The warrior stood still for a moment, looking across the water. Dara-Kol was on her feet, standing ready to seize the rope. The far side was nothing but rock, with no surface into which the tip of the spear could sink.
The warrior stepped back several paces. Then, after taking a deep breath, he bolted toward the water, one arm held out before him, his spear arm held cocked by his head. A few paces before the water’s edge, he cast the spear forward with all his might, releasing it as momentum carried his body forward. He rolled on the rock and would have gone straight into the river had Kunan-Lohr and Eil’an-Kuhr not grabbed him.
The spear, with the rope trailing behind it, sailed up and over the water. On the far side, Dara-Kol stood as if she expected to capture it by letting it pierce her body.
With a metallic clang, the spear hit the rock on the far side a hands-breadth from Dara-Kol’s foot. She snatched it and pulled the rope taut to keep it out of the deadly water.
Again the warriors cheered, but their revelry was short-lived as the unmistakable sound of battle broke out at the rear of the column.
They had run out of time.
* * *
Dara-Kol slid free the rope that had been knotted around the spear and quickly tied it off in a large metal eye that had been sunk into a stone pillar that had long been used to support this end of the bridge. She would use this rope to pull across the others, but did not want to risk letting it slip back into the water.
One of the warriors on the far side gestured that the other ropes were ready, secured to the end of the first, and she began to haul them over. Her arms were a blur as she pulled hand over hand, hoping that the dreaded fish would ignore the ropes. They were heavy, and she could not keep them dipping into the river.
While the surface of the water twitched and sets of spiny fins emerged, the beasts left the ropes alone.
“Tie the thick one off at the bottom!”
She nodded understanding at the warrior’s shouted words and did as he commanded. Taking the thick rope, which was actually two that had quickly been twisted together to form the foot rope, she secured it to a metal eye near the base of the pillar.
On the opposite side, the warrior tested the knot for strength. Then a ten of warriors pulled on the foot rope, taking out the slack before the warrior tied a complex knot to hold it.
“Now the upper rope!”
Dara-Kol took the end of the remaining rope she had hauled over and secured it to another metal eye set at chest height and offset to the left. This rope would help the warriors keep their balance. Normally there would be a third rope on the right side, lattice strands from the foot rope to the hand ropes, and the foot rope would be far thicker, but there was no time now for finesse.
The warrior on the far side threaded the upper rope through the matching eye on that side, and the warriors behind him again pulled it tight before he tied it off.
The rope bridge would be treacherous to use, she knew, but at least it was strong. Made of a material similar to the black undergarments they all wore, a strand as big around as her smallest finger could support a ten of warriors easily over this distance. The rope they were using now was twice as thick, and the double-stranded foot rope was as big around as her wrist.
No, the rope would not break, and would hold as much weight as they chose to put on it.
The greatest danger they faced would be the simple, terrible fate of slipping and falling into the river.
* * *
Kunan-Lohr wasted no time. As soon as the final knot was tied off, he ordered, “Move across!”
The warrior who had thrown the spear and tied the knots was the first in line. He carried with him, bound in a satchel on his back, Dara-Kol’s armor and weapons. It was a perilous load to bear across the flimsy bridge as it bounced and swayed, but he kept his balance and made it across without incident.
As the warrior handed a grateful Dara-Kol her things, more warriors began following him across at a close interval. The rope bowed dangerously close to the water, and in the middle of the river actually dipped below the surface when one of the warriors lost his footing and nearly fell.
“Keep going.” Kunan-Lohr moved the warriors along as the sound of battle behind them grew louder. “Quickly! Quickly!”
One of the warriors on the bridge screamed as she lost her footing and fell. She managed to grab onto the foot rope, but the lower half of her body was in the water. The fish wasted no time in attacking, and the warrior shrieked as the ferocious creatures tore into her.
“Cut her loose!” Kunan-Lohr bellowed to the warriors now standing, paralyzed with fear, on either side of her on the bridge. His greatest fear now was not the fish, but that a hapless warrior such as this one would accidentally cut the foot or hand ropes with her talons.
Without hesitation, two warriors drew their swords and slashed at their fallen comrade’s forearms, severing them before flicking the amputated hands from the rope. The warrior disappeared into the churning, bloody water with a sickening gurgle.
Hardening his heart, Kunan-Lohr turned to the warriors who stood around him on the shore, transfixed by the horrid spectacle. “Keep moving.”
* * *
At the rear of the column, still on the winding, deadly trail, Eil’an-Kuhr led the warriors of Keel-A’ar in a ferocious battle with the forces the queen had sent in pursuit. At first she had thought it had been only a cohort of warriors. Then she had caught sight of the dense column of warriors flowing in their direction, much farther back on the trail.
“Inform our master that an entire legion is behind us,” she told a young warrior, who saluted before turning to run as fast as he could past his fellow warriors to reach Kunan-Lohr.
Eil’an-Kuhr hoped the warrior did not fall in his haste.
Moving forward, she took her place at the tail of the column where the fighting was. A pair of enemy warriors attacked her, thrusting their swords at her chest, as she took the place of one of her own who had fallen. She parried their attacks, driving both blades downward to allow the warriors on either side of her to slash at her opponents.
They had room enough for four warriors abreast on this section of the trail. She tried to rotate them as best they could, much as Kunan-Lohr had done with the warriors chosen to throw rocks to distract the fish in the river. It was perilous to do so, for there was very little room for those on the short fighting line to step back and allow fresh warriors to move to the front. Several had already slipped or been pushed over the edge and had fallen to their doom.
The same was happening to the queen’s warriors, and worse. The warriors at the front were being forced into Eil’an-Kuhr’s warriors by mounting pressure from the warriors behind. The enemy was so tightly packed at the head of their column now that the warriors barely had room to draw back their elbows to thrust with their swords. More and more of them were being squeezed off the trail by their companions as the entire legion pressed forward along the open-sided trail. The screams of those who fell echoed from the sheer walls of the great chasm.
The enemy warriors also had to contend with the growing pile of bodies in their path, while Eil’an-Kuhr’s warriors simply backed away, closer to the river. The enemy had to step or leap over the bodies of the dead and dying, and Eil’an-Kuhr and the others took every opportunity to knock their opponents from the trail as they did so.
Her greatest enemy was exhaustion. The queen’s warriors were tired from the exertions of running to catch up with Kunan-Lohr’s army, but they had eaten and had water and ale to revive their strength.
By contrast, every muscle in Eil’an-Kuhr’s body was on fire, and her breath came in heaving gasps. In the brief moments she gave herself to rest, backing a few paces out of the line while another warrior took her place, her body trembled as if she had been stricken with a palsy.
Most of her warriors were even weaker, and their fatigue had begun to take its toll. Some came to the front line barely able to lift their swords. Some were struck do
wn, adding to the pile of bodies in the enemy’s path. Others grappled with enemy warriors, using the last of their strength to hurl the enemy, and themselves, into the abyss.
At long last, a glance to the rear told her that they had arrived at the river. She saw Kunan-Lohr wade toward her through the group of warriors set to defend this end of the bridge.
* * *
Kunan-Lohr’s heart swelled with pride as he watched his warriors fight off the queen’s legion. He had suffered heavy losses, but the queen would be lucky to have more than an over-strength cohort left. A constant stream of bodies was falling from the trail as the bulk of the legion continued to crush forward, driving the lead warriors into the swords of his warriors or into the abyss.
Such waste, he thought. He held no ill will toward those who fought against him. They were following the Way, and simply did not know that the queen for whom they sacrificed their lives was a beast, without honor.
Most of his own army had crossed by now. Many warriors had volunteered to remain behind and hold this end of the bridge for the remaining warriors still fighting on the trail.
He caught sight of Eil’an-Kuhr and pushed his way through to her. With a desperate lunge, she speared an enemy warrior on the end of her blade, then tossed his body off the trail before stepping back. Another warrior leaped into her position, slashing and hacking at the endless stream of enemy warriors.
“My lord.” She was panting like a magthep that had been forced to run from dawn to dusk. Her face and armor was covered in blood, and he counted no fewer than nine wounds upon her body.
She stumbled, and he caught her. Lifting one of her arms over his shoulder and wrapping his other arm around her waist, he guided her to the landing.
“Can you make it across the bridge?” He propped her against the pillar that held the ropes as the last exhausted warriors made the crossing. The others, the volunteers, now fought a pitched battle that would not last long. Their lives would be spent buying just a few moments more for Kunan-Lohr and the last warriors to cross.
“My lord,” she said as she wiped a stream of blood from her lips, “my Way ends here, today. Long have I served you, and I hope well. But our paths must part. You cannot stay here. You will be needed at Dur-Anai, and in the defense of Keel-A’ar.” Setting down her sword, she reached out with both arms and took him by the forearms. “May thy Way be long and glorious, Kunan-Lohr, honored master.”
Kunan-Lohr held her forearms tightly. “I will see you in the Afterlife, Eil’an-Kuhr.”
With a heavy heart, he stepped out upon the rope bridge, the last warrior of Keel-A’ar to cross.
Eil’an-Kuhr waited until he was safe on the far side, and she offered him her last salute.
Then she picked up her sword and cut the ropes.
Alone, Kunan-Lohr watched from the far bank as Eil’an-Kuhr and the rear guard, terribly outnumbered, fought bravely and died.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ulana-Tath rode next to the nurse who carried her child. Keel-Tath seemed to enjoy the bobbing motion of the magthep that carried her at a steady trot, and she periodically let loose a squeal of pleasure.
“She is born to it, my mistress,” the nurse had remarked more than once. It was nearly unheard of for a child this young to be removed from the safety of the creche, and Ulana-Tath was relieved that her daughter found delight in traveling. Keel-Tath’s tiny face peered out of the bundle on the nurse’s chest, her bright eyes drinking in the sights and sounds of the world. Her spiritual song was clear and unafraid, a stark contrast to the fear Ulana-Tath felt herself.
She knew that Kunan-Lohr yet lived. Of that much, she was certain. Ulana-Tath could sense his song in her blood, an anxious mingling of fear and anger, expectation and acceptance. And above all, love. Love for his city and its people. Love for his daughter. Love for Ulana-Tath. The marks of mourning cascaded down her cheeks and neck as she thought of him. More of her skin darkened with each passing day, for she knew in her soul that her consort, her love, had no intention of ever returning. She had no way of knowing what he planned, but she had come to know him well. Even if he could have somehow extracted Keel-A’ar’s legions from the clutches of the Dark Queen, he would never have simply marched home, nor would the queen have allowed it.
No. He would do all he could to buy his people time to prepare for what must come on the heels of the failure of the queen’s riders in their mission to kill Keel-Tath. Even had the riders succeeded, the queen would seek to destroy Kunan-Lohr and all who followed him after breaking the covenant of honor with her. She would pursue him to the ends of the world. His only hope would be to kill her in battle or by right of challenge. The prospects for victory in either case were slim, for he could neither defeat the queen’s legions with the city’s army, nor had he a realistic hope of defeating her in the arena. Ulana-Tath suspected he would challenge the queen in the end, but it would make no difference. She knew of no warrior who stood a chance against Syr-Nagath, save one from among the priesthood.
Before leaving Keel-A’ar, Anin-Khan had done what he could to prepare the city for the siege that must come, in the event that he and Ulana-Tath could not return before the queen’s army arrived. The garrison there should be able to defend the walls for some time, with the help of the builders who were adept at repairing the ancient stone. The city had an ample stock of food and water, which could easily support the inhabitants for a full cycle or more. Ulana-Tath knew the city’s history, and that it had fared well in most sieges of the past. But against the Dark Queen, she could not be so sure. There was a cancer within Ulana-Tath, a gnawing uncertainty about the future that she had never before known. She was afraid not just for her child, but for her city. Even for her race.
What will be, will be. She had no gods to pray to, no one and nothing to whom she could appeal or ask deliverance. Her people had once worshipped gods, but they had proven themselves false in the collapse of civilization at the end of the Second Age, in the Final Annihilation. The civilizations that had eventually arisen from the ashes in the Third Age, clawing out of the depths of the cataclysm, had lost faith in the old gods and had left them behind without pity or remorse. Faith was something to be placed on oneself and on those to whom one was bound by honor, not in deities that had no substance, that did not exist.
But that philosophy had left an immeasurable void in the Kreelan soul. Ulana-Tath wondered how many of her people wished the gods had been real, had been faithful. One god or many, it did not matter. She simply wished to have something or someone greater than herself, than the kings and queens that rose and fall, in whom she could believe. Someone to turn to in the darkest of hours. Someone to ask for redemption.
But there was no one. While all believed in the Afterlife, for proof of its existence was incontrovertible from the senses of the spirit, the gods themselves were no more than bitter, empty memories.
The only surviving relic of that long ago age were the martial orders such as the Desh-Ka and their priests and priestesses. Long ago, they had led the people in worship of the gods. Then, as now, they were a guiding force in the world. After the Final Annihilation, the very name of which spoke as much to the destruction of the old faiths as to the devastation of their race, the priesthoods changed. They continued to form the foundation of Kreelan life through the training of the young in the kazhas and through their own godlike powers. But the spiritual heart of the people no longer pulsed. They lived now not to serve anything higher than the master or mistress to whom they were bound by honor. They lived and they died, but, as Ulana-Tath reflected now, there was little point to it all. She and her kind were not so far removed from the small creatures who lived in colonies beneath the ground, living out their lives in fulfillment of a function before they died.
Only love separated them from such tiny things that she could crush beneath her sandal. She shivered as she recalled the sensation of the first time Kunan-Lohr had kissed her. Closing her eyes, she seized upon the memory, willin
g it to stay with her forever. The warmth of his body holding hers, the tender, almost fearful way in which he had brought his lips to hers. It had been his first, as he had confessed afterward. A great warrior with a tender heart, so much as a smoldering glance from him made her feel like a goddess.
The thought that she would probably never see him again was nearly too much to bear.
“My mistress.”
She glanced over at Anin-Khan, who rode on the opposite side of the nurse’s magthep, and was looking at Ulana-Tath with sympathetic eyes.
“If it were in my power, I would gladly change places with him,” he told her.
“You know he would never allow it.”
Anin-Khan offered a rueful smile. “I would not offer him a choice.”
Ulana-Tath bowed her head in respect, and Anin-Khan returned his attention to keeping his mistress and her child safe. His sword hand never left the handle of his weapon. His face once again wore its perpetual fierce scowl of concentration as his eyes darted back and forth, watching, just as his ears were always attuned for any sign of danger.
Ten of the city’s finest warriors surrounded them as they moved along the road that would lead them to the Desh-Ka temple, their senses alert to any potential threats. Two more riders were up ahead, just out of sight, to warn of any ambushes or parties moving along the road toward them. Two more rode behind, to warn of anyone following.
Ria-Ka’luhr rode at the head of the main group, which in any other circumstance would have been a place of honor. In this case, Anin-Khan had placed him there so he could both keep an eye on him and keep him as far as possible from Ulana-Tath and her child without being too obvious about it. Anin-Khan knew that Ria-Ka’luhr must soon reveal his treachery. Most of the journey was behind them now, and only three days separated them from their destination. Once the child crossed the threshold of the temple, Keel-Tath would be safe from the acolyte, or as safe as she could be anywhere.
But three days was ample time for misfortune to befall her.
In Her Name: The First Empress: Book 01 - From Chaos Born Page 19