Forged In Flame (In Her Name: The First Empress, Book 2)

by Hicks, Michael R.

  “It was you at the rear when we were crossing the river,” Keel-Tath said, and Ri’al-Char’rah nodded. “Were you not wounded?”

  The young warrior, who was perhaps just old enough to have completed her seventh Challenge, held up her left arm. “Indeed, my mistress, but it was a trifle. Our beloved healer,” she bowed her head to Han-Ukha’i, “cared for the wound on our way out of those accursed caves.” She flexed her arm. “It is now as good as new. I cannot say the same, alas, for four of the queen’s warriors who were following us.”

  “Her skills with such weapons are unmatched,” Dara-Kol added.

  “As is my wit, mistress.” She bowed her head as the others made derisive snorts. In a more serious tone she added, “That and my life are forever yours.”

  “Char’rah,” Keel-Tath mused, remembering back to her studies of the Books of Time. “You hail from the border of the Eastern Sea, then?”

  Ri’al-Char’rah nodded. “The line of my parents has its roots there, mistress. I myself was born in Kel-Ulan, a small village far to the south.” Her voice darkened. “It was razed to the ground by the Dark Queen when the mistress of the village refused to send more warriors to serve her, when the village needed them for protection against a large band of honorless ones. I was a small child then, away from the village when the queen’s warriors came, and those same honorless ones took me in. I was the only survivor.”

  “I grieve with you,” Keel-Tath told her, the anguish and rage in the young warrior’s heart echoing her own. “I well know the pain you suffer.”

  Ri’al-Char’rah bowed her head, but said nothing more.

  “I am Ba’dur-Khan.” A tall, lithe male warrior bowed his head and saluted with his left arm, as was proper. His right arm was missing, taken just below the shoulder. “I am the brother of Anin-Khan, who was once the captain of the guard to your father.”

  “I am honored,” Keel-Tath said, bowing her head. “Did the queen’s warriors take your arm?”

  He shook his head. “No. That I did to myself. After the burning of Keel-A’ar, I could no longer serve with honor under the queen, and so did I stray from the Way.” He shrugged. “Some years later, the band of honorless ones that took me in was being hunted through the stone culverts of Sher-Kal’an, where the ground sometimes shakes and the rocks fall from the red walls like bloody rain. I was knocked to the ground in such a rock fall, a boulder landing on my arm, trapping me.” His fangs glowed in the light of the Great Moon as he offered an ironic smile. “I was not ready to die and face eternal darkness. So I took my dagger and hacked off my own limb.”

  “Not that you need two hands to do your bloody work,” Drakh-Nur rumbled. To Keel-Tath, he said, “His sword is the quickest among us. When we fight, make sure he is by your side.”

  Ba’dur-Khan’s gaze was fixed on Keel-Tath. “I would be nowhere else. I did what I did that day because I believed my life must be worth something more, have a purpose other than merely avoiding death. Now I know what it is. My sword is forever yours, mistress.”

  Again, Keel-Tath bowed her head, humbled.

  “And this,” Dara-Kol nodded to a male warrior, perhaps a bit older than was Dara-Kol herself, “is Lihan-Hagir. He would tell you his story, but he is mute, his tongue cut out by the Dark Queen herself before you were born.”

  “Lihan-Hagir.” In the light of the moon and stars, he was unremarkable other than the weapon that occupied the spot on his hip where a sword would normally be found: a grakh’ta whip. Keel-Tath had seen it before, of course, for the senior acolytes were trained in its use. But the grakh’ta, which had several tips covered in razor sharp barbs, was hellishly difficult to use to good effect in combat. Its more typical use was as an instrument of punishment for those taken to the Kal’ai-Il, where it could strip the flesh from the victim’s back, right down to the bone. For Lihan-Hagir to choose it as his primary weapon, he must be very skilled with it, indeed.

  “He told me,” Dara-Kol went on, “in writing on parchment that he was born far to the south of T’lar-Gol, and came afoul of the Dark Queen after his city’s master was killed in a duel with her. Of these warriors, he was the first who joined me, and has been at my side ever since.”

  Keel-Tath could not mistake the fondness in Dara-Kol’s voice when she spoke of him. She would not be surprised if they had been, or perhaps remained, lovers.

  “I am honored, warrior,” she said, and Lihan-Hagir saluted her, bowing his head. Looking at the faces of those around her, she went on, “I mourn the loss of the other three warriors who gave their lives for us, for me, in our escape. But I take heart that there are seven of us now, for that is surely a good omen. Some of you I can feel in my blood; some I cannot. But know that we are now bound in a single purpose: to bring an end to the Dark Queen and her bloody ambitions, the destruction of the Way. And to that I add a vow to you, and all like you who have fallen from grace: you shall be redeemed, your honor restored. If the words written so long ago are true, if I become what destiny says I must, then so will this also come to pass.”

  With that, she stood and left the circle. Standing between a pair of rocks at the edge of the aerie, she stared off into the west where the volcanoes glowed and belched dark clouds of ash into the sky far away.

  She felt Dara-Kol come up beside her. “That place,” Keel-Tath said, “the underground hideaway. It was a crypt.”

  “Indeed? I had always wondered what purpose it might serve. I have never heard tell of the like. But there were no bodies.”

  “There were, once, long ago.” Keel-Tath put her hands on the rocks, and winced as something poked one of her palms. Taking a closer look, she saw that a small shard of the crystal heart had cut its way through the leatherite of her gauntlet, lodging itself inside. Carefully prying it out with one of her talons, she held it up, where it shimmered in the moon’s glow. “This is now all that remains of the vessel of Anuir-Ruhal’te.”

  “Mistress? I do not understand.”

  “It was her final resting place. The crypt was hers. And this,” she turned the shard of crystal in her fingers, “was part of the vessel that contained her spirit.”

  “How is that possible?

  Keel-Tath shrugged. “How can we know? The powers of the ancients were far beyond our own. All I know is that it was real. She was real. I saw her when I touched the crystal, visions playing in my mind. Her spirit yet lived, and seemed to awaken at my touch. But she was weak after so long, and the vessel, the crystal heart, had been shattered. So weak.” She carefully put the shard into a small pouch fixed to her belt. “There is so much I would have liked to ask her. So much I need to know.”

  “We will find those answers, mistress. It may take time, but we will.”

  “Perhaps. But first we must survive.”

  “Yes,” Dara-Kol said. “And to do that, we must brave to go where only the most foolish or desperate would follow.”

  An icy coil of fear lanced through Keel-Tath’s stomach as she realized what Dara-Kol had in mind.

  Sensing her emotions, Dara-Kol nodded. “Yes, mistress. We must venture into the Great Wastelands, and from there to the Western Sea.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A Price To Be Paid

  After resting for a few hours, the group had spent the remainder of the night and the early morning hours climbing, sliding, and crawling down the mountain. Once they had reached the foothills, they marched west, ever watchful for any sign of the queen’s warriors.

  By nightfall, the day’s uneventful trek brought them to a small village nestled near a freshwater lake that was, thankfully, bereft of any creatures larger than their fingers. Thirsty from the long march, they drank deep and filled their skins with water. They had food enough for some time from the cache in the mountain aerie, but they needed mounts to ride. Dara-Kol and the other five warriors had set about stealing them from the stables, which were only guarded by a young male stable hand, when Keel-Tath stopped them.

  “We will not take
what is not ours.” Keel-Tath glared at them.

  “My mistress,” Dara-Kol said, “I know this is different from all you have ever known, but this is the way of the honorless ones. We must do what we must to survive.”

  Keel-Tath shook her head. “If you follow me, truly in your heart, you are no longer without honor.” She looked each of the warriors in the eyes. “We will indeed do what we must to survive, but not as heartless barbarians. If I am to one day rule our people, I will do it according to the Way from the start. I will not build the future upon a foundation of thievery.”

  Dara-Kol bowed her head. “Then what would you have us do? We have nothing to offer in exchange but what we have on our backs and our weapons. And we cannot let them know who we are, for that will bring the queen’s warriors.”

  “I am sure they will come soon enough, no matter what we do.” Keel-Tath’s eyes lit upon Han-Ukha’i. “From the looks of this place, it must be very poor, and probably stripped bare of the robed castes by the Dark Queen. They may have injured, and we have a healer. That is a great deal to offer in exchange for some mounts, and perhaps a meal.” From the sound and the smell coming from the magthep pens, there should be animals aplenty.

  “And if there are more warriors than we can fight?”

  “I hope to not fight at all.” Keel-Tath tried to hide her fear. What she was about to do could easily turn into a disaster for them all, but she forced herself to have faith. “Loan me your cloak. Han-Ukha’i, come with me.”

  ***

  The two approached the village gate. The walls were of thin tree trunks, showing the scars of past battles and poorly maintained. They had cleaned Han-Ukha’i’s robes in the lake as best they could. Keel-Tath hoped the tatters and stains they could not remove would go unnoticed in the dark, at least until they were inside the gate. Keel-Tath wore Dara-Kol’s cloak, the hood pulled over her head to conceal her hair and her father’s sword strapped to her back. It was a poor disguise that would not survive more than cursory scrutiny, but, as with Han-Ukha’i’s soiled robes, she hoped it would do. It would have to.

  “Who approaches?”

  The two stopped. Those who guarded the gate were more alert than Keel-Tath would have given credit.

  “I am a disciple of the Desh-Ka,” Keel-Tath called out. It was both truth and a lie. “Our party was set upon by honorless ones, and I call upon you to offer shelter. I am protector of a healer who would offer you her service.”

  One of the two guards disappeared, but the gates remained closed. Keel-Tath’s hand tightened around the long-bladed dagger at her side. A gift from Drakh-Nur, it was nearly as long as her old sword. She fought to keep herself from turning around to look for the others, who were hiding somewhere in the darkness beyond the torches at the village gate, ready to come to her aid should things go wrong. Of course, once she and Han-Ukha’i were inside and the gates closed, there would be no one to save her.

  So be it. She closed her eyes and forced herself to be calm, trying to fill herself with the sense of power that had flowed into her when she had seen the vision of Anuir-Ruhal’te in the crypt. Be with me now, mistress.

  As she opened her eyes, the gates were at last drawn aside. Before her stood a welcoming party of twelve warriors on either side of the gate. Even in the dim light of the torches, she could see they were in little better shape than herself and her companions. Beyond them were gathered the rest of the villagers, members of the robed castes and a gaggle of children who were old enough to be out of the creche, but who had not been sent to the nearest kazha. All of them knelt as she stepped across the threshold of the gate, Han-Ukha’i beside her.

  One warrior knelt in the center of the dirt street that served as the village’s main thoroughfare. He was old, older even than Ayan-Dar, and in poor health. “Welcome mistress of the Desh-Ka,” he said before breaking into a coughing fit. “I am Sura’an-Desai, master of this humble village.”

  “Greetings, Sura’an-Desai.” She held out her arms and he stood with some difficulty before clasping her forearms in the traditional greeting of warriors. Keel-Tath felt a small pang of guilt, for aside from the carnage she had wrought in the crypt and the bloodletting of the queen’s warriors at Keel-A’ar as she had stood beside Ayan-Dar, she hardly considered herself a warrior. “I thank you for your hospitality.”

  “We are always honored to serve those of the priesthoods, mistress.” He smiled as he ushered her and Han-Ukha’i toward the largest building of the village, the main hall. Looking at Han-Ukha’i, he said, “And I would thank you for the offer of your services. As you can no doubt see, we are in great need.”

  It was true. Many of those they passed were ill or injured. Keel-Tath had never heard tell of the like in a village whose honor was sworn to a leader. Only honorless ones suffered so.

  “You are beholden to Syr-Nagath?”

  “Of course, mistress.” The old warrior bobbed his head. “She called away our healers and builders, and all but the eldest warriors, to her service. As is her right.” The tone of his voice told Keel-Tath volumes of what he really thought. Since the priesthoods did not involve themselves in the affairs of common folk, their emissaries often heard words from lips that would otherwise be silent. “Most have fled this life for whatever lies beyond, I fear.”

  “That is the Way of the warrior,” Keel-Tath said quietly.

  “True, mistress, quite true. But I would have seen them meet their end here, defending their home, than on shores none of us have known in anything other than tales from the Books of Time.” Mounting the steps to the great hall, which was great only in name, he led her through the doors that were held open by younglings.

  “Why are these children not at the kazha?”

  “The one that served us is no more, mistress. It was never ministered by a priest or priestess, only an acolyte, and she was called away two weeks ago. The other warriors were already gone.” He shrugged. “We brought the children home, lest they starve. We teach them best as we can, but it is not the same.”

  The great hall had eight curved tables arranged around a central fire pit, whose coals warmed the hall against the evening chill. Children lit the other torches, which made the hall much more welcoming, but Keel-Tath feared the additional light would call out the color of her hair, and she pulled the hood down just a bit more as she sat down next to her host.

  Robed ones brought them food and drink, but Han-Ukha’i demurred. “I would see to those in need, mistress.”

  “As you wish. Remember to maintain your strength.” A look passed between them, and Han-Ukha’i nodded. Watching as a child led the healer to one of the tables near the door, where a line of people had already formed, Keel-Tath said to Sura’an-Desai, “We cannot stay overlong, for we have business yet far away. But we will do all we can while we are here.” She paused. “I would also ask a great favor, if I may.”

  “Please, mistress. What is ours is yours, as is tradition.”

  “I would ask if you might spare us some mounts. As I told your guard, our party was set upon by honorless ones. Those of us who survived were left on foot, and we have yet far to travel.”

  The old warrior nodded, then coughed. It was a deep, wet sound in his lungs.

  She reached out to put a hand on his arm. “I will have the healer tend you.”

  His eyes widened, and it took her a moment to realize why. Her talons. There was no mistaking the crimson color in the torch light. She snatched back her hand, as if from an open flame, and flicked the dagger from its sheath, holding the blade to Sura’an-Desai’s throat.

  At that moment, everyone in the great hall was staring at her, sensing the shock radiating from their master.

  “It truly is you,” he whispered, ignoring the glittering blade that was resting against the skin of his neck where an artery pulsed. “I had wondered at the fashion of the handle of the sword on your back. I recognized it, you see. The sword of Kunan-Lohr was once well-known in these lands, for our honor was once swo
rn to the lord and master of Keel-A’ar. To your father.”

  “And now?” Keel-Tath peeled back her hood with her free hand, and a gasp ran around the chamber as the others saw her hair.

  Sura’an-Desai looked at her for a long time before he spoke. He did not answer directly. “You have much of your mother in you, I think. Your face looks much like hers. A graceful beauty she was. And full of fire, of spirit. I knew her when she was young, not much older than you are now.” His voice was wistful, and Keel-Tath could imagine the memories in his head, peeling back the years to that time gone by. “So long ago, it was.”

  “What are your intentions, my lord?” Keel-Tath did not want to hurt this old warrior, and she was consciously trying not to underestimate him. He was old and weak, yes, but that often meant nothing but a fatal trap.

  “My intentions are to help the daughter of my master Kunan-Lohr. My honor is yours child, but there will be a price.”

  “There is never a price for surrendering one’s honor.” She did not understand his meaning, yet she believed in his sincerity. Pulling back the blade from his neck, she sheathed the dagger. “That is not of the Way.”

  He smiled, a sad expression of silent doom, but said only, “It is a small enough matter that we may speak of later. For now, all that is mine is yours. I would also send a message bearer to your companions to join us. They need not wait beyond the walls.” He gestured toward where the gate was. “And as you can see, we have few enough warriors to pose a threat.”

  Keel-Tath nodded, and Sura’an-Desai gestured at a child, who immediately took off at a full run toward the gate.

  “Sura’an-Desai,” she said, “if the Dark Queen finds out that you harbored us…”

  He waved away her concerns. “We shall speak of that later. In the meantime, I would pay back the kindness of your healer with the services of our armorer. She is old, older than myself and unfit for travel, which is why the queen did not take her, but she can do good work. The least we can do is fit you with proper armor. Then, perhaps, you will not be taken as an honorless one on sight.” He smiled at her surprised expression. “I am not a fool, child. Even the most ignorant youngling can see that armor was never meant for you, and who but the honorless ones would offer you shelter? There is no other way you could have reached this far without being taken by the Dark Queen.”