In Her Name: The First Empress: Book 01 - From Chaos Born

by Michael R. Hicks

  Each night he swept the world around him, looking for the child. Each day he rode in the direction from which the tiny voice was strongest, when he could hear it during the ebbs in the great tide of emotions from the queen’s war.

  What he heard now, this piercing wail, was something else, something that set every one of his senses afire. It was a bone-chilling keening that erupted above the momentarily quiet war, voicing a depth of despair the likes of which Ayan-Dar had never known. He sought to grasp it, to seek out the poor soul to which it belonged, but it faded too quickly.

  Then it was gone.

  Deeply troubled, Ayan-Dar rose to his feet, his eyes peering through the darkness around him as his spirit looked far beyond.

  As if in sympathy with the terrible cry he had felt in his soul, the song of the child he sought rose, so clear and pure that he instinctively turned to the southeast.

  Toward the city of Keel-A’ar.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “We can tarry no longer.” Kunan-Lohr stood on the balcony of the chamber in the citadel that served as the sleeping quarters for himself and Ulana-Tath, watching the sun rise over the great forests and plains to the east.

  The Dark Queen had granted him a cycle of the great moon to greet his newborn child and attend to any affairs of the city, but then he and his consort were to return to the war that continued to rage ever closer to the Eastern Sea.

  He felt the roar of those of his bloodline who fought the raging battles that would soon leave Syr-Nagath the undisputed ruler of T’lar-Gol. The thought had left a deep sickness in his heart.

  He felt Ulana-Tath’s nude body press up against his back, her arms wrapping around his waist. Her recovery from birth had been rapid, as was the nature of their kind. Since then, they had spent every possible moment together, much of it in bed. “Why does despair fill your heart, my love?”

  He covered her hands with his own, grateful for the warmth of her body against the chill morning air. It took him a moment to speak, for the words were little short of heresy. “I feel as if we have bound ourselves to one of the evil gods of old. We live for war, for that has been the Way since the First Age. But this…” He shook his head slowly. “This is something different.”

  “How is it different from any other great war from the Books of Time?” Ulana-Tath rested her chin on his shoulder as she, too, watched the sun rise. “Syr-Nagath will unite T’lar-Gol for the first time in a thousand cycles, and will no doubt force a crossing of the Eastern Sea.” She paused. “Are you sure that what troubles your heart is not envy, great master of Keel-A’ar?”

  With a snort, Kunan-Lohr shook his head. “I envied the old king, for he was a great warrior who followed the Way, whose path was dictated solely by honor. Syr-Nagath follows her own path, a twisted road with its mysterious roots in the Great Wastelands from whence she came. And no one can sense her spirit, to know what she feels.”

  “There are many we cannot sense. Even some few of our own city, and beside whom we have fought.”

  “You do not understand me, my love: no one can sense her feelings.” He turned around to face her. “I spoke, in private, to many of the other senior warriors of her army about this. Between them flow all of the bloodlines. None could feel her song in their blood. None.”

  Ulana-Tath made to speak, to protest. For to do such a thing, to question the one to whom their honor was now bound, could easily lead Kunan-Lohr to be bound to the Kal'ai-Il for punishment.

  He put a finger to her lips. “I know, my love. I did not do this lightly. In truth, most of those to whom I spoke approached me for counsel in the matter. Her soul is shrouded in shadow like no other, and I believe there is dark knowledge at work here. But what it is, and what we may do about it, I do not know.”

  “We can only do what the Way demands of us.” She held his gaze firmly. “The path of honor is ours, and it is a path we will follow to the end of our days.” A gentle smile suddenly graced her lips. “We may do no less for our daughter.”

  “Indeed.” The mention of their daughter, Keel-Tath, banished his dark thoughts. She was a full moon cycle of age now, and had been peered at or held by nearly everyone in the city, or so it seemed. He knew that, as a father who thought he could never have a child, he was grievously biased, but the child was beautiful by any measure. She stood out like a beacon among the other children of the creche with her lush white hair and red talons. Keel-Tath was boisterous at play and a vision of peace when asleep. The healers kept close watch on her, but so far she was nothing more or less than an extraordinarily healthy female child, the visible and unexplainable genetic anomalies notwithstanding.

  The wardresses had already determined that she would be a warrior. Just as the healers knew the intimacies of the body, the wardresses keenly understood all the traits in young children that determined caste. Caste was determined purely on ability and affinity, not on the caste or status of the parents. A mated pair of warriors could produce a healer or porter of water, just as builders could give birth to warriors. It was a complex dance of genetics that the wardresses instinctively understood, just as the skygazers understood the movements of the stars and planets across the heavens, and the healers understood their symbionts.

  The proud parents had looked in on their daughter at every possible opportunity, making the most of the time that Kunan-Lohr’s pact with the Dark Queen had given them. Time that had been all too fleeting.

  That thought brought a heavy sigh to his lips. He again looked out beyond the walls of the city, contemplating the unpalatable task of preparing for the long return journey to the East.

  His silver-flecked eyes were drawn to three dark shapes, magtheps trotting along the eastern road, approaching the main gate.

  He gasped in surprise when a banner suddenly rose from the barbican. It was black with a single cyan rune in the center, the sigil of the Desh-Ka.

  “What would one of the priesthood be doing here?” Ulana-Tath wondered. The priests and priestesses were rarely seen outside the kazhas, and few ordinary followers of the Way ever had reason to visit the temple.

  Yet every city worthy of the name had pennants such as this one to herald the arrival of any member of the priesthood of the seven orders, even though one of them, the Ka’i-Nur, had never been used in living memory here in Keel-A’ar. Acolytes, which were seen somewhat more often, were not accorded the same honor, although they were always greeted with the greatest respect.

  Frowning, Kunan-Lohr could only recall two such visits by the priesthood to Keel-A’ar in his lifetime, and that was when he had been very young.

  “I cannot imagine,” was all he could think of to say. He returned to their bed of hides and knelt, quickly donning his armor. Ulana-Tath did the same.

  Regardless of the purpose of the visit, the priest or priestess would want to meet with the master and mistress of the city.

  * * *

  After being hailed by the captain of the guard and granted entrance to the city, Ayan-Dar was greeted by a mob of well-wishers. His mounts were whisked away to be fed, watered, and groomed. Armorers quickly polished his armor to a gleaming luster and through some means he could not fathom caused the dust to fall away from his cloak. Others pressed a mug of ale into his hand, which he drank greedily, parched from the long last leg of his ride. As he finished, it was whisked away, to be replaced by a platter of food that he happily sampled, savoring the excellent cuts of meat.

  When he was sated, the group around him knelt and rendered the ritual salute, tla’a-kane.

  Anin-Khan, the captain of the guard, then stood. “This way, priest of the Desh-Ka.” He led Ayan-Dar to a small but exquisitely kept garden that stood off to one side of the entry courtyard. “My master, Kunan-Lohr, will be here momentarily.”

  Ayan-Dar bowed his head as Anin-Khan saluted, then left him in peace.

  Standing there amid the blooming flowers, breathing in their heady scent, Ayan-Dar could hear the child’s spiritual voice now as clear as if h
e were holding her and she was singing to him. He had been on many a fool’s errand in the past, and would not be surprised if this turned out to be another. But he knew he would never regret having made the trip to see any child who had such a voice in her heart.

  He sensed a pair of warriors approaching, and turned to face them as they entered the garden. They knelt and rendered a salute

  “Greetings, priest of the Desh-Ka,” the male warrior said. “I am Kunan-Lohr, master of Keel-A’ar.”

  “And I am Ulana-Tath, his First and consort.”

  Ayan-Dar returned the salute, and the two warriors rose to their feet. “My thanks for your hospitality, my lord. Your welcome was most gracious.”

  Kunan-Lohr glanced at the first row of pendants that hung from Ayan-Dar’s collar, proclaiming his name. “We are humbled and honored by your visit, Ayan-Dar. May I ask what brings you here, great priest, and how we may serve you?”

  “I seek a child.”

  Kunan-Lohr and Ulana-Tath blinked at his words, unsure how to interpret them.

  Ayan-Dar bared his fangs in a smile. “Fear not, master of Keel-A’ar. I do not come to rob your creche, but to pay homage to one who inhabits it. You see, a female child was born here a single moon cycle ago under the shadow of the Great Eclipse, a child whose voice echoed in my blood like no other. It is that child I seek, simply to pay my respects and rejoice in the purity of her spirit. It is a personal quest, a simple whim of an old fool. Nothing more.”

  For a moment, neither warrior spoke, but looked at him with expressions that betrayed surprise and bewilderment. Ayan-Dar could sense a tremor of excitement in their souls. And of fear.

  “Our daughter was born just as the great moon darkened the sun.” Kunan-Lohr told him, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice.

  “And she is…different.” Ulana-Tath added.

  “I would see her, if you and the wardress would permit.”

  “Of course, Ayan-Dar.” Kunan-Lohr bowed his head. “Please, forgive us. It is just that our child, Keel-Tath, is special to us in a way that few would truly understand. Come, we will take you to her.”

  Kunan-Lohr and Ulana-Tath walked on either side of Ayan-Dar through the city, with a small group of retainers following behind. Keel-A’ar’s inhabitants lined the streets, kneeling, their left hands over their right breasts in salute. All had seen a Desh-Ka priest or priestess at the kazha that stood not far away, but very few had ever seen one within the city walls.

  Ayan-Dar suspected that a Desh-Ka priest walking the streets of Keel-A’ar was as much an event for these kind folk as the Great Eclipse had been.

  Beside him, Ulana-Tath’s fear had broken and fallen away. A smile now graced her beautiful face.

  “Does my presence entertain you?” Ayan-Dar asked with good humor.

  “It does, my priest.” Ulana-Tath had no qualms in answering so, sensing the playful nature in the priest’s heart even as Kunan-Lohr shot her a look of disbelief. She ignored him. “You also greatly honor all who dwell here. Many cycles have passed since any of the pennants have been raised, least of all that of the Desh-Ka.”

  “Then my trip has been worthwhile.” Looking around, he nodded in approval. “Your city is beautiful. I was the master of the kazha some cycles ago, likely before either of you were born, but never set foot inside the city walls.” He snorted. “Such a pity.”

  “The city would be more beautiful still if the builders were able to focus more on what lay inside the walls, rather than on simply maintaining the defensive works.” Kunan-Lohr had long had visions of making Keel-A’ar the jewel of all T’lar-Gol. But it would never be anything more than a dream.

  They walked in silence for a moment before Ayan-Dar asked, “And what of the war, my friends? I have heard little news of the world beyond the temple’s boundaries. I can sense the fighting to the east, but it is little more than an endless song of struggle and death.”

  “Syr-Nagath will soon control all of T’lar-Gol,” Ulana-Tath told him without preamble.

  “You do not sound happy that your sovereign has met with such great success.” The priest’s remark carried more than a hint of irony.

  “We are bound to Syr-Nagath by honor, Ayan-Dar, but I fear that darkness clouds our future.” Kunan-Lohr spoke quietly as they strode down the lane.

  “So has it always been, master of Keel-A’ar.” The priest turned to him. “Every great war precedes the next collapse. It is only a question of how high Syr-Nagath can climb before the foundation crumbles beneath her feet. The darkness you see beyond the horizon in your mind is what all great warriors see before the coming fall.” He offered a grim smile, gesturing at his eye with his good hand. “We may only hope that the fall will be confined to the Homeworld, and that the Settlements do not again come calling. I enjoy the thrill of battle, the fire in my blood, but carnage on such a scale…” He shook his head.

  “I fear worse than that.”

  Before Kunan-Lohr could say more, Ulana-Tath announced, “We are here.”

  They stood before the entrance to a large circular building of shimmering stone, with many crystal windows to let in the light of the sun and sky.

  Three wardresses stood waiting, and after saluting, gestured for them to enter.

  The creche was a study in organized pandemonium, or so it seemed at first glance. The older children, up to six or seven cycles of age, were divided up into groups that played a variety of games that challenged their bodies and minds. They were a boisterous lot this morning, filling their part of the creche with recitations of the Se’eln, the orthodoxy of the Way that governed etiquette and behavior. At a whispered command from the wardress leading their lessons, they instantly fell silent and, as one, knelt and rendered a salute to the visiting dignitaries.

  Kunan-Lohr and Ulana-Tath returned the salute. Ayan-Dar stepped forward, looking more closely at the children, who were clothed in the gauzy black fabric that all who walked the Way wore under their robes or armor.

  “May thy Way be long and glorious, my children.” Then he returned their salute and bowed his head. He could not help but smile as he sensed their pride soar at his words.

  The wardresses led them through the chamber where the toddlers played, attended by a small army of wardresses. The wardresses knelt and saluted, and the three dignitaries returned the honor as the children stilled, watching the great warriors pass through their chamber.

  “Even now do they sense us in their blood,” Ayan-Dar marveled. In all his travels, he had never visited a creche, even the one at the temple, for he had never found a need to. Old fool, he chided himself. What else have you missed in your misspent life?

  “In here.” The senior wardress passed through the portal leading to the chamber that belonged to the infants.

  Ayan-Dar stopped dead in his tracks as he caught sight of the child, who was being held by her wet nurse. Keel-Tath was bound gently in a warm blanket, her white hair and crimson talons clearly visible.

  “My priest?” Ulana-Tath asked him. She was clearly disturbed by his open-mouthed stare and sense of utter shock.

  He said nothing. After a moment, he stepped forward to look closely at the child, who stared up at him, reaching with her tiny fingers.

  “Who knows?” Ayan-Dar turned to Kunan-Lohr. “Who knows that she is born of white hair and crimson talons?”

  With a gesture around him with both hands, Kunan-Lohr told him, “All of the city, of course.”

  “Nearly everyone has come to see her.” Ulana-Tath moved closer to her daughter, her hand instinctively wrapping around the grip of her sword.

  “And you have hosted travelers from afar who have seen her?”

  “Of course,” Ulana-Tath told him. “Some had come just to see her, others were passing through to or from the campaign in the east, or were engaged in trade. What of it?”

  “Ayan-Dar, what is it?”

  The old priest could sense Kunan-Lohr’s heart thudding in his chest. Following the instinct of his con
sort, he, too, now gripped his sword, no doubt fearing that Ayan-Dar had, despite his earlier words, come to do their daughter harm.

  “You need not fear me, my lord. But I would ask this of you: post a guard, your most trusted warriors, to protect her. From this moment onward, let no one see her unless you would trust them with your daughter’s life. No one.”

  “But why?” Ulana-Tath stepped closer, fixing his good eye with her frightened gaze.

  “Because, mistress of Keel-A’ar, she is, as you told me, different.” Ayan-Dar turned back to look again at the child. “And in a civilization that has existed in equilibrium for hundreds of thousands of cycles, things that are different tend to not long survive.” He put his hand on Kunan-Lohr’s shoulder. “Swear to me that you will do as I ask.”

  “We can do nothing else, my priest.” Kunan-Lohr answered, bowing his head. “We are bound by honor to answer to those of the ancient orders as we would any mistress or master.”

  “Do it not for honor and the Way, but for the life of your daughter.”

  “Would someone threaten her, a child? Here?” Ulana-Tath shook her head in disbelief. “Even the honorless ones do not harm children.”

  “I do not know, my child. But I also do not wish to take any chances.” Ayan-Dar frowned. “There are too many coincidences here. I have many questions, but only one place to turn for answers, I fear.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ayan-Dar ignored Ulana-Tath’s question. Instead, he whirled on his heel, his cloak fluttering in his wake. “I must leave at once.” Calling over his shoulder, he told them, “Do as I bade you. I shall return as soon as I can.”

  In mid-stride, he vanished, leaving nothing but a brief, chill wind behind him.

  Keel-Tath clapped her hands together, as if amused by the spectacle. The wet nurse held her closely, eyes wide with fear.

  A brace of warriors led by Anin-Khan charged into the chamber, swords drawn.