Unlike those who followed the Way as taught in the kazhas, the honorless ones had no taboo against the ill-treatment or killing of non-warrior castes. Healers, armorers, builders, and the many other castes that were the foundation of life as defined by the Way were murdered or, worse, taken as slaves. It was unthinkable to warriors such as Ulana-Tath and himself to leave the other castes unprotected; it was tantamount to throwing one’s own children to the ku’ur-kamekh, the ravenous steppe-beasts, to be torn apart and eaten.
But, as Syr-Nagath herself was fond of pointing out, she was not of their Way. No one knew anything of her past, but it would not have surprised Kunan-Lohr if she was one of the rare rejects from one of the ancient orders such as the Desh-Ka. That was the only explanation for her extraordinary fighting skills.
He knew with the same degree of certainty that she was not descended from the Desh-Ka, for he could not feel her, could not sense her emotions. Their race was descended from seven ancient bloodlines, each of which could be traced back over many thousands of years to one of the seven original warrior sects. The descendants of each of those sects had an empathic sense for the others in their bloodline. Those whose blood was mixed were empathic toward all their relations, but the intensity of the sensation was reduced as the bloodlines became diluted. Ulana-Tath and Kunan-Lohr were both pure descendants of the Desh-Ka, and could sense each other over hundreds, even thousands, of leagues. Others from their city, by contrast, were only distant whispers, fleeting sensations that formed an emotional tide in one’s blood.
And it was that sense that had brought him home. Ulana-Tath had been summoned back to Keel-A’ar eight months earlier from the bloody campaign in the east to face a set of challengers for her place in the city’s hierarchy of peers. To forbid her return was something that was not even in Syr-Nagath’s power, much as the Dark Queen would have liked to try. Even honor-bound to her as they were, warriors such as Ulana-Tath and Kunan-Lohr, who were also masters and mistresses of their cities, would not fight if they could not defend their honor at home.
Kunan-Lohr, who had remained with the queen in the east, knew something momentous had happened with Ulana-Tath. It had been three months since she had departed for home, and he sensed a fountain of joy and wonder from her such as he had never before felt. The intensity of the feeling ebbed over time, but was always there, a constant in his heart. Three more months passed when a messenger arrived, sent by his wife with the news: she was with child.
He remembered the moment as if it were yesterday. The courier had arrived in the midst of a major battle, and the young warrior waded through the enemy to Kunan-Lohr’s side to tell him that his wife was expecting a girl-child. Overhearing the news, the warriors who had just been trying to kill him lowered their swords and stepped back, rendering him a salute. Kunan-Lohr had a fierce reputation, and fighting him was a great honor for any enemy warrior. Allowing him the privilege of stepping away from the battle to attend to his child had been an even greater honor.
The Dark Queen, however, did not see things that way. After quickly cleaning the blood of the day’s fighting from his body and armor, he sought an audience with her. Kneeling before her in the great pavilion that served as her palace, he had begged her to grant him leave, but she had refused.
“I must grant your right to return to defend your honor,” Syr-Nagath had told him, her voice as cold as her eyes, “but this trifle is another matter. I command you to stay, and so you shall. Your child shall be given over to the wardresses in the creche, as custom demands. You may see it — her — if you are challenged for your lordship of your city, or when my conquest has concluded and I release you from my service.”
To hold him in such a manner was her right, but few sovereigns in living memory had chosen to enforce it. Warriors who were allowed to return home to visit loved ones returned to war refreshed. Those who did not fought on, but with hearts heavy with yearning.
For five days, he begged her to give him leave to return home, pushing to the very brink of challenging her to fight in the arena.
On the sixth day, she had relented, but her promise of his release had come with a price: to mate with her. While Kunan-Lohr had been disgusted at the prospect, at that time he would have done anything in order to return home.
While it was unusual for a king or queen to demand such a thing, it was not unheard of. There was no dishonor or taboo in doing so, for there were few taboos or strictures in Kreelan life regarding mating.
But mating with Syr-Nagath was a cold, loathsome union that left him feeling soiled, and he carried away long gashes in his back from where her talons raked him in her ecstasy. Unlike the cuts and stab wounds he had received in the fighting on the way home, he would have the healers remove any trace of Syr-Nagath’s marks upon his flesh. Not to hide them from Ulana-Tath, but to cleanse himself of the Dark Queen’s stain.
Rounding a bend in the road through a stretch of forest, his heart lifted as Keel-A’ar finally came into sight.
“At last,” he breathed. His tired magthep, as if sensing the end of their journey was near and that food and rest would soon be at hand, quickened its pace.
Keel-A’ar stood at the center of a great plain that was bounded by forests to the south and east, and the mountains of Kui’mar-Gol to the north and west. It was among the oldest and greatest cities of the world. A great wall surrounded it, the seamless surface a tribute to the builders who had created it many generations ago. The walls reflected the sun rising at his back, the light rippling along the serpent-hide texture of the ancient fused stone. The height of six warriors and as thick as three laid heel to toe, the walls had withstood many assaults over the ages. Like everything in the city, it was carefully tended and maintained by the builder caste, so much so that it looked new.
A branch of the Lo’ar River ran beneath the walls through the center of the city, but it was not for the sake of beauty or idle pleasure: in times of siege, it provided fresh water and fish to sustain the defenders. While there was need for vigilance, lest a foe mount an attack from under water, the fish that provided much of the city’s food were also part of its defense. The vicious lackan-kamekh were bountiful and lethal, with rows of needle-sharp teeth. The wall was surrounded by a moat that could be flooded with water and a host of the terrible fish if the city were attacked. Only in winter, after the river had frozen over and shut away the light of the sun, did the lackan-kamekh sleep, hibernating on the river bottom.
Above the wall, he could see the golden domes and spires of the taller buildings rising above the walls to catch the sun’s rays. They were a beacon of welcome to his weary eyes.
As he and his two companions drew closer, he looked again at the sun, which rose steadily in the magenta sky behind him toward the great moon. On this day there would be an eclipse of the sun by the moon, an event that only took place every fifteen thousand and seven cycles. It was a momentous omen, and even in his weariness, the thought lifted his spirits. He knew in his heart that today was the day his daughter would be born.
“Faster!” He whipped the magthep to a sprint toward the waiting gate, leaving his two companions fighting to keep up.
* * *
Like the lackan-kamekh, the killer fish, the city’s defenders never slept, particularly in these times. With most of the city’s warriors away on campaign in the service of the queen, the small garrison Kunan-Lohr had been allowed to retain never relaxed its guard.
They had been attacked several times by bands of honorless warriors, and had easily defeated the disorganized mobs. But their master and his master before him had taught them well: overconfidence was as much an enemy as those who would destroy the city. They were charged with protecting that which was most precious to those who followed the Way: the children in the creche and the non-warrior castes.
Anin-Khan was the captain of the guard. Aside from Ulana-Tath and Kunan-Lohr, he was the most senior and skilled warrior, having challenged them both to contests in the arena. After t
hey had drawn first blood in the contests he had fought against them, he had accepted with great honor the responsibility of the city’s defense. It was a measure of Kunan-Lohr’s trust in him and his abilities, for while the city’s master was away, it was the most important role a warrior could fulfill.
He spent most of his time on watch, which was nearly every moment that he was not asleep, in the barbican, the defensive structure that jutted out over the city’s main gate, or the watchtowers that rose at key points along the wall. From those vantage points, he had a view over the open plain between the city and the surrounding forests.
He happened to be standing watch on the barbican when he caught sight of a trail of dust from the main road leading from the east. His bloodline was not pure Desh-Ka, and so his empathic sense was not terribly strong, but he could always tell the approach of his lord and master.
“Alert the mistress,” Anin-Khan told one of the guards. “Our master returns.”
The guard saluted and set off at a run for Ulana-Tath’s chambers.
While he was certain in his heart that Kunan-Lohr led the trio of approaching warriors, Anin-Khan waited until he could clearly see his master’s weary face. Parties of warriors and non-warriors were often welcomed at Keel-A’ar on their travels, but never before Anin-Khan himself had given his approval. The honorless ones had been growing bolder, and had tried to gain entry under the guise of honorable travelers.
Sure now of the approaching warriors, he called to the gatekeepers below. “Open the gate!”
The guards below him shouted their acknowledgement before turning a set of great wheels in the thick walled guard house, grunting and straining with the effort. The massive metal gate, thicker than a warrior stood tall, slowly rose, driven by the wheels and supported by a complex set of thick chains, counterweights, and pulleys.
Kunan-Lohr and his two escorts thundered through, ducking their heads under the ancient metal as it rose.
“Close it!” Anin-Khan favored his master with a salute as the trio of riders sped through the courtyard behind the gate and on into the city proper. He very much wanted to greet his master in person, but would not leave his post. There would be time for that later.
For now, he and the other guards would continue to attend to their duties.
The trio hammered along the streets, which were now lined with thousands of people, kneeling and rendering the tla’a-kane, the ritual salute, with their left fists over their right breasts. All but a handful were of the non-warrior castes. Armorers, porters of water, healers, seamstresses, builders, and many more, the colors of the simple robes that defined their castes creating a vibrant rainbow along the gracefully curved streets of inlaid stone.
Ignoring the pain of his broken left hand, Kunan-Lohr returned the salute, holding it as he rode past his people. His eye caught the glint of the armor of the soldiers on the battlements, who were also kneeling.
He ground his teeth together in frustration, not wanting to show his concern on his face. There were so few warriors, now. Too few to properly defend the city from anything more than the most half-hearted attack by anything other than the honorless ones. And how long would it be before they had grown enough in numbers to pose a credible challenge?
May the Dark Queen’s soul rot in Eternal Darkness. The curse was one he had thought many times in the cycles since Syr-Nagath had risen to power, but he had never given voice to the thought. His honor would not permit it.
They flew by the central gardens that formed the green, open heart of the city. The main garden, set deep in the earth compared to the surrounding land, was surrounded by terraced levels that were open to the sky above. Unlike most days, it was empty, for the people who would normally be there, enjoying a contemplative moment or tending the garden were lined along the streets to greet him.
Glancing up, he saw the sun and the moon rapidly converging, and felt a quickening of the urgency in the empathic link with Ulana-Tath.
There was little time, only moments, remaining.
He beat the straining magthep savagely, at the same time murmuring his apologies to the beast for inflicting such cruelty. He silently promised that the creature would receive every comfort the animal handlers could give as compensation for its valiant service to his cause.
The beast responded, its exhausted legs stretching farther, its taloned feet striking sparks from the stone of the streets as it dashed forward.
After one final, skittering turn, the citadel came into view. At the center of the city, it was a fortress within a fortress, the home of the city’s master or mistress. While it was the final defensive structure of the many that had originally gone into Keel-A’ar’s design, it was also one of beauty. The walls, which rose even higher than the defensive walls around the city, were of glittering granite, black with white and copper veins, and polished to an exquisite sheen. Like the other structures in the city, it was not a regular shape, formed by mere triangles, circles, or rectangles. It was a work of art in itself, the smooth lines making it look as if it could sail away upon the wind, pulled toward the stars by the great golden spire that rose from its apex.
Home, Kunan-Lohr thought as he brought his exhausted mount to a skidding stop just inside the gate in the wall surrounding the citadel. He quickly slid to the ground among the crowd of retainers who had gathered, filling the courtyard. As one, they knelt before him.
The two other riders arrived just a moment later, barely bringing their beasts to a stop before dismounting.
Many hands, eager to help, reached out to take the reins from the riders.
“Tend them well!” Kunan-Lohr ordered as the animals, gasping for breath, were led off to the corrals where they could rest.
Other hands offered food and drink to the riders, and words of welcome to the lord and master of the city.
Gratefully accepting a large mug of bitter ale, Kunan-Lohr drank it quickly to help slake his thirst. His party had run out of water the day before, giving the last of it to the magtheps before making the final run for home.
“My thanks.” He handed the mug back to the young porter of water, who bowed, greatly honored.
Then, willing himself not to run, he took long, urgent strides toward the entryway, where stood the housemistress, who was also the senior healer.
“Where is she?”
“In the birthing chamber, my lord.” With a look upward at the impending eclipse, the housemistress turned and led him inside through the tall arch and thick, iron-reinforced wooden door of the entryway.
Kunan-Lohr’s footsteps echoed in the stone corridors as he followed her to the infirmary wing where the sick and injured of the city were treated, and where the young were brought into the world.
He restrained his urge to sprint to his consort’s side, forcing himself to keep pace with the housemistress. To his pleasant surprise, she was moving faster than he would have believed possible without breaking into a run.
Upon hearing a cry up ahead, unmistakably Ulana-Tath’s voice, he put paid to decorum and ran, his good hand clenching tightly around the handle of his sword as he sensed her pain.
He skidded to a stop in the birthing room, which had several large stone basins. Only one of them was in use now.
Ulana-Tath, nude, was leaning back in the basin, which was filled with warm water. One of the healers, her white robes bound close to her body while she was in the water, attended her. Two other healers stood close by, should they be needed, along with the wardress who would be responsible for the child in the creche until she was old enough to enter the kazha.
“My love.” Ulana-Tath reached out a hand for him, and he took it. He hadn’t realized it was his left hand, the one that was broken, but ignored the pain as her powerful grip squeezed it. He kissed her briefly, ashamed that he was so filthy from the long, hard ride. His shame quickly receded as he was overwhelmed with her beauty and the miracle of what was taking place before his very eyes.
She cried out again.
&
nbsp; “Push, my mistress!” The healer in the basin moved in close between Ulana-Tath’s legs, spread wide and trembling. “She is almost here…”
With one final grunt of effort, Ulana-Tath gasped in relief as the baby was finally released from her mother’s womb into the healer’s gentle hands.
As the midwife held the child under the water, one of the other healers leaned over the basin and carefully laid on the water what looked like a thin layer of dough, whose surface was swirling with blues and purples. It was living tissue that she held in place as the midwife gently brought the child up underneath it. The tissue, healing gel, wrapped itself around the infant’s body, completely covering it.
The adults watched intently as the gel disappeared, absorbed into the child’s skin as the midwife lowered the child back into the water. Moment’s later, it began to ooze out the nose and mouth, and the healer gently gathered it up as it left the girl’s body.
The healer closed her eyes as the oozing mass was absorbed into her own skin. With senses developed over thousands of generations, the healer “listened” to what the healing gel, which was in fact a living symbiont, told her of the child’s body.
The healing gel was not only a diagnostic tool for the healers, but their primary instrument, as well. Through the healing gel, the healer could visualize and repair any injury, even replace lost limbs, and cure any ill. The infant now had full immunity from every strain of disease on the planet, and any errors in her genetic coding that would have posed a threat to her health would have been corrected.
After a moment, the healer smiled and opened her eyes. “The child is perfectly well, mistress.”
All breathed a sigh of relief. While problems with birthing and newborns were very rare, their health was never taken for granted.
The healer carefully lifted the child from the water, placing her in Ulana-Tath’s waiting arms. After only a few moments, the infant began to cry, her tiny voice echoing through the birthing chamber.
In Her Name: The First Empress: Book 01 - From Chaos Born Page 2
