than a bear, and he wondered if it was a
natural race of dog or whether the Dark Arts enabled such an unnatural thing.
Shouting went up as the Legion spied them and weapons glinted in the distance.
“Xiao,”
said Ursa to her
horse. “Forever, you are Brave.”
Together, they drove their heels
and three cats, three horses and one dog bolted toward the Eyes of Jia’Khan.
***
Out of the yellow haze, three
more shapes emerged on either side of the lion.
They were little more than
golden silhouettes holding banners high over their heads. There was no wind and
the dust hovered like a blanket, making breathing difficult in the thin air.
The Khargan narrowed his eyes, cursed this dust, knew it was unnatural and
wondered which of the Magic he was seeing before him. There were three horses.
One carried a cat, one carried a monkey and the third…
He growled and looked at
Long-Swift.
“Is that a dog?”
The Irh-Khan was on his feet
next to him.
“The Oracle of Karan Uurt.”
“The little girl?” He grinned.
“She is riding with a cat?”
“A yellow cat. Yes, Lord.”
“Perfect. We will use one spear
to kill them both.”
“Can Magic die at the end of a
spear?”
“We shall find that out.”
There was a ripple from the Ten Thousand
as the blood red horse danced forward. The Lion raised a fist and his voice,
the girl translating a heartbeat behind.
“People of the Wolf,” their
voices echoed across the Plateau. “We come on behalf of Thothloryn Parillaud
Markova Wu,
Twelfth Empress of the Fangxieng Dynasty,
Matriarch of
Pol’Lhasa
and Most Blessed Ruler of the Upper Kingdom.
We come on behalf of
Amiratsu, Ojin, Nihon and Wa, Rising Suns of the
Capuchin Council, and His Most Revered Excellency Emperor Hiro Watanabe of the
Forbidden City
,
Eastern Kingdom.”
“May the Sun always rise,” said
the monkey.
“We wish peace with Khan
Baitsuhkhan, First Khan of Khans. Son of the White Wolf, Father of the Jackal.
Ruler of all the
Chanyu
in the North.”
There was no sound but the rush
of blood in his veins.
“Ancestors are rising in the
West. We have seen them.
You
have seen their star in the Year of the
Tiger. The star that woke all Kingdoms and announced the Ancestors’ return to
the world of men.”