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

by Michael R. Hicks

  Tara-Khan then stepped through space to where a small group of robed ones was huddled, unmoving, in the lee of one of the enormous stone teeth thrust up from the ground. While his squinted eyes could barely see, he had no trouble smelling the blood. The backs of their shredded robes were stained with crimson. “Come,” he shouted. “To stay here is to die!” He helped them to their feet and got them moving, his heart breaking with the agony he knew they must be suffering. “You have not far to go! Keep the wind at your backs and move up the mountain!”

  He stayed with them until he was satisfied they would reach the fortress before he flitted from here to there to direct another group to its destination.

  By the time he was done gathering the stragglers and guiding them to the main gate, his face and neck were a bloody mess and he was afraid the sand would rip through his eyelids to blind him for true. But he reminded himself that he was a priest of the Desh-Ka, even if one without a collar, and those with him, especially the robed ones, were not. He had no right to complain.

  One last effort of will brought him back to the walls of the fortress. Huddling with the senior warriors, he said through the coughing that wracked his lungs, “I will deal with the guards at the gatehouse, then open the gate. You,” he nodded at the senior most warrior, “will lead the others through. You must run as fast as you can straight to the portal at the center of the fortress! Stop for nothing and no one. Our battle is not to be fought up here, but down below. I will deal with any guards that may try to stop you. Do you understand?”

  They all nodded.

  “How are you to get inside?” One of them asked. “It is said that even priests cannot whisk themselves through the walls of Ka’i-Nur. It is immune to the power of the priesthoods.”

  “What is said is true,” Tara-Khan told him, remembering what he had read in the ancient scrolls, “but I have no intention of going through the walls. I shall sail over them.”

  Before the others could ask any questions, Tara-Khan stepped away from them, backing away from the wall. Focusing his will, he commanded his body to become light as a feather. His feet left the ground and he sailed upward in the maelstrom of turbulence of the storm wind hammering against the walls of the fortress.

  Up and up he sailed, like a leaf upon the wind, until he cleared the wall. A guard stood atop the tower over the gate. Drawing his sword, Tara-Khan fell upon him like a dark bird of prey.

  ***

  Ul-An’te was sure he saw a dark shape fly upward past him, like a black spirit against the darkness of the storm. He looked up with slitted eyes, trying to catch sight of the apparition through the sand that stung his face like a thousand tiny needles.

  And catch sight of it he did. The thing fell to land just in front of him. It was nothing but a shadow in the shifting sand, but he instantly recognized it for what it was: one of the little warriors, his sword already drawn.

  He opened his mouth to howl a battle cry even as his hand closed around the handle of his sword, but he never got the chance to draw it. The tip of the enemy’s blade pierced the soft flesh below his jaw and speared through his brain to emerge out the crest of his head. He stood stiff for just a moment before the apparition pulled his sword free. Then Ul-An’te’s body crumpled silently to the ground.

  ***

  After finishing off the guard standing watch over the gate, Tara-Khan leaped over the wall to the inside. He had momentarily considered killing the other guards along the wall, but their senses would remain blinded by the storm. Reaching a door set into the wall near the main gate, he paused for a moment, seeing what lay beyond with his second sight. Taking a breath, he stepped forward, sending his body through the door just as he might his hand through a spray of water. He found himself inside the massive wall itself, in the room containing the wheels, chains, and gears that controlled the great gate and the portcullis that shielded it.

  Facing him, their mouths agape with surprise, were the four Ka’i-Nur warriors manning the gate room, staring at their unannounced guest.

  Before any of them could so much as shout in surprise, Tara-Khan felled one with a shrekka to the forehead. The other three died in blinding slashes of his sword. Flicking the blood from his blade, he sheathed the weapon as the last body fell.

  Dashing to the controls, he shifted the levers that released the counterweights of the portcullis. With a great clank-clank-clank the chains began to move over the wheels and gears as the thick metal grate rose upward. Having set that into motion, he went to the capstan that controlled the gate itself. He pushed and pushed, but it refused to budge. It would require far more strength than an ordinary warrior not of Ka’i-Nur possessed, but Tara-Khan was no ordinary warrior.

  Stepping away from the mechanical contrivance, he closed his eyes and focused his mind on the gate and the mechanisms that controlled it. He saw everything, understood everything, with a clarity that would have frightened him had he had time to know fear.

  All at once, the capstan began to turn, faster and faster, as it raised the great counterweights and opened the gate by the power of his will alone. Once the gate was fully open, he brushed the locking levers with a finger, freezing the capstan and holding the gate open.

  Stepping outside, he found his companions streaming into the fortress, heading at a dead run toward where the portal lay. In that moment he felt a surge of pride, for he knew that one and all were exhausted and in bitter pain from the sandstorm. And yet here they were, charging into what, for most of them, would be certain death.

  “A task for heroes,” he whispered into the howling wind, repeating Sar-Ula’an’s words. Again drawing his sword, he whisked himself to the portal where he killed six more guards before leading his host of honorless ones into the heart of Ka’i-Nur.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “Ka’i-Nur is under attack!”

  Syr-Nagath whirled to face her First, who managed not to shrink back in fear. “What did you say?" she hissed through her teeth, her sword hand gripping the handle of her weapon.

  Before the First could answer, the ship rocked from another hit, then another, before its own weapons struck back. On the display another of Keel-Tath’s ships vanished like a small star gone nova.

  “M-m-my mistress,” the First stammered, “Ka’i-Nur is under attack. A force of enemy warriors has breached the walls and the portal to the city.”

  Still gripped by disbelief, Syr-Nagath looked to the keeper of the Books of Time who stood at her First’s shoulder. While the First was a warrior from among those not of Ka’i-Nur who had sworn his honor to her, the keeper was of her ancient kin, and stood taller by a head than the First. The keeper, who showed no sign of fear, nodded his head ever so slightly, but Syr-Nagath could now feel the rage flowing in his blood. She herself should have felt something amiss, but amidst the chaos of the huge battle raging around her, the fear, rage, and bloodlust from those in Ka’i-Nur had been lost. “You say enemy warriors, but Keel-Tath did not do this.” Had Keel-Tath planned it, she would certainly have confided in Ka’i-Lohr.

  “They are not her sworn followers,” the keeper said. “These are honorless ones, and not only are the warriors fighting, but the robed ones, as well.”

  “Then there is little to worry over,” Syr-Nagath snarled, “save how many heads to mount on pikes at the gate, starting with the sentries who somehow allowed them in!” Trying to calm herself, she added, “The home garrison will deal with them easily.”

  “Leading them is a priest,” the keeper said softly, his eyes unfocused. He was sensing what his counterparts in the fortress were sending him through mind and blood. “No…yes.”

  Syr-Nagath tightened her grip on her sword and slid the blade a finger’s breadth from its scabbard. “Make up your mind!”

  “He has the powers of a priest, but wears neither collar nor sigil. Yet cyan lightning flies from his hands…” The keeper gasped and doubled over as if he had been struck in the stomach. The First took him by the shoulder and helped him st
and. “The link has been severed,” he choked. “The keeper with whom I was communing was killed…incinerated.” He looked at Syr-Nagath, his expression one of helpless horror. “They are sparing no one.”

  “Why would they?” Syr-Nagath mused as she thought furiously, wondering who this priest who was not a priest could possibly be. “They are without honor.” No priest of the Desh-Ka — nay, of any of the orders — would ever submit to having his collar removed. This was no trick of Keel-Tath, of that much she was sure. But who were these honorless ones?

  “What are your orders, mistress?” Her First squeezed out the words from a throat constricted by fear.

  Syr-Nagath had to grab a hand hold as the ship was struck by titanic hammer blows from another enemy broadside. Warnings flashed and the bridge crew flew into a frenzy, directing builders and warriors to contain the damage.

  For a long moment, caught in the unfamiliar grip of indecision, Syr-Nagath debated what to do. She had the chance now to crush Keel-Tath’s fleet for good and all, even though she had every intention of keeping the child herself alive. Syr-Nagath would need her to open the vessel where the Ka’i-Nur Crystal of Souls had been kept all these long millennia. Balanced against that was the threat against Ka’i-Nur posed by this attack. A rag-tag band of honorless ones could not hope to defeat the Ka’i-Nur guard force. The garrison that kept the city was a mere token of what it had once been, the bulk of the warriors having been brought to war, but should be more than enough to defeat even a score of legions made up of honorless ones. Those fallen souls could never take the city. Was it a ruse to draw her away, to help even the odds somehow for Keel-Tath’s fleet? But why would honorless ones do such a thing? They owed no allegiance to any mistress, nor would any mistress call upon them.

  A trickle of ice water ran down her spine at her last thought. Keel-Tath had once called upon them. Honorless ones had once protected her, and Syr-Nagath knew that Keel-Tath was much beloved by the hopeless wretches. Many honorless ones had spoken Keel-Tath’s name before Syr-Nagath had cast the ragged creatures into the flames.

  The presence of a priest of the Desh-Ka was also most disquieting. While she was confident the home garrison would eventually defeat him, she recalled the havoc wrought by Ayan-Dar. It was also possible that a priest, particularly one of the Desh-Ka, might be able to find and even open the vessel to the Crystal of Souls. She had read it herself in one of the most ancient texts of which Ka’i-Nur possessed merely a fragment. The few precious passages had hinted that a priest with the necessary knowledge could do such a thing, but the rest of the text had long since been lost. The fragment itself was closely guarded, and was not kept among the Books of Time, but was secreted away in a place accessible only by the eldest of the keepers and Syr-Nagath herself.

  This cannot be mere coincidence, she thought. Some larger game was afoot here. Her expression grim, Syr-Nagath looked to the keeper. “Is there any more word?”

  “Only death and destruction,” he whispered, still holding his hands over his stomach. “I see only flickers of horror, sensations of terror. The robed ones are being slaughtered.”

  “What of our warriors?” Syr-Nagath demanded angrily.

  “They fight…sometimes they kill, and then they die.”

  Syr-Nagath knew she had no choice. She had to act, and quickly. “Inform the shipmistress of the Kal-Ha’i that she is to take control of the battle here. Inform the other ships of our division that we are withdrawing immediately to protect Ka’i-Nur.” To the shipmaster she said, “We sail for home at flank speed. Prepare to enter the atmosphere over our city, and tell the leader of our shipboard warriors to make ready for battle.”

  ***

  The others stared open-mouthed at Li’an-Dar.

  “What do you mean, Ka’i-Nur is under attack?” Keel-Tath asked as the ship reverberated with another salvo from its main armament.

  “Just as I said, mistress,” the priest explained. “As I stood watch, a great sandstorm swept down upon Ka’i-Nur. My eyes were blind, but with my second sight I could still see. A host emerged from one of the arroyos that eventually leads back to the river that crosses through the Great Wastelands. The attackers were many, numbering at least a full cohort, perhaps two. Warriors and robed ones both made the trek up the sides of the volcano to the fortress. That is when I saw the most unbelievable thing.”

  “What?” Keel-Tath asked, taking the priest by the arm.

  “A priest was among them! He stepped through space to gather those who were lost and guide them to the fortress, then soared upon the wind over the walls, killing the sentry guarding the portcullis. The gate was thrown open and the host charged inside.” He frowned. “I was unable to see any of what happened beyond that.”

  “The fortress walls block our powers,” Alena-Khan said. “We can use them within or without, but cannot see or project through the barrier.”

  Sian-Al’ai shook her head. “But who could this priest be? All who survive from the priesthoods are with us.”

  “I do not know,” Li’an-Dar told her. “I could see no details through the raging storm, only the glow of his spirit and those that accompanied him. But there was no mistaking that he was a priest.”

  “Mistress!” The shipmaster called in an urgent voice.

  “What is it?”

  “Several enemy ships are shearing away from the main formation. They are making a course for atmospheric reentry over the Homeworld.”

  Keel-Tath exchanged a look with Ka’i-Lohr. “They must be heading to Ka’i-Nur,” he said. “The threat to their fortress is real.”

  Nodding, Keel-Tath said, “There can be no doubt. Shipmaster! Prepare to…”

  The rest of what she had intended to say was torn from her lips as the ship reeled from simultaneous hits and the command deck was swept with fire and searing hot metal.

  ***

  Syr-Nagath gasped as she saw and felt through Ka’i-Lohr what had happened on Keel-Tath’s ship. She had given very specific instructions to her ship commanders not to destroy that particular vessel. Harass it, yes, even board it, but do not destroy it or harm a single snow white hair upon Keel-Tath’s head.

  Closing her eyes, she focused her mind on her son. He was still alive. Hurt and in great pain, but alive. “Find her,” she whispered, her thoughts carrying through their blood bond to his subconscious, where her true born son resided. “Protect her.” Keel-Tath could not die. Not yet.

  As soon as she sensed that he was moving, bending to her will, she opened her eyes and glared at her First. “Find out which ships fired on Keel-Tath’s flagship and bring their commanders to me at once. They are not permitted ritual suicide. Allow the warriors attacking her ship to kill all aboard except her and Ka’i-Lohr.” She leaned forward. “Ensure they understand that no harm is to come to either of them, or they shall suffer my wrath.”

  Kneeling and saluting, the First replied, “It shall be done, my mistress.”

  As the First hastily retreated to confer with the keepers, Syr-Nagath slowly ran a talon along the leatherite of her inner forearm, cutting through the tough material and into her own skin to draw blood. She put her finger in her mouth and savored the coppery flavor. Soon she would taste the blood of those who had disobeyed her orders as she flayed them alive before slowly roasting their skinless bodies over a bed of hot coals.

  Taking her finger from her mouth, she ordered, “Continue on to Ka’i-Nur at best speed.”

  ***

  Keel-Tath awoke to the smell of molten metal and burning flesh. What was left of the bridge, which was located deep in the heart of the great warship, was a smoldering shambles. The entire compartment was askew, the armor and framing that surrounded it crushed inward by the great blow the ship had taken.The walls still glowed, but provided only faint illumination through the smoke that swirled through the air. The part of her mind that was not still in shock was amazed that the command deck had not been opened to vacuum, but the ship’s hull, which was made of living m
etal, must have managed to seal off this section in time to save their lives.

  But not all had been saved. She was lying on her back, and as she rolled over, grimacing from the pain of half a dozen shrapnel wounds in her chest and arms and a searing burn that had singed the back of her left leg, she came face to face with Alena-Khan. Or, rather, what was left of her. Her body had been sheared off below the rib cage as if cut through by a great sword, and her sightless eyes stared into Keel-Tath’s. Beside her lay the priest who had just come from his watch over Ka’i-Nur, a metal shaft as thick as his arm driven through his heart.

  “Oh, no,” Keel-Tath whispered as she reached out and tenderly closed Alena-Khan’s eyes. “No.”

  The priestess was not the only one for whom death had come. In the dim hazy light, most of the bridge crew had shared the same fate, their bodies torn or crushed.

  “Keel-Tath!”

  She looked up to see Ka’i-Lohr crawling toward her out of the smoke. The two embraced for a long moment. “You are ever here to protect me,” Keel-Tath whispered, hugging him fiercely.

  “Even death could not keep me from you,” he told her softly as his eyes locked with hers.

  In that moment, amidst the tragedy and uncertainty whirling around her, Keel-Tath leaned forward and kissed him. It was not merely a brush of her lips against his, but a full kiss, bearing the passion and longing that had been building up within her. She felt a momentary pang of guilt, for in her heart of hearts she imagined that she was kissing Tara-Khan, but he was gone. Her heart had to move beyond the past and look toward the future.

  Quickly overcoming his initial shock, Ka’i-Lohr returned the kiss with equal passion. It was a moment Keel-Tath wanted to last forever, but that, of course, was not to be.

  “Mistress.”

  Reluctantly parting from Ka’i-Lohr, she turned to find Dara-Kol, who was eyeing Ka’i-Lohr with a stony gaze. Whether her expression was because of the intimacy they had just shared or something else, Keel-Tath did not know.