Read Forged In Flame (In Her Name: The First Empress, Book 2) Online
Authors: Michael R. Hicks
Forged In Flame (In Her Name: The First Empress, Book 2)
Contents
Chapter One - Child of Prophecy
Chapter Two - City Of The Dead
Chapter Nine - The Tale Of Dara-Kol
Chapter Ten - Call Of The Ancients
Chapter Twelve - A Price To Be Paid
Chapter Thirteen - Death In The Vale
Chapter Fourteen - Into The Great Wastelands
Chapter Seventeen - New Friends
Chapter Eighteen - On The Beach
Chapter Nineteen - Ocean Passage
Chapter Twenty - The Great Deep
Chapter Twenty-One - Coming Of The Storm
Chapter Twenty-Three - The Dark Queen
Chapter Twenty-Four - Inquisition
Chapter Twenty-Five - Crystal Of Souls
Chapter Twenty-Six - Darkness Falls
FORGED IN FLAME
(In Her Name: The First Empress, Book 2)
Michael R. Hicks
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
ISBN: 978-0988932111
FORGED IN FLAME (IN HER NAME: THE FIRST EMPRESS, BOOK 2)
Copyright © 2013 by Imperial Guard Publishing, LLC
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Published by Imperial Guard Publishing
CHAPTER ONE
Child of Prophecy
The sky was alight with streaks of gold and crimson as the sun rose above the great plateau that was home to the temple of the Desh-Ka priesthood. In the distance, the brooding shadows of the mountains of Kui’mar-Gol were swept away as sunlight fell upon their snow-covered peaks. The Great Moon, an enormous glowing disk, was setting behind the mountain range as if fleeing the rising sun.
In the center of the temple loomed the
Kal’ai-Il
, the place of atonement. A ponderous circular construct of stone that had been the first structure built in the temple many thousands of years before, the
Kal’ai-Il
served as a reminder to all of the pain and humiliation that awaited those who strayed far from the Way. It was at the heart of not only the ancient martial orders, but of the schools of the Way, the
kazhas
, where the young of their species were taught and trained to serve in society.
Around the
Kal’ai-Il
stood the other structures of the temple where the warriors and members of the non-warrior castes lived, worked, and trained. While every building had its purpose, the heart of the temple was in the five stone rings that stood next to the
Kal’ai-Il
: the sand-filled arenas where the warriors learned the arts of war.
At the center of the five rings was a large stone dais, upon which now stood a solitary figure, T’ier-Kunai, high priestess of the Desh-Ka, her silver-trimmed black cape rippling in the light breeze that swept over the plateau. In her right hand she held a staff of black metal, the shaft glittering with the intricate inlay of the same living metal from which her sword blade had been fashioned.
Around her, their heads bowed in respect, knelt the other priests and priestesses of the order. They were few compared to the other martial orders, numbering only a few hundred. Most served outside the temples, as leaders of the larger
kazhas
, but returned for events of critical importance such as this. Few their number might be, but these priests and priestesses were the most powerful warriors of their species. On more than one occasion in the long and bloody history of the
Kreela
, the warrior priests and priestesses of the Desh-Ka had defeated entire armies.
In the arenas, hundreds of warrior disciples, arrayed in precise rows, knelt in the sand facing T’ier-Kunai. Their heads, like those of the priests and priestesses, were bowed in respect to the high priestess. They were silent, but the air was tense with expectation, for this day was one of the most anticipated of every year.
Nearest the dais were the acolytes who hoped one day to enter the priesthood. Most who had started upon the path to claiming a Collar of Honor had long since given up or died, for to join the ranks of the Desh-Ka was to travel a long and deadly path. But these had already traveled far, each and every one a highly accomplished warrior. Their efforts had been rewarded with a band of black living metal around their necks that they would wear until they died. And upon their breast plates was inscribed the outline of the Desh-Ka rune in cyan. The outline would be filled in for those few who survived to join the priesthood and don the sigil of the order on the collar about their necks.
In the next rows knelt the disciples who had yet to be judged worthy of joining the ranks of the acolytes. Many had been living under the harsh strictures of the order for years, and a few had been here their entire lives, sons and daughters of the priests and priestesses who called this place home, or children who had nowhere else to go. All wore the gleaming black metal armor of the warrior caste, along with the swords and other weapons made of living steel that felt as natural in their hands as the razor sharp black talons on the tips of their fingers. Some had been blooded in battle, but most had not.
At the rear of the crowd knelt a handful of younglings. Some were only months or even days out of the creche, while others would very soon join the ranks of the disciples. They wore no weapons, only the traditional black undergarment that was ubiquitous for all the castes in their society, over which was fitted supple black leatherite armor that, when they were older and stronger, would be covered with the metal armor they would wear for the rest of their lives.
The younglings looked much like their parents, with cobalt blue skin and dark eyes flecked with silver. Their hair, while short, was already divided into the seven braids that tradition demanded, and would never be cut unless they were cast out of society. Their talons, little more than sharp fingernails now, were the same black as the talons of those who knelt in the rows ahead of them. Those traits had been universal among the
Kreela
since the dawn of history nearly four hundred thousand years before.
And yet, among the hundreds who knelt upon the sand, one was different from all who had ever lived and died, as recorded in the Books of Time. A female disciple, her place was in the center of the first row, just behind the acolytes. It was a place earned not by age, for she was only fourteen years old, but by right of accomplishment. While her skin was as blue as that of the high priestess who stood silently on the dais, the young warrior’s hair was pure white, glistening like snow in the growing light of the sunrise. At the ends of her fingers, clenched now into tight fists, were talons of brilliant crimson that were matched by the nails on her toes.
The temple was silent as the sun burst over the edge of the plateau to shine full upon those assembled in the arenas. Upon the
Kal’ai-Il
, an acolyte rammed the intricately carved striker that hung from metal chains against the huge gong suspended between two pillars atop the ancient structure.
The deep sound echoed across the temple, and when it faded away T’ier-Kunai began to speak.
“You have trained hard and well my children, just as you always have.” Her sonorous voice carried well, easily reaching not only the kneeling warriors, but the robed members of the non-warrior castes who stood, heads bowed, beyond the waist-high walls of the arenas. “With every wound you have suffered, with every ache you have endured, with every concept you have learned, you have taken yet another step along the path that is the Way.”
“So has it always been,” the souls around her, from the youngest child to the oldest priest, replied, “and so shall it always be.”
“Soon you will face the Challenge. For some it shall be your first, while for others it will be the seventh and last, when you shall earn the title of warrior.”
T’ier-Kunai looked toward the sun, which was now halfway above the edge of the plateau, sending spears of light through the scattered clouds above. Then she turned back to those who knelt before her. “As tradition demands, I now release you for your free time. From now until sunset two days hence, you are free to go where you will and do as your heart pleases. Go now.”
The warriors raised their left fists to their right breasts, the crash of metal gauntlets upon breastplates echoing across the arenas as they rendered
tla’a-kane
, the ritual salute.
T’ier-Kunai rapped her staff once upon the dais, and the gong of the
Kal’ai-Il
again sounded.
***
Ayan-Dar stood and turned to watch chaos erupt among the disciples. The precise formations of warriors and the robed castes disintegrated as they rushed away as quickly as they could, while trying to give the impression that they weren’t rushing. Their lives were governed by traditions and orderly rituals in all things, save this one.
He smiled as he watched the majority of the warriors, all of whom were far younger than he, rush toward the stables where the
magtheps
, two-legged riding animals, were kept. Others, knowing there would not be enough of the shaggy-coated creatures to ride to their destination, made for the barracks where they would snatch up the packs of provisions they had prepared that morning before heading out on foot. There was a low buzz of excitement and more than a few fangs-bared grins. “Were we ever that young?”
“I once was,” said T’ier-Kunai, who had come down from the dais to stand beside him. “I am not so sure about you.”
The old priest snorted. Ayan-Dar was older than the high priestess, and by the number of pendants that hung from his collar could perhaps claim to be the more accomplished warrior. There was a time when he could have become high priest of the order, but it was an position and a responsibility that did not suit him. He had lost much of his faith, along with his right eye and arm, over eighty years before in the war with the Settlements. He had questioned the purpose of his life every day since then, wondering why he should bother to take another breath when his life held no purpose other than to train others of his kind to fight and die. He believed in the rightness of the Way, the code by which his kind had managed to survive for hundreds of thousands of years, but not the stasis into which his species had fallen. Civilizations rose and fell, wars were fought and won or lost, but there was little else. Even the old gods that his kind had once worshipped had been discarded, having proved themselves false when his species nearly annihilated itself ages before.
His doubt, his growing belief that life itself was worthless, had changed fourteen years ago when a child had been born, a child unlike any other. A child foretold by prophecy, who would unite their race across the Homeworld and the stars. Her name was Keel-Tath, daughter of Kunan-Lohr and Ulana-Tath, who had been slain by the Dark Queen, and he had helped to raise her here in the temple after the death of her parents.
He watched her now, racing Ria-Ka’luhr, a young priest who had tried to save her mother from death at the hands of honorless ones, to the low wall that ringed the temple at the plateau’s edge. The temple had no need of the great fortifications boasted by some of the cities, such as Keel-A’ar, where Keel-Tath had been born. The priests and the builders of the Desh-Ka were the defense of the temple, and were far more formidable a defense than even the greatest fortifications. Massive walls had not saved Keel-A’ar, which had been reduced to a smoldering pyre by the Dark Queen not long after Keel-Tath had been born. He had watched the city and its inhabitants burn, and seen the girl’s father thrown into the flames. Sometimes in the night he could hear echoes of the screams, tens of thousands of souls crying out for justice that had never come.
Keel-Tath easily bested Ria-Ka’luhr in the sprint, and Ayan-Dar doubted the priest had simply let her win. Certainly, he could have won by using the powers he had inherited when he joined the priesthood, but in a foot race Keel-Tath was a devil to beat, even as young as she was. She ran with power and grace beyond her years, and Ayan-Dar was overcome with a sense of pride as he watched her. He could feel the excitement and yearning in her blood, but he also sensed her acute loneliness. She was surrounded by those who would keep and protect her, yet she was more alone than any other soul among their kind.