Forged In Flame (In Her Name: The First Empress, Book 2)
Page 6
CHAPTER SIX
Living Metal
That night, Li’an-Salir herself had shown Ayan-Dar and Keel-Tath to their quarters. They were high in one of the towers of the mistress’s personal domain, the keep, and looked out over the plaza toward the sea.
Keel-Tath stood on the balcony, watching and listening to the waves beyond the promenade as the stars twinkled above her in a black sky, bereft now of the Great Moon, which had set. She remembered little of the day after the counsel of war had finally come to its grim conclusion. It seemed now like the world was caught in the gears of a great machine that would, if left unchecked, grind them all into dust. The engine behind the machine was Syr-Nagath, but the greatest gears, beyond even the Dark Queen’s legions, were the priesthoods. Blinded by their own pride and the faith that what had been for ages past would be yet for ages to come, they could not see the truth of what the Dark Queen was doing. Keel-A’ar should have been their warning, a clear and vicious departure from the true Way, but they stood by and did nothing.
“They see, but they do not heed.” She spoke into the night, her words carried away by the light breeze. “No one can stop the coming darkness.”
“You can.”
Startled, she turned to see Ayan-Dar standing behind her.
“You still see the world through the eyes of a young warrior,” he told her as he moved up beside her, putting his hand on the rail next to hers, “not as what you someday will become. There will come a day when the Dark Queen is no more, and the name of Keel-Tath will be hailed by every soul under the heavens.”
“You are right, my priest. I cannot see these things.” She looked down. “I wish we had not come here. This was to be my free time, my very first. Instead of happiness, I feel as if death will stalk me at every turn once we leave this place.”
“I am sorry, my child. You must believe that I did not know these things would come to pass when I brought you here. All I expected when we came to the city gate was a warm meal, some ale, and a comfortable place to sleep.” He sighed. “But you must also not cloak yourself in fear or regret. Knowledge is often the best weapon in any battle, as are allies. Li’an-Salir is a very powerful ally, and was quite taken with you. More than that, while she is still conflicted, I think she believes in you, in the prophecy.”
“I wish I did,” Keel-Tath whispered. She took hold of her braids and held them before her eyes, the white hair now nearly black in the moonless night. “What if I am nothing more than an aberration, a freak?” Releasing her hair, she held out her hands, looking at them with a sense of loathing. “And what of the healer who died? Everyone says that all these things are impossible. What other horrors await me?”
“These things are not horrors, they are gifts.” Ayan-Dar took her chin in his hand and turned her to face him. “And I hope that there are many more, because these things, these aberrations, will give you the power you need to change the Way itself. If what I believe is true, there will come a time when nothing, not even the combined might of the priesthoods, will stand against your will. But for that to ever happen, you must believe.”
“Why must I? Because all the other prophecies of Anuir-Ruhal’te have come to pass, and so must this one?” She shook her head. “Ancient inscriptions on a pillar of stone are not enough for me. And even if I did believe, how will that stop the Dark Queen or the priesthoods, should she sway them with her guile, from sending me to the funeral pyre?”
“I will not let that happen.”
“But you cannot prevent it!” She put her hands on his broad chest, her palms on the cyan rune of the Desh-Ka that even without the light of the moon seemed to glow in the darkness. “As powerful as you are, my priest, you cannot stand against the other priesthoods or Syr-Nagath’s armies.”
“I would whisk you away to safety, just as I brought you here.”
“For how long? And what is the point? Even those who believe in the prophecy will not follow a warrior who does not stand and fight. I cannot unite our people if I run and cower in fear.” She wrapped her arms around him, and he pulled her close. “All I would ask of you is that when the time comes, do not let her take me. Even if you must plunge your sword into my breast, do not let the Dark Queen have my soul.”
“On my life and my honor,” he said softly, “it will be as you say.”
***
The next morning, Li’an-Salir had them dine with her for the first meal of the day in her private chambers. It was a time of reminiscing of long ago adventures, and the mistress of the city and Ayan-Dar even managed to make Keel-Tath smile with the tales of their exploits, some of which, Keel-Tath suspected, might even have been true. There was no mention of the Dark Queen or the war.
When they finished, Li’an-Salir took them on a grand tour of the harbor, showing the young warrior the source of the ancient kingdom’s prosperity.
“These ships!” Keel-Tath exclaimed as they walked along the piers. “Some are huge! How can they float upon the water and not sink?”
“If you place an empty dish, even if it is made of metal, into water, does it sink?”
Keel-Tath thought about that. “No, mistress. Not if it is right-side up.”
“With the ships, it is the same. They are large and heavy, but they rest upon the water in the exact same way as the dish.”
“These ones, what are they for? They are so much larger than the others.” There were seven vessels in the harbor that were much alike, but enormous even compared to the other large ships. She measured one of them by pacing the distance as they walked, and was stunned to find that it was over five hundred paces long. All of the ships carried sails, some with square rigging, while others, smaller and far more sleek, had triangular sails. The hulls were painted in bright greens and reds, with large runes along the prow and stern proclaiming they hailed from Ku’ar-Amir.
“These ships hunt the larger creatures of the deep for their meat and oil. Come, look and see.”
She led her two guests to a shelter along the pier that was as long as one of the ships and nearly as wide. Keel-Tath, unable to help herself, recoiled from the smell.
Li’an-Salir laughed. “Yes, it takes some getting used to. But here, look.”
Keel-Tath’s mouth dropped open in wonder. An enormous creature took up most of the space under the shelter, and an army of robed ones were busy carving it up. Blood ran in torrents into sluices set into the pier that channeled it away. Not a drop, she saw, fell into the water of the harbor, for that would attract unwanted attention.
The head of the thing was not dissimilar from that of a genoth, a terrible dragon that inhabited the Great Wastelands, although it was far, far larger. This creature could have quite easily swallowed the largest genoth that ever lived, and some of its teeth were as big as a magthep stood tall. The eyes, two on each side of the smooth black body, were as big as she was. The skin was covered in thick armored scales, and she could see where several enormous harpoons had been driven through to strike the creature’s vital organs.
Turning to look at the ship that was pulled right alongside, she saw that the thick wood of the hull bore fresh marks, scratches and gouges running the length of the vessel, that even now builders were working to repair.
“The meat you were served last night and this morning was fresh-carved from this beast,” Li’an-Salir said. “It is much sought after, and once it is salted and dried we use it for trade among the other kingdoms of the world. There are other things taken from the sea that those of the land consider valuable, but this one is the most prized. It is also the largest that we can catch.”
“There are…larger things?” Keel-Tath looked at her with disbelief.
“Oh, yes, child.” Ayan-Dar nodded, and Keel-Tath saw a haunted look cross his face. “Remember that I told you that there are some things in the sea that were never hunted even at the height of the First Age. There are things out there in the sea that eat creatures such as this.”
“You really saw one?”
“The sea is not so harsh if you respect and understand it,” Li’an-Salir said. She smiled. “Ayan-Dar was terrified the entire voyage. I loved it.”
Ayan-Dar muttered something under his breath, and Li’an-Salir smiled. “Come,” she said. “There is more I would show you.”
By the end of the day, Li’an-Salir had taken them aboard some of the ships, including the mighty warships that were at the heart of Ku’ar-Amir’s power, and shown them the great beacon that sat atop one of the natural rocky spires at the end of the league-long breakwater that sheltered the harbor.
As they returned, Li’an-Salir took them on a different route, guiding them to the harbor’s opposite side where a long row of stone buildings faced the harbor. Most of the buildings were no higher than the dwellings higher up in the city, but a few of them were much larger. Two were large enough to hold modest-sized ships, and Keel-Tath noticed that water channels led to them from the harbor.
Ayan-Dar recognized the place immediately. “Ah. This is the foundry, I take it.”
“Yes. This is the heart of our metalworking, where the armorers ply their trade.”
Ayan-Dar frowned, shooting a quick glance at Keel-Tath. “It has been a long day, mistress. Perhaps we should retire for dinner. The temple has its own armorers; none of this will be new to young Keel-Tath.”
“I want to see it!” Keel-Tath had, of course, dealt a great deal with the armorers. Every warrior did. But the armorers of the temple created swords and armor, along with the collars for the priests. Other than that and the odd metal plate or dish, there was little else that the temple called upon them to create.
This, the foundry, was something else entirely.
“Very well.” Ayan-Dar was not happy, and Keel-Tath could not understand why. She saw him exchange a look with Li’an-Salir, who only turned and led them in.
The walls were decorated in art depicting life at sea using metal inlaid into the stone in such a way that it seemed that the metal was part of the stone. The likeness was amazing, as if she was standing on a ship gazing upon the scene. Hundreds of armorers, wearing the black robes of their caste, were at work. Many of them were toiling over pools and ingots of the living metal from which weapons were made, while others were gathered around forges that glowed red with heat where steel and other metals were fashioned. The projects on which the armorers worked seemed to grow in scale the farther the trio moved toward the largest buildings at the far end. Keel-Tath began to see blocks and tackle, levers and pulleys, used to handle the large fittings for the ships. When they reached the far end where the largest buildings were, she saw that they were not intended to hold ships. Instead, the largest fittings for the great hunting ships were made there before being towed out on barges to the ships. Looking across to one of the piers, she could see a great many armorers and builders working together to lift an enormous circular fitting from a barge to the deck. While she knew that the builders could fashion things from metal, it was much more difficult than to create from stone or wood. The armorers could make such things far more easily. Porters of water were also involved, and she could see that they had parted the water around that segment of the ship’s hull so armorers and builders could also work below the ship’s waterline in safety.
When Keel-Tath turned back, she saw that Li’an-Salir was holding something in her hand that glittered like the sun on the waves. It was smooth and oblong, not unlike an egg.
“Living metal.” She had seen it often enough in this form at the temple, for this was how it was first formed from the growing vats. Ingots such as this were taken from the vats by the armorers. Each one was different, tailored by the armorer to contain the precise amount of metal she needed to make a given weapon.
“Here, consider it a gift from me to do with as you would.”
As Li’an-Salir handed her the ingot, Keel-Tath noticed that both the city’s mistress and Ayan-Dar were looking at her with unusual intensity.
“I thank you, mistress of Ku’ar-Amir.” She took the ingot, noting that it was still warm to the touch. It must have been removed from the vats only moments before. She had always been fascinated by it. The armorer at the temple had a small ingot that she showed the disciples during their training, one that would never be forged into a blade. The touch of any but an armorer introduced impurities that had no place in a weapon. She felt a momentary pang of guilt, realizing that the metal she now held, perhaps enough for a small dagger, would never find its true destiny as a blade in a warrior’s hands.
“Stroke it,” Li’an-Salir suggested. “Use your fingers, just as you have seen the armorers do.”
Keel-Tath was stricken with fear, remembering the fate of the healer the day before.
“No harm can come to anyone,” Ayan-Dar reassured her. “Stroke it, caress it, or bite it, as you wish.” He grinned. “The only damage done will be to your teeth.”
“As you say, my priest.” She remained uncertain, but did as Li’an-Salir had bidden. Holding the ingot gently in one hand, she began to stroke it with her palm. The metal changed color where her palm touched it, darkening slightly, and even after a few strokes they could all see that it was flattening out and lengthening. The change was very slight, for it took a great deal of work to fashion an ingot into a blade, but there was no doubt that it was changing shape at the young warrior’s touch.
“By the gods fallen from grace,” Ayan-Dar said as he stared at the ingot in Keel-Tath’s hand, “I do not believe it.” He looked up to Li’an-Salir. “How did you know?”
“I did not, but I suspected. If she could take the bond of a healer’s symbiont, then why not shape living metal?” She turned an appraising eye upon Keel-Tath, whose hands were still now as her mind was staggered by the implications. “Or water.”
An armorer appeared at Li’an-Salir’s side with a shallow dish of water. The city’s mistress took it and held it out toward Keel-Tath. “Touch it.”
“No, mistress.” She stepped back as if the water was the deadliest of acids. With wide eyes, she looked to Ayan-Dar. “This is another impossibility, is it not?”
“Yes, child, but it will hurt nothing for you to touch—”
He did not have a chance to finish.
Keel-Tath had turned and fled, running as fast as her feet would carry her.
***
In the clearing where she and Ayan-Dar had first appeared, Keel-Tath stared into the fire. She was hungry, thirsty, and exhausted, but none of that mattered. Animals slithered through the dark forest around her, growling and chirruping, their eyes reflecting the glow of the fire, but she paid them no heed. Any other time, she might have been frightened, for she had never been in a place such as this. The only nights she had ever spent before coming here had been at the temple, where creatures were not permitted to prowl unbidden. Her sword lay across her lap should she need it, but the animals that watched her seemed content to stay hidden in the darkness, and did not stray into the light of the fire.
She felt a deep sense of shame at fleeing from Li’an-Salir and Ayan-Dar. Now did she truly feel alone.
“You are not alone, child, and you need not feel ashamed.” A familiar voice called quietly from the darkness.
She turned her head to see Ayan-Dar standing at the edge of the fire’s glow.
“May I sit with you?”
Nodding her head, she turned to again stare at the flames. “I am surprised you did not find me earlier.”
The old priest knelt beside her with a quiet groan. “I have known where you were the entire time, child. I watched you with my second sight, just in case something ill should befall you. I did not come earlier because I knew you would need some time alone.” He sighed. “I owe you an apology, child, and Li’an-Salir sends her own, as well. We were too eager to satisfy our own curiosity,
and did not think of how it might affect you. For that, I am sorry.”
She nodded, but remained silent for a moment. “What does all this mean, Ayan-Dar? And how is it even possible?” Turning to face him, she went on, “I have been touched by healing gel before, and have even touched an ingot of living metal that the master of the armory once showed us when we were children. And water, of course, I have touched many times. Why is all this happening now? And how?”
“I can only assume the change your body underwent, your coming of age, triggered changes in you that we would never have expected. And how?” He made a rude noise. “That, even the healers do not know. Li’an-Salir and the masters and mistresses of the different castes spoke of your latent abilities at great length after you took your leave. The discussion had equal measures of disbelief, awe, and bafflement. The only conclusive result, which likely will not please you, is that most of those who dwell in Ku’ar-Amir are now believers, and that belief will spread with the sailing of every ship to distant lands.”
She nodded, a pained expression on her face as if he had just told her she would be chained to the Kal’ai-Il at sunrise and the flesh flayed from her back with the grakh’ta whip. “I have the gift of the porters of water, as well,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “I found a small pool of still water in the forest nearby. I put my hand in it and imagined the water rising into a column, and it did. It did not shape itself as I imagined and was very small, but the water reacted to my wishes.” She clenched her hands into tight fists. “Even if I can do these things, I cannot control them. I have been raised as a warrior.”
“True. I have no answer for you, and the prophecy of Anuir-Ruhal’te is singularly unhelpful in this matter.”
“I would ask something of you,” she said.
“Anything, child.”
“Please do not tell T’ier-Kunai or the others about what has happened here. I do not think I could bear it. The peers would not understand. They would shun me.”
Ayan-Dar frowned. “Child, they will learn of it sooner or later. Better that it should come from you or, if you wish, me, than from tales one of the priests hears from beyond the temple walls.”