In Her Name: The First Empress: Book 01 - From Chaos Born (11 page)

Baring her fangs, the ancient keeper said, “This shall be your tomb, priest of the Desh-Ka.”

CHAPTER SIX

Syr-Nagath howled with bloodlust as her sword took the head from yet another enemy warrior. Around her, warriors hacked and clawed at one another along a battle line that ranged for leagues on either side of where she fought. The air was filled with the sounds of screams and snarls, of metal crashing upon metal, of flesh torn and bones crushed. She was intoxicated by the coppery smell of the blood that drenched the battlefield, and savored the taste of it on her lips where it had spattered from those she had slain.
 

The army facing hers was a coalition of the last kingdoms and independent cities in the eastern reaches of T’lar-Gol. The sea was only a few leagues distant, the blue-green water and frothing whitecaps visible from the tallest of the nearby hills. This army was now all that stood between her and the conquest of the entire continent.

But the enemy was not inclined to give up easily. More and more warriors were pouring forth into their lines, not only from the eastern kingdoms, but from those to the north and south. It was the largest force her army had ever faced, and was growing by the day.

She, in turn, was bringing forward more and more of her own warriors. While there had been times when her battle lines had been strained, she knew that in the end she would win. Millions of warriors were now beholden to her, and she knew the enemy could not match her strength. While the battle would rage on for some time, her victory was inevitable.

When the enemy finally surrendered and the warriors were bound to her by their honor, she would begin the next phase of her plan, the conquest of Urh-Gol, which lay beyond the Eastern Sea. That would be the open-handed move, the one that would be visible to all, and would captivate their attention.

With her closed hand, she would begin to weaken the Desh-Ka, using Ria-Ka’luhr as a pawn. He was the key to making them vulnerable. When she had completed her conquest of Urh-Gol, she would strike at the temple. By then, she would have a vast army and, just as important, the weapons she would need to destroy the Desh-Ka.
 

She knew that she had to deal with them first. While it was the smallest of the orders, it remained the most powerful. If she first destroyed either of the other two orders on the Homeworld, the Ana’il-Rukh or Nyur-A’il, the Desh-Ka would likely mount an attack that would prove devastating. But if she destroyed the Desh-Ka first, the other orders, which were far less powerful, could be dealt with in their turn.

And then she would reach toward the stars to take the Settlements.

She bared her fangs in ecstasy at the thought as she parried the strikes by a pair of enemy warriors before whirling inside the arcs of their blades. Driving her claws into the throat of one warrior, she jabbed the tip of her sword under the jaw of the other, the blade piercing the warrior’s brain.

That was when she felt it. While she could sense nothing of the other six orders, her blood was closely bound to the Ka’i-Nur. She knew that something momentous had just happened, and she staggered with the intensity of the feelings that overwhelmed her.
 

Syr-Nagath knew the source all too well: the ancient mistress of the keepers. The Dark Queen saw a vision, a child with white hair and crimson talons, in a great walled city. And death. Her own, if the child did not die first.

“My queen!” Two of her warriors leaped into the gap as she staggered back from the line. More warriors ran forward from the reserve as the enemy, sensing weakness, surged forward in a roar of voices and clashing of steel.

To this and all else around her, Syr-Nagath was oblivious. She could focus only upon the images in her mind that were so intense they had blinded her. The child, unlike any she had ever seen. Her own death, a dark, cold shadow upon the future. And the walled city, which she knew well.
 

It was clear to her what must be done.

Whirling away, flinging blood from the tip of her sword into the roaring maelstrom behind her, she summoned her First and strode quickly from the field of battle.

* * *

Nil’a-Litan had been badly wounded in the day’s battle and had been sent back to be treated by the healers. A young warrior just out of the
kazha
, she was part of Kunan-Lohr’s retinue that served under Syr-Nagath. As with the other warriors, she had been proud to serve her master in the many battles that had raged across the lands of T’lar-Gol. But honor, not loyalty, bound her to the Dark Queen’s service.

As she sat against a tree among the throngs of wounded, a mass of healing gel working its silent wonders on the deep wound in her left shoulder, she saw Syr-Nagath storm past, followed by her First and three of her senior war leaders. Nil’a-Litan recognized them, for they were the queen’s favorites from among the retainers she had chosen after killing the old king. They were fierce warriors who did her bidding without question, and were greatly feared by their vassals, many of whom had found themselves shackled to the
Kal’ai-Il
. Or worse.

As the queen stalked by, her gaze swept the mass of wounded and lit upon Nil’a-Litan, who still clutched the banner of Keel-A’ar she had been given the honor to bear. In that fleeting moment, seeing the queen’s expression change at the sight of the banner, Nil’a-Litan was sure that had she been closer the queen would have killed her. Never had she seen such an expression of unutterable hatred. Nil’a-Litan only gave thanks that she could not sense the queen’s feelings. She could only wonder at what she had done to fall from grace in the queen’s eyes.

Assuming the queen’s ire had indeed been focused on her.
 

But she had looked first at the banner
, she thought.
That is what had drawn her attention
.

Glancing around, she saw that there were no senior warriors of Keel-A’ar present. Struggling to her feet, she looked in the direction of the battle. She could see the banners of her master’s warriors in the thick of the flashing swords and howling war cries, but there were no captains of her city’s army anywhere close by.

Reluctantly setting down the banner beside one of her comrades, a ghastly wound in his abdomen just below the edge of his breastplate, she stood up and made her way slowly toward the pavilion. She did not need the many years of training and high knowledge of a priest to know that something was wrong, and she felt honor-bound to discover what it was. If she had made a transgression that had found ill-favor with the queen, she would redeem herself through whatever punishment Syr-Nagath chose to mete out. And if it had to do with the servants of Keel-A’ar or her master Kunan-Lohr, she would try to discover what it was so the senior warriors could address it before her lord returned.

She could not, of course, barge in on the queen, but it was within any warrior’s purview to seek the counsel of the First.
 

Holding her wounded shoulder, hissing from the pain, Nil’a-Litan stood up straight and moved purposefully toward the entrance to the pavilion. Saluting the guards, she said, “I would speak with the queen’s First.”

With a nod, they let her pass, and she stepped into the entry vestibule of the palatial tent. She had been in here before with her master, but that had been during a planning session, and he had brought her along so she would gain experience in such matters.
 

Now, the vestibule and the rooms around it were empty.
 

Forcing down her misgivings, she moved toward the queen’s chambers, which always faced toward the battlefield so Syr-Nagath could watch the progress of the fighting when she rested or planned.
 

Nil’a-Litan was just reaching out to draw back the cloth that formed a doorway to the queen’s quarters, intending to peer inside to gain the attention of the First, when she heard Syr-Nagath say, “Ignore my command at your peril, Kanur-Han. Defy me now, and I will shave your hair and release you into the Great Wastelands.”

A stab of fear lancing through Nil’a-Litan’s heart and she froze. To have one’s hair shaved was the worst of all punishments, worse even than death: it was a sentence to eternal darkness. She had no idea what horrible sin one could commit for Syr-Nagath to even consider such a punishment.

“I did not say I would not obey, my queen,” she heard Kanur-Han say in a voice that betrayed no emotion whatsoever, not even fear. “I simply suggested that there was no need to take an entire legion. While we could spare the warriors easily from our campaign here, I believe it would make the task much more difficult. A single legion would not be able to take Keel-A’ar. I also know the captain of the guard there. He is no fool, and would not open the gates for trickery or bluster. Only the word of his lord and master, spoken from his very lips, would open those mighty gates for an approaching army.”

“And one warrior, working alone, might be too easily stopped.” Another voice, she was not sure which of the other two captains it was, spoke. But in this voice, there was indeed fear. “But perhaps three tens of warriors could move quickly, far faster than an entire legion. They could ride into Keel-A’ar under the guise of warriors returning home from the campaign, in need of food and rest on their journey. Such happens all the time, and the captain of the guard would see no reason not to allow them in.”

“And once the gates were opened and our warriors let inside,” Kanur-Han continued, “they could take and hold the gates while some of their number rode for the creche to kill the child before the warriors manning the walls could interfere.”

“Then our warriors would simply ride out again,” the other voice said. “The city’s warriors could not pursue in force, for they have barely enough to defend the walls.”

“But should the plan succeed, my queen, you will have a rebellion on your hands here,” Kanur-Han warned. “Even after we kill Kunan-Lohr and his consort, the warriors here will sense something is wrong. And when word reaches them of what has happened in the creche…”

“It should be a simple enough matter to ambush Kunan-Lohr and Ulana-Tath on the road by which they must be returning even now.” Syr-Nagath spoke slowly, thinking aloud. “That can be made to appear the work of a band of honorless ones. As for the creche…kill not only their child, but all the children. Only a band of honorless ones would ever consider such an act.”

“My queen…” Kanur-Han’s voice faded into silence. “Our warriors will not do this. I could gather enough to kill the child, for they could be made to see the reason for it, as the child is clearly a threat. But they will not massacre an entire creche.”

“Send them to me.” Syr-Nagath’s voice was colder than the frigid winds that howled in the Kraken-Gol, the frozen wastes at the southern pole of the Homeworld. “But send me fifty, not the thirty you had planned.”

“As you command, my queen.”

Realizing that their discussion was over, Nil’a-Litan, moving as silently as she could, fled the pavilion, the pain of her mauled shoulder completely forgotten.

* * *

“Are you certain of this?”
 

Nil’a-Litan knelt before Eil’an-Kuhr, the senior captain of Keel-A’ar’s forces fighting under the Dark Queen’s banner. Drawing her dagger, Nil’a-Litan held it to her own throat, the blade drawing a thin line of blood. “With my blood and honor, all that I have told you is true, exactly as I heard it from the lips of the queen and the others. You have only to command me, and I will take my own life that you would believe my words.”
 

“Put away your dagger, warrior.” Eil’an-Kuhr spoke quietly now. They were in a small grove of trees on a rise that overlooked the raging battle in the valley below. It was a place of some privacy, but not much. The queen’s army was spread out as far as the eye could see on this side of the valley, and there were warriors within a stone’s throw of where they stood. But this would do. “I believe you. I confess I have difficulty believing what the queen said, for such an abomination is unthinkable to one of the Way. But I do not doubt that you have repeated faithfully what you heard.”

Relieved that Eil’an-Kuhr believed her, Nil’a-Litan sheathed her dagger and stood beside the battle-hardened captain of warriors. “What are we to do?”

Eil’an-Kuhr’s face reflected the bitterness in her blood. “We can do nothing until nightfall, when the end of the day’s battle is called.” Pointing to a long stretch of grappling, screaming warriors in the battle line, she said, “Save for the wounded, all our warriors are committed, and I cannot simply withdraw them. The line would collapse and the enemy would pour into the rear behind us. It would be nearly impossible to disengage without extremely heavy casualties.” Letting her arm fall to her side, she inclined her head, drawing Nil’a-Litan’s attention to more warriors, tens of thousands of them, encamped along the ridge line on either side of, and behind, the queen’s pavilion. “Those who serve the captains you saw in the queen’s pavilion have been held in reserve since the beginning, and would stand between our own warriors and the roads leading west, even if we could break free from the enemy and withdraw.”

“The queen bleeds us!”
 

Eil’an-Kuhr gave her a dark look. “You see in one glance what we did not realize until the week after our lord departed for home. Yes, the Dark Queen now puts our swords on the line during the hardest fighting, and those of her favored warriors only enough to blood them and preserve the illusion of honor.” She looked again at the battle line, where the banners of Keel-A’ar flew proudly. “Our numbers have been greatly diminished in the time since our lord departed. I fear there will be few enough of us left alive by the time he returns.”

“So even if there was a rebellion…”

“It would be crushed all too quickly. Were it to begin at all, which it will not.” At Nil’a-Litan’s confused look, she went on, “None of us have the power to break the covenant of honor with Syr-Nagath, child. Kunan-Lohr pledged his honor to her, and through him, our own. Our lives are hers to spend as she wishes. Were she to order us to slit our own throats for no reason other than to serve her pleasure, we would be honor-bound to do so. If she wishes to bleed the legions of Keel-A’ar to the last warrior, that is her privilege. We live and die to serve those to whom our honor is bound. That is the Way.”