Mistress Of The Ages (In Her Name, Book 9)

by Michael R. Hicks

  But the fate of Ka’i-Nur itself must be sealed forever. The ancient fortress was visible from this distance as a tiny black structure atop its ancient volcano. She could sense the sprawl of the city beneath the ground, spreading like malevolent roots for many leagues around the fortress itself.

  “Must it be this way?”

  She looked up at Tara-Khan, who stood close beside her. Dara-Kol, Ka’i-Lohr Drakh-Nur, and Sian-Al’ai were also there, their eyes fixed on the fortress. She did not need to read their faces to sense their anger at those who had nearly destroyed the Way, an anger, a quiet rage, that was reflected in her own soul. “You would show them mercy?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No, my mistress. I simply wish we had another way.”

  “You have a good heart, my love,” she told him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze for just a moment. Then she turned her attention back to the fortress. Spreading her arms much like the builders did during the act of creation, she focused her will not upon the fortress, but upon the magma chamber deep below the volcano that had been quiescent for tens of thousands of cycles. Keel-Tath could feel the molten rock, could sense its temperature rising, the pressure in the magma chamber growing as she poured her own power into it, bending it to her will.

  Steam exploded from a pair of cones, so weatherworn from the ages that they were little more than subtle humps on the volcano’s flanks. Clouds of debris were sent flying high into the air by the force of the steam. The earth rumbled and the ground beneath their feet trembled. More steam exploded from the vents, and the side of the volcano facing them slowly began to bulge outward.

  “Let it be done,” she breathed.

  In the blink of an eye, the fortress of the Ka’i-Nur vanished in a titanic eruption that blew apart the upper half of the volcano. A huge cloud of ash and debris was blasted into the sky, and kept rising until it was leagues above the surface, where the swifter high altitude winds began to bend it to the side. Huge chunks of earth and gobs of magma, some of which were larger than the fortress had been, were hurled upward and outward, trailing streamers of smoke and debris behind them. They fell back to earth in graceful arcs, detonating like bombs when they struck the ground.

  A deafening roar rolled across the plateau as the sound of the eruption finally reached them, accompanied by the remains of the shock wave that was still strong enough to stagger the awestruck onlookers.

  What her companions could not see was the flow of magma that she forced through every tunnel, every chamber, of the ancient underground city. The Ka’i-Nur builders frantically tried to block the passages, but their efforts were in vain. Others tried to escape to the surface, but the magma followed them through their escape tunnels and hunted them down like a thing alive.

  The creches were the hardest. The children shrieked with fear, then pain just before the molten rock took them. She cried out in anguish as she destroyed the first one and killed the younglings. That nearly broke her, nearly made her show mercy on the rest, but she could not. She dared not. Hardening her heart, she killed the children. All of them. With the death of every youngling, of every robed one, she felt as if a dagger was being thrust into her heart, but she kept telling herself that she had no choice. It must be done.

  At long last, the farthest reaches of the great city were consumed by the lava, the last of its denizens burned to ash. The Ka’i-Nur in the fleet, sensing the complete annihilation of their kin, lost their will to live along with their will to fight. To the last warrior and robed one, they committed ritual suicide.

  With an agonized cry, Keel-Tath fell to her knees, grieving for the lives she had taken, the younglings most of all. That she had safeguarded the future of her kind was little consolation as she stared out at the smoldering ruins that glowed red like a bloody scar across the Great Wastelands. By her hand and by her will, the ancient bloodline of the Ka’i-Nur had ceased to exist.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “We are one.”

  Those three words, spoken by Tara-Khan as he knelt upon the first step of the throne, signifying his ranking among the peers of warriors and robed ones, flooded Keel-Tath with overwhelming joy. In company with Ka’i-Lohr and Drakh-Nur, Tara-Khan had led her warriors in battle across the Homeworld to reclaim the honor of those who had been under Syr-Nagath. With her dead, their honor reverted to the next greatest among them, which resulted in a rapid fragmentation back to countless kingdoms and city states, just as in the days before Keel-Tath’s rise to power, and each one had to be claimed as demanded by the Way. Sometimes this was through single combat, sometimes through full scale battle. If single combat, it was only to the death if the opponent demanded such; otherwise, it was to first blood. Tara-Khan himself would not have fought except in larger battles, but nearly every leader wanted to face him in the Challenge, for to face such a fearsome opponent brought great honor to those he fought. And, of course, to her.

  While Tara-Khan and his warriors reclaimed the Homeworld, Sian-Al’ai and Dara-Kol led the wars against the Settlements, bringing them back into the fold one city at a time. Of Dara-Kol was she especially proud, for Dara-Kol now not only wore the collar of the Desh-Ka, but was the high priestess of the ancient order. None, save perhaps Tara-Khan, had sacrificed more than had Dara-Kol, and none had been more faithful both to the child of prophecy and the legacy of Keel-Tath’s parents. She looked upon Dara-Kol, who knelt with Sian-Al’ai upon the second step from the throne, and smiled.

  Dara-Kol was not the only one who had won the Collar of Honor. Keel-Tath had decreed that all who pledged their honor to her, no matter their standing among the peers, would wear the collar. From those whose accomplishments had not yet taken them above the bottom-most step of the throne to the most high among the priesthoods and Tara-Khan himself, all would wear the collar after taking their vows at the kazhas or the temples. It was both a promise of love from Keel-Tath and a promise of fealty from the bearer.

  The thought brought great warmth to her heart, for many among the thousands now kneeling upon the steps to the throne and the floor leading to them had not so long ago been honorless ones. One in particular, Sar-Ula’an, who now knelt upon the fifteenth step from the throne, had proven himself a great warrior and a noble soul. She did not know why any of them had fallen from the Way before her ascension, nor did she care. They all were her children now, and in her eyes they all had been reborn, their sins washed away.

  As her people had healed, so, too, had their worlds. The scars of the long war, the greatest that had been fought since the end of the Second Age, were beginning to fade as the builders and other robed castes bent earth and sea to their will. The countless dead had been given their last rites, their bodies cremated as tradition demanded. Devastated cities and villages were being rebuilt, first among them — by accolade among the builders — being Keel-A’ar, the city of Keel-Tath’s birth. She had no memory of it, for she had been an infant when it was laid waste by Syr-Nagath, but the builders and other artisans had lavished their love upon it, and it stood as a glorious work of art of which her father and mother would have been immensely proud. At that, she did not have to guess or surmise, for she could feel the songs of their spirits soar when she made to visit the rebuilt city and gazed upon the gleaming spires and graceful arches. It was a symbol of what her kind was becoming as it emerged from its ages-long slumber, breaking the endless cycles of rise and fall.

  But her greatest joy was the child in her womb, the daughter of Tara-Khan. The child’s spiritual song was strong and pure, as was her body, kicking and stretching, as if eager to come into the world. While none, not even the healers, could be sure, she suspected that it would be today. It would be a good omen.

  She turned her attention to the assembled multitudes in the throne room, who represented all of what had once been individual cities and villages throughout the Homeworld and Settlements. Those not present would hear her words from scrolls being written by Keepers of the Books of Time, but in the end, all of her kind would
hear her words, and all would sense her emotions through the Bloodsong. “My children,” she began, her voice easily carrying across the expanse, “long have we awaited this day, since the end of the Second Age when the oracle Anuir-Ruhal’te set in motion the events that have brought us, all of us, together at last. As Tara-Khan just informed me, we are one. Never in the four hundred thousand cycles of our recorded history has a leader been able to stand before her people and say those words. Even in the time of the First Age were our people fragmented, divided. No more. We are bound to one another by honor and love, our spirits singing together in the Bloodsong, the endless cycles of wanton destruction ended.” She paused for a moment, savoring her next words. “This day we witness the birth of the Empire, which shall endure for as long as our kind lives and breathes.”

  “In Thy name,” the crowd said in a clear voice, “it is so.”

  “Go now to your people, and give them my word and my love. For I am pledged to you, my children, my spirit bound to yours for eternity.”

  With the crash of thousands of fists in salute, the multitudes replied, “May thy Way be long and glorious, our Empress!”

  In a smooth motion, they got to their feet. Tara-Khan, beaming, extended a hand to her, to escort her to their chambers. In a precise movement, those along her path parted, forming a living corridor down the steps and across the floor to the entrance that lay directly before the throne. The first steps held those who had fought beside her, those she held most dear, and she laid a hand upon their shoulders as she passed. Dara-Kol, Sian-Al’ai, Drakh-Nur, and the ever faithful Ka’i-Lohr. She lingered beside him, acknowledging the love that he had once expressed for her, knowing the flame still burned in his heart. She put a hand to his cheek and smiled, her heart tinged with sadness that he had not yet found a love to take her place in his heart, before she moved on.

  As she reached each step, the warriors and robed ones standing upon it saluted and bowed their heads, and she was intoxicated by the symphony of love that poured through the Bloodsong. In that moment, perhaps more than any other save the night she realized that she carried Tara-Khan’s child, was she happy, so much more than she ever could have dreamed. It had been a long, dark and bloody road, but they had at last arrived. As she slowly descended the steps, she knew that nothing would stand in their way, that even the stars were not the limit of what her people could achieve. She knew that much of what her kind would accomplish would happen after she had passed from this life, but she also knew from what Tara-Khan had told her that her spirit would live on in those who followed in her footsteps, to whom the golden band about her neck was passed down. You are the Mistress of the Ages, he had told her, quoting the words of her ancient blood mother, Anuir-Ruhal’te, from one of the many ancient Books of Time he had read while under the tutelage of Ria-Ka’luhr.

  Her child, as if unhappy that Keel-Tath’s attention was elsewhere, delivered a powerful kick as she squirmed in the warmth of her confinement. The healers she passed glanced up, their senses finely attuned to the body of their mistress, their Empress. She met their smiles with one of her own, and Tara-Khan beside her swelled with pride.

  “Your time comes very soon, my Empress,” one of the elder healers noted quietly, reaching out with a gentle hand to touch Keel-Tath’s swollen belly.

  The child, as if sensing the healer’s hand, kicked again.

  With a smile at the healer, Keel-Tath continued down the many steps, acknowledging the representatives of her people, her heart filled with joy.

  ***

  “She comes!” The healer knelt in the warm water of the birthing basin, focused on the child just beginning to emerge from her mother’s womb. “Push, my child!”

  Keel-Tath, who had the power to move mountains if she so willed, had been laid low by her body’s primitive biological imperatives. Her labor had lasted nearly two days, and she was physically and emotionally exhausted, as much or more than after any battle she had ever fought. The healers had repeatedly assured her that all was well with her and the child, but her daughter had thus far steadfastly refused to come forth.

  “A stubborn whelp,” Tara-Khan had observed from where he knelt beside the basin, holding one of Keel-Tath’s hands, having never left her side. He smiled. “Much like her mother.”

  As she had countless times already this long night, Keel-Tath did as the healer ordered and pushed. And screamed with effort and pain. Then she pushed some more.

  At long last, her daughter emerged in a final rush that left Keel-Tath gasping for breath. The healer carefully cleaned the child in the water and cut the cord with a quick movement of one of his talons. A second healer, a female, spread out a thin layer of healing gel upon the surface of the water, and it coated the child as the elder healer lifted her free. He flicked the bottom of one of the child’s feet, eliciting her first cry. A few moments later, the child coughed, delivering up the healing gel from her body after it had done its work.

  Satisfied that the child was healthy, the elder healer carefully put the child in Keel-Tath’s arms. “With what name shall you bless this child?" he asked.

  With a look at Tara-Khan, who nodded, she said, “I would name her Ulana-Khan, after my mother and my consort, her father.”

  “May her Way be long and glorious,” the healers and the eldest keeper of the Books of Time, who was witness to the birth, replied.

  “She is beautiful,” Tara-Khan whispered as he looked upon his daughter, the child of the First Empress. “Of all the powers with which you have been endowed, this is without question the greatest.”

  “They both must rest now, Tara-Khan,” the elder healer, who was also the greatest of his caste, told him. “Empress or no, the rigors of birth demand their due.” He favored the Empress with a sympathetic look. “Her labor was far more difficult than we would have wished.”

  “With that, I would not argue.” Leaning down, Tara-Khan gave Keel-Tath a quick kiss. “I shall look in upon you when the healers allow.”

  She managed a smile as he got to his feet. “That may not be until the next great eclipse, my love.”

  Smiling in return, he looked one last time upon his daughter, this new life that they had created together, before turning to leave.

  In another chamber of the Empress’s suite waited a host of the most high of their people, including the high priests and priestesses of the six surviving orders and the most high among all the robed castes. The gathering fell silent as he entered, all eyes turning to him.

  “I ask that you welcome our daughter, Ulana-Khan, into the world,” he told them, knowing that they had already sensed her arrival in the Bloodsong.

  “Ulana-Khan! May her Way be long and glorious!” The crowd rendered a solemn solute before sending up a cheer.

  It was then that Tara-Khan noticed that Ka’i-Lohr was absent. As he began to grow concerned, the great doors opened and Ka’i-Lohr looked in. He made an urgent gesture for Tara-Khan to join him.

  “What is it, my tresh?” Tara-Khan said quietly after they retired to a private anteroom off the main corridor, which was also filled with well-wishers.

  “Syr-Nagath lives.”

  Tara-Khan was stunned to his core, his mouth dropping open in shock and disbelief. “Impossible,” he breathed.

  “It is true. There can be no doubt, and she is here in the palace, with plans to kill the Empress.”

  “We must summon the Imperial Guard,” Tara-Khan growled, turning to the door.

  “No!” Ka’i-Lohr grabbed his tresh’s arm. “Many among the guards and even the priesthoods have been suborned by some dark magic she has cast upon them, I know not how or when. No one can be trusted. We cannot risk alerting any who are in the presence of the Empress that we know what is happening. We must trust that those of the priesthoods — any who have not been turned — will defend her while we deal with the Dark Queen.”

  Tara-Khan put his hands on his tresh’s shoulders and looked deep into his eyes, into his soul. “How do you come to
know these things?”

  Ka’i-Lohr lowered his head in shame. “Long ago, I was taken by the Dark Queen and tortured. She worked the same magic upon me, blending some of her hair with mine, to control me. I escaped her after I managed to cut out the offending strands of hair.” He looked up, his eyes pleading. “I never told you because…” He choked up. “Because of the things she did to me, which none should ever have to suffer. You cannot imagine my shame.”

  “I wish you had told me before, my brother,” Tara-Khan told him, recalling Ria-Ka’luhr’s horrible tale of his time under the Dark Queen’s spell. Tara-Khan knew from the song of Ka’i-Lohr’s heart that what he said was true. Ka’i-Lohr had long lived and fought beside Keel-Tath, and had he ever wished to cause her harm, he could have on countless occasions when she had been far more vulnerable. “No one should have to bear such a burden alone.”

  “That means more to me than you know.” He took a shuddering breath before going on. Leaning closer, he explained, “I saw a warrior such as I was, here in the palace. Once so taken by Syr-Nagath, you can see others who have suffered the same, and who have what I can only describe as a dark aura about them. I followed him and saw him meet with a female wearing the robes of a builder, who was hiding in a remote part of the palace. It was she! I am sure of it. I followed them to another chamber where they met with some from among the Imperial Guard.” He paused. “Drakh-Nur was among them. I saw more, but could not make out their faces. And I saw two from the priesthoods, but I did not see their faces or recognize them. When their conclave broke up and they began to return to their duties, I came back here as quickly as I could to find you. I could trust no one else.”

  Thinking furiously, Tara-Khan asked, “But how did Syr-Nagath escape Keel-Tath’s notice? Surely the Empress would have heard her spirit in the Bloodsong.”