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

by Hicks, Michael R.

  “I accept.” Keel-Tath held out her hands. Not so long ago she had felt ridiculous accepting the fealty of warriors far greater than was she. She was becoming more comfortable with the ritual, but hoped she would never take it for granted. Nearly all those who had pledged their lives to her had already paid in blood for the honor. “Rise, Sher-Ai’an.”

  He stood, then grasped her forearms in the greeting of warriors. “My life and my sword are yours.”

  “We would join forces with your crew on your ship,” Keel-Tath told him.

  A stricken look crossed Sher-Ai’an’s face. “Our ship is a hulk, mistress,” he said quietly. “The drive shaft broke when we crashed upon the back of this unbelievable beast and destroyed much of the engine’s drive machinery. Our builder is young, his powers weak. He might be able to patch the hull, but cannot repair the damage to the moving metal parts.” He paused, looking at her curiously. “I know your ship was damaged by our guns, but is it no longer seaworthy?”

  Keel-Tath pointed to where the ship rested behind them. Sher-Ai’an would not have seen the spine piercing the hull from where his own ship lay.

  “The hull, perhaps, he could patch, if we could only remove the spine.”

  That, Keel-Tath realized, was a formidable problem. Their swords would have difficulty hacking through the spine, and it would take precious time to accomplish.

  She was about to order her warriors to begin that arduous task when the motion of their host changed, and the sea on one side rose higher as the beast began a sweeping turn and the head began to disappear under the water.

  “No,” Keel-Tath breathed as the water rolled closer. Time, it seemed, was quickly running out. But she had not come so far to let the beasts of the sea eat her flesh. To Wan-Kuta’i she said, “Get everyone aboard, quickly!”

  The ship mistress looked at her, then at the approaching water. She was not beholden to Keel-Tath, but must have decided there was nothing to lose. “You heard her! Get back aboard!” With a slight pause, she nodded to Sher-Ai’an. “Your warriors, too.”

  “And bring me your builder,” Keel-Tath added.

  The warriors dashed to the lines still dangling from Wan-Kuta’i’s crippled ship. They allowed Drakh-Nur, with Han-Ukha’i clinging to his neck, to pull himself up first along the nearest line, while other warriors swarmed up the others. Then they began to help their remaining comrades up.

  As always, Tara-Khan and Ka’i-Lohr stayed with her.

  A young builder, his dark blue robes whipping in the wind as the great monster picked up speed, ran to where Keel-Tath stood. He knelt and saluted.

  “Come! We must hurry!”

  With the builder trailing after her, Keel-Tath ran to take a closer look at the damage to the hull. The creature’s spine had pierced the thick timbers and copper sheathing cleanly, without staving in much of the hull around the hole. Upon quick inspection, nothing else seemed amiss.

  They ran to the side where warriors were still pulling themselves up the lines. Those nearest stood aside to let Keel-Tath and the young builder take hold.

  “Drakh-Nur!”

  The giant warrior’s head peered over the side.

  “Pull us up!”

  A moment later the rope went taut, then the two of them were flying upward toward the railing overhead. Just when she thought her head would slam into it, Drakh-Nur reached over and grabbed her by the forearm, heaving her to the deck. He repeated the feat with the builder, then dropped the rope back for Ka’i-Lohr and Tara-Khan.

  “Wan-Kuta’i,” Keel-Tath called. “Do you have spare timbers?”

  “Of course.” With Dara-Kol and Drakh-Nur following right behind, the ship mistress led them to the rear hatch, then down a series of ladders to the hold. She went forward to where the spine pierced the hull. “Here.” She pointed to a bundle of dark gray timbers, some small and others large, that were secured by thick strands of rope to massive iron eye screws set into the frame of the hull.

  “We will need to move the wood next to the hole.” The builder said in a tremulous voice. “I have never created over any distance, even one so small as this.”

  They all looked down as seawater cascaded past the opening below as the creature dove into the water.

  “This will be your first time,” Keel-Tath told him. To Wan-Kuta’i, she said, “Go above and do what you must. We will heal the ship.”

  With an uncertain nod, the ship mistress left them.

  To Dara-Kol, Drakh-Nur, and her two young companions, she said, “You must protect us from anything that comes through until we can seal the breach.”

  They all nodded, drawing their swords and stepping close to the hole.

  “But mistress…” The builder was shaking his head, his eyes wide with fear.

  “Hush,” Keel-Tath told him. “Do you believe the prophecy of my birth?”

  Lowering his eyes, he shook his head.

  “You soon will, child,” Drakh-Nur said, his face lost in the shadow of the oil lanterns that lit the otherwise dim hold.

  “Take my hand.” Keel-Tath reached out to the young builder, who clung to her. He was shaking with fright. “You may not believe in me, but you must believe in yourself. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  His tone did not match his words, but Keel-Tath did not blame him. She, too, was terrified. “Then close your eyes and focus on the damage. Do as you have been trained.”

  With a gulp of air, the builder did as she asked. He closed his eyes and spread his arms wide, and she with him as they continued to hold hands.

  The hull reverberated with a loud boom and water shot through the hole around the gigantic spine as the sea reached the ship’s bottom, drenching them all with spray. With an ear-piercing screech, the spine began to pull out as the ship again began to float. Even more water poured through.

  “Focus!” Keel-Tath shouted above the din of the inrushing water. Their four protectors were already stabbing and hacking at the fish that made their way in, then at the head of something much larger that poked through.

  She could sense the builder’s spirit in her blood, and focused on it, willing him to be calm. After a moment, the painfully tight grip of his hand eased. “You have the skills,” she whispered. “I shall give you the power.”

  As his doubt fell away, she gasped as a surge of energy burned across the bridge of their hands. In her mind she saw the builder envision the hole gradually filling, the great timbers repairing themselves with tiny flecks taken from the spare wood nearby. It was a wondrous sensation, the power of creation, and it filled her with a warm ecstasy as the energy she poured through their union grew.

  As if in a distant dream, she heard shouts and screams and sensed water rising up above her knees. She opened her eyes partway, as if she was barely awake, and saw the head of the creature that had blocked most of the hole loll to the side, severed by the fish that had eaten away at its body beyond the hull. The fish were now swarming in, overwhelming the desperate efforts of the four swords protecting them. Other warriors had joined the fray to keep her and the builder from being eaten.

  With a gentle wave of her free hand, the rush of water into the hull was stilled. She watched as a thick smoke made up of millions of particles from the spare a’in-ka timbers poured into the water to bind to the edges of the hole in the hull, making it smaller with every passing second.

  As she willed it so, the sea began to rush out even faster than it had come in. The warriors standing in the water cried out in alarm as they were nearly caught in the rush, and the confused fish were forced out through the hole.

  By the time the water was gone, the hole had closed completely and the hull was sealed. The ship was again seaworthy.

  Breathing in deep, her body tingling all over, she let go the builder’s hand and turned to face him. He stared at her with wide eyes before dropping to his knee and saluting her, head bowed.

  He was not the only one. The other members of the crew did, as w
ell.

  All but Tara-Khan, who stood in silence, watching her with a thoughtful expression.

  “I told you, child,” Drakh-Nur said to the builder as he shook the water from his sword and sheathed it, his fangs glittering in a self-satisfied smile. “I told you that you would believe.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Coming Of The Storm

  The crew became more tense with every passing league as the ship drew near Ku’ar-Amir. With Keel-Tath’s help, the young builder had repaired all the significant damage suffered during the battle, and had even rebuilt the fallen mast. The ship was fully manned with crew left over, thanks to Sher-Ai’an and his warriors who were pledged to Keel-Tath.

  While the ship again sailed easy, what lay ahead was unknown, save for the songs of the blood in the veins of those who hailed from Ku’ar-Amir. None of what they sensed was good.

  “There is no doubt that battle has been joined,” Wan-Kuta’i said to Keel-Tath nd the other warriors gathered around the great wheel on the quarterdeck that controlled the ship’s rudder. It was morning twilight, and the ship was approaching Ku’ar-Amir from the east. Wan-Kuta’i planned to come over the horizon just as dawn broke, to make it more difficult to see her ship against the rising sun should enemy ships be laying in wait. “It is only a question of where.”

  “The Western Sea fleet had already set sail from the southern part of T’lar-Gol before we sailed in pursuit of your ship,” Sher-Ai’an said. “I was not told the details, but I heard tell that it was to land warriors north of the narrow land bridge that links Ku’ar-Amir to the rest of Ural-Murir.”

  “Perhaps that is what you sense,” Dara-Kol said. “Most of her forces must come from the Eastern Sea fleet, carrying warriors from both T’lar-Gol and Uhr-Gol.”

  Sher-Ai’an shook his head. “I do not know if or when they have sailed. We were told little of what goes on in the greater plan, only the details of our small part in it.”

  “Let us hope that a land campaign in the north is what we sense, and that she has not yet mounted a blockade.” Wan-Kuta’i looked up at the newly replaced mast and the sails that bulged forward, full of the wind. “We would not last long against more ships armed with cannons.”

  Keel-Tath found herself in the rebuilt lookout platform high on the mainmast, her sharp eyes scanning the sea around them in the waning darkness. The light of the sun’s rays creeping over the sea toward where the port lay revealed the gray forms of ships, so many that she lost count. While many were fat merchantmen, most had the sleek and powerful look of warships. Several of them quickly turned and beat into the wind toward them.

  “None fly the banner of the Dark Queen,” Ka’i-Lohr observed.

  Tara-Khan nodded. Looking at Keel-Tath, he said, “Inform Wan-Kuta’i.”

  While she bristled at his commanding tone, Keel-Tath did his bidding. Flying down the rope ladders, she brought the news to Wan-Kuta’i and the others. “No enemy ships are here.”

  “Not yet, at least,” Sher-Ai’an said quietly. “I doubt they are far behind us.”

  “Hail the approaching ships,” Wan-Kuta’i ordered. Then, to Keel-Tath, she said, “Once we drop anchor, let us get you to Li’an-Salir with all haste.”

  Keel-Tath climbed back to the lookout platform as their ship wove its way through the choked approaches to the harbor, and she marveled at the fleet that had assembled here. From vessels not unlike Wan-Kuta’i’s on up through behemoths even larger than the ships she had seen on her previous visit to the port, the sea was full of ships from horizon to horizon, with more coming in. What staggered her imagination was that while this was the kingdom’s capital city and largest port, it was far from the only one. Similar fleets, all the ships that hailed from Ku’ar-Amir, were forming at the other ports. Every ship had been called home for the coming war. She wondered how even the Dark Queen could challenge such might.

  At last, Wan-Kuta’i ordered the ship’s sails furled. The anchors fell away into the water with enormous splashes, and the air was filled with the loud clinking of their great chains streaming out of the hull until the anchors hit bottom. With a few last commands, the ship was secure, and Wan-Kuta’i beckoned the lookouts down from their post.

  Keel-Tath suddenly did not want to leave her seaborne aerie. Her hand gripped the low railing of the platform as if it had a mind of its own, unwilling to let go. The port city, beautiful as it was, would only bring death. She could feel it in her soul as surely as she could feel the freshening wind on her face. A vision flashed through her mind, an image of the same city, but ages before. It was much different then, far larger, and in some ways more beautiful, but there was no question it was Ku’ar-Amir. The sky above it flashed white, and a fraction of a second later the buildings blew apart, the stone and glass smashed and shattered, metal boiling away to steam, and everything made of wood bursting into flame. Hundreds of thousands of lives were snuffed out, their bodies burned to ash. She held on tighter to the railing as the shock wave, air compressed so hard by the blast that it was like a solid wall, smashed into her.

  “Keel-Tath!”

  She heard a voice calling as the fire-hot wall of air slammed into her, setting her aflame as it hurled her body out to sea…

  “Keel-Tath!”

  She opened her eyes to see Ka’i-Lohr peering down at her, an anxious expression on his face.

  “Can you hear me? Are you well?”

  “Yes,” she rasped as he helped her to a sitting position. Her body was shaking as if she had been stricken with a terrible fever, and her core felt cold as ice. “I am sorry.”

  “What happened?” Tara-Khan asked.

  “I saw…I saw another vision.”

  “What did you see?”

  Feeling the heat of the mourning marks below her eyes, she whispered, “You do not wish to know.”

  “Visions,” Tara-Khan muttered, shaking his head. “Can you climb down, or need I carry you?”

  Shaking free of Ka’i-Lohr, she forced herself to her feet and pushed past Tara-Khan to reach for the rope ladder. “I can make my own way.”

  By the time she made her way down the ladder to the deck, she had recovered from the vision, which she knew was another of Anuir-Ruhal’te’s memories that the crystal shard had somehow buried in her mind.

  “For what do you mourn, child?” Dara-Kol asked, seeing the black under Keel-Tath’s eyes.

  “The past and the future,” Keel-Tath answered as Ka’i-Lohr and Tara-Khan came up behind her. “I would speak no more of it.”

  Dara-Kol bowed her head, but there was no concealing her worry. “As you command, mistress.”

  Wan-Kuta’i called them to the side rail. “This boat,” she pointed down at a longboat with ten warriors holding oars that stood alongside, “will take you to Li’an-Salir. As soon as I can, I will send Sher-Ai’an and his warriors to shore where they will await your command.” She looked at Keel-Tath for a long moment. “I did not believe the prophecy before, and I am still not sure if I do. Perhaps I am simply not ready to accept as truth what I have seen with my own eyes. Sailors are known to be stubborn.” She smiled. “But know this: should you ever wish to take to sea again, you will always be welcome aboard any ship I command.”

  With that, she held out her hands, and Keel-Tath gripped her forearms. “We owe you our lives,” Keel-Tath told her softly. “It is a debt I can never repay.”

  “You do not need to, mistress.” She nodded to the rope ladder draped over the side of the ship. “Go now, and seek the counsel of Li’an-Salir.”

  Releasing Wan-Kuta’i’s arms, Keel-Tath clambered down the ladder, followed by Dara-Kol, Drakh-Nur, and Han-Ukha’i.

  “May we accompany you, mistress?”

  Keel-Tath looked up to see Ka’i-Lohr and Tara-Khan leaning out over the side rail. She glanced at Wan-Kuta’i, who nodded.

  “I will second them to you, if you would have them,” Wan-Kuta’i said.

  That brought a smile to Keel-Tath’s face. “You si
mply wish to be rid of them, great ship mistress!” She called. “But yes, I will take them.”

  Ka’i-Lohr and Tara-Khan wasted no time in climbing down the ladder and jumping into the boat.

  “Sher-Ai’an!” Keel-Tath called up.

  “Yes, mistress?” He stood beside Wan-Kuta’i.

  “Second your two best warriors to Wan-Kuta’i until we can return these two to her care.”

  “As you command, mistress! And we shall find you once we reach shore.”

  She nodded. “Very well. Until then!”

  As the rowers pushed away from the ship and headed toward shore, driving the boat through the water with quick, powerful strokes of the oars, the entire ship’s crew, lining the side rail, bowed their heads and saluted her.

  A vague sense of sadness overcame her as she returned the honor. In her heart she knew that she would never see the ship again.

  ***

  The mood in Li’an-Salir’s great hall was one of gloom, if not despair. Keel-Tath and her companions sat at the great mistress’s table and ate as guests, silent while Li’an-Salir conferred with her senior warriors. None of what was said was good news.

  “Syr-Nagath’s forces have taken the plains and control the roads north of the Swords of Night,” one of them was saying, using the tip of his sword to point to where the isthmus of Ku’ar-Amir joined with the mainland. Keel-Tath did not recognize the name, but could see on the hand-drawn map tall, rocky spires much like those that were found around the capital, but packed in much closer together. “We can hold the passes, but we are cut off from the northern kingdoms.”

  One of the others grunted. “More like they are cut off from us. The Dark Queen will make short work of the kingdoms of the plains, although the ones in the northern mountains will give her more trouble. But she wanted to cut us off first.”

  “The question is,” yet another said between mouthfuls of raw meat that he ground between his teeth, “where her main force will attack first. Against the northern kingdoms, or here?”