Read Online The Way of Things: Upper Kingdom Boxed Set: Books 1, 2 and 3 in the Tails of the Upper Kingdom by H. Leighton Dickson - Free Book Online
Authors: H. Leighton Dickson
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and grey fur did it stop, just short of breaking the pelt. Behind and at
the other end of it, hovering above him, Major Ursa Laenskaya stood grinning.
“Need
help?”
“Doing quite fine on my own,
actually, love,” Kerris said, delicately picking himself off the well-sharpened
point and rolling out from under it. “I had him thoroughly confounded.”
“I’ll
be sure to tell your brother.”
With
a push of her high boot heel, Ursa sent the jaguar’s corpse rolling down the
cliff face. They both watched until it was little more than puffs of sandstone
far, far below.
“You
sure he was dead?”
She
sheathed her weapon.
“He is now.”
The
surviving guard was awaiting them at the over-turned cart. He and Ursa each
grabbed a corner and, like its unfortunate owner, it was dumped unceremoniously
down the mountain, wood and wheels and feathers raining in its wake. Ursa seemed
to take morbid pleasure it watching it go.
“All
those poor little chickens.” Kerris shook his head. “Really Ursa, now I see why
you wear white.”
She
mounted her horse in one smooth motion.
“Why?”
“The
blood shows up so much better.”
Her
smile was as terrifying as it was beautiful. She tossed her head and headed
out, the surviving leopard leading the spare horse behind. Kerris whistled for
Quiz and followed.
***
Kirin growled at the sight.
“I can’t believe this.”
“Oh!” he heard Fallon Waterford
exclaim. “Oh my, that’s terrible!”
There, on the narrow path before
them, lay an over-turned ox-cart.
He
rubbed his forehead. He was getting a headache.
With
a hand held high, he stopped the party and all horses ground to a halt. Two
elderly people, ocelots as old as the mountains, stood at the side of the road,
nodding and smiling gentle, toothless smiles. It was clear they were expecting
the Imperial party to come to their aid. Both oxen were still hitched, one
animal standing, the other lying quietly under tangled yoke and leathers.
Fruit, fresh and dried, had spilled from a split in the rough wood. Flies were
gathering.
The old man began to speak in the
ancient tongue of the Manda’Rhin, his voice hushed and breathless like the
language itself.
The
Captain growled under his breath once again, for he spoke little Manda’Rhin. This
was the perfect place for an ambush, he thought darkly. The mountain
climbing steeply above them, falling away sharply below. Small twisted cedars
grew at strange angles out of the slopes, and drifts of snow provided little
cover. But there were no warning bells, no little voices cautioning him to be
on alert. Moreover, alMassay was standing quiet and steady under his hand.
There
was a sound as Fallon pulled her horse up beside him.
“He
humbly asks us for help.”
“You
speak Manda’Rhin?”
“Oh
yes! Just don’t ask me to write early Dynastic poetry in it!” She laughed out
loud. “There are all kinds of books in the University. In every tongue you can
imagine. It’s a wonderful place, the University.”
“Tell
them we have no time.”
“S-sir?”
“We
have no time. The sun is already far too high in the sky. We will not make Sha’Hadin by nightfall.”
At
the mention of the monastery the old couple smiled anew, their small, moist
eyes bright with recognition. One of the oxen lowed miserably, thrashed its
forelegs as it tried to rise but sank back to the ruts in the road. The pair
were still nodding at him. Still smiling.
“I’m
sorry,” he began in slow Imperial. “We cannot help you.”
His
grinding teeth betrayed his words. The Scholar seemed to recognize this.
“Forgive
my boldness, sir,” she began tentatively, “But I think we should.”
“At the cost of another Seer’s
life, sidala?”
She swallowed and looked down at
her saddle.
“Sir, this morning, you said that
the security of the Empire was at stake...”
“It
is.”
“I
think...” she swallowed again. “I think that if we can’t help each other, then,
then, then
the other end of it, hovering above him, Major Ursa Laenskaya stood grinning.
“Need
help?”
“Doing quite fine on my own,
actually, love,” Kerris said, delicately picking himself off the well-sharpened
point and rolling out from under it. “I had him thoroughly confounded.”
“I’ll
be sure to tell your brother.”
With
a push of her high boot heel, Ursa sent the jaguar’s corpse rolling down the
cliff face. They both watched until it was little more than puffs of sandstone
far, far below.
“You
sure he was dead?”
She
sheathed her weapon.
“He is now.”
The
surviving guard was awaiting them at the over-turned cart. He and Ursa each
grabbed a corner and, like its unfortunate owner, it was dumped unceremoniously
down the mountain, wood and wheels and feathers raining in its wake. Ursa seemed
to take morbid pleasure it watching it go.
“All
those poor little chickens.” Kerris shook his head. “Really Ursa, now I see why
you wear white.”
She
mounted her horse in one smooth motion.
“Why?”
“The
blood shows up so much better.”
Her
smile was as terrifying as it was beautiful. She tossed her head and headed
out, the surviving leopard leading the spare horse behind. Kerris whistled for
Quiz and followed.
***
Kirin growled at the sight.
“I can’t believe this.”
“Oh!” he heard Fallon Waterford
exclaim. “Oh my, that’s terrible!”
There, on the narrow path before
them, lay an over-turned ox-cart.
He
rubbed his forehead. He was getting a headache.
With
a hand held high, he stopped the party and all horses ground to a halt. Two
elderly people, ocelots as old as the mountains, stood at the side of the road,
nodding and smiling gentle, toothless smiles. It was clear they were expecting
the Imperial party to come to their aid. Both oxen were still hitched, one
animal standing, the other lying quietly under tangled yoke and leathers.
Fruit, fresh and dried, had spilled from a split in the rough wood. Flies were
gathering.
The old man began to speak in the
ancient tongue of the Manda’Rhin, his voice hushed and breathless like the
language itself.
The
Captain growled under his breath once again, for he spoke little Manda’Rhin. This
was the perfect place for an ambush, he thought darkly. The mountain
climbing steeply above them, falling away sharply below. Small twisted cedars
grew at strange angles out of the slopes, and drifts of snow provided little
cover. But there were no warning bells, no little voices cautioning him to be
on alert. Moreover, alMassay was standing quiet and steady under his hand.
There
was a sound as Fallon pulled her horse up beside him.
“He
humbly asks us for help.”
“You
speak Manda’Rhin?”
“Oh
yes! Just don’t ask me to write early Dynastic poetry in it!” She laughed out
loud. “There are all kinds of books in the University. In every tongue you can
imagine. It’s a wonderful place, the University.”
“Tell
them we have no time.”
“S-sir?”
“We
have no time. The sun is already far too high in the sky. We will not make Sha’Hadin by nightfall.”
At
the mention of the monastery the old couple smiled anew, their small, moist
eyes bright with recognition. One of the oxen lowed miserably, thrashed its
forelegs as it tried to rise but sank back to the ruts in the road. The pair
were still nodding at him. Still smiling.
“I’m
sorry,” he began in slow Imperial. “We cannot help you.”
His
grinding teeth betrayed his words. The Scholar seemed to recognize this.
“Forgive
my boldness, sir,” she began tentatively, “But I think we should.”
“At the cost of another Seer’s
life, sidala?”
She swallowed and looked down at
her saddle.
“Sir, this morning, you said that
the security of the Empire was at stake...”
“It
is.”
“I
think...” she swallowed again. “I think that if we can’t help each other, then,
then, then
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