“Not if Syr-Nagath severed the Braid of the Covenant,” Ka’i-Lohr reminded him. “Her spirit would be all but invisible even to Keel-Tath.”
The mere thought sent a chill down Tara-Khan’s spine. He had lived through that horror, and only regained what he had lost through Keel-Tath’s healing redemption. It had been a nightmarish existence, but if he had survived, so could Syr-Nagath.
“Take me to her,” Tara-Khan said. “We must end whatever she plans before it begins. Keel-Tath is terribly weak after the birth of our daughter, and we must not leave her vulnerable any longer than we must to any conspirators.” He frowned. “I wish I could see this place in your mind so I could take us there directly. That would save precious time.”
“I, too, wish I had such a power,” Ka’i-Lohr told him, “but it was a part of the palace I had never before visited.”
That, Tara-Khan thought grimly, could be nearly anywhere. The huge construct that was the palace had only grown larger in the cycles since Keel-Tath had summoned it forth from the dead moon, with ever more rooms and chambers appearing. Worse, sometimes the palace rearranged parts of itself, and he sometimes wondered if it did not react to Keel-Tath’s unspoken wishes or even subconscious dreams. “Then let us go.”
Through the maze of halls, great and small, they ran. They used the ingenious transport platforms of the builders when they could, but the devices did not reach everywhere.
At last, well over a league from the Empress’s chambers, they reached a landing that overlooked a small plaza in the shape of an oval that was home to a garden of vivid red and blue flowers. Archways framed the darkened halls that opened onto the plaza at each point of the compass, and vines covered the walls that led up to the mezzanine that joined the landing upon which they now stood. Benches of stone and wood, shaped in graceful curves, were laid out in the best spots to view the flower beds.
Upon one of them, facing away, sat a female in the robes of a builder, her hood pulled over her head.
“You should not have come, young fools,” she called softly, her voice sending a sliver of ice through Tara-Khan’s heart. He involuntarily clenched his hands into iron-hard fists.
“It is you who should not have come,” he spat. Knowing he was stepping into some sort of trap, but not seeing any alternative but to spring it, he took Ka’i-Lohr’s shoulder and whisked them through space to the garden below, where they now stood facing the greatest enemy their kind had ever known.
“Tara-Khan,” the Dark Queen whispered from beneath the dark folds of her hood. “You who have the powers of a priest, powers you never earned in the temple. The consort of the so-called Empress,” she hissed, “who now has given birth to a squealing whelp.”
His heart consumed with an ice cold rage, Tara-Khan drew his sword, as did Ka’i-Lohr, who stood behind him, guarding his back. “I would cut out your tongue for such words, but it will be easier to cut off your head.”
“But if you do that, child, you will never know the secret.”
“And what secret is that?” As he spoke, shadows emerged from the dark entrances to the garden. Dozens of warriors came forth to form a circle around them. Some, Tara-Khan recognized. Others, he did not. He was horrified that she had created so many disciples, and was even more horrified that Keel-Tath, despite all her powers, had not been able to sense their existence, even though several of them stood in her presence nearly every day. His hand tightened around the handle of his sword and cyan lightning began to dance along the palm of his free hand.
“That your beloved will soon be dead, and your child shall be raised as mine own.”
“You jest, Syr-Nagath.” He looked around at her minions. “These are all you found to stand against me?”
Laughing, she got to her feet and approached him, using her hands to guide the tip of his sword to her mouth, where she licked the blade, drawing blood from her tongue. “I do not need them to defeat you,” she said as she took the blade and pressed it against her cheek, still shrouded in shadow, drawing more blood. She closed her hands around the shimmering metal and stared into his eyes, her glowing irises all he could see beneath the hood. “All I need is this.”
In the blink of an eye, the blade turned an inky, light-drinking black, as if it were now made of obsidian. Before Tara-Khan could react, even swift as he was, the sword handle fused to his gauntlets, and a spiderweb of living metal exploded over his armor, fusing it solid. Not only did the glittering web completely immobilize him, but some force within it blocked his powers, preventing him from stepping through space to escape. He tried to blast his way out with the lightning that dwelled within him, but cried out in pain as the energy instead burned his hands.
“What dark magic is this?" he cried.
“It is the power of Ka’i-Nur,” she said, letting go his sword and pulling back her hood.
“What?" he gasped in shock. “But you are not…”
His words were cut off by the blade that burst from his chest. Stunned with surprise as much as agony, he screamed as the sword was twisted, then brutally sawed back and forth, the serrated upper edge ripping through organs and bone. A foot slammed into his back, driving him face first to the ground as the sword was ripped out.
Someone used a foot to flip him over, and he found himself staring up into the face of Ka’i-Lohr, who looked down upon him with an expression of utter hatred.
“My…tresh…” Tara-Khan managed, blood running from his mouth. “Why?”
“Because Keel-Tath is mine!” With a bellow of long suppressed rage, Ka’i-Lohr drove his sword through Tara-Khan’s belly, burying the tip in the soft soil of the garden beneath. Then he leaned down and severed Tara-Khan’s Braid of the Covenant.
Tara-Khan’s last thought before darkness took him was an image of Keel-Tath and his newborn daughter, floating in a pool of blood.
***
Drakh-Nur knew something was wrong. He could feel it, although he could not have explained how. Beneath the revelry over the birth of the daughter of the Empress, he could sense something dark and sinister.
The departure of Tara-Khan and Ka’i-Lohr, without a word to anyone else, also gave him cause for concern. He tried to tell himself that, had anything been amiss, he, Drakh-Nur, would have been the first to be involved, for he was captain of the Imperial Guard. It was largely a ceremonial assignment, an honor from the Empress bestowed upon the seven hundred warriors who served in it, for the Empress no longer had any enemies, and was certainly more than capable of protecting herself.
Now…now, he was not so sure. The Empress and her child were resting peacefully in care of the healers, and a host of warriors and robed ones remained in her chambers, including Dara-Kol, Sian-Al’ai, and two others of the priesthood. All was as it should be. And yet it was not. He stood there, a victim of the unaccustomed sensation of indecision.
“Enough of this.” Angry with himself for not simply acting, he knelt before his sleeping Empress and saluted before turning for the door.
Sar-Ula’an, his First, who was posted outside with a quartet of warriors from the Guard, saluted and fell into a double step beside him to keep up with the giant warrior’s stride.
“Summon the warriors of the first century,” Drakh-Nur ordered, “and have them meet us in the main junction at the base of the throne. The remaining centuries are to reinforce the guards for the Empress’s quarters and the palace creche.”
With a salute, a pair of warriors broke off at a run, acting now as couriers for their commander’s orders.
“What is wrong?” Sar-Ula’an asked, his face creased with worry. He had not seen Drakh-Nur like this since the last major battle they had fought together.
“Everything. And nothing.” He shook his head, wanting answers but having none. He sought out the voices of Tara-Khan and Ka’i-Lohr in the Bloodsong. While he could sense them, they were muffled, indistinct. “I do not know.”
The hundred warriors of the Imperial Guard’s first century were already waiting
for them, assembled into perfect ranks, when they arrived.
“Come,” Drakh-Nur boomed as he passed the head of the formation at a run, and the warriors quickly fell in behind them.
“Where are we going?” Sar-Ula’an asked.
Drakh-Nur scowled. “I do not yet know.”
***
All Drakh-Nur had was intuition, so that was what he followed. He led the others deep into the palace, the strange sensation of dread growing with every step. He saw now, just ahead, a solitary female in builder’s robes who stood on the far side of an intersection. Raising his fist, he brought the warriors with him to a stop. “Who are you?”
“Who would you have me be?” The voice chided.
“I will not ask again,” Drakh-Nur warned. “Who are you?”
“Come and see.”
With a snarl, he snatched up his war hammer and strode forward, his warriors close behind him. The intersection of the main corridors, he saw, was decorated with glittering metal scrollwork, so fine that it looked like a web. It would have been beautiful, save for the menace that he felt from this creature. With every step, he tried to convince himself that it was not who he feared it might be.
As he passed through the intersection, warriors burst forth from both sides, emerging from the darkened corridors like vengeful shadows as the robed female fled.
With a roar of fury, Drakh-Nur waded into the swarm of attackers, swinging his enormous war hammer from side to side. Enemy warriors screamed in pain as their bones were crushed and their bodies sent flying into the walls where they left a grisly tableaux of blood.
Sar-Ula’an fought by his side, desperately fending off the warriors who tried to get past the giant’s war hammer. Sar-Ula’an was shocked that he recognized many of them. None were of the Imperial Guard, but many were warriors who had fought beside him since he had bound himself to Keel-Tath. “Why?" he demanded of them. “Why?”
They answered his questions only with battle cries as they surged forward.
As the savage battle wore on, Drakh-Nur and Sar-Ula’an found themselves cut off from the other warriors of the Imperial Guard.
“How many can there be?” Sar-Ula’an deflected another sword strike before drawing his opponent in close by his sword arm and plunging his talons into the warrior’s throat.
“Too many…” With a grunt of pain, Drakh-Nur accidentally slammed into Sar-Ula’an, sending him sprawling forward.
Taking advantage of the momentum, Sar-Ula’an pitched to the floor and rolled, slashing at his opponents’ legs before he leaped to his feet. But his heart fell at what he saw. “Drakh-Nur!” The broken blade of a sword protruded from the great warrior’s back, perilously close to the spine.
“Go!” The giant bellowed. Grabbing Sar-Ula’an by his left arm and leg, Drakh-Nur tossed him high over the intervening mass of enemy warriors and into the ranks of the Guard. “Protect the Empress!”
Sar-Ula’an only stood there, his sword at his side, as the battle raged around him, staring at Drakh-Nur.
Drakh-Nur met his gaze for just an instant. “Go!”
That broke the spell. “Fall back!” Sar-Ula’an ordered the rest of the warriors with him, and they began a fighting retreat back the way they had come. He and the others fought as they had never fought before, but in every spare instant, Sar-Ula’an watched Drakh-Nur, who was now completely surrounded. Roaring with vengeful fury, he smashed and killed the enemy. As Drakh-Nur must have hoped, the enemy warriors were drawn to him, allowing Sar-Ula’an and his companions to break free.
Sar-Ula’an’s heart was overcome by anguish as Drakh-Nur went down. Enemy warriors had latched upon his armor or taken hold of his neck and even his braids, stabbing him over and over with their swords and daggers. Even then, Drakh-Nur did not stop fighting. He had lost his grip on his war hammer, but his great fists slammed into warrior after warrior, crushing their skulls and bones, his talons stabbing through their armor, deep into their flesh. He snapped at them with his teeth, and kicked them with his enormous feet. But the end result was inevitable. With a final bellow, he collapsed under the weight of those bent on killing him.
“May you find a revered place among the Ancient Ones, Drakh-Nur,” Sar-Ula’an whispered, just before a titanic wave of fury from the Empress exploded through the Bloodsong. His cry of agony was cut short as he and all the others, friend and foe alike, collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“Drink this, my Empress,” the female healer said as she handed Keel-Tath a cup of a sweet smelling elixir. “It will help your body recover from its ordeal.”
Smiling with thanks, Keel-Tath took the cup and, with the healer’s gentle help, managed to drink it all. She lay back on the thick pile of hides where the healers had brought her just after Tara-Khan had departed the birthing room. The child had not shown any great interest yet in nursing and, as if she were as exhausted as her mother, she had already fallen asleep in Keel-Tath’s arms.
“Allow me.” The healer carefully gathered the infant up and wrapped her in a swaddling blanket before rocking her slowly back and forth as the elder healer who had birthed the babe ordered the others in the room to leave and let the Empress rest.
Keel-Tath watched her tiny daughter, knowing that once she was old enough to stop nursing, she would join the other children in the palace creche as tradition demanded. Even though that day was yet months distant, the thought made her sad. Reaching out, she ever so gently brushed the back of one of her fingers against the child’s cheek, amazed at how beautiful she was, trying to imagine what she would one day become. She would not become Empress, for her hair was not white, nor were her talons crimson, but this brought no sadness to Keel-Tath. Ulana-Khan would find her own destiny in the cycles to come. The voice of her spirit was so strong, drowning out the others in the great rhythmic sea of the Bloodsong. The sensation of the Bloodsong itself began to fade as Keel-Tath watched the healer rock her baby, mesmerized by the slow, rhythmic movement. Keel-Tath closed her eyes as sleep claimed its due, and she tumbled away into the darkness.
Her slumber was deep and dreamless until she heard a cry of alarm from far away. At first, she thought it was merely part of a dream. But the dream quickly intensified, as if many souls had suddenly found themselves in great peril.
Keel-Tath’s eyelids fluttered open to find the female healer kneeling beside her. She no longer held Ulana-Khan. Instead, she held a dagger to Keel-Tath’s throat with one hand. Behind her, arrayed in a semicircle around Keel-Tath’s bed, stood a group of robed ones and warriors. All were part of the palace retinue, some quite close to Keel-Tath, if not as close as her longtime companions like Dara-Kol, and all of them were males. Sprawled on the floor behind them in a great pool of blood were the bodies of more robed ones and warriors, two of whom bore sigils of the priesthoods. How anyone could have killed them here, she could not begin to guess.
“Be still, child of prophecy,” the healer told her softly as Keel-Tath struggled to sit up. “I would not take your life. Not yet.”
Keel-Tath felt the rise of a wave of anger, but her powers did not rise with it. It was as if she were again in the chamber of the Ka’i-Nur Crystal of Souls, where her powers had somehow been stripped away or suppressed. The Bloodsong, too, was muted, nearly silent, as if the great spiritual river was trapped behind a dam. “Where is my child?" she asked. “What have you done with her?”
The healer brushed the edge of the dagger’s blade against the skin of Keel-Tath’s throat just above her golden collar. “Fear not, your whelp is here.”
The male healer who had delivered the child stepped into the circle, bearing the infant. Cradling the child in one arm, the talons of his other hand rested lightly on the fabric of her swaddling blanket, a hair’s breadth from her tender throat.
“No,” Keel-Tath whispered, horrified, unable to believe that anyone would — or even could — threaten a helpless infant. But the thought brought back dark memories of children,
even infants, who had perished at Ka’i-Nur, burned alive by her own hand. Pushing the terrible visions aside, she hoped beyond hope that this was all some horrible nightmare from which she must soon wake. “Give her to me and I will take your head and not your braid.”
The elder healer shook his head. “You hold no power over me, Keel-Tath. Not anymore.”
“But you are bound to me!” She looked at the others, the males who surrounded her, staring at her with cold eyes. “As are all of you! You pledged your honor to me.”
The female beside her threw back her head and laughed.
Keel-Tath’s blood ran cold, for while the face was not the same, the voice, that heartless laugh, she well remembered. “No,” she whispered. “Syr-Nagath. It cannot be. You were dead, killed by the crystal!”
Thrusting her face at Keel-Tath as she pressed the knife to her neck, drawing blood above Keel-Tath’s collar, Syr-Nagath hissed, “It did not kill me, dearest one. Oh, no.” She leaned closer, her lips to Keel-Tath’s ear. “It recognized one of its own.”
Keel-Tath’s eyes widened as the implications of the Dark Queen’s words sank in. If Syr-Nagath had been bathed in the light of the Ka’i-Nur Crystal of Souls and survived, she had inherited its powers. Even now, Keel-Tath was unsure what those powers were, other than opening the gateway between the worlds of the living and the dead. Tara-Khan had been teaching her of what he had learned while studying the ancient scrolls, which contained much about the Ka’i-Nur crystal, but those had been fleeting opportunities while he had been leading her armies in what had come to be known as the War of Unification. They had spent those precious times together doing things other than studying the past or delving into powers that she still had difficulty comprehending.
But Syr-Nagath had clearly not had any such distractions. Whatever powers she had inherited had allowed her to nullify Keel-Tath’s own. “And that is how you have evaded my notice all this time,” Keel-Tath concluded. “The crystal’s power shielded you, hid your voice from the Bloodsong.”
Mistress Of The Ages (In Her Name, Book 9) Page 36
