“But my brothers and sisters, think of it! What if all our kind stood united once more, as we know we once were at the dawn of history. When our race was united, we achieved things of which we cannot even dream now. What we could do, with the knowledge and powers that we have gained over the ages, would be limitless.” He clenched his fist in frustration as he paced before them. “The Way now takes us on a path that is an infinite loop, a journey that leads us nowhere, and with no purpose other than to simply fight and die. We no longer even have the old gods to whom we can pray. Our souls are empty vessels that, perhaps, this child could help fill. She could give us purpose beyond maintaining an infernal equilibrium, and change our path to one that actually leads us to something greater.”
“The Way is a circle because that is what keeps our race alive, Ayan-Dar.” Yet another voice, one of the senior priestesses, spoke. “All is in balance here on the Homeworld, and even between the Homeworld and the Settlements after the last conclave decided to divide the orders and send three to the Settlements. The Way as we have followed it has allowed us to survive and not destroy ourselves as nearly happened in the Final Annihilation of the Second Age, which swept away the last remnants of the old ways.” She held up her hands, showing her gleaming black talons. “We are not beings of peace. War and battle are in our very blood, it is part of what we are. There is nothing beyond the path we follow, because to do anything else would lead to our inevitable destruction. The Final Annihilation at the end of the Second Age was proof enough. That was the pinnacle of achievement of our forebears. Those few who survived that cataclysm lived in caves underground, as do the Ka’i-Nur still, for a thousand cycles before they could again venture out upon the surface. The Way as it is now was fashioned then, to save us from ourselves.”
“And what purpose would the priesthoods serve?” Another spoke up. “We now have a clear reason for existence: to teach the Way to those who shall come after us, and to defend the Homeworld from the Settlements, just as the three orders that now live among the stars defend them from us.” He looked around at the others. “What need is there for us if the race is united?”
That brought a strong murmur of agreement, and Ayan-Dar felt his blood begin to boil. He fought the urge to draw his sword and challenge them all to ritual combat. “That,” he told them, his voice rising above theirs, “is what you are truly afraid of, is it not? You are not so concerned with the fate of our race, but with our own place in the world! We control the Way, we control the lives of those who live beyond the temples through the training we give them in the kazhas. And yet we abandon them by not involving ourselves with their affairs when those beyond our grounds are plagued with hardship and suffering, as many are now in this honorless time.”
“That is enough, Ayan-Dar!” T’ier-Kunai’s sharp words plunged the gathering into instant silence. “I called this gathering so you could voice your thoughts and discuss what has transpired, and what you believe, with the peers, and to help me decide if I should call for a conclave of the orders. But your last words take you on a path that will lead to the Kal'ai-Il if you do not curb your tongue.”
For a moment, Ayan-Dar felt a bloody rage take him, the bloodlust that was the warrior’s call to battle, the same bloodlust that had doomed his race to endless cycles of bloodshed.
And he was not the only one. The others of the priesthood were incensed with him, and he could feel their emotions echoing in his blood.
With a mighty effort of will he spoke, his voice far calmer than he felt. “Brothers and sisters, you know that I mean you no offense. But I believe these words, hard as they may be to hear, to be true.” Before T’ier-Kunai could say anything, he quickly went on. “When I say that this is an honorless time, I mean that very literally. I speak of the Dark Queen, Syr-Nagath. May I remind you of the words the keeper of the Ka’i-Nur said to me after she had told me the words of the prophecy of the child. She said, ‘One of our own, not of your six precious bloodlines, is destined to rule over all. She shall restore the Ka’i-Nur to their rightful place, as was the way in ancient times.’ I believe she was referring to Syr-Nagath, who came from the Great Wastelands.”
“That very well may be so, Ayan-Dar, but it changes nothing about the way the orders conduct their affairs, and our strict non-interference with the world beyond the temples and what is taught in the kazhas.” T’ier-Kunai was furious with him, but he did not care.
“We may have to reconsider that, my priestess,” he told her, “if, when she unites T’lar-Gol, she turns upon us.”
“She would not dare.” The reaction of the others of the priesthood ranged from outright guffaws to eye-rolling disbelief that one of their own would even consider such a possibility.
Ayan-Dar looked at the high priestess, whom he had known and cherished for a very long time. “If she is of the Ka’i-Nur, as I suspect, do you not think her gaze will fall upon this temple soon after she conquers the lands beyond the Eastern Sea and to the south? What would happen to your precious equilibrium if one of the orders, ours, was destroyed?” He looked at the others, who had grown thoughtful at his words. It was clear such a possibility had never occurred to any of them. “In this room are the most powerful warriors of our race, here on the Homeworld or among the Settlements. This is no mere boast, for we have proven it over the ages in every battle and war in which we have fought.
“But our numbers are few, far fewer than the other orders.” He paused. “Were an army of millions, armed like the warriors we fought at Ka’i-Nur, to march upon this temple, could we prevail against them?”
Turning back to T’ier-Kunai, he knelt and rendered a salute. “I have spoken my heart and mind, high priestess of the Desh-Ka. I thank you for your indulgence.”
Then he stood and calmly strode out of the chamber.
* * *
Leaning against the ancient stone rail that ran around the circumference of the massive dais of the Kal'ai-Il, Ayan-Dar looked to the southeast, in the direction of Keel-A’ar. Above, the great moon glowed, its light softly illuminating the buildings of the temple that sprawled across the plateau.
He glanced up at the shining orb, wondering at the beauty of something that had been so utterly savaged. The moon had been inhabited long ago, before the last great war that brought the Second Age to a close and very nearly destroyed their race. All who had lived upon the great moon had perished, victims of the terrible vengeance their enemies on the Homeworld had wrought after the moon dwellers had used enormous projectiles as kinetic weapons. In a final orgy of destruction, the armies of the Homeworld reduced the surface of the moon to little more than ash, and it had never been resettled in all the millennia that had since passed.
As he turned his eyes back to the world on which he stood, he had a clear view to a vast distance, and could see the lights of the cities and towns that dotted the landscape in the darkness. There dwelled those who toiled as porters of water, or seamstresses, armorers, builders, and the many other castes. But precious few warriors were there now to safeguard them and their offspring. Those who were born to the sword were now dying in droves in the current great war.
More troubling was that something was wrong, deeply wrong, in the east, beyond his growing concerns about the Dark Queen. He could sometimes sense a voice in his blood, a spiritual song that weakened day by day, that was nothing now but agony and desperate honor. And fear. Gut-wrenching, never-ending fear. The blood from which the song sprang was unfamiliar to him, and he very much would have liked to investigate.
He scraped his talons over the ancient stone in frustration, for he could not interfere in whatever was happening. He dared not even cast out his second sight to try and find the one whose song cried out, for he was already well beyond any reasonable measure of tolerance T’ier-Kunai need show toward him. Indeed, she was in danger of dishonoring herself by not punishing him, and that would have been a shame that he simply could not bear.
He sensed T’ier-Kunai approaching. “Should I shac
kle myself to the Kal'ai-Il, high priestess? If you punish me now, then perhaps I will earn myself the privilege of another foolish adventure.”
“Do not speak such words to me.” She came to stand beside him, folding an armored hand over his. “You know that would break my heart, you old fool.”
“I do not mean to bring grief upon you, T’ier-Kunai. I trust you realize that.”
“Of course I do. But you put me in a difficult position.” She squeezed his hand. “I am at my limit, Ayan-Dar. I can tolerate no more of this, not before the peers.”
“I know, my priestess. And I thank you for your tolerance.” He glanced at her face. In his eyes, her beauty matched her powers and skills as a warrior. Had he been younger, much younger, he would have sought her as a consort. He pushed the thought aside. He was far too old for such things now. “I take it there will be no conclave.”
“No, there will not. But I did command the keeper to consult with his peers in the other orders, even those among the Settlements, for any more insights into the prophecies of Anuir-Ruhal’te.”
Ayan-Dar grinned, his fangs glittering in the moonlight. “So, you believe me at least that much.”
“If I did not believe you, I never would have allowed you to even go to Keel-A’ar, let alone to the fortress of the Ka’i-Nur.” She turned to face him. “You must understand that it matters not whether I believe you, but that I am high priestess of this order. You are telling the peers that the very foundation upon which our civilization is built may crumble beneath their feet, all because of a child foretold in a prophecy by an oracle who passed from history ages ago.” She shook her head. “You ask them — you ask me — to step out into an abyss, offering nothing but uncertainty and yet another prophecy that tells of ages-long suffering and doom.”
“I wish I had more, my priestess. I would give my remaining arm and eye — my very life! — to have more to tell, more proof that I could offer the peers. But I fear that the proof, when it finally comes, will lead to our undoing if we are not prepared to deal with it.”
“What would you have me do?”
Ayan-Dar growled, a sign of frustration and resignation, an evil brew of emotions in a warrior such as he. “I would have you request that Kunan-Lohr and Ulana-Tath let us raise the child in our creche, that we may ensure her safety, and see what comes to pass as she grows. And I would deal with the Dark Queen before the greatest of her designs, whatever foul things they may be, came to fruition.”
“And I would take the eyestones from a genoth with nothing more than my teeth.” They both chortled at such an absurdity. After a moment, her voice serious, she went on, “You know that I can grant neither of those things. And I forbid you to leave the temple for the next moon cycle. Neither your body nor your mind. Spend some time sharing your wisdom with the acolytes, as priests are supposed to do.” She huffed with amusement. “Consider that as your punishment.”
Ayan-Dar glanced at the looming shackles that hung from the arch of the Kal'ai-Il behind him. “I would rather be whipped and set free to do mischief, but I will do as you command, high priestess of the Desh-Ka.”
CHAPTER TEN
Kunan-Lohr stood at the edge of the trees that ringed the camp where he had decided they would spend the night. He was weary of the long journey, and silently wished he possessed the powers of the Desh-Ka priesthood that allowed them to magically whisk themselves from one place to another. Or some of the technology that had long been known to his kind, but was thought dishonorable to use beyond things such as wheeled carts.
All I ask is a simple vehicle to convey me from one place to another without jarring loose my insides. He snorted in disgust, both at the strictures of the Way and his own mind in wishing for such creature comforts. It was not becoming of a warrior.
He looked to the east, and his thoughts turned grim. Against the emotional tumult of the Dark Queen’s conquest, he could feel some nameless fear approaching closer with each passing day. Except for those closest to him in heart or blood, he did not have the clarity to sense a particular individual from the many millions of voices that sang among those born of the same bloodline. But he could not shake the sense that the one who approached did so with purpose, that he or she was seeking him out. It was a dark companion to the dread he had felt since he and Ulana-Tath had left their daughter behind in Keel-A’ar.
Then there was the tumult in the spiritual voices some days ago, when a handful of incredibly powerful spirits surged above even the emotional tides from the eastern war. Kunan-Lohr and the others of his party had never before sensed such raw power, and he instinctively knew that priests of the Desh-Ka must have been involved. He was thankful he had not been any closer, for the intensity of rage and bloodlust had nearly incapacitated him and the others for a time.
It was an ill omen, as Ulana-Tath had whispered when they had all regained their wits.
“What beauty do you see in the night that takes you from your consort, great master of Keel-A’ar?”
Ulana-Tath had come to stand beside him, taking his arm in hers. Beyond the thoughts which troubled him, it was a beautiful night, with the stars shining bright and the great moon just rising above the horizon. Behind them, the fire of their camp blazed, and the rest of his party of fifteen warriors sat around it, eating and drinking ale. All save the four sentries, who stood watch at a distance where the fire, noise, and smoke would not hinder their ability to sense anyone approaching the camp.
“There is no beauty in the night or day that could long part me from you.” He pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. They had both removed their armor earlier, and now wore only their warm black undergarments. The warmth of her body against his felt good, helping to ward off the slight chill of the night. But even her presence beside him failed to dispel the sense of impending doom that gripped his heart.
“I feel it, too,” Ulana-Tath whispered. “Something dark approaches. It is close now, very close.”
Kunan-Lohr nodded. Ulana-Tath had a better perception of the emotional songs in her heart than did he.
She rested her head against his shoulder. “And I fear for Keel-Tath, my love. ”
“Anin-Khan will protect her.” It was not an empty reassurance. Kunan-Lohr, too, was worried, but not for the immediate physical safety of his daughter. His concern reached ahead in the cycles to come, when Keel-Tath would have to make her way in the world, clearly standing out as unique among a race that was based on similarity and continuity. “Every warrior in the city and the non-warrior castes would stand to defend her, and the city is safe from anything but an assault by an army of legions.” He paused. “I suspect the Desh-Ka priest may be keeping watch, as well.”
“Even if he is, you know he cannot interfere. They have such powers, like the gods of old.” She shook her head with sadness. “But they keep to themselves in their temple, immune and uncaring toward the fate of the world except when the Settlements come to call, or we carry war to the stars.”
“Perhaps it is for the best.” Kunan-Lohr held her closer and lowered his voice. “I do not wish to imagine the powers of the ancient orders in the hands of one such as the Dark Queen.”
Before Ulana-Tath could respond, they heard a signal from the sentry posted to watch over the main road.
Someone was approaching.
* * *
Nil’a-Litan had lost count of how long she had traveled since leaving the queen’s encampment on her mission to warn her master of the plot to kill his daughter. She had ridden day and night, stopping only long enough to acquire fresh animals and force herself to eat, using her master’s Sign of Authority to get whatever she needed before moving on. The only sleep she had allowed herself had been in the saddle, binding her thighs to one of the cinch straps that ran under her mount’s belly before she slumped over the magthep’s shoulders. The beast always slowed to a leisurely walk when she passed out, but kept moving westward on the road. Toward Nil’a-Litan’s master.
While he
alers had treated her injured shoulder, the healing gel they applied could not perform miracles while she was in motion, flexing the wound. The pain was agonizing, the ends of the severed bones grinding, and the slashed muscles were unable to mend. But she would accept nothing that would kill the pain, for that would dull her senses or force her to sleep. The last healer had simply looked at the wound and shaken her head, unwilling to apply more of the precious gel. That, more than any mere words, told Nil’a-Litan all she needed to know.
She was dying.
Death was something she would embrace with joy when the time came, but not before she warned her master. She could feel a spreading numbness in her legs, and beyond the fiery pain in her shoulder, the arm on that side was nothing more then a rod of useless and dying flesh. The skin had changed from its normal brilliant cobalt blue to black, the color of the mourning marks that now flowed down her cheeks from her eyes.
As fast as she was moving, it was barely fast enough. Three times had she caught sight of the riders the queen had sent, a rapidly moving column weaving through the ever-present traffic on the great road that was the main link between the eastern and western parts of T’lar-Gol. There were other roads, but this was the most direct path leading home to Keel-A’ar, and would be the road her master would be on, heading toward her. She could not let the queen’s riders catch her, she could not let them pass. Otherwise her suffering would have been for nothing, and her master would be caught unaware.
She had focused on the melodies that ran through her blood, trying to filter out the millions of voices that held no interest for her, trying to find the only one that now mattered. It was not an act born of special training or gifts, but an act of desperate will. Her entire life, every moment that she had lived, everything she had learned, was now focused on finding Kunan-Lohr.
In Her Name: The First Empress: Book 01 - From Chaos Born Page 12