Mistress Of The Ages (In Her Name, Book 9) (4 page)

The others, with an acute look of discomfort, nodded. The oracle’s name, even across all the ages since she had lived and breathed, was still spoken with the same reverence and awe as had once been the forgotten names of the old gods.
 

“It is a matter of interpretation,” one of them said. “We do not believe Keel-Tath is the child of which the prophecy speaks.” The others stared at Sian-Al’ai, who could sense the tension building among them.
 

“I hope you are with us,” one of the others, his hand on the handle of his sword, added quietly.
 

“Of course,” Sian-Al’ai said after a moment. She kept her hands firmly at her sides, away from her weapons, forcing herself to relax. “I will do whatever is necessary to preserve the Way.”

***

Keel-Tath’s first sensation was that she was suffocating. Gasping for breath, she fell to her knees after she and Alena-Khan winked into existence. The ground beneath her was a great sheet of barren, black glass covered with shards that would have sliced through her hands had she not been wearing her gauntlets. The glossy surface extended as far as she could see in every direction, just as had the ocean during her perilous voyage to Ku’ar-Amir what seemed a lifetime ago. The air here was perfectly still, and she could hear nothing other than herself and Alena-Khan fighting for breath. The utter silence, more than anything else, stoked her fear.

Reaching down, Alena-Khan pulled Keel-Tath to her feet. “Breathe slowly and deep,” the priestess counseled. “The air here is very thin, like at the top of a great mountain.”

“I have…never been…to such a place,” Keel-Tath gasped. “I…”
 

She stopped. Above, through a very pale magenta sky, she saw a great globe, its surface marked with swaths of deep greens and browns, brilliant blues, and swirling white, with an intense magenta halo.

“Yes,” Alena-Khan said, following Keel-Tath’s gaze. “That is our home, the birthplace of our kind.”

“It is so beautiful,” Keel-Tath whispered as she stared, enraptured. “I could not in all my dreams have imagined it so.”

“It is beautiful, yes. So unlike this place.” She helped Keel-Tath to her feet. “Your instincts for travel through the void are impressive, mistress. Welcome to the Great Moon.”

Looking around, Keel-Tath’s amazement swung like a pendulum from the Homeworld’s beauty to the lifeless desolation of where they now found themselves. “It looks beautiful from home,” she said quietly.

“It does,” Alena-Khan agreed, “but not from here. Never have I seen a more wretched place. Not even the Great Wastelands can compare.” Turning to Keel-Tath, she said, “This was pointless. There is no sanctuary to be found here. We two are the only living things. The land is dead. Even the air smells sterile. There is nothing here but death, and if the legends from the Books of Time are true, death will soon come for us. You were wise not to tell me where we were going, or I would never have brought you. We should leave. Now.”

Keel-Tath ignored her warnings. “You know of those who came before? Those who died here?”

“Of course. While it is not common knowledge beyond the temples, it is certainly well known to those of the priesthoods. And that is why we must leave now, while we still can. Before the black wind comes. Only two who ever ventured here made it home alive to speak of what they found. And they died soon thereafter, screaming in agony. The healers could do nothing for them.” Alena-Khan reached out her hand to Keel-Tath, who stepped away.
 

“No,” Keel-Tath told her. “You must return to help the others hold off Syr-Nagath’s warriors. I will remain here. There is something I must do.”

Holding out her arms in a gesture of hopelessness, Alena-Khan cried, “And what would that be?”

“I do not know,” Keel-Tath admitted. “All I know is that Ayan-Dar told me that I must come here.”

“I miss him, too, but he is gone. Accept his death. That is the best way to honor him. Let us return home. You are too important for us to lose in this…hopeless endeavor.”

“No. I must remain.”

Alena-Khan’s gaze hardened. “I will not leave you here. I am honor bound to serve and protect you. If you do not come with me, I have no choice but to stay with you. We will share the same fate.”

They both looked up at the sound of a gentle sigh. It was an ululating shriek against the backdrop of silence.

Hardening her resolve, Keel-Tath turned back to Alena-Khan. “High priestess of the Desh-Ka,” she said, holding the older warrior’s gaze, “you have bound your honor to me through word and deed, and I command you to return and lead the defense of the Desh-Ka against those who would see them destroyed.” She swallowed, then said, “To disobey my command is to dishonor me and disgrace thyself.”

“Ayan-Dar taught you well,” the priestess said after a long moment. “I hear your command and obey, mistress.” She offered her hands, and Keel-Tath clasped her forearms tight in the way of greeting and farewell among warriors. “How will I know to return for you?”

Keel-Tath had no answer, and offered none. Releasing Alena-Khan, she stepped back. “Go now,” Keel-Tath said. “And may thy Way be long and glorious, my priestess.”

“And you, mistress.” Rendering a proud salute, Alena-Khan bowed her head. Then, turning her eyes to the Homeworld above, she departed, leaving Keel-Tath to face alone whatever awaited her.

CHAPTER FOUR

Tara-Khan and Ka’i-Lohr stood at the center of the leading rank of a formation of acolytes that had taken up position at the last bend in the trail that led up to the temple. In addition to their swords, they were armed with long pikes sporting sharp barbed tips. The priests and priestesses would engage the enemy as needed, but the trail was designed to be defended by a small number of swords, and the acolytes were given the honor of bleeding the enemy first.

“I can’t believe Keel-Tath left us,” Ka’i-Lohr said as they watched the mass of mounted riders thunder up the trail.
 

“Anything she does, she does because she must.” Tara-Khan’s hands clenched tight around the shrekkas he held in each hand. He was more afraid than he had ever been in his life, but his fear was not for himself. He had been born to fight, to wage war, and it held only exhilaration for him. His fear was reserved for Keel-Tath, and for her alone. He could feel her song in his blood, far more powerful than the others in the ocean that bound his bloodline together. She was terrified, and he could do absolutely nothing to help her.
 

Ka’i-Lohr sighed. “I hope you are right, my tresh.”
 

The leading rank of mounted enemy riders rounded the turn in the switchback below them. With a howling battle cry, they kicked the flanks of the magtheps they rode, driving the tired beasts into a frenzied charge at the defenders.
 

Holding the first shrekka ready, Tara-Khan tried to push thoughts of Keel-Tath from his mind. He watched the attackers and judged the moment carefully, taking into account that he could throw farther than most of the acolytes. “
Now!
”

The defenders loosed a barrage of the deadly throwing weapons into the lead riders. A few were skilled enough to either dodge the weapons or knock them aside with their drawn swords, but none could protect their magtheps. Half the lead rank went down, with injured magtheps bellowing and riders screaming in agony as the curved blades of living metal sliced through armor and flesh. Those nearest the edge of the trail went over the side, falling to their deaths.

The survivors continued on, loosing their own barrage of shrekkas as the magtheps pounded forward, leaping over their fallen cousins. Two acolytes went down and a third cried out as her hand was severed. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she drew her sword and held her ground.

Tara-Khan, Ka’i-Lohr and the more skilled acolytes got off two more shrekkas each, taking a greater toll on the attackers, but they were unable to break the momentum of the assault.
 

As the last shrekka left his hand, Tara-Khan ordered, “Pikes!”
 

Bending down, each of the warriors grabbed a long shafted pike that sported a wickedly sharp tip as long as Tara-Khan’s forearm. Jamming the butt of the shaft into shallow rain-filled holes the warriors had prepared, they raised the gleaming tips toward the onrushing attackers.
 

“
Hold fast!
” Tara-Khan bellowed. Even attacking on such a narrow front, a mounted charge was an impressive and intimidating sight. Beside him, Ka’i-Lohr bared his fangs in anticipation. On Tara-Khan’s other side, Drakh-Nur roared like a genoth.

The ground beneath their feet trembled as the enemy riders closed the distance, swords drawn.

***

“And this is how our great deeds here will be recorded in the Books of Time:
And they sat alone in the rain while others fought with honor
.”

Kula-Me’ir picked up a small stone and flicked it at her companion, Ul-Gar. “Be grateful they did not leave you with the younglings of the creche,” she told him. She was the elder of the two, and while not yet a full-fledged warrior, had completed five of the seven challenges the Way demanded. Of those five, she had won three, which was no small feat in a temple where Desh-Ka priests were the teachers. Ul-Gar had only completed his third challenge, but had won them all. They had crossed swords in the arena, and while each would claim superior skill, the truth is that they were evenly matched.
 

“Why could they not have sent someone else to watch the river?” Ul-Gar complained as he dodged the stone in a reflexive move. “Our swords are useless here.”

They had been sent to keep watch on the Dark Queen’s forces on the far side of the river to the north of the temple while the priests and older acolytes saw to the enemy attack coming from the trail. Everyone knew the legions gathered on the far side of the river could not cross the raging waters below. And even if the water had been calm, only the most brave or foolhardy would have tried to cross, even in boats. The fish that lurked beneath the surface were vicious killers except in winter, when they fell dormant.

“Dara-Kol sent us because she trusts us to do our duty.” Kula-Me’ir felt exactly the same as Ul-Gar, but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing it. She was the elder, and was therefore wiser, choosing her words with care. “We guard the entire temple here. That is a great honor.”

He made a face at her, the rain running in rivulets down his face. “And who is she to command us?" he complained. “She is of Desh-Ka blood, but is not a priestess.”

Kula-Me’ir’s mouth fell open. Such disrespectful words from a child! “It is not for you to question! She is First to Keel-Tath, to whom we are all bound. And Alena-Khan trusts her.”

“I trust her, too,” Ul-Gar said. “I simply do not understand why…”

Kula-Me’ir heard something, a strange whistling noise accompanied by the faint grinding of metal. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow darkening against the gray wall of rain that enveloped them.

“
Look out!
” She shoved Ul-Gar to the side as a huge stone ball struck the ground right where he had been standing. Twice as big around as Kula-Me’ir stood tall, it was studded with long metal barbs. A thick chain trailed behind it, disappearing into the rain in the direction of the river.

“What is it?” Ul-Gar said, his sword drawn. Kula-Me’ir was proud of him. His voice held no fear. But, looking again at the huge metal ball, perhaps being afraid would be more prudent.

She heard the sound again, and another of the barbed stone balls slammed into the ground farther away. Then another and another. In the span of a few moments, at least a dozen had landed, and more slammed into the ground with every breath along the overlook where the two young warriors stood.

“Surely they do not expect to hit us with these?” Ul-Gar asked, ignoring the fact that the first one had nearly done exactly that.

“No,” Kula-Me’ir said slowly as she examined the chain. The links were as big around as her arm. As she watched, the slack disappeared and it drew taught. “No, they are not weapons,” she said as realization suddenly dawned. “They are bridges! Quickly, see if you can cut the chains!”

The two young warriors attacked the chains with gusto, but their swords were able to do little more than nick and dent the thick links. Taking a moment to look closer, Kula-Me’ir saw that they had been coated in the same metal from which the swords were made.
 

“We cannot cut them,” she cried. Looking off into the gloom over the river, she saw dark shapes growing closer. The chains bobbed slightly in a rhythmic movement. “They are coming across!”

“Then we will stand and fight!” Ul-Gar stood beside her, his eyes alight with anticipation. “Ours shall be the greater glory.”

Kula-Me’ir watched as the shapes grew more distinct. She had expected to see individual warriors slithering across. Instead, the shapes resolved into gondolas, each propelled by a quartet of warriors turning cranks that powered a drive mechanism attached to the chain. A dozen more warriors crouched in each gondola, the lead ones holding a ladder to reach the overlook where the chains were anchored.

“We must flee,” she said, taking Ul-Gar’s arm. “We must warn the temple!”

“No!” He shook her hand free. “We are warriors! It is our duty to fight the enemy for honor and glory!”

Kula-Me’ir scowled. “And what glory shall there be if the temple falls, taken from behind because we did not warn of this attack? Our names will be scourged from the Books of Time, and rightly so!”

Ul-Gar paused, considering. “First blood,” he countered. “We draw first blood, then we flee.”

Looking to where their magtheps stood in silent misery, Kula-Me’ir gauged the wisdom of the younger acolyte’s demand. She could not deny that running without making a stand against the enemy was tasteless fruit, indeed.
 

“First blood,” she agreed. Then she put a hand on his shoulder and drew him close. “But then we leave to warn the others. Both of us, together. Agreed?”