Mistress Of The Ages (In Her Name, Book 9) (17 page)

“I wish I had this power now,” she whispered as she looked out upon the darkening sea. She remembered the time when Ayan-Dar had first brought her here, a lifetime ago now. The deep green of the sea and the magenta sky had been so vivid, as had been the lush trees that had covered the mountains leading to the city of Kui’mar-Gol. She recalled the colorful sails of the ships that bravely set out across the deep, but her joy turned to sorrow when she remembered the fate that had befallen the great seafaring kingdom. The memory of its glory and beauty faded, just as the colors were fading before her eyes, giving way to darkness. She looked up, and even the stars and the Great Moon were disappearing, as if their light was being bled away. “Darkness surrounds us,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said. “But remember, my daughter: you are the light that will drive that darkness away and give new purpose to our people.” His voice grew softer with every word, as if he were drifting away from her.
 

She turned to find him gone. “Ayan-Dar?
Ayan-Dar!
” The fire guttered and went out, leaving behind nothing but glowing coals. Those, too, flickered into darkness. All else was black.

For a moment, fear gripped her heart and she closed her eyes, as if that would somehow protect her from the evil she sensed closing in around her.
 

Then she remembered who she was. “You are the daughter of Kunan-Lohr and Ulana-Tath, lord and mistress of the great city of Keel-A’ar,” she whispered, each word giving her strength, “acolyte…
priestess
of the Desh-Ka and foretold by the oracle Anuir-Ruhal’te.” She clenched her hands tight. “You have touched with your very flesh six of the ancient Crystals of Souls, something no other has done.
You do not fear the darkness!
”
 

Calming her heart and taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes.

And found herself standing before the great door inside the coliseum of the Ima’il-Kush. Looking down at her body, she saw that it was as she remembered. She was no longer a female grown; that was yet to be. In her hand was her father’s sword, and in her heart she knew she was now strong enough to wield it. Even though she had never known him or her mother, the thought brought her comfort and gave her a great sense of pride. She knew they lived on in the Afterlife and hoped they could see her, hoped that they, too, would be proud.

Tightening her grip on the weapon’s handle, she stepped forward and raised her hand to open the door, but need not have bothered. It opened of its own accord, as if recognizing its mistress.

She stepped out into the smoke shrouded battlefield beyond.

***

“There she is!” The Kura-Hagil shouted, pointing at Keel-Tath, who stepped through the doorway. “Seize her!”

But before any of the three who stood facing Sian-Al’ai could move, they dropped to their knees, swords clattering from their grip as their hands clutched at their throats.
 

Sian-Al’ai turned to face Keel-Tath. While she looked no different in appearance, Sian-Al’ai could sense an aura of power radiating from her that was almost palpable, like waves of heat radiating from a bright flame. “Mistress,” she said with great relief, dropping to one knee and rendering a salute. “You have returned.”

“How long was I away?”
 

“Half a day, perhaps more,” Sian-Al’ai told her.
 

Keel-Tath nodded, clearly relieved, before turning her attention to the three most high who were still struggling to breathe. “I hold your lives in my hand,” she said, holding out one hand, palm up. She began to close her fingers and the struggles of her captives intensified, then she loosened her grip. She looked out at the priests and priestesses who had gathered around in shocked and silent witness to the spectacle. “I could take their lives,” Keel-Tath said, raising her voice so all could clearly hear, “as I could take yours. I could leave you all as nothing but ash and dust to blow away upon the wind. But I will not.” She lowered her hand, and the invisible grip around the throats of the most high vanished.
 

Gasping, their lungs heaving for air, they staggered to their feet. The Kura-Hagil reached for his sword.

“Do not,” Keel-Tath warned. A web of cyan bolts danced and arced around her hands. “Enough blood has been spilled this day, and all for the wrong reasons. Let there be no more.”

The Kura-Hagil slowly lowered his hand.

“We will not yield to you,” said the T’lan-Il in defiance. “We do not accept the prophecy.”

“I do not ask you to yield,” Keel-Tath told him. “Those who have sworn their honor to me have never done so with the blade of my sword at their neck. It has only ever been by their choice.” She stepped closer to them. “But I do ask you to consider where fate leads you. You all have been deceived by Syr-Nagath. She fixed your gaze upon me as a distraction before setting the priesthoods against one another. Look beyond the pride which blinds you. Can you not see?”

“I can feel you,” murmured the Ana’il-Rukh in a shocked voice. “I can sense your song in my blood. But you are a direct descendant of the Desh-Ka.” He looked at the others, who had noticed it, too. “How is this possible?”

Even Sian-Al’ai looked up, an expression of awe and wonder on her face. “She touched all the Crystals of Souls,” she whispered.

“All but one,” Keel-Tath told her, nodding.
 

The Ana’il-Rukh whispered, “That cannot be!”
 

“It is,” Keel-Tath said, coming to stand before the priest. “You can sense the song of my spirit, just as I can sense yours. It is not strong, not yet, but I believe it will be.”
 

“Can you also sense mine?”

They all turned to find Ulan-Samir of the Nyur-Ai’l, who had appeared atop one of the archways over a stone path that led to the Kal’ai-Il. A host of the Nyur-A’il, well over a hundred, were with him, encircling the others.

Sian-Al’ai shot to her feet, sword in hand, and took up a position facing Ulan-Samir, with Keel-Tath behind her.
 

“I do not fear him,” Keel-Tath said quietly, stepping past Sian-Al’ai, her eyes riveted on the high priest, whose cloak fluttered in the wind. Cocking her head to the side, Keel-Tath said with some surprise, “No, I cannot. I can feel the others of your order, but not you. And why would that be, high priest of the Nyur-Ai’l?”

He shook his head in mock sadness. “Power you may have, child, but there is so very, very much you do not know, and no doubt never will.”

Almost as one, the priests and priestesses looked to the sky. Dozens of fiery meteors were streaking toward the ground. But mere hunks of rock they were not. At the tip of each trail of flame was a landing ship that contained hundreds of warriors.

“Her starships,” Keel-Tath breathed, looking up, as well. “They have come.”

“Yes,” Ulan-Samir said. “The warriors of Ka’i-Nur have come to pay Syr-Nagath’s respects to Ima’il-Kush.”

“No!” Sian-Al’ai hissed.
 

“There is nothing you can do,” Ulan-Samir told her. “Except die.”

Without warning, the Nyur-A’il priests and priestesses, some of whom had already fought against Sian-Al’ai’s order, attacked all who were not of the Nyur-A’il. It was a slaughter.

“No!” Cried Keel-Tath, but she could do nothing for those caught in the trap. She tried to blast Ulan-Samir with a bolt of cyan, but he had already vanished. With a scream of rage in her throat, she instinctively drew her sword and charged toward the melee…

…Only to step into the vortex of what lay between the stars, with Sian-Al’ai’s talons clamped to her shoulder armor. In the blink of an eye that lasted a thousand cycles, the two appeared in the throne room of the palace on the Great Moon, much to the joy of Dara-Kol and the others who happened to be gathered there.

Her heart overcome with grief at the loss of so many more priests and priestesses, souls whose songs she had only just begun to hear and swords she desperately needed if she was to defeat Syr-Nagath, Keel-Tath threw her head back and screamed, venting her rage and sorrow.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Having run full tilt to the throne room upon sensing Keel-Tath’s return, Tara-Khan found her in Dara-Kol’s arms, with a bloodied Sian-Al’ai standing beside her, the two of them surrounded by the surviving Ima’il-Kush priests and priestesses, many of whom were wounded. The sense of mourning from Keel-Tath threatened to crush his spirit, and the mood of everyone in the palace was one of despair, despite the momentary joy the news of her return had brought. He called out to her, but she had not lifted her eyes from the floor, had not acknowledged him, nor anyone else, as if she were in a trance or dazed. Dara-Kol helped her to her feet and, together with a healer, began to lead her away, pausing only long enough to order the others to carry on with their duties.

And so he had returned to his post in one of the guard towers, trying to maintain his vigilance when all he could think of was her. Before he left the throne room to resume his watch, he and the others had heard what had happened on Ima’il-Kush. Everyone had been devastated. The Desh-Ka had nearly been destroyed, the Ima’il-Kush had fared little better, and serious losses had been inflicted on the other orders by the treacherous Ulan-Samir and his Nyur-Ai’l priesthood, which shamed Tara-Khan all the more because Ulan-Samir had been his greatest mentor. No one now was left to bar Syr-Nagath’s conquest of the Settlements. With shiploads of Ka’i-Nur warriors and the weapons the ships themselves could bring to bear, that would happen all too soon. And once it did, the might of three worlds, the entire civilization of the Kreela, would stand against the small huddle of refugees here on the Homeworld’s moon. Even as wondrous as the palace defenses were, Syr-Nagath would eventually be able to batter them down, just as the Ka’i-Nur fleet had done during the Final Annihilation of the Second Age, before it, in turn, had finally been destroyed. It seemed that the best any of them could hope for now would be a chance to die with honor.

He snorted.
Well
, he thought,
at least we will not starve to death
. Just as he and his companions had discovered the great Books of Time, so other search parties had found verdant pastures with herds of grazing meat animals, streams flowing with pure water, and even an enormous hall with countless casks of ale, all in vast chambers beneath the moon’s surface. The chambers were lit with artificial suns that rose and set, and looking up at their ceilings was like looking into the magenta sky of the Homeworld. Several armories had been discovered, brimming with weapons already fashioned and the raw materials, including great pools of living metal, to build more. Everything necessary for survival was here, and in great abundance. Whether these wonders were left over from the time of Anuir-Ruhal’te, somehow maintained by unfathomable mechanisms in the heart of the Great Moon, or whether they had been created along with the palace, none knew. The only thing the moon lacked was people.

Tara-Khan would have traded away all the moon’s treasures to lift Keel-Tath’s spirits. He could feel her grief and despair pressing down upon him like a physical thing, and he was certainly not the only one. All the Desh-Ka felt the same way, and he could tell that those of the other bloodlines did, too, even if not as much. Not yet. Whatever had happened on Ima’il-Kush had bound them all to her in some way, and bound the Desh-Ka even closer, which made sense, for that was her own bloodline, where her Bloodsong was ever stronger.
 

He turned as Ka’i-Lohr emerged from the magical lift, a much smaller version of the one that had taken them to the Books of Time, that served the watchtower. “I came to relieve you,” he said.

Tara-Khan glanced at the position of the sun and the Homeworld. “My watch is not yet complete. You come early, my tresh.”

Ka’i-Lohr made a dismissive gesture. “I have spent enough time in the ale hall. I thought you might like a turn there before Drakh-Nur drinks it all.” Seeing that his half-hearted attempt at humor had failed, he said, “In truth, Dara-Kol sent me to fetch you. She wanted to see if Keel-Tath would see you. Since her return she has spoken to no one, not even Dara-Kol.” He sighed. “She would not speak to me, either.”

Initially excited by the prospect, Tara-Khan was gripped by apprehension. “What would I say to her? I am little more than an extension of my sword, and it speaks for me in battle. You are the one with words.”

“Then say nothing. Just be with her. Comfort her.”

“I do not know how,” Tara-Khan whispered, overwhelmed by a sensation of helplessness.

With a sigh of frustration, Ka’i-Lohr pointed toward the lift. “Just go.”

With a curt nod, Tara-Khan turned and left. He had intended to return to the throne room, which had by default become the hub of the activities in the palace, but that is not where the lift took him. Stepping through the arched portal, he entered an enormous anteroom he had never seen before. The Desh-Ka priests and priestesses who had recovered were stationed here as guards, but Alena-Khan was not among them. Builders must have been at work adorning the plain walls and floor, but the work had been temporarily abandoned. Tara-Khan could not imagine them being able to create things of beauty when their souls were so despondent.

“Tara-Khan.”

He turned at the sound of Dara-Kol’s voice. Bowing his head, he saluted her as she stepped forward to greet him. She looked haggard and worn, as if she had fought in the same battle as Sian-Al’ai, and mourning marks coursed down her cheeks. “Mistress,” he said.

“Come with me.”

He followed her through a set of doors that led to a hall and a second set of doors, far larger this time. “She is in here,” Dara-Kol said. “Do…do anything you can to ease her suffering. And ours.” Opening the door, she ushered him inside, then closed it quietly behind him.

He stood there for a moment in silence, gaping at the room. Or, more precisely, a suite of interconnected rooms. He had seen such suites a few times before in some of the smaller palaces in Ural-Murir, and realized that these were the living quarters the palace had created for Keel-Tath. The complex of rooms qualified as a palace all on their own. The builders had already graced the rooms with their touch before Keel-Tath’s return. Tapestries banded in gold and crimson hung from the walls where the transparent crystal gave way to light colored stone glinting with flecks of copper in graceful swirls that reminded him of gentle clouds. The light coming in now through the great windows was golden in hue, and haloed the solitary figure who stared outward in silence, her hands resting on the lintel of the window.