Mistress Of The Ages (In Her Name, Book 9) (5 page)

“Agreed.”

They did not have long to wait. The first gondola banged into the rocky face of the outlook directly below them. Crouching behind the cover of the overlook’s ledge, they waited for the ladder to appear. It was wide and had long hooks on the end that bit into the top of the ledge right by their faces. A moment later, the heads of two warriors appeared side by side.

With fierce war cries, the two young acolytes sprang forward. The enemy warriors had their swords in hand, but the ladder blocked them from using the weapons effectively. The Desh-Ka acolytes swatted the enemy blades aside before thrusting their swords between the rungs of the ladder, stabbing the Dark Queen’s warriors in the throat.
 

Ducking back to avoid the barrage of shrekkas thrown by the other warriors in the gondola, Kula-Me’ir and Ul-Gar kicked the top of the ladder free, sending it toppling into the river below, along with three more enemy warriors.

“Let us go!” Kula-Me’ir shouted, exultant.
 

With a howl of bloodlust, Ul-Gar followed her to where the magtheps waited. Snatching up the reins and cutting the hobbles that kept the creatures from wandering off, they mounted and raced off toward the temple as more of the Dark Queen’s warriors crested the overlook.

***

Unsure what else to do, Keel-Tath wandered in the direction of the bone-chilling sound. It was so faint that she questioned whether she was truly hearing it, or if it was only a figment borne of fear. For she was afraid, in some ways more so than she had ever been in her life. Alena-Khan had been wrong when she had said that the moon was utterly dead. Keel-Tath could sense something here, something malevolent that if not alive, was nonetheless real.
 

She could sense in her blood that battle had been joined at the temple. Pausing for just a moment, she looked up at the Homeworld, marveling again at its magnificence and wishing that she were there, standing at Tara-Khan’s side, sword in hand.
 

Tara-Khan. The thought of him warmed her, the ferocious power of his Bloodsong gave her comfort and courage. She wished that he and the others to whom she had grown so close were by her side now. Him most of all, for she could feel him almost as if he were a part of her. Even now, as he fought the Dark Queen’s warriors, she was the focus of his thoughts. Of his love.
 

Love. It was a subject of which she knew precious little. What she did know had mostly come from Ayan-Dar, who first showed her the love of a surrogate father, and then taught her what he could of love between a warrior and her consort. Those lessons, which had only begun a cycle ago, were provided by the old warrior in the form of songs and poems from the Books of Time, and of which Keel-Tath had always doubted the high priestess would have approved.
 

Those lessons, however, focused more on the art of love, rather than the emotional attachment between lovers. Those of the priesthood were certainly not banned from enjoying physical pleasures, nor were long term relationships proscribed by the Way. But the priesthood was a lifetime commitment that made such relationships difficult, if not impossible.
 

She had always thought she would follow Ayan-Dar’s footsteps and enter the priesthood. That had been her only ambition, and she had never given a single thought to anything else until she was exiled from the temple and found herself upon the path that had brought her to this forlorn place.
 

Cresting a small rise, barely perceptible in the ocean of black glass, she found herself at the edge of a depression that was perhaps as large as the temple grounds. It looked like the caldera of a volcano that had barely had enough energy to thrust itself above the surface. In the very center rose a low conical shape upon which something glittered in the sunlight.

Intrigued and lacking any better choice for a destination, she made her way across the shallow crater, shards of black glass crunching under the thick leatherite of her sandals.
 

The cone at the center was larger than she had at first believed, perhaps as far across as she might have thrown a stone, but was no taller than she stood from the crater’s floor to the flattened top.

The sides of the cone, however, were rather steep, far steeper than had been the crater’s edge. She was forced to dig her talons into the striations in the black glass to get enough purchase to climb to the top.

What she saw there took her breath away, and she halted in her tracks, rigid as a statue. Littering the ground before her were collars of honor, a hundred or more. But these were no ordinary collars: each one bore the oval sigil of an order of the priesthoods. They were strewn upon the ground like discarded bones in a predator’s lair.

Kneeling down, she picked up one of the collars bearing the rune of the Desh-Ka. Like their swords, the collars were forged from living metal by the armorer caste, but the life had long since fled from these. The metal worked by the armorers was the most durable substance known to her kind. The oldest swords wielded by some of the priests had been forged many thousands of years ago. She knew that the priests and priestesses who had once worn these collars had been born and died not long after the end of the Second Age after the moon had been scourged, but it was difficult to reconcile the concept of such a span of time with evidence of its reality. Weak and brittle, the finely crafted collar crumbled at her touch.
 

Carefully putting down what remained of the collar, she dusted off her hands and stood up. The bones and ordinary metal armor worn by those who died here might have long since turned to dust, but what of their swords and other edged weapons, which were also made of living metal? Surely those should have been here, too. But the collars were all she saw, as if they had been collected from other places and brought here. The thought that they had been left here like a predator’s detritus, or perhaps its trophies, refused to leave her.

The sound came again, louder this time, a sighing warble that rose above the barren silence and set her teeth on edge. But this time the sound did not die away as it had before. It faded, but not completely, as if its source was drawing closer.
 

Reaching over her shoulder, she pulled her father’s sword from the scabbard strapped across her back. If whatever was coming for her had killed all the priests and priestesses who had come here, the greater agility she might have in combat wielding her own smaller sword would be for naught. If she was to die this day, she would rather perish with his sword in her hand, the last legacy of the life and parents she had never known.
 

As the warbling grew louder, the horizon began to fade to a dull gray. Turning to look all about her, it was the same in every direction of the compass. The gray, too, began to fade until it was as black as the obsidian surface on which she stood. A wall of blackness closed in around her.

“The black wind,” she breathed. She fought the fear that threatened to take her by tightening her grip on her father’s sword, silently praying that Ayan-Dar might intercede on her behalf. But her old mentor did not appear.
 

As the curtain of ebony drew closer, she saw that it was not solid, but was made up of tiny motes, finer than the finest sand or dust.
 

With a scream of pain, she dropped the sword as her eardrums burst from a titanic thunderclap. As if drawn to the blood that trickled from her ears, the black wind surged forward. Throwing her arms up over her eyes, Keel-Tath let out one final scream before the darkness consumed her.

CHAPTER FIVE

“You have done well, young warriors. Now rest.”
 

Tara-Khan, breathing heavily and spattered with blood from head to toe, took a brief moment to look at the priest who had appeared beside him. Another priest and a priestess stood with him. Tara-Khan turned back just in time to block an overhand cut from an enemy warrior who had rolled to his feet from his fallen magthep. Tara-Khan had no idea how long they had been fighting. All he knew was that his blood was on fire with battle lust even as his muscles quivered and shook with exhaustion. They had been forced by the enemy to give ground, and had been driven back to the next switchback in the trail, but he was filled with pride. Not a single enemy warrior had made it past him and his companions. “The battle is not yet won!”
 

“It will not be won for some time yet,” the priest replied with a gentle smile as he and his two companions drew their swords. “In case you had not noticed, we should not lack for opponents any time soon.”

Drakh-Nur brayed laughter even as he slaughtered another of the enemy. The valley below was filled with enemy legions, so many that Tara-Khan could not hope to count them, and more continued to gather. They funneled to the foot of the trail, which was now packed with so many of Syr-Nagath’s warriors, eager to fulfill their honor by attacking the temple, that the ones on the outer edge of the trail were often pushed off to fall to their deaths by those on the inside.

Tara-Khan slipped in the bloody muck the trail had become. Seeing his chance, the enemy warrior lunged at him, but before the tip of his blade could touch Tara-Khan, the warrior fell forward, his head severed cleanly from his neck by Ka’i-Lohr’s blade.

“I would have had him,” Tara-Khan grated as he nimbly got back to his feet.

“I have no doubt,” Ka’i-Lohr said with the greatest of innocence.

“Enough,” the priest said. “Return to the temple. Rest and eat, regain your strength.” He smiled. “We will perhaps leave a few warriors for you to finish off.”

“As you command,” Tara-Khan said with great reluctance.
 

The battle paused for a moment as the surviving acolytes stepped back and the three priests took their place. The enemy warriors in the lead rank lowered their blades and saluted the Desh-Ka, who returned the honor.
 

With the brief ceremony complete, the bloodbath continued, but at a pace that Tara-Khan and the others could not have imagined. They had seen the destructive fury of the Desh-Ka unleashed upon one another during the battle at the temple, but that had been almost unreal, as if something remembered from a vivid dream. This was like watching three scythes cut down a field of living souls who willingly and joyfully charged to their deaths. Even without using their greater powers, the three Desh-Ka looked to be more than a match for the legions they faced.
 

But the priest was right. Eventually even priests grew tired, and there would be many of Syr-Nagath’s warriors left to kill. Tara-Khan and his comrades would have to be well rested and ready to resume the slaughter.
 

“Three priests to replace the three of us,” Ka’i-Lohr observed as he flicked his blade to rid it of some of the blood before sliding it back into its scabbard. He, Tara-Khan, and Drakh-Nur were the only warriors left standing from their original party. Half of the others had been killed, the rest wounded and taken to the healers at the temple. “We are accorded a great honor.”

“A greater honor would be to take Syr-Nagath’s head,” Tara-Khan said as he turned and led the others up the trail on quivering legs. Every few steps he looked into the leaden sky, wishing he could see the moon. His heart was torn with worry for Keel-Tath, for he knew she was stricken with terrible, terrible pain.

***

“Dara-Kol!
Dara-Kol!
”

Dara-Kol turned to find two young acolytes thundering toward her on their magtheps. Gracefully dismounting before the panting beasts had even come to a full stop, the two ran up the steps of the Kal'ai-Il and rendered a perfunctory salute.

“The enemy comes across the river!” The elder one, Kula-Me’ir, blurted. “At least a legion, perhaps more!”

“That is impossible, young one,” said one of the priests beside Dara-Kol.

“It is true, my priest!” Ul-Gar exclaimed. “They come in boats that ride on chains high above the water.”

“The chains are anchored on this side by great stone balls the enemy launched from the opposite side,” Kula-Me’ir added. “We killed the first pair of warriors to cross before we returned to report.”

At that moment Alena-Khan appeared at Dara-Kol’s side with nothing more than a brief rush of air to announce her return. Her countenance was grim.

“Where is Keel-Tath?” Dara-Kol asked, fearing the worst.
 

“She took us to the Great Moon, and insisted that I leave her there.”
 

“
What?
” Taking Alena-Khan’s arm, which under any other circumstance could have easily led to a direct challenge and swift death, Dara-Kol exclaimed, “But she will die!”

“Do you not think I know this?” Alena-Khan said in an anguished voice, turning to face Dara-Kol. “She commanded me to return and oversee the temple’s defenses, lest I sacrifice my honor and hers. She gave me no choice. She did not even tell me how I would know to return for her.”

Letting go the priestess, Dara-Kol turned her eyes upward to the dark, roiling clouds above, as if she could see through them to the moon and Keel-Tath. “What have you done, my mistress?" she whispered.

“We have more upon our plate than concern for Keel-Tath,” Alena-Khan said. “We must deal with this new threat. Kar-Ulan,” she said to the priest who had been with Dara-Kol, “take four blades with you and hold the enemy at the river.”

“Yes, my priestess,” he said, rendering a salute before he departed, calling out the names of four other junior priests. In but a moment, the five vanished.

“
Alena-Khan!
”

Whipping her head around toward the anguished cry, the high priestess turned to see one of the builders who had been working on the wall to the west where the plateau fell in a sheer drop to the valley far below. The builder’s dark blue robes were stained crimson where a shrekka had torn through her midsection. Without another word, she toppled from the wall to the valley below.

Alena-Khan could not credit her eyes. “What…”