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

by Hicks, Michael R.

  The three young warriors spent their time from before dawn until after dusk on a lookout platform high on the mainmast, keeping watch along the horizon for signs of ships or dangerous sea beasts. From her perch far above the deck, she could see forever as she held on tight against the exaggerated sway up there, so high above the ship. It was an exhilarating feeling, as if she was flying without wings over the endless sea, soaring ever higher. The water and sky were glorious hues of blue-green and magenta under a bright sun in the day, and millions of stars and the Great Moon shone overhead at night, reflecting off the water in a kaleidoscope of light. Staring up at them during the time they stood watch before the sun rose and after it set, she wondered about the Settlements and the great ships that could sail between the stars. The great ships were gone now, for the priesthoods had destroyed the last of them nearly a hundred years before, at the end of the most recent great war between the Homeworld and the Settlements. She had seen images and read descriptions of them in the Books of Time, but they were too fantastical for her to fully comprehend. But she knew that they would be built again as they had in times past, once a leader had accumulated enough builders with the skills to make in form the information provided by the keepers of the Books of Time. The thought filled her with dread, for the only one on the Homeworld with enough resources to accomplish the feat was Syr-Nagath.

  “You have that look again.”

  Ka’i-Lohr was staring at her, the ends of his lips turned up in a grin.

  “What look?” She asked.

  “The one where you see the vision of your mind, not your eyes.”

  She looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. “I have seen much in my mind that I wish I had not.”

  “So have we all,” he told her.

  Tara-Khan glanced at him, then at her, before rolling his eyes and returning his gaze to the horizon.

  “Not like this,” she said, trying to ignore Tara-Khan. “I saw the Final Annihilation of the Second Age through the eyes of Anuir-Ruhal’te, when fire rained from the skies and our kind nearly perished. And I fear the same fate awaits us if the Dark Queen is not stopped.”

  Tara-Khan snorted. “How can she be stopped? She will soon rule the Homeworld, and not long after will launch a war against the Settlements.”

  “She has not taken Ural-Murir,” Ka’i-Lohr countered.

  “But she will. It is inevitable.” He leaned toward his companions. “We and the other kingdoms of Ural-Murir will fight, but she now has the command of all the legions of T’lar-Gol and Uhr-Gol, and all their builders and other robed castes.” He poked a taloned finger at Ka’i-Lohr. “I have studied the Books of Time more than you. Every leader in recorded history who has won those two continents before launching an attack on Ural-Murir has been victorious.”

  Ka’i-Lohr refused to give in to the argument of his tresh. “We will bleed her badly.”

  “Of course. But she will win in the end.”

  “And finally take my head.” Keel-Tath wrapped her arms around her chest as she turned away, stricken with despair. “Is that what you want, Tara-Khan? Why do you not simply take your sword and strike me down?”

  Tara-Khan stared at her with hooded eyes, and for a moment she wondered if he were considering doing just that. “I speak of what I believe must come to pass,” he said, his voice held carefully neutral. “I did not say it would fill my heart with joy.”

  “We will not let harm come to you.” Ka’i-Lohr touched her arm, drawing her attention away from Tara-Khan’s stare.

  She appreciated his kindness, but her voice was bitter nonetheless. “How can you say such a foolish thing? The Dark Queen has millions at her command. Yet the two of you will protect me, when I can likely best either of you in single combat?”

  “My respects, mistress,” Tara-Khan told her with a cold smile, “but you will not best my sword.”

  “I was taught by the greatest warrior of the Desh-Ka,” she said proudly, her hand tightening around the grip of the sword the ship’s armorer had made for her, which fit her hand far better than her father’s, which she wore strapped across her back.

  “And how many Challenges have you faced?”

  “Only my first,” she admitted. “I was…I was banished from the temple the day I was to face my second.”

  “Tara-Khan has fought all seven,” Ka’i-Lohr told her, pride unmistakable in his voice, “and was never defeated.”

  Keel-Tath stared at Tara-Khan, who graced her with a barely perceptible nod of his head. “How is that possible? You can scarcely be older than me!”

  “I was raised by the Nyur-A’il,” he told her, “and learned sword craft from their high priest. I had a great gift for it, even at a very early age.”

  “Then why did you leave the priesthood?”

  Ka’i-Lohr turned away, clearly trying not to laugh.

  Tara-Khan shot him a sour look. “Let us say that I did not have the temperament to become a priest of their order.” He shrugged. “I was sent to Ku’ar-Amir as a ward of Li’an-Salir, and served one of the seagoing kazhas where I met him.” He nodded to Ka’i-Lohr.

  “And there you were bound as tresh?”

  “Yes,” Ka’i-Lohr said. “I have been at sea most of my life. Both of us are orphans. He, at least, knows who his parents were.” He frowned. “I was found by one of Li’an-Salir’s builders, left naked on a pier next to one of the great ships. I was old enough to know the name I was given, but little more.”

  Tara-Khan flicked his fingers as if ridding them of something better left unmentioned. “We are born, we live, and we die. The past matters no more than ashes in the wind.”

  Keel-Tath looked away toward the horizon, a chill breeze across her soul. “My past mattered a great deal to me.”

  ***

  On the third day of their journey to Ku’ar-Amir, a voyage that Wan-Kuta’i said would normally take seven days if they met with favorable conditions, Keel-Tath was at her accustomed post on the lookout platform. She was practicing tying and untying the knots that Ka’i-Lohr had taught her, except he would not let her look at her hands.

  “Keep your eyes on the horizon,” he told her with a sly grin as he had handed her two ropes he had already knotted together, the free ends whipping about in the wind. “You may only use your hands and your fingers to see.”

  “Why can I not look?” She asked, bewildered as she accepted the fist-sized knot.

  “Were it dark or were a storm upon us, do you think you would be able to see the strands of rope?”

  She shook her head, frowning.

  Tara-Khan looked at her and grimaced. “I hate that knot,” he muttered.

  The devilish binding of the ropes had occupied her hands for over an hour as her eyes watched the horizon. She gave a whoop as she wrestled one end of the rope loose. Unable to help herself, she glanced down at her handiwork.

  “No looking!” Ka’i-Lohr chided. He and Tara-Khan both laughed at her.

  With a grin, she returned her gaze to the sea. That is when she saw it. A dark smudge, very faint, on the horizon behind them.

  Setting the knot aside, she pointed. “What is that?”

  The other two looked, then froze.

  “What is it?” She asked again, puzzled at their reaction.

  “A ship,” Tara-Khan said grimly.

  “And not one of ours,” Ka’i-Lohr added. Leaning over the edge of the platform, he cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed, “Enemy ship, on the horizon dead astern!”

  The reaction on the deck far below was instantaneous. A horn blew and the crew boiled from below decks to take up their stations. Wan-Kuta’i and Dara-Kol, tiny figures as seen from the lookout platform, rushed to the stern and stared at the sea. It was some moments before Wan-Kuta’i pointed.

  “We can see farther from up here,” Ka’i-Lohr explained as the tip of a mast appeared, framed by the smoke.

  “How do you know it is one of the queen’s ships?”

  “While it has sails,”
he told her, “it is also burning wood to drive paddles in the water. The mechanical engine that drives the paddles is what makes the smoke. Even when the wind is completely calm, such ships can sail onward.”

  Keel-Tath did not understand how burning wood could move a ship through the water, but she accepted his words on faith. “Yes, but how do you know it is not a ship from Ural-Murir?”

  Tara-Khan snorted. “Only fools use such engines. They are dangerous, difficult to maintain, and the sound and vibrations often draw unwanted attention from the depths.”

  “And that is something no ship ever wants,” Ka’i-Lohr added. Both of them were tense, and she realized they were both afraid, not of battle, but of the sea. The crew had already shared many stories with her, and a few had been about some of the battles they had fought. She had no need to hear the song of their spirit in her blood to sense their terror. The sea was far more cruel than the most horrendous battle. Crewmen who fell from their ships had only seconds to live before being torn apart by the deadly fish, and a ship that suffered damage below the waterline could be just as quickly doomed by the things that came in with the water.

  She shivered and clutched more tightly at the rope stays supporting the platform as the ship heeled over to a new course, the bow swinging to starboard, to the southwest. Life on land suddenly seemed much more appealing.

  “Wan-Kuta’i is turning the ship to give the sails the best advantage of the wind,” Ka’i-Lohr said. “It will lengthen our journey somewhat, but perhaps may keep us out of reach of the enemy until dark.”

  “And what then?”

  “If they are not too close and there is no moon, we may be able to lose them.”

  ***

  Hours later, Keel-Tath was still scanning the horizon behind them, watching the slow approach of the queen’s warship, when she noticed something else.

  More smoke.

  She nudged Tara-Khan and Ka’i-Lohr, who had been scanning the other sectors of the horizon. They looked and squinted. After a moment, they nodded.

  “It is your honor,” Tara-Khan told her. “Inform Wan-Kuta’i.”

  Looking down at the deck far below and the tiny figures standing at their posts, Keel-Tath cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted, “Smoke on the horizon astern!” She looked up quickly at Tara-Khan, who gave her a grudging nod of approval. She was learning the strange language of those who sailed the sea, albeit slowly.

  Every face on the deck looked up at her warning, and Wan-Kuta’i gestured for her to come down.

  “I saw two more plumes of smoke,” she reported after climbing down the rope ladders and dashing aft to the quarterdeck. “They looked to be much the same as that of the ship that follows us, but I could see nothing else.”

  “You did well, Keel-Tath.” Wan-Kuta’i inclined her head, and Keel-Tath felt herself swell with pride. “To have sight keener than your two companions is no mean feat.”

  “What shall we do?” Dara-Kol fingered the handle of her sword as she glanced at Keel-Tath, exposing her worry over the safety of her charge.

  “The first ship we might have beaten in battle, although it would not have been easy. Against three…” Wan-Kuta’i shook her head. “And we cannot outrun them. Even with full sail they are gaining on us.”

  “Blood in the water.” Dara-Kol said it so softly that Keel-Tath thought at first she had misheard.

  But several of the crew nearby had not. They stared at Dara-Kol, fear and disbelief plain on their faces. “Mistress,” one of them said, shaken, “we are on the edge of the Great Deep!”

  Keel-Tath did not understand. “What does that mean?”

  With a thoughtful look at Dara-Kol, Wan-Kuta’i told her, “Just as the a’in-ka tree of which our ship is made repels the creatures of the sea, so does blood attract them. The waters where we sail now, along the Great Deep, are the most dangerous of our world. Only the largest of our ships ever venture this far west for fear of what lives beneath the waves. We come this far only because we must.” She looked back at the enemy warship, which was still distant, but in full view, smoke belching from a stack amidships. The dark smudges of the other two ships were now discernible on the horizon behind it. “The queen’s ships, driven by their noisy mechanical contraptions, are foolish to even try.”

  “So, we put blood in the water to attract the beasts below? What difference would that make to the queen’s ships?”

  “The kalakh-hin’da, the large creature you saw attacking the queen’s warriors on the beach as we left in the boats, is small prey here.” Wan-Kuta’i’s eyes took on a haunted expression. “The things this far into the Western Sea and beyond are born of nightmares and legends best left unspoken.” She looked at Keel-Tath. “Yet they may now be our only salvation.”

  ***

  As the day wore on, the wind began to slacken. Behind them, the lead ship had slowed its headlong pursuit for a time, allowing its sisters to catch up. Now the three of them, in a wedge formation, steamed full-ahead after their prey.

  Wan-Kuta’i’s ship had every bit of canvas out. She had even had the crew haul buckets of water up to douse the sails to catch every last breath of wind, but it was clear that the pursuing warships would catch them well before nightfall.

  “The night would not help us,” Wan-Kuta’i said. “The Great Moon shines tonight. They would be able to see as plain as day.”

  “Blood in the water, then?” Keel-Tath’s stomach curdled as she spoke the words. The bawdy tales of the crew had also included accounts of the creatures of the Great Deep. She had thought at the time they were only tall tales, exaggerations intended to scare a young warrior fresh from the land. She knew now that the tales were no mere fabrication. While they attended their duties, there was no mistaking the aura of fear among the crew.

  Nodding, Wan-Kuta’i said, “When the time is right.”

  Keel-Tath was startled by a close-spaced series of booms that echoed from the queen’s ships, accompanied by gouts of flame and puffs of smoke from their bows. A few seconds later, she heard a sound like cloth being ripped, just before enormous geysers erupted in the sea ahead and behind her ship.

  “What was that?”

  “Cannons.” Wan-Kuta’i spat the word. “They shoot a ball about as large as your head across a great distance, and can cause much damage to a ship.”

  “Do we have any?”

  “No. Our larger ships carry such weapons, but we do not. This ship was designed as a swift courier, for speed, not battle. The weapons we used against the warriors on the beach are effective against ships, but only at close range, and only in a broadside. We have nothing that can fire directly forward or aft. They will be useless in this fight.” She grimaced as the pursuing ships fired another salvo. The shots landed much closer. She turned her attention to the lookout platform where Tara-Khan and Ka’i-Lohr were. “Clear the lookouts!”

  “Why must they come down?” Keel-Tath asked as her two companions quickly abandoned the platform and began to clamber down the rope ladder.

  “Anyone on the platform would be killed if the mainmast is hit,” Wan-Kuta’i told her. “And we may have more need of a few extra swords on deck than eyes up above. But now we have other business to attend to.”

  She gathered Dara-Kol and several others, including Drakh-Nur, who was still terribly ill, but driven by his duty to protect his young mistress, and led them to the lee side of the ship, opposite the direction from where the wind was blowing. Taking her dagger, she leaned as far as she could over the side rail and extended her left arm, then slashed her wrist. Blood trickled from the wound, the crimson drops scattering across the water.

  The others, including Tara-Khan and Ka’i-Lohr when they reached the deck, did the same. Keel-Tath joined them, suppressing a wince as the glittering blade sliced through her flesh and into the veins. She noticed out of the corner of her eye the white robes of Han-Ukha’i as the healer came to stand behind them, ready to heal their wounds.

  As their blood raine
d down upon the water, Keel-Tath expected Wan-Kuta’i to recite some sort of incantation or ceremonial words. But the ship mistress remained silent, her eyes fixed on the water as if she could see into the black depths below.

  At last, Wan-Kuta’i said, “Enough.” Keel-Tath and the others clamped a hand over the wounds in their wrists, and Han-Ukha’i went to work, placing a small piece of healing gel over each wound. In but moments, all that remained was a neat scar.

  Keel-Tath followed Wan-Kuta’i and Dara-Kol again to the stern rail, where they watched and waited. “Can the things of the sea taste the blood?”

  Wan-Kuta’i nodded. “The creatures in these waters can sense a single drop of blood from leagues away, and we have offered them the scent of a great feast. Our blood is even more enticing, because we are from the land, a rare prey for them. That they will come, there is no doubt. The only question is whether they will come in time.”

  Dara-Kol added, “And if they do not destroy us, too.”

  The queen’s ships fired again, and Keel-Tath flinched as she heard a sharp crack from above, followed by warning cries. She looked up just in time to see the lookout platform explode in a shower of splinters that rained down on the deck. A warrior screamed as the top of the mainmast fell, crushing her.

  “They have found our range!” Wan-Kuta’i turned and bellowed orders, and the ship changed course slightly to throw off the enemy gunners’ aim. Warriors swarmed up the rope ladders to repair the damaged rigging below the lookout platform. Pointing at the body of the dead warrior, Wan-Kuta’i said, “Throw her body into the sea!” Under her breath, she added, “We will honor her later. Now the scent of her blood and flesh of her body might help save us.”

  The pursuing ships began a steady barrage. Most of the shots missed, but more and more were finding their mark. Keel-Tath was amazed to see that the cannonballs actually bounced off the stout wood of the hull. But above, along the exposed decks and among the masts and rigging, the weapons were wreaking havoc.