The young priestess who had shackled his feet looked up at him, wondering if he had spoken to her.
“Just the mutterings of an old fool. Complete your task, child.”
With a bow of her head, she rose and fitted the oversized shackle to his wrist.
“I suspect I may be the first one-armed priest to be punished here. Please make sure not to pull my arm off when you tighten the chains.”
“Yes, Ayan-Dar.” She looked at him, and he could see the marks of mourning on her face. She was not the only one.
“Mourn for the evils in the world beyond our walls, child,” he told her softly. “Not for me.”
She only nodded, not trusting herself to speak as she tightened the wrist cuff.
As the wheels in the mechanism below the dais began to turn at the hands of yet more of the priesthood, Ayan-Dar took a final look around him. The Kal’ai-Il’s huge central dais was surrounded by three concentric rings of massive stones supported by pillars. Each ring rose higher, creating a raised amphitheater so that all could see the punishment. On the stones stood all the priests and acolytes present in the temple, everyone but a few wardresses in the creche. Over a thousand sets of eyes were fixed on him now.
He could not help but smile at the thought of the creche. Despite the tragedy of Ulana-Tath’s death, Keel-Tath had settled in quickly, accepting her new home. While he wished that Kunan-Lohr could live, that the girl would at least know her father, he knew that the master of Keel-A’ar would soon come to his end of days. Syr-Nagath would allow no other fate for him. Ayan-Dar made a silent vow to Kunan-Lohr that he would do the best he could in his stead, and that the girl would know everything Ayan-Dar could tell her about her parents. He would speak to the keeper of their Books of Time, and teach her the Ne’er-Se, the lineage of her family, when the time came.
As the chains tightened, suspending him in the air, Ayan-Dar for the first time in a long while felt as if his life had a purpose. Born from chaos as she might have been, Keel-Tath had given him a reason for being.
“Why do you smile?”
It was T’ier-Kunai, standing on the stone block just in front of him that put her face level with his. He noticed the mourning marks had run their course down her face and neck to disappear beneath her armor, and a tide of painful emotions swept over her soul at what she now had to do.
“Because I am happy, high priestess of the Desh-Ka.”
“I will never understand you,” she whispered as she held up a thick strip of leather to place between his teeth. It would help focus the pain and prevent him from biting his tongue.
He shook his head. “I appreciate your kindness, my priestess, but I will do fine without.”
With a solemn nod, she stepped down. Taking the whip from a waiting priest, she walked to the edge of the dais, facing Ayan-Dar’s back. Unfurling the barbed tendrils behind her, she stepped forward and snapped the grakh’ta forward with all her strength.
Ayan-Dar exhaled slowly as the metal barbs of the whip ripped into his back. Pain was an old and dear friend, and while the grakh’ta’s sting could be excruciating, he had suffered far worse in his many cycles. The truly aggravating thing, he thought as the whip’s tendrils flayed him a second time, was that he would not be able to spend much time with Keel-Tath while he recovered.
The whip cracked against him a third time, and he greeted the pain with a quiet sigh. He had to endure three more. Six lashes to some may have seemed a draconian punishment for what was outwardly a minor transgression, of reaching beyond the threshold to take Keel-Tath. But it was symbolic of Ayan-Dar having repeatedly pushed beyond the boundaries of acceptable behavior for one of the priesthood. He knew that he would have been called to task much earlier had anyone other than T’ier-Kunai been high priestess. He also knew how much it was costing her to drive the barbs of the grakh’ta into his flesh. At that, he felt more than a passing sense of guilt, for it was probably hurting her more than it was him.
But he also felt a degree of relief at the severity of the punishment, for it would show the others of the priesthood that T’ier-Kunai was strong, and that all would be held accountable for straying from the Way.
He held onto those thoughts as the whip hammered against him three more times. By the last strike, despite the control he exerted over his body, the pain was leaking through his mental defenses. T’ier-Kunai was not the largest among the warriors, but she had a powerful arm, and had put every bit of her strength into the whip.
After the final blow, the chains lowered him to the dais with a great clanking sound. He swayed unsteadily on his feet as two priests released him from the shackles.
“Make sure you carve the runes of my name deep into the stone,” he told them, nodding to the wall around the dais where the list of those who had been punished was inscribed.
Then he turned and, after drawing himself up to his full height, moved slowly toward where T’ier-Kunai and Ria-Ka’luhr awaited him.
With the eyes of the priests and acolytes upon him, he took the steps that led down from the dais at a measured pace, ignoring the trickles and drops of blood that fell from his ravaged back to spatter on the smooth stone walk.
When he reached T’ier-Kunai, he bowed his head and saluted. “With your permission, high priestess, I would go to the creche once my wounds are dressed.”
“You may, Ayan-Dar,” she said, returning his salute.
“May I go, also?”
T’ier-Kunai looked at Ria-Ka’luhr, whose voice was tight from the pain, his body shivering. “Yes, acolyte. But do not stay overlong. You will need to rest. The full weight of the pain has not yet set in.”
After the healers quickly dressed Ayan-Dar’s wounds in sterile cloth, the two of them hobbled toward the creche, which stood nearby.
T’ier-Kunai watched them go, swallowed up by the throng of priests and acolytes who filed out of the Kal'ai-Il behind them.
Waiting until none could see her, she took a deep, shuddering breath before gathering up the bloody grakh’ta whip and following the last of the warriors out.
* * *
In the creche, Ayan-Dar cradled Keel-Tath with the greatest of care, one of the wardresses standing close by. The child looked up at him with wondering eyes before reaching out with her tiny hands, her crimson talons glinting in the soft light. He wished he had his other arm and hand, that he might let her grasp one of his fingers while he held her. Her white hair had already grown considerably, and was now like a pure white cloud framing the deep blue of her face.
Without thinking, he began to recite the ancient prophecy that he was more convinced than ever spoke of her birth:
“Long dormant seed shall great fruit bear,
Crimson talons, snow-white hair.
“In sun’s light, yet dark of heaven,
Not of one blood, but of seven.
“Souls of crystal, shall she wield,
From Chaos born, our future’s shield.”
Smiling, he added, “That was written for you, dear child. Long, long ago.”
Ria-Ka’luhr stood quietly beside him. He had made no move to hold or touch the child, but had been content to watch Ayan-Dar hold her. His eyes flicked occasionally to the three warrior priestesses, standing at intervals around the creche, who stood guard over the temple’s children. Their eyes stared toward the center of the creche’s single room, as if they were in a trance. But they watched the children with their second sight, which was far more powerful than any senses of the flesh. Nothing so small as a microbe could enter this room without their knowledge and consent. It was not a task assigned to junior priests or priestesses. Those who served here had to pass the most rigorous trials by the high priestess herself, for it was one of the highest responsibilities of the temple, and among the greatest honors.
“Someday you may serve here, as well, young Ria-Ka’luhr.”
“Of that I may only dream, Ayan-Dar.” He managed a weak smile. “I must first pass the trials of the Change.”
“Tha
t day shall come soon enough.” With a sigh, Ayan-Dar handed Keel-Tath back to the wardress. His heart almost broke as the child began to cry, her tiny hands grasping for him. “I will be back soon, little one,” he told her. “But first, I must take this battered old body and rest. Come,” he said to Ria-Ka’luhr, who was looking quite ill. “Let us get you to your quarters.”
* * *
At last in his own room, Ayan-Dar sat on a simple stool, overcome with weariness and the painful throb of pain from his lacerated back. The next few days, he knew, would be most unpleasant. What he felt now was akin to holding his hand close enough to an open flame to distinctly feel the heat. But soon it would be more like his hand resting on glowing coals. He would have to lay down at some point, on his stomach or side, of course. But once he did, he would not be able to get up very easily.
A soft knock sounded at his door.
“Come in, high priestess of the Desh-Ka,” he called. He had felt T’ier-Kunai approaching from the song in her blood.
The door opened, and she entered, bearing a tray. On it was a mug of ale and some strips of meat.
“And what should the peers think,” he said, smiling, “of their high priestess serving food and drink to such a ne’er-do-well?”
“That I am nearly as much of a fool as you,” she said as she closed the door behind her and set down the tray on the low table beside him.
“You looked in on Ria-Ka’luhr?”
“Yes.” She handed him the mug of ale, which he gratefully accepted. As he drank, she told him, “Having more sense than you, he has already taken to his bed to rest.”
Ayan-Dar looked at her. Something in her voice told him there was more. “And?”
She shook her head, a look of frustration on her face. “I do not know. There is something about him that I cannot explain. I only sensed it for a moment, when he was in great discomfort as he lay down. It was as if I was looking at him through a glass, a prism, perhaps, and for just that brief moment saw two images of his spirit. One was what I expected to see. The other…”
“What? What did you sense?”
“The other image of him was one of torment, of madness.”
With a grunt, Ayan-Dar set down the mug and said, “Being punished on the Kal’ai-Il is a traumatic event. I can accept it more easily, but for an acolyte it would be far more difficult. While there is no stigma among us after the punishment is rendered, it would be a brutal blow to a young warrior’s honor and ego. Especially for an acolyte who is a mere step away from joining the priesthood.” He shrugged, realizing too late the pain it would cause. Baring his teeth, he added, “And he had already suffered at the hands of the honorless ones. If I only knew what role Syr-Nagath played in this affair.”
“We can discuss that later.” She reached over and took his hand in hers. “Vow to me, Ayan-Dar, that you will never, ever force me to do such a thing again. Every strike of the whip tore at my heart.”
“I seem to recall making a similar vow to you not long ago that I managed to break,” he said, lowering his eyes. “I meant you no dishonor, T’ier-Kunai. But I would have suffered such punishment a thousand times over to save that child’s life.”
“I know.” She squeezed his hand. “That is why I respect you so, you old fool.”
With a wistful sigh, he looked into her eyes. “If I were but thirty, perhaps forty cycles younger…”
She smiled and shook her head. “You would be three or four times the fool you are now, and I would have nothing to do with you at all. Now lay down. You have an unpleasant time ahead of you and you need your rest.”
“As you command, my priestess.” Suppressing a groan, he lay down on his thick bed of hides on his stomach.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. “I shall look in on you from time to time.” Then he felt her lips kiss his cheek.
Ayan-Dar only nodded as the pain in his back began to hammer against him. As he focused his mind on blocking it out, he wondered about what T’ier-Kunai had said about what she had seen in Ria-Ka’luhr. Torment and madness.
The thought followed him into a deeply troubled sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Kunan-Lohr knew that he was beaten. The Ka’i-Nur warriors were beasts. A group contained him while the others fell upon his warriors, whose last defiance lasted only a few minutes. He had managed to kill two of the brutes, but he suspected that had been more by sheer chance than anything else, or perhaps they had simply underestimated him. They were unimaginably quick, extremely skilled in a form of swordcraft he had never encountered, and brutally powerful. If Syr-Nagath could raise an army of such warriors, she would indeed be able to make her grand designs come true.
“Kazh!” Her voice broke through his thoughts. “Stop!”
The warriors surrounding him backed away, wary and with swords held at the ready should Kunan-Lohr try to attack her. The other warriors had formed a larger circle around them, a solid wall of serpentine armor and strange, alien faces.
They parted to allow Syr-Nagath to step forward.
“You would challenge me, would you not, Kunan-Lohr?”
“Yes,” he said fiercely. “I would challenge you, Syr-Nagath.”
She drew her sword, but then handed it to one of the warriors. “You cannot challenge a female with child.” She stepped closer, holding her arms wide. “I am unarmed, master of Keel-A’ar.”
He backed away, fearing some sort of trick. “You are lying.” He tightened his grip on the sword, preparing to strike. He knew that the massive warriors behind and to either side of him would kill him before he could take her head, but he would gladly die in the attempt.
“You would not kill your own child, Kunan-Lohr.” She stepped even closer.
The words rooted him to the ground in shock. He remembered with sickening clarity mating with her, her price for letting him depart for home to see Keel-Tath born. It had not been an impulsive demand, as he had thought at the time. He realized now that she had planned this. But why?
Without fear, she walked up to his sword and gently pushed the tip aside. She took his free hand and placed it against her belly, just below the armored breastplate. “Tell me now that this is not your child, growing in my womb.”
Kunan-Lohr closed his eyes as he sensed the child. It would be months before it was born, but he knew in that moment that what she spoke was the truth.
“No,” he breathed, consumed by this horrible twist of fate. He could not imagine what dark plans she had for the child. “Oh, no.”
She stepped away, holding his gaze as she did so. “Take him!”
Two warriors grabbed Kunan-Lohr’s arms. The one holding his sword arm forced his hand open, and his weapon clattered to the bloody ground.
“I know you would take your own life, if you could, but there is much yet that I wish you to see before you die.”
Knowing that he could not slash his own throat with his talons, Kunan-Lohr closed his eyes and fought to relax his throat. He sought to swallow his tongue and suffocate himself.
“His tongue.”
He heard the queen’s words, and instantly a pair of huge hands was prying open his mouth. He fought as best he could, struggling in the grasp of the giants who held him. Another one took hold of his head, holding it steady.
With his jaw held open, he felt a finger stab into his mouth, the talon lancing into his tongue. He struggled even more, but to no avail. The brute pulled his tongue out past his lips, and then shoved a spike through the end so he could not pull his tongue back into his mouth.
Kunan-Lohr did not scream, for he would not give the Dark Queen the satisfaction. He glared at her, his hatred a raging torrent in his soul.
That was when he saw two more warriors coming toward him, bearing two metal plates. The plates were a hand’s breadth in diameter, glowing red and smoking with heat. The warriors held them by means of a handle that was wrapped with thick cloth to insulate their hands from the heat.
“We have far to go for yo
u to see what I wish to show you.” Syr-Nagath spoke softly, having stepped closer. Her lips brushed his ear. “I can never trust you not to somehow escape and slash your throat with your talons, or take your life with a dagger or sword.”
Knowing in that instant what she planned, he screamed. Not in fright, but in fury and helplessness.
The warriors holding his arms shifted their grip to his forearms. Two more stepped forward, swords at the ready.
With a nod from the queen, the warriors with the swords sliced off Kunan-Lohr’s hands.
He shrieked in agony.
Then the warriors bearing the red-hot irons stepped forward and pressed them against the stumps of his wrists, searing the flesh and closing the wounds.
The last thing he would remember was the sight of Syr-Nagath, watching him with cold detachment.
Then, mercifully, he passed out.
* * *
When he awoke, he found himself staring down at the floor of a wooden wagon. It was moving, bobbing side to side and rattling as the wheels turned over the cobbles of the ancient road.
Lifting his head, pain surged through him. His tongue was aflame and his wrists throbbed. It took him a moment to remember what had happened, that his tongue had been spiked and his hands taken at the wrists.
Fighting against a wave of nausea, he opened his eyes. He was naked, held upright by a thick metal collar bound to a rough wooden post. His arms were held out to his sides, strapped to a crosspiece attached to the post.
Ahead of him marched a legion of the queen’s warriors. Turning his head, he could just see more legions behind him, trailing away into the distance. The air was filled with the sound of tens of thousands of marching feet.
He recognized this stretch of the road, and knew that they must have been on the march for at least three days. That was how long he had been unconscious.
“You are awake, I see.” Syr-Nagath had appeared beside him, riding a nimble magthep with an immaculately groomed coat. “You do not look well, master of Keel-A’ar.”
In Her Name: The First Empress: Book 01 - From Chaos Born Page 24
