In Her Name: The First Empress: Book 01 - From Chaos Born (25 page)

Eil’an-Kuhr hoped the warrior did not fall in his haste.
 

Moving forward, she took her place at the tail of the column where the fighting was. A pair of enemy warriors attacked her, thrusting their swords at her chest, as she took the place of one of her own who had fallen. She parried their attacks, driving both blades downward to allow the warriors on either side of her to slash at her opponents.
 

They had room enough for four warriors abreast on this section of the trail. She tried to rotate them as best they could, much as Kunan-Lohr had done with the warriors chosen to throw rocks to distract the fish in the river. It was perilous to do so, for there was very little room for those on the short fighting line to step back and allow fresh warriors to move to the front. Several had already slipped or been pushed over the edge and had fallen to their doom.

The same was happening to the queen’s warriors, and worse. The warriors at the front were being forced into Eil’an-Kuhr’s warriors by mounting pressure from the warriors behind. The enemy was so tightly packed at the head of their column now that the warriors barely had room to draw back their elbows to thrust with their swords. More and more of them were being squeezed off the trail by their companions as the entire legion pressed forward along the open-sided trail. The screams of those who fell echoed from the sheer walls of the great chasm.

The enemy warriors also had to contend with the growing pile of bodies in their path, while Eil’an-Kuhr’s warriors simply backed away, closer to the river. The enemy had to step or leap over the bodies of the dead and dying, and Eil’an-Kuhr and the others took every opportunity to knock their opponents from the trail as they did so.
 

Her greatest enemy was exhaustion. The queen’s warriors were tired from the exertions of running to catch up with Kunan-Lohr’s army, but they had eaten and had water and ale to revive their strength.
 

By contrast, every muscle in Eil’an-Kuhr’s body was on fire, and her breath came in heaving gasps. In the brief moments she gave herself to rest, backing a few paces out of the line while another warrior took her place, her body trembled as if she had been stricken with a palsy.
 

Most of her warriors were even weaker, and their fatigue had begun to take its toll. Some came to the front line barely able to lift their swords. Some were struck down, adding to the pile of bodies in the enemy’s path. Others grappled with enemy warriors, using the last of their strength to hurl the enemy, and themselves, into the abyss.

At long last, a glance to the rear told her that they had arrived at the river. She saw Kunan-Lohr wade toward her through the group of warriors set to defend this end of the bridge.

* * *

Kunan-Lohr’s heart swelled with pride as he watched his warriors fight off the queen’s legion. He had suffered heavy losses, but the queen would be lucky to have more than an over-strength cohort left. A constant stream of bodies was falling from the trail as the bulk of the legion continued to crush forward, driving the lead warriors into the swords of his warriors or into the abyss.
 

Such waste
, he thought. He held no ill will toward those who fought against him. They were following the Way, and simply did not know that the queen for whom they sacrificed their lives was a beast, without honor.
 

Most of his own army had crossed by now. Many warriors had volunteered to remain behind and hold this end of the bridge for the remaining warriors still fighting on the trail.
 

He caught sight of Eil’an-Kuhr and pushed his way through to her. With a desperate lunge, she speared an enemy warrior on the end of her blade, then tossed his body off the trail before stepping back. Another warrior leaped into her position, slashing and hacking at the endless stream of enemy warriors.

“My lord.” She was panting like a
magthep
that had been forced to run from dawn to dusk. Her face and armor was covered in blood, and he counted no fewer than nine wounds upon her body.

She stumbled, and he caught her. Lifting one of her arms over his shoulder and wrapping his other arm around her waist, he guided her to the landing.

“Can you make it across the bridge?” He propped her against the pillar that held the ropes as the last exhausted warriors made the crossing. The others, the volunteers, now fought a pitched battle that would not last long. Their lives would be spent buying just a few moments more for Kunan-Lohr and the last warriors to cross.

“My lord,” she said as she wiped a stream of blood from her lips, “my Way ends here, today. Long have I served you, and I hope well. But our paths must part. You cannot stay here. You will be needed at Dur-Anai, and in the defense of Keel-A’ar.” Setting down her sword, she reached out with both arms and took him by the forearms. “May thy Way be long and glorious, Kunan-Lohr, honored master.”

Kunan-Lohr held her forearms tightly. “I will see you in the Afterlife, Eil’an-Kuhr.”

With a heavy heart, he stepped out upon the rope bridge, the last warrior of Keel-A’ar to cross.

Eil’an-Kuhr waited until he was safe on the far side, and she offered him her last salute.

Then she picked up her sword and cut the ropes.

Alone, Kunan-Lohr watched from the far bank as Eil’an-Kuhr and the rear guard, terribly outnumbered, fought bravely and died.
 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ulana-Tath rode next to the nurse who carried her child. Keel-Tath seemed to enjoy the bobbing motion of the
magthep
that carried her at a steady trot, and she periodically let loose a squeal of pleasure.

“She is born to it, my mistress,” the nurse had remarked more than once. It was nearly unheard of for a child this young to be removed from the safety of the creche, and Ulana-Tath was relieved that her daughter found delight in traveling. Keel-Tath’s tiny face peered out of the bundle on the nurse’s chest, her bright eyes drinking in the sights and sounds of the world. Her spiritual song was clear and unafraid, a stark contrast to the fear Ulana-Tath felt herself.

She knew that Kunan-Lohr yet lived. Of that much, she was certain. Ulana-Tath could sense his song in her blood, an anxious mingling of fear and anger, expectation and acceptance. And above all, love. Love for his city and its people. Love for his daughter. Love for Ulana-Tath. The marks of mourning cascaded down her cheeks and neck as she thought of him. More of her skin darkened with each passing day, for she knew in her soul that her consort, her love, had no intention of ever returning. She had no way of knowing what he planned, but she had come to know him well. Even if he could have somehow extracted Keel-A’ar’s legions from the clutches of the Dark Queen, he would never have simply marched home, nor would the queen have allowed it.
 

No. He would do all he could to buy his people time to prepare for what must come on the heels of the failure of the queen’s riders in their mission to kill Keel-Tath. Even had the riders succeeded, the queen would seek to destroy Kunan-Lohr and all who followed him after breaking the covenant of honor with her. She would pursue him to the ends of the world. His only hope would be to kill her in battle or by right of challenge. The prospects for victory in either case were slim, for he could neither defeat the queen’s legions with the city’s army, nor had he a realistic hope of defeating her in the arena. Ulana-Tath suspected he would challenge the queen in the end, but it would make no difference. She knew of no warrior who stood a chance against Syr-Nagath, save one from among the priesthood.

Before leaving Keel-A’ar, Anin-Khan had done what he could to prepare the city for the siege that must come, in the event that he and Ulana-Tath could not return before the queen’s army arrived. The garrison there should be able to defend the walls for some time, with the help of the builders who were adept at repairing the ancient stone. The city had an ample stock of food and water, which could easily support the inhabitants for a full cycle or more. Ulana-Tath knew the city’s history, and that it had fared well in most sieges of the past. But against the Dark Queen, she could not be so sure. There was a cancer within Ulana-Tath, a gnawing uncertainty about the future that she had never before known. She was afraid not just for her child, but for her city. Even for her race.
 

What will be, will be
. She had no gods to pray to, no one and nothing to whom she could appeal or ask deliverance. Her people had once worshipped gods, but they had proven themselves false in the collapse of civilization at the end of the Second Age, in the Final Annihilation. The civilizations that had eventually arisen from the ashes in the Third Age, clawing out of the depths of the cataclysm, had lost faith in the old gods and had left them behind without pity or remorse. Faith was something to be placed on oneself and on those to whom one was bound by honor, not in deities that had no substance, that did not exist.

But that philosophy had left an immeasurable void in the Kreelan soul. Ulana-Tath wondered how many of her people wished the gods had been real, had been faithful. One god or many, it did not matter. She simply wished to have something or someone greater than herself, than the kings and queens that rose and fall, in whom she could believe. Someone to turn to in the darkest of hours. Someone to ask for redemption.
 

But there was no one. While all believed in the Afterlife, for proof of its existence was incontrovertible from the senses of the spirit, the gods themselves were no more than bitter, empty memories.
 

The only surviving relic of that long ago age were the martial orders such as the Desh-Ka and their priests and priestesses. Long ago, they had led the people in worship of the gods. Then, as now, they were a guiding force in the world. After the Final Annihilation, the very name of which spoke as much to the destruction of the old faiths as to the devastation of their race, the priesthoods changed. They continued to form the foundation of Kreelan life through the training of the young in the kazhas and through their own godlike powers. But the spiritual heart of the people no longer pulsed. They lived now not to serve anything higher than the master or mistress to whom they were bound by honor. They lived and they died, but, as Ulana-Tath reflected now, there was little point to it all. She and her kind were not so far removed from the small creatures who lived in colonies beneath the ground, living out their lives in fulfillment of a function before they died.

Only love separated them from such tiny things that she could crush beneath her sandal. She shivered as she recalled the sensation of the first time Kunan-Lohr had kissed her. Closing her eyes, she seized upon the memory, willing it to stay with her forever. The warmth of his body holding hers, the tender, almost fearful way in which he had brought his lips to hers. It had been his first, as he had confessed afterward. A great warrior with a tender heart, so much as a smoldering glance from him made her feel like a goddess.

The thought that she would probably never see him again was nearly too much to bear.

“My mistress.”

She glanced over at Anin-Khan, who rode on the opposite side of the nurse’s
magthep
, and was looking at Ulana-Tath with sympathetic eyes.
 

“If it were in my power, I would gladly change places with him,” he told her.

“You know he would never allow it.”

Anin-Khan offered a rueful smile. “I would not offer him a choice.”

Ulana-Tath bowed her head in respect, and Anin-Khan returned his attention to keeping his mistress and her child safe. His sword hand never left the handle of his weapon. His face once again wore its perpetual fierce scowl of concentration as his eyes darted back and forth, watching, just as his ears were always attuned for any sign of danger.
 

Ten of the city’s finest warriors surrounded them as they moved along the road that would lead them to the Desh-Ka temple, their senses alert to any potential threats. Two more riders were up ahead, just out of sight, to warn of any ambushes or parties moving along the road toward them. Two more rode behind, to warn of anyone following.

Ria-Ka’luhr rode at the head of the main group, which in any other circumstance would have been a place of honor. In this case, Anin-Khan had placed him there so he could both keep an eye on him and keep him as far as possible from Ulana-Tath and her child without being too obvious about it. Anin-Khan knew that Ria-Ka’luhr must soon reveal his treachery. Most of the journey was behind them now, and only three days separated them from their destination. Once the child crossed the threshold of the temple, Keel-Tath would be safe from the acolyte, or as safe as she could be anywhere.
 

But three days was ample time for misfortune to befall her.

Assuming they made it to the temple, Anin-Khan had decided that he would seek out the old priest, Ayan-Dar, and inform him of his suspicions of Ria-Ka’luhr. Even if it was perceived as an insult and Anin-Khan died in a ritual challenge, the seed of doubt would have been planted. Someone at the temple had to know, and by doing the deed himself, he would protect Ulana-Tath and her daughter from any possible dishonor.

He snorted to himself as he thought of the old priest, Ayan-Dar. Anin-Khan had not the slightest doubt the priest could defeat him as easily as he could crush a dry leaf, but he also doubted that his warning about Ria-Ka’luhr would give rise to mortal offense. Or so he hoped.

“What are your thoughts, captain of the guard?”

Again looking over at Ulana-Tath, he said, “I was considering the odds of one of the Desh-Ka priests returning me home with their magic, rather than having to ride these beasts.” His scowl broke into a momentary grin and he raised his voice slightly for the benefit of the warriors around them. “Defending the city, rather than riding into battle each day, my hindquarters have grown soft and unused to such abuse.”

The other warriors grinned at his humor. Few of them had ridden any long distance in some time, and all were feeling the pounding that was characteristic of the
magthep’s
trot.