A round of grim smiles met her words. At best, each of the priesthoods would be outnumbered against a single cohort by at least ten to one.
“Even if we can beat Syr-Nagath’s warriors, we are still left with what to do with those now bound to her who surrender their honor to you,” Alena-Khan said. “If nothing else, we will need their swords to take back the Homeworld, but they do us little good if we cannot deploy them quickly. If we cannot bring them with us, Syr-Nagath can just take them back, or kill them. We need to get them into the fight.”
“And we would fight, as well.”
Everyone looked at Ka’i-Lohr, who returned their gazes with level calm. “The acolytes and warriors who are not of the priesthoods would not be left out of the battles to be fought,” he went on. “There is no reason for us to remain here; the palace itself can protect the robed ones and younglings.”
“I have a plan in mind for you and the other warriors, and Syr-Nagath herself will aid us,” Keel-Tath told him.
Sian-Al’ai cocked her head. “How? We cannot encumber ourselves taking warriors each time we step through space, and we have no starships.”
“We do not yet, but we will soon,” Keel-Tath told her. “The builders and keepers of the Books of Time are working on this as we speak, but they will not be ready for some time yet. In the meantime, we will commandeer some of Syr-Nagath’s ships.” Looking to Ka’i-Lohr and the other warriors, she added, “That task, warriors, will fall to you.”
***
One of several great halls in the palace, equal in size, if not in grandeur, to the throne room, was abuzz with activity as Keel-Tath’s followers made preparations to take the fight to the enemy. The glistening black of the warriors’ armor reflected the many colors of the robed ones who moved among them in a complex dance of controlled chaos. Any lingering wounds or maladies were healed, swords and weapons were inspected and repaired, or replaced as each warrior desired, and even the slightest imperfection in armor, underclothing, or sandals was mended. Porters brought small leatherite satchels of food and drink, lashing them tight to the warriors where the weight and bulk would not interfere with their movement in battle. Even the younglings were there, managed by the wardresses of the creche under the ever watchful gaze of a handful of priests and priestesses who would remain behind solely for their protection. The older children helped their elders while those too young to participate watched quietly with wide eyes.
A vast expanse of clear crystal let those inside look out upon the palace grounds. The keepers of the Books of Time and dozens of builders were there in a great circle, their arms outstretched, palms facing inward. An enormous skeletal structure was slowly rising from the whirling cloud of black matrix that was being drawn from a huge pool nearby, its creation guided by the builders who drew the necessary knowledge from the keepers. It would be the first of Keel-Tath’s own starships, and would easily be a match for any vessel Syr-Nagath was likely to create. But such great ships, with the limited number of builders, would take time to build, and a real fleet would take months without more builders. Many more.
Ka’i-Lohr, Drakh-Nur, and ten other warriors stood aside from the mass of priests and priestesses in one of three small groups that had been given the task of boarding enemy warships, busy with their own preparations. Along with the warriors, each boarding party had four highly unusual members: a builder, a keeper of the Books of Time, an armorer, and a healer. Robed ones typically were never put in harm’s way, but these were not typical times. The warriors had been told that they would intuitively understand much of what they might encounter aboard the starships, but aside from Keel-Tath, Ka’i-Lohr and Drakh-Nur, none of those among the boarding parties had ever been aboard so much as a small boat. And so Keel-Tath had decided that builders and keepers, having studied ship design and operation in the moon’s Books of Time, would be sent along to pilot the ships, with the armorers to operate its weaponry or carry out repairs of any components made of living metal. The healers, of course, were there to keep the others alive. Each party was also accompanied by a single priest or priestess, whose only task was to deliver them to their destination, whereupon he or she would depart to join their fellow swords in battle against the Ka’i-Nur. Once each party was delivered aboard a ship, they would either succeed in their task or perish.
The frenetic activity reached its zenith just before Keel-Tath entered the hall. As she made her way through the ranks of the massed might of the priesthoods toward the center of the gathering, all knelt before her and rendered the ritual salute, heads bowed. The crash of the armored fists of the warriors against their breastplates reverberated through the hall.
Keel-Tath stood there a moment, humbled by the act. No individual since the Second Age, and perhaps even the First, had ever commanded the honor of any of the priesthoods. No priest or priestess had ever bent a knee before one not wearing a sigil upon the collar. Now, here she stood, a young warrior who had just barely passed into adulthood, looking out at rank upon rank of the surviving swords of the priesthoods and the six most high among them. They had placed their honor, as well as their lives, in her hands. The very future of her race depended on what was soon to come.
“I will cherish this moment, always,” she said in a voice choked with emotion. While softly spoken, her words carried throughout the hall. “The Universe may stand against us,” she went on, her voice gaining strength, “but my heart has no room for fear. How could I be afraid when I look out upon the greatest gathering of warriors and robed ones ever known since the dawn of time? We are few against many, but when we descend upon them and they suffer the fury of our swords and claws, it is they who will know fear. The Ka’i-Nur nearly destroyed our civilization at the end of the Second Age, and they were shown mercy. I will grant such mercy to any warriors or robed ones among them who pledges their honor to me, and will gladly welcome them into our fold with love.” She made a point to look at Drakh-Nur, whose lineage was nearly pure Ka’i-Nur. “As for the rest,” she said through gritted teeth, “I will drive them back to their home beneath the sand and rock of the Great Wastelands.” She clenched her hands into tight fists, driving the tips of her talons into her palms. Squeezing harder, she drew blood, which ran in rivulets from her gauntlets. Raising her fists above her head and opening her hands for all to see the scarlet of her blood promise, she shouted, “I will tear Syr-Nagath’s beating heart from her breast and leave nothing of their ancient fortress city but a vast smoldering hole in the earth. Until the day our sun dies, nothing will ever grow upon that accursed ground, and her name and even the very name of the Ka’i-Nur will be stricken from all the Books of Time. Never again shall they rise up to destroy the Way. When this war ends, Ka’i-Nur shall be no more and our people shall be as one!”
The hall was filled with a thunderous roar of approval, from the most ancient of the robed castes to the youngest of the children. Drakh-Nur was perhaps the most vocal among them, his bellow standing out from his smaller peers. The sound was electrifying, and Keel-Tath let it wash over her, let it fill her with power as their passion rose to a crescendo in the Bloodsong.
As she lowered her bleeding hands, the ranks again fell quiet. “My brothers and sisters, remember that what we do this day and in the days to come will decide the destiny of our people forever. Many of us here today may not live to see the fall of the Dark Queen and partake in our final victory, but know this: every one of you will be remembered in the Books of Time as a hero for the ages. Let us make our final preparations now, for our time soon approaches.”
Metal clad fists rang against breastplates as again her people saluted, their voices filling the chamber with their war cries before the formation dissolved into a last flurry of activity. With parting words and touches of camaraderie, and sometimes much more between those who were lovers, the robed ones, their preparatory tasks complete, stepped out of the ranks of the priests and priestesses to form their own ranks beside the groups of warriors. Each of the orders would att
ack a different enemy cohort across the three Settlements, led by scouts who had returned with their final reports just before Keel-Tath had entered the hall.
Ka’i-Lohr, Drakh-Nur, and the others of their boarding party knelt as Keel-Tath approached. Dara-Kol was at her side, an expression of resignation on her face. The priest who would be taking them to their target bowed his head and saluted Keel-Tath. “May thy Way be long and glorious, my mistress.”
Keel-Tath returned the salute. “And may your sword be swift and true, priest of the Desh-Ka.” To the others, she said, “Rise, my friends.”
As they did so, Drakh-Nur’s eyes narrowed as he saw the provisions she had strapped to her back. Her father’s sword hung from her waist, as did her dagger. Three shrekkas were clipped to her upper left arm, and three more were clipped to the belt that held her sword. “You are coming with us!”
Ka’i-Lohr’s mouth dropped open, and he managed to shut it with an audible click. “Keel-Tath, you should not do this! What if something were to happen to you?”
“Aside from those who stand guard over the younglings, we need every sword in this battle, including mine.” She held out her hands, and cyan energy snapped and crackled between them. “And I also bring more than just my father’s sword.”
The party’s healer stepped forward, heedless of the artificial lightning, which vanished, and pinched off some of the healing gel to put on the wounds in Keel-Tath’s palms. “You bring us great honor, my mistress,” he said, bowing his head. “I can only hope that I will make you proud.”
“That you have done by your very presence among us.” The robed ones on the boarding parties had been volunteers. Of course, every single member of the robe castes had volunteered to come, and Keel-Tath had given the elders permission to make the choices by lottery. Holding his hand for a moment, she asked, “Are you afraid?”
He looked her in the eyes and shook his head. His face was calm, as was his song in her blood. “Not anymore, now that you are with us.”
She squeezed his hand gently, then let go, noting that her palms were already healed. “Your name will be recorded among the heroes who will be the envy of every age to come.”
Bowing again, he stepped back as the boarding party formed into a circle around their attending priest. “We must first go to a known point,” he explained, “which for our party will be a place on the Settlement of T’lan-Il with which I am familiar. Once I have located a ship with my second sight, and with the permission of our mistress, I will get you aboard.”
Everyone nodded their understanding.
“Join hands,” he said. “And whatever may come, do not let go.”
Keel-Tath looked out at the other boarding teams, then at the ranked swords of the ancient orders. All stood ready, their eyes on her. She met the gaze of Alena-Khan and Sian-Al’ai, whose spiritual voices roared now in the Bloodsong. “Brothers and sisters,” Keel-Tath cried, “let it be done!”
As one, the boarding parties and priesthoods vanished, on their way to war.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tara-Khan dreamt of the aroma of meat over a fire, the dancing flames making the fat crackle. He was pleasantly warm, comfortable, but quite hungry, and his stomach growled its displeasure as his saliva began to flow. His stomach growled again, louder, and his eyes flickered open.
He was lying on a thick bed of animal skins and covered with a hide of thick white fur like that of the beast he had killed at the Kal-Uzmir. Above was a domed ceiling of what looked like ice, with the peak centered over a fire. A hole in the top of the dome allowed the smoke to escape, but retained the heat. Over the low fire was a spit holding a leg of what he thought might be one of the animals that had nearly killed him.
Without thinking, he propped himself up on his elbows before he remembered that his left arm was broken in two places and his upper right arm had been badly bitten. Yet, to his surprise, other than a lingering ache, both arms felt fine. As well, the frostbite in his fingers and toes were but an unpleasant memory.
“You have been out for a few days,” a gravelly voice said quietly. “Your wounds are not healed anywhere as well as a healer could do, but you will live. For now.”
Sitting upright, Tara-Khan turned to face the speaker. “So I did not imagine that I saw your face,” he whispered, unable to believe it was true. It was indeed Ria-Ka’luhr, but greatly changed from the young priest who had gone into the Desh-Ka coliseum in company with Ayan-Dar and Keel-Tath. His face was badly scarred and the skin was stretched tight over his skull. His body had filled out more than Tara-Khan remembered, with powerful shoulders tapering to a narrow waist beneath the leather clothing he wore. His armor was gone, whether because it no longer fit or because it was foolish to wear it in such terrible cold. He also no longer wore gauntlets on his hands, which bore numerous scars. The two smallest fingers of his left hand were missing, the stumps healed over with thick, gnarled scar tissue.
But the greatest sign of change was his hair. Still woven in careful braids, it was far, far longer than Tara-Khan remembered, with the braids loosely coiled around his upper arms. While it seemed an impossibility, Ria-Ka’luhr had aged many cycles since Tara-Khan had last seen him. At a guess, he was probably as old as Ayan-Dar had been when he died, perhaps older.
Like Tara-Khan, the Braid of the Covenant had been taken from him, severing him spiritually from the rest of their kind. But what struck Tara-Khan the most was that the Collar of Honor and the sigil of the Desh-Ka were gone.
“What happened to your collar and your hair?” Tara-Khan asked, unsure of which questions might be more important, he had so many. “How long have you been here?”
Ria-Ka’luhr shrugged as he took a dagger and deftly sliced off a hunk of meat, the fat-laden outer layer browned and crisp while the meat inside remained juicy, cooked just beyond raw. He handed it to Tara-Khan, who accepted with a grateful bow of his head before he tore into it. It was stringy and tough, but was the most wonderful tasting meal he had ever had.
Ria-Ka’luhr carved off a hunk of meat for himself before sitting back. Taking a small bite, he chewed for a moment as he stared into the fire. “Seventy-eight cycles, plus two-hundred and thirty-one days, by my count.”
Tara-Khan froze as he was about to take another bite. “But…that’s impossible! I saw you go into the coliseum with Ayan-Dar and Keel-Tath after the inquisition!”
“And so I did.” He gave a bitter smile. “Yet I am here.”
“But how?”
“The how is not important. The why, on the other hand, matters a great deal.” He reached down to pick up a crude mug that was filled with a dark, viscous liquid and handed it to Tara-Khan. Upon seeing Tara-Khan’s nose wrinkle at the bitter aroma, he chuckled. “It’s fermented from a kind of seaweed I found growing deep in a crevasse not far from here. It tastes horrible, but one gets used to it. It is better than fermented blood.”
After taking a small sip, Tara-Khan’s face involuntarily scrunched up at the offensive taste. But he could not deny the rush of heat down his throat that quickly took root in his belly, and he forced himself to take another, longer drink. His tongue and throat were tingling, and the bitter taste was quickly mellowing into something not exactly like ale, but not entirely unlike it, either. Taking a look at the mug itself, he saw that it had been fashioned from the bone of some animal. He hesitated to think how large the beast must have been.
Ria-Ka’luhr chuckled. “Don’t drink too much or too fast, or you will indeed live to regret it.”
“You were about to tell me why you are here,” Tara-Khan reminded him.
With a smile that revealed that one of his fangs had been broken, leaving a jagged ivory stump, Ria-Ka’luhr answered, “I have been waiting for you.”
Tara-Khan set down the mug as he slowly shook his head. “I do not understand. How could you possibly know that I would come?”
“Because it was foretold.” Then, in a low voice, Ria-Ka’luhr told him what happened that fateful da
y when he, Keel-Tath, and Ayan-Dar entered the vessel of the Desh-Ka Crystal of Souls.
***
Ria-Ka’luhr remembered it as if it were yesterday, the queasy sensation of passing through the doorway into the vortex of space and time that protected the Desh-Ka crystal. Darkness fell when the door closed behind him, blotting out the sight of Ayan-Dar and Keel-Tath, who were just ahead. As he lost sight of them, so, too, did Keel-Tath’s footsteps fade from his hearing. He did not hear those made by Ayan-Dar, for like all Desh-Ka priests, his feet made no sound and left no trace upon the ground.
He did not call out or fear for where they might have gone, for he well understood that the vessel around him had its own will, driven by forces that no one, even the keepers of the Books of Time, understood. The ancient constructs were objects of great power and magic that, Ria-Ka’luhr knew, had been technological marvels to his long ago ancestors and would always be beyond his own understanding.
It was then, as he strode through the darkness, his own footsteps leaving no trace, that a curious thing happened. The strings that bound him to Syr-Nagath’s will through the dark curse she had inflicted upon him, making him her puppet and slave, were cut. The dark power that bound him to her was gone.
Not knowing how long this respite might last, he snatched his dagger from his belt and was about to thrust it through his throat when he heard a familiar voice call out, “There is no need, my son.”
Whipping his head around, Ria-Ka’luhr saw Ayan-Dar standing beside him. Blood ran freely from the wound in his chest from T’ier-Kunai’s sword, and his face was terribly pale. His eye was fixed upon Ria-Ka’luhr, and his expression showed nothing if not compassion.
“I must!” Ria-Ka’luhr whispered, trying with all his might to hold back a great tide of anguish and loathing at what he had been, at what he had done. It mattered not that he had not been in control. He felt soiled, right through to his very soul. “You do not understand. How could you? How could anyone?” He raised his dagger to his throat again, but Ayan-Dar reached for it, staying Ria-Ka’luhr’s hand in a grip of iron.
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