In Her Name: The Last War

by Michael R. Hicks

  To hold him in such a manner was her right, but it 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 they 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 also were 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.

  “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.

  “She is beautiful, my love.” Kunan-Lohr, master of a great city and a veteran of many terrible battles, highest of warriors among those beholden to him, knelt by his consort’s side like a child himself, utterly humbled by the miracle before him. His ears could hear his daughter’s cries of life, but his heart could also feel the tiny voice that had joined the murmur of souls that bound together the descendants of his bloodline.

  Looking up at the wardress, he asked, “What is to be her name?”

  Tradition held that the wardress who would be responsible for the child from birth until she was ready to enter the kazha would also name her. “In honor of the city whose master is her father, and the family bloodline of her mother, the child will henceforth be known as Keel-Tath.”

  “An honorable name,” Kunan-Lohr told her, “well-chosen.”

  As if sensing that she was the center of the entire city’s attention, Keel-Tath’s tiny hands waved in the air, groping blindly. After one of the healers quickly cleansed his free hand, Kunan-Lohr offered his daughter his little finger, careful that she reached only for the flesh, and not the sharp talon.

  She wrapped her fingers around his, gripping it with surprising strength. Her own nails, which someday would grow long and sharp, glittered in the steady glow of light that fell from the walls.

  He frowned. “Her talons…”

  The senior healer bent closer to see, and with a subtle gesture of her hand the light in the room brightened.

  “What is wrong?” Ulana-Tath gasped as she saw her daughter’s fingers.

  Among their race, the nails that grew from their fingers, eventually to form talons, were uniformly black, both on the hands and the shorte
r nails on the feet. Unlike some of the animal species on the Homeworld, which sported startling degrees of differentiation, there was very little among their race. Black talons, black nails on the toes, cobalt blue skin, and black hair were features of every child born since at least the end of the First Age, four hundred thousand cycles before.

  Keel-Tath’s tiny nails, both on her hands and feet, were a bright scarlet.

  “And her hair!” Ulana-Tath’s view was closer than that of the others, and her eyes widened as she looked closer at the wisps of hair on her daughter’s head, clear now in the brighter light. She had seen enough newborns to know what she should be seeing. And what she should not. “It is white!”

  Without a word, the senior healer held out her hand, and the healing gel materialized out of the skin on the arm of the healer who had wrapped it around Keel-Tath. She wrapped it around the forearm of the senior healer, and the mass sank into her flesh. Closing her eyes, the senior healer focused on the story the symbiont had to tell.

  After a long breathless moment, she opened her eyes, focusing on the squirming child. “She is healthy, my lord. Extraordinarily so.” She reached out a hand and gently brushed the snow-white wisps on the child’s blue-skinned crown. “I have no explanation, but there is nothing amiss. Of that there is no doubt.” She paused. “As with your difficulties in conceiving a child before this, I have no explanation.”

  Ulana-Tath exchanged a look with Kunan-Lohr. Among all else that had ever been accomplished in the ebb and flow of their civilization over the long ages, the art of the healers was without doubt the most advanced. If the healers said the child was healthy, then she was. Clearly different, perhaps, but healthy.

  Breathing out a sigh of relief, Ulana-Tath kissed her daughter on the head, gently nuzzling the white hair.