Mistress Of The Ages (In Her Name, Book 9) (32 page)

“I thought I would ask…” Ka’i-Lohr said with uncharacteristic hesitation.
 

She looked up at him. “Yes?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but looked away.

Reaching up to gently turn his face back toward her, she whispered, “What is it?”

“I should not say anything. I am being selfish, and you would think ill of me.”

She shook her head and managed a sad smile, understanding both his intent and the reason for his hesitation. “I would never think ill of you for wanting to court me.”

Ka’i-Lohr bowed his head.

“I would be most honored, warrior,” she said, a small ray of joy shining through the darkness of her soul as she reached for his hand. “When it is time.” She paused, then went on softly, “You were right to speak of your feelings. I would rather know what is in your heart rather than leave something so important unsaid.” Tara-Khan’s eyes had held unspoken volumes when she had last gazed into them before he had struck down Ulan-Samir. It was so long ago now, but seemed like only yesterday in her mind. She had always imagined they would have time for all they both had wished to say, but realized that she had been a fool to remain silent. Reaching up to lift his chin until his gaze met hers, she told him, “I have feelings for you, Ka’i-Lohr, but I cannot and will not indulge myself until this war is won. Do not doubt that many nights have passed when I would have gladly accepted your comfort and your love, for I do not care for loneliness. It is not fair of me to ask, but I beg you to remain patient.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Do not forsake me.”

“Never.” He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips, then gently brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “When I am your consort, no longer will you bear those mourning marks, and never again will you be lonely.”

“That would please me more than you know.” Keel-Tath tried to smile, but it did not reach her eyes. Each morning when she looked in the mirror she saw the marks, the black streaks that ran from her eyes down her cheeks, and each morning she mourned anew for Tara-Khan. She chided herself that he was long gone, that she had to let go, but the heaviness never left her heart. She knew that it was not merely the love between them that had just begun to take root. He had literally become part of her, his soul melded to hers when she had saved him, and since the day of his exile she had been mourning the death of her own soul as much as his. But she fervently hoped that when the war was over and she could fully accept Ka’i-Lohr’s love, and that the wrenching sense of loss, the wrongness, of having lost Tara-Khan would finally fade away.

The massive double doors at the far end of the hall opened. It was Dara-Kol, who knelt and saluted. “I beg your forgiveness for the intrusion, mistress, but the appointed hour has come.”

Keel-Tath let go Ka’i-Lohr’s hand. “And so it has,” she said, setting down the mug he had given her. “Let it be done.”

Saluting and bowing his head, Ka’i-Lohr stepped back and took his place in the first row of many places set out in the hall. Each had a thick pile of animal hides, a large plate of beaten gold, and a matching mug.
 

Dara-Kol stood ramrod straight to one side of the door as the priests and priestesses entered two by two, their paces in step, in quiet dignity. They were followed by the elders of the robed ones attending the fleet, then all of the shipmistresses, and finally the most senior warriors. Keel-Tath normally dined in privacy or with small groups, and not always with the most high. Many times she had Dara-Kol fetch warriors and robed ones, even the young or the lowly, to sit at her table. Keel-Tath could sense all of her followers in her blood, but she wanted to get to know them, as well. Today, however, was special to her, a day of remembrance.
 

Once they all had reached their designated places, the attendees stood at attention as Dara-Kol closed the door and then crossed the floor to take her place at Keel-Tath’s right hand. Then, as one, all knelt and saluted Keel-Tath, heads bowed.

Keel-Tath returned the salute. “Be seated,” she said. After the brief rustle of fabric and metal was over as those before her sat on the hides, legs crossed, she continued, “On this day in the year of my birth was my father, Kunan-Lohr, master of the city of Keel-A’ar, cast into its flames by Syr-Nagath. My mother, Ulana-Tath, mistress of the city, died in the act of saving me, putting me in the hands of the Desh-Ka, beyond the reach of Syr-Nagath. All who called Keel-A’ar their home — warriors, robed ones, and children in the creche — perished at her hand, burned alive inside the city walls or hunted down and put to death.” She put a hand on the shoulder of Dara-Kol, who knelt beside her. “All but we two. ” She drew her father’s sword from the sheath on her back and held it out before her in both hands. “On this day, my brothers and sisters, shall we remember our fallen. For they died not solely for glory in battle or to bring honor to themselves or those to whom their honor was bound, but gave their lives for a purpose, for something greater than themselves, for a greater glory than our people have known in many generations.” Lowering the sword to her side, she went on, “They died fighting a great evil, an evil that I am determined to destroy so that the Way might be preserved.”

A rumble of agreement went through the assemblage.
 

“But today we remember our honored dead.” She ran the blade of the sword across her palm, drawing a bead of blood. “I have already spoken of my father and mother. So many others close to me have perished, so many that I hold dear in my heart. But of one more shall I speak: Ayan-Dar, who died that I might live.”

As one, the hundreds before her raised their voices. “Ayan-Dar.”

Keel-Tath knelt down and Dara-Kol stood. Drawing her dagger, she said, “To the honorless ones, who sheltered me in my darkest hour and saved the life of my mistress.” Then she cut her palm, letting her blood run free.

“The honorless ones,” Keel-Tath said, bowing her head low as she remembered the poor wretches who had rallied behind her in the buried tomb of Anuir-Ruhal’te, the hundreds who had sacrificed themselves for the child of prophecy. A heartbeat later, having absorbed the surprise that the outcasts of their society were to be so honored, the others echoed her words.

Around they went, each of those gathered celebrating the glorious dead. Some remembered their fallen tresh, others the great and mighty warriors who had been slain. Those Keel-Tath found the most touching were the honors given to the robed ones who had fallen in the course of the war. Most of those honors were given by warriors, praising the sacrifices of those they themselves were duty and honor bound to protect.
 

The eulogies were given in order from the most high to the lowest, and so it was that not long after the last of the elders of the robed ones had spoken was it Ka’i-Lohr’s turn. Getting to his feet, he drew not his dagger, but his sword, placing the blade in his free palm. Looking into Keel-Tath’s eyes, he said, “We have honored the mighty, the humble, the weak who were yet brave, and even those who have fallen from grace. I would honor one whose name has rarely been spoken for some time, but who has never strayed far from my thoughts.” Drawing the glittering blade across his palm, he said, “For Tara-Khan, my tresh, who sacrificed his honor and his life.”

A part of her had hoped beyond hope that someone would mention Tara-Khan, while the rest of her dreaded it, as if the mention of his name would tear open the still weeping wound in her heart. Closing her eyes, feeling the pain of his loss as if it were only yesterday, she raised her voice. “Tara-Khan.”

Dara-Kol and Drakh-Nur echoed, “Tara-Khan.”

A long moment of uncomfortable silence passed before those gathered murmured his name. They spoke it as if it were something vile and despicable, something they felt compelled to say so as not to offend her.

So be it
, she thought. Taking a shuddering breath, she opened her eyes and looked at Ka’i-Lohr, who nodded before resuming his seat.
 

Then it was the turn of the warrior beside him, and the eulogies continued as before.

“Let us keep their names in our hearts,” she said once the last honor had given, “and let their spirits be with us when we drive the sword that is this fleet through the heart of the Dark Queen!”

The hall erupted into a fury of war cries, with warriors getting to their feet and brandishing their weapons. Her eyes caught Ka’i-Lohr’s gaze once more through the shifting mass of warriors and robed ones separating them. He smiled before throwing his head back and howling his bloodlust.
 

Her own smile froze and her blood turned to ice. For in that instant she saw not the face of Ka’i-Lohr, but that of the Dark Queen.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Tara-Khan stared at the leader of the hunting party, a stout warrior of advanced years, to judge by the length of his braids. He bore no visible scars and carried himself with a haughty demeanor.
 

“Surrender and I will grant you a painless death,” the leader said. His eyes flicked to Tri’a-Shalun, as if she were barely worthy of his attention. “And you, as well.”

Stepping forward, putting himself between them and Tri’a-Shalun, Tara-Khan told him, “And I would give you this one chance to be on your way and leave us in peace.”

The warriors laughed. “You speak with a bold tongue for one who has fallen from grace,” the leader said. “As you wish.”
 

He lunged forward with surprising grace, his sword flashing toward Tara-Khan’s neck.

Except that Tara-Khan was no longer there. The warriors of the hunting party let out a collective gasp.

Whirling around, surprised and angry, the warrior found Tara-Khan standing behind him.
 

“Killing you, all of you, would bring me no honor,” Tara-Khan said. “Even though I do not wear a collar of honor, I have the powers of a priest of the Desh-Ka. You cannot stand against me.”

“The Desh-Ka are fallen,” the warrior hissed. “The old Way is no more, and I obey only my mistress. Those like you without honor have no place in this life. Nor do those who aid them.”

With a flick of his wrist, the warrior sent a shrekka scything through the air. It took Tri’a-Shalun in the stomach, just below her ribs. The living metal blades tore through her flesh to sever her spine. “Oh,” she gasped as she put her hands to the ghastly wound. Her legs collapsed under her and she crumpled to the ground, her robes pooling around her.

“
No!
” Tara-Khan cried, shocked that any warrior would commit such an act against a robed one. He turned on the warrior as the bloodlust took him.

Later, he had trouble remembering the carnage that had followed, as if he had fought the bloody battle in a trance. In the end, after what could only have been a few moments, he stood on ground soaked with blood. Those of the hunting party lay around him, dead. Some remained whole, while others were in pieces. He himself was covered with blood, but none of it was his own.
 

Flicking the crimson from his blade, he returned it to its scabbard and then hurried to Tri’a-Shalun’s side. The wound in her abdomen was like an angry, bleeding mouth. Some of the many scrolls he had read had spoken of healing, but he knew instantly that he could do nothing about it. “I will get you to a healer,” he said, making to pick her up.

Putting a hand on his shoulder, she shook her head and whispered, “No. My fate was sealed the moment I took you to my home, and you must not endanger a healer by asking help for a fugitive. The warriors of the hunting parties show no mercy to those who have displeased the Dark Queen.” Tri’a-Shalun struggled for breath, her face contorting in pain. “But by helping you,” she went on, “I have restored my honor, at least in my own eyes. Let the Books of Time say what they may.”

“The keepers will record your name among the heroes of this age,” he said softly, his heart heavy with sadness.
 

She smiled at his words. “May thy Way be long and glorious, Tara-Khan.” She closed her eyes, and a moment later her heart stilled.

He gasped and his body shuddered as a strange tingling sensation came over him, as if a cloud of warmth had passed through his flesh. It was a gentle, almost pleasant feeling, and he realized after it had passed that it must have been her spirit as it left her body. Looking up, as if he could see it as it ascended toward the heavens, he whispered, “And may you find your place among the Ancient Ones.”

For the second time since he had emerged from the coliseum of the Desh-Ka, he set about building a funeral pyre. After gathering and setting the wood in the prescribed manner, he gently placed her body upon it, then ignited it with a bolt of lightning from his hand. He watched until Tri’a-Shalun’s body was reduced to ash and smoke.
 

He took one final look at the remains of the hunting party. The bolder of the local scavengers, small brown reptiles with rows of jagged teeth, were already at work on the bodies. He could sense larger predators, those that knew enough to fear him, waiting nearby. Had the leader not killed Tri’a-Shalun, had he and the others faced Tara-Khan in honorable combat, he would have gladly consigned their bodies to the flames. He hoped that leaving them behind as carrion might serve as a warning to any who might come to investigate their fate or try to pursue him. He had no quarrel with those not of Ka’i-Nur, but he would not stand by and let such a grievous injustice go unavenged.

Kneeling, he rendered a salute in tribute to the dead porter of water. Then, regaining his feet, he pictured in his mind the first group of honorless ones he had found. He had jumped through space using nothing more than instinct when he had faced the leader of the hunting party, despite his lack of training in the use of his powers. Now he had to do it as a conscious act of will. Setting his fear and doubt aside, he calmed himself as he focused on the location at the river’s edge, many leagues away.
 

Now
, he thought.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself just where he had imagined, at the very spot beside the river bank that he had seen through the eyes of the water. The expanse of the river, half a league wide here, flowed behind him as he made his way up the sandy embankment to the cave he had seen in his vision. Stark, rocky cliffs of tan colored stone rose far above, and he was thankful for its shadow as he stepped out of the heat of the direct sun. He was about to call out that he meant no harm when he realized there was no point. The cave was abandoned. Kneeling down, he touched the ashes of one of the cooking fires. It was still damp from the water used to douse it, and the scattering of magthep dung was still moist, so those who had lived here must have departed quite recently. A scattering of magthep tracks in the dust near the mouth of the cave led to the west, where they disappeared among the rocks.