In Her Name: The First Empress: Book 01 - From Chaos Born

by Michael R. Hicks

  However the Dark Queen was doing it, his emotions now matched what those who knew him might expect. He was radiating intense compassion and fear, not for himself, but for the welfare of the mistress of Keel-A’ar and her child.

  The sliver of his soul that survived railed at this travesty, but could do nothing about it. Instead, he continued to bless Anin-Khan and the others for their noble sacrifice, and urged Ulana-Tath to ride faster. She was so close to safety now, but his evil alter ego would catch her if she did not quicken her pace.

  Beware, mistress! Death comes behind you…

  * * *

  The world was nearly dark now. Ulana-Tath was breathing rapidly, panting as her heart and lungs sought to get enough oxygen to her brain and extremities to survive. The flow of blood from the vein cut by Ria-Ka’luhr’s shrekka had slowed to a trickle now, for her body had little blood left to give.

  She sensed a warm, squirming bundle in her arms. Keel-Tath. The thought of her child sent a brief wave of warmth through her body, which now felt cold. So cold. She sensed Keel-Tath’s spirit, so very strong for such a tiny child.

  Ulana-Tath’s body had fallen forward the last time she had passed out, but her chest had put enough pressure on her arms against the saddle to hold Keel-Tath in place. Otherwise, Ulana-Tath would have dropped the child without even knowing it. She dwelled on the horrible thought, an imaginary horror of the child falling to the hard ground replaying over and over in her mind.

  She heard the hurried footfalls of a magthep. It took her a moment to realize that she feared the sound. After another precious moment, she remembered why.

  With a moan, she lifted her head and looked behind her. It was Ria-Ka’luhr, making the last turn in the switchback just below her.

  “No.” Blood trickled in a thick stream from her lips as she looked forward. The threshold to the temple was there, and she could see the old priest, Ayan-Dar, waiting, and sense the urgency and fear of his spirit.

  She tried to kick the magthep, to make it go faster. But she only managed to pull her feet from the stirrups, and with a sickening sensation she slid from the saddle. There was a brief fall before she slammed into the ground.

  Screaming, Keel-Tath rolled from her grip, coming to rest just beyond the reach of Ulana-Tath’s fingers.

  The sound of the magthep’s footsteps behind her were as loud as peals of thunder in her ears, overshadowing the pounding of her own heart and the screams of her terrified daughter.

  The old priest stood but a few paces away. He was shouting something, but not at her. He was calling to the evil thing who came to kill her daughter. The priest did not know what lurked in the acolyte’s heart. She could only hope that in the priest’s care, Keel-Tath might be safe.

  With the last of her strength, her heart about to burst in her chest as it tried to pump a last trickle of blood through her body, Ulana-Tath reached forward with her hands. Sinking her talons into the packed earth of the trail, she hauled herself to Keel-Tath. Forcing herself to her knees, Ulana-Tath gathered the child to her chest in one arm and crawled toward the priest. She could barely see him now through the darkness that was coming to claim her.

  On your feet. It was the last command she would give her body, and her mind insisted that it be obeyed. Unsteadily she rose, taking one faltering step. Then another. One more, and she held out her child toward the priest as darkness claimed her.

  * * *

  Never even considering the consequences of his action, Ayan-Dar lunged forward just in time to catch the child as Ulana-Tath fell forward. The mistress of Keel-A’ar collapsed to the ground, dead.

  Holding Keel-Tath with the utmost care in his great hand, Ayan-Dar stood. As he did so, the child passed over the threshold into the temple.

  Ria-Ka’luhr suddenly reined his charging magthep to a stop, just short of Ulana-Tath’s body. His face registered confusion for a moment, as if he could not quite decide what expression would be appropriate.

  Ayan-Dar did not notice. He knelt beside the fallen warrior, whose eyes were open, staring at him.

  “On my life and honor, I shall care for and protect her.” He did not know if she could hear him in the seconds that separated life and death, but he spoke on the chance that he could ease her soul as it crossed into the afterlife.

  He looked up then to Ria-Ka’luhr, who had dismounted beside him. “Close her eyes.” Ayan-Dar would have done it, but he could not let go of Keel-Tath.

  Nodding, a solemn look on his face now, Ria-Ka’luhr knelt beside Ulana-Tath and gently closed her eyes with a brush of his fingers.

  “The child crossed the threshold,” Ayan-Dar told him. “She is with us, now. As are you again, my long-lost friend.”

  Ria-Ka’luhr nodded. “I will tell you of my adventures later,” he said. Nodding at Keel-Tath, he said, “You will care for her?”

  “Yes. I made a vow, and it is one I intend to never break.”

  “I wish all your vows would be so honored. Now I must punish you both.”

  Ayan-Dar stood and turned to find T’ier-Kunai, who regarded him with a frigid glare.

  It took Ayan-Dar only a moment to understand. He knew, of course, why Ria-Ka’luhr was to be punished. As for himself…

  “Ah,” he grunted, looking down at the ancient stone beneath his feet. “I reached beyond the threshold to save her.”

  She nodded slowly. “You have left me no choice, Ayan-Dar, priest of the Desh-Ka.” She paused, and he could sense a wave of great sorrow in her heart. “You both must be punished upon the Kal’ai-Il.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  In the midst of battle, Kunan-Lohr felt Ulana-Tath die. The heart of the woman, the warrior, who had loved him, and whom he had loved with all his soul, was stilled. A shudder of anguish ran through him as her soul passed from this world into the Afterlife. His hope had been that she would survive to care for their daughter, and that she could carry the warning of the blight the Dark Queen was bringing to the land. A tingling sensation crept down his face as the mourning marks appeared beneath his eyes.

  In that moment, the burden in his heart became too much to bear. Managing to disembowel the latest of the endless stream of warriors the queen had sent against him, he staggered back from the battle line for a moment as one of his warriors moved forward to fill the gap. He allowed himself a moment to grieve, for that was all he could spare. The cycles he had spent with his love, so many memories, flashed through his mind. It was all he could do not to cry out in anguish from pain in his heart that was far worse than any wound a sword could inflict.

  Even now, so near the end, he could not allow himself that luxury. He was the master of a city that was likely doomed, the leader of valiant warriors who stood and fought beside him, and the father of a child who was a miracle by virtue of her very existence.

  A child who, through yet another miracle, had survived. He could hear her song in his blood, as clear as if she were in his arms, crying in fear and loss. He focused on Keel-Tath, hoping that she could sense and understand his love.

  Then he focused on an entirely different emotion: hate. A black, raging hatred for the queen washed over him for all she had done. The bloodlust in his veins, which had been a guttering flame sapped by the exhaustion, hunger, and thirst that was killing him and his warriors, spread fire through his soul.

  As he stood there, recovering his strength while imagining his hands wrapped around Syr-Nagath’s neck, he surveyed his surroundings. The mouth of the pass was completely sealed by a mound of bodies that rose to a height of at least three warriors, head to toe. The bodies at the front of it, facing the queen’s forces, had been stacked in such a way that the wall was nearly vertical, and they had to climb to the top. Once there, they had been easy pickings for Kunan-Lohr’s warriors, who waited on a parapet of the dead just behind the wall’s edge. He had long since stopped noticing the smell, the stench of voided bowels and blood, overlaid with the unmistakable smell of decaying flesh. Thousands of carrion eaters, some w
inged, some constrained to the ground, had flocked to the feast.

  While the wall had provided an excellent defense, as more of the queen’s warriors died, the vertical face had become a slope, somewhat easier for the attacking warriors to climb. They still died by the hundreds at the hands of Kunan-Lohr’s warriors, but there was no end to the queen’s minions. When Kunan-Lohr had last dared look over the wall at what lay on the far side, he counted the banners of five full legions. The entire approach to the pass was covered in black-armored figures in tight formations, ready to force themselves into the abattoir he had created for them.

  While he had taken a grievous toll of those sent against him thus far, his warriors were totally exhausted after a full three days of non-stop combat.

  More and more of his own had fallen as fresh enemies had attacked over the wall, day and night. There remained fewer than a hundred now, nearly all of whom were wounded. Kunan-Lohr, miraculously, had escaped serious injury. The only trophy he had to show for this battle thus far was a gash on his forehead he had received after tripping over a body.

  “My lord.”

  He looked up at the words gasped by one of his warriors. Covered in blood and gore, Kunan-Lohr was not even sure who it was. “What is it?”

  The warrior pointed to the wall, which for the first time in days was empty of live enemy warriors.

  “Perhaps the Dark Queen wishes to surrender.” Kunan-Lohr gathered what little moisture he had in his mouth and spit on the blood-smeared road.

  His attempt at humor elicited a few tired grins, but that was all. They had no energy left even for a laugh. Nor did he.

  “Kunan-Lohr!”

  A chill ran down his spine as he recognized her voice. Syr-Nagath.

  “I have no time for you, unless you wish to offer your head in surrender.” His shout echoed from the walls that rose above them, making his voice sound as if it had been spoken by one of the ancient gods.

  He was shocked when she suddenly appeared at the top of the wall of the dead. Behind her came a line of warriors, but like none he had ever seen. They were all large males whose faces were different, and whose armor was segmented, serpentine. He recalled that the queen had summoned builders from Ka’i-Nur. Now it appeared that she had summoned warriors, also.

  “Despite your treachery, you have fought bravely and well, Kunan-Lohr,” the queen told him as she made her way down the terrace of bloody bodies, never losing her footing. The brutish warriors followed close behind her. “But the time has come for this to end.”

  “The treachery is yours, Syr-Nagath.” Kunan-Lohr felt the rage that had ignited a few moments earlier exploded into a roaring flame. “You tried to kill my daughter, and somehow had a hand in killing my consort. You have no honor, and I can only hope that you shall face eternity in the cold and dark.”

  Syr-Nagath laughed. “If your words are for the benefit of my warriors, you need not bother. They do not speak in this tongue, and their lives are mine in a way you shall never understand.” She stopped and stared at him. “Surrender your lives to me now and I will spare your city. I would have offered this to you earlier, but they,” she gestured to the warriors on either side of her, “only arrived this morning.”

  “And you would not have any of your other warriors hear these words.”

  “No. They would not understand.” She regarded him for a moment. “The Way as you know it is coming to an end, Kunan-Lohr. The Homeworld will soon be mine, and the Settlements not long thereafter. One day what was,” she raised her arms and looked up at the feat of engineering that was the pass at Dur-Anai, “will be again. We will return to the greatness of the days of old, before our race was corrupted into the stasis it suffers through the Way given by the priesthoods after the Second Age.”

  “You would lead us all to destruction and death. The Way has preserved us. And we will not surrender to your lies. I know you have no intention of sparing Keel-A’ar. Otherwise you would not have brought forth so many legions.”

  “As you wish.”

  She gave a brief command in words that Kunan-Lohr could not understand. With an ear-splitting roar, the warrior brutes bounded forward toward him.

  “Ready!” His warriors formed up on either side of him in a perfect line. Exhausted and injured, they would no doubt die shortly, but they would die well, and with great honor.

  Taking a brief moment for himself, he sent a thought to Ulana-Tath, hoping she could somehow hear it beyond the veil of the Afterlife. I shall join you soon, my love.

  And then the enemy was upon them.

  * * *

  Ayan-Dar stood silently as Ria-Ka’luhr was released from the shackles of the Kal’ai-Il. He regretted that the young acolyte had to suffer, but he silently thanked T’ier-Kunai for the modest punishment of three lashes. And, truth be told, while recovering from the wounds would be agonizing, the punishment had granted Ria-Ka’luhr more respect in the eyes of his peers. He had not cried out, had barely even flinched as the grakh’ta whip, wielded by T’ier-Kunai, flayed the skin from his back.

  Other acolytes unshackled Ria-Ka’luhr after the punishment was over, and as the first gong struck, he made his way unsteadily toward where T’ier-Kunai had taken her place, at the threshold of the entrance. He had twelve rings of the gong to make it to the stone marker that signified his acceptance of the atonement. One who was punished, but who could not make it that far would die by the sword of the high priestess.

  “For that is the way of the Kal'ai-Il,” he said softly to himself.

  As he watched Ria-Ka’luhr make his way toward T’ier-Kunai, Ayan-Dar thought back to the young acolyte’s tale of his remarkable quest, which he had told immediately after his shocking return.

  “I knew that you had completed your quest,” Ayan-Dar had told Ria-Ka’luhr and those gathered to hear his tale after his shocking return to the temple, “for I took this from a band of honorless ones.” He handed Ria-Ka’luhr the sword he had taken from the young honorless warrior who had been among those who had attacked Ayan-Dar during his search for Keel-Tath. “This is the sword that you were to return from the mountain temple.”

  Ria-Ka’luhr’s eyes were wide as he held out his hands, accepting the sword. “I was sure it had been lost.”

  “So the tale, or part of it, that one of the honorless ones told me was true,” Ayan-Dar mused. “She said that they had killed an acolyte.” He flicked a glance toward T’ier-Kunai. “She also said that she was bound in spirit to the Dark Queen, and I saw the mark of Drakash on her palm.”

  T’ier-Kunai’s mouth dropped open with disbelief as Ayan-Dar looked expectantly at Ria-Ka’luhr.

  “I never saw the Dark Queen.” Ria-Ka’luhr shook his head. “The honorless ones overwhelmed me as I came down from the mountain. I killed a ten or more, but one of them was lucky with a war hammer.” He pointed to a recent scar over his right temple. “I regained consciousness some time later, bound and gagged. They had me in a wagon and were taking me east. None of them ever spoke to me or in earshot, and I had no idea what their plans might have been. But thanks to one of them being inattentive for a moment, I was able to make good my escape. Along the way back to the temple, villagers were kind enough to see to my needs.”

  T’ier-Kunai frowned, wondering aloud. “But why all this time could we not sense you?”

  He shook his head. “That, my priestess, I do not know.”

  The healer mistress, whom T’ier-Kunai had invited, spoke. “It is rare, but head injuries have been known to affect the song of the spirit.” Her eyes were fixed on the scar on Ria-Ka’luhr’s head. “It is not unlike a temporary loss of memory that may be suffered in such a case.”

  A silence descended for a moment, and then T’ier-Kunai asked, “And why, on your way home, did you interfere with Syr-Nagath’s warriors who were in pursuit of the mistress of Keel-A’ar.”

  At that, Ria-Ka’luhr was clearly uncomfortable. Ayan-Dar had been watching him closely, and could clearly sense him now. But i
t was as if he was sensing someone…different, as if Ria-Ka’luhr were indeed standing before him, but his emotions were those of another. It was strange, and he had never experienced the like. He made a point to ask the healer mistress about it later.

  “I can offer no excuse, my priestess, except that I felt compelled to. I could not stand by and allow her to be slaughtered. And her child…” He bowed his head lower. “She was bringing her child here that she might be kept safe. I volunteered to escort her, and could not simply stand by and do nothing when the honorless ones ambushed her party.”

  “I can understand, acolyte of the Desh-Ka,” she told him. “But if you are to become a priest, you must learn to stand above the everyday world, the pleasures and the tragedies alike.” T’ier-Kunai spared a pointed look at Ayan-Dar. “Beyond the kazhas and protecting the Homeworld from the Settlements, we are bound to constrain ourselves to the temple, and nothing more.”

  “Yes, my priestess…”

  The last sound of the gong shook Ayan-Dar back to the present. Ria-Ka’luhr now stood at the threshold, his back covered in sterile cloth. That was all the healers could do for one punished on the Kal’ai-Il.

  The acolyte nodded as he caught Ayan-Dar’s gaze.

  Naked, the many scars criss-crossing his body visible to all, head held high, Ayan-Dar strode to the center of the platform. Because he was a priest, only other priests could be involved in his punishment. As they shackled his feet, he cast his eyes about the stone wall that surrounded the dais, searching for the last priest or priestess who had been punished here. He grinned without humor when he finally found the name. It was one he did not recognize, over three-hundred cycles ago. “The time is overdue for another, then.”

  “Ayan-Dar?”