In Her Name: The First Empress: Book 01 - From Chaos Born (33 page)

Kunan-Lohr stared through the main gate at the huge pile of ash and glowing embers that had once been living people. His people. In their deaths he saw the fate of his race under the rule of the Dark Queen.

He closed his eyes. There was nothing more in this world to see.

Beside him, Syr-Nagath spoke the last words he would ever hear.

“Cast him in.”

* * *

Standing before what had once been a great city, Ayan-Dar stared through the blackened gates into the smoldering pile of ash that was all that remained of Keel-A’ar. He had watched them die through his second sight, after sensing the terror wrought by the queen’s weapons upon the helpless population.

He had been a mere thought away from coming, hurling himself through space and time to stand before the Dark Queen, sword already swinging to take her head from her body. It was a fantasy he had imagined a thousand times as he watched the people of Keel-A’ar burn.
 

But of course, he could not. He already owed T’ier-Kunai a great debt, and he could not dishonor her again. To do so would be to forfeit his life, and he no longer had such a luxury, with Keel-Tath in his care.

T’ier-Kunai stood beside him, aghast at the scope of the tragedy. Both of them were long inured to the horrors of war, for that was why they lived. But the Way dictated that warriors fought other warriors with and for the sake of honor, and that the other castes and children, above all, were sacrosanct.
 

In this, clearly, the Dark Queen did not believe, Ayan-Dar thought grimly. The Way that had preserved their kind for long millennia was about to be undone. And yet none among the priesthood, even T’ier-Kunai, were willing to see, let alone act, on what to him was clear as the mountainous pillar of smoke that rose from the ravaged city.

The queen’s army had marched away while the fires were still roaring, a pyre that could be seen that night from many miles away. He had forced himself to wait until morning to come, for he could not have restrained himself from killing any of her warriors who might have still remained.

Ignoring the acrid smell of the smoke and the burning sensation in his eyes, he stepped closer to the still-hot debris near the threshold of the gate.

There, at the edge of the pile of burned bodies, lay a charred husk with a metal collar around its neck. He winced at the sight of the stumps at the body’s wrists.

Kunan-Lohr. There was no trace of armor or weapons on his body. The queen had withheld even that small dignity from Keel-A’ar’s last lord and master.

“How many cities will suffer this fate?” He considered the pitiful remains of what had once been a great warrior and leader. “Keel-A’ar shall certainly not be the last.”

“Keel-A’ar is not unique,” T’ier-Kunai told him. “Cities have been destroyed in the past.”

He turned to face her, wincing at the pain from the wounds in his back, which were still healing. “Indeed, they have. But when was the last time one was reduced to ash, with every inhabitant, even the children, slaughtered? When surrender was denied to the defenseless. Even the builders, a caste that she covets, were massacred!” He could not suppress his anger as he demanded, “Tell me, when was the last time such an abomination occurred? A thousand cycles ago? Ten thousand? More?”

T’ier-Kunai looked away, unable to meet his gaze.
 

“I do not believe this has happened on the Homeworld since the end of the Second Age. Even the honorless ones, if given the opportunity, would not have committed such an abomination. In past cycles, when they have sacked cities, they did not murder every living inhabitant.” Something tore in his heart as he stared at a tiny, blackened form not far from Kunan-Lohr. It had been an infant, perhaps one who had briefly shared the creche with Keel-Tath before her mother had taken the child to the temple.
 

Unable to look anymore, he turned away.
 

Outside the wall, a short distance from the gate, was another pyre, not yet lit. On a carefully prepared bed of wood lay Ulana-Tath’s body. They had originally planned to give her a funeral of honor at the temple. But after what had taken place here, Ayan-Dar had convinced the high priestess that this would be more fitting.
 

Beside the pyre stood one of the priestesses who was among the guard of the creche, cradling Keel-Tath in her arms. The child had begun to cry when the assault on the city began, and had continued until a healer had finally sent her into a deep sleep.
 

T’ier-Kunai had originally been vehemently opposed to bringing the child here, but Ayan-Dar had insisted. “This is part of her world now. This was her city, where she was born. Her parents died for it, and for her. Even if she does not yet understand these things, there will come a time when she will, when she must. All she may retain of this is fleeting images, or the smell of charred flesh and bone. But we cannot insulate her from what she will eventually have to face when it is time for her to take up her sword and fulfill the prophecies appointed to her. You may not yet believe, T’ier-Kunai, but you will.”

With one last look at Ulana-Tath and the expression of peace on her face, Ayan-Dar took a torch that he had prepared for the purpose and lit the tinder at the base of the pyre.
 

After tossing the torch into the rapidly growing fire, he came to stand beside the priestess who held the child.
 

As Keel-Tath always did when he was near, she reached out for him. The priestess gently placed the girl in his hand, and he cradled her against his chest.

Together, priest and child watched the roaring flames reach toward the sky.

EPILOGUE

The most celebrated event that ever took place at any of the ancient temples was the ordination of a new priest or priestess. It was also an event most rare, for very few who started the long path that led to the priesthood completed the journey. Surviving the rigors of the
kazha
, the school of the Way, was only the first step. Beyond that lay long cycles of far more difficult training in the art of war, and great challenges that each novice had to successfully accomplish. Then, and only then, would they finally receive their first Collar of Honor.
 

Unlike those worn by the priests and priestesses, the collars of the acolytes were bare of the sigil, a device at the throat that bore the rune of the order to which the wearer belonged. The acolyte’s collar also did not have the first five pendants worn by all who ascended to the priesthood, and which proclaimed the name of the wearer.

Ria-Ka’luhr wore the collar of an acolyte as he knelt before T’ier-Kunai on the dais of the temple’s main arena. As were all the warriors here, she was resplendent in her gleaming black ceremonial armor, the rune of the Desh-Ka a cyan flame on her breastplate. Her black cape billowed in the light breeze, the silver piping around the edges glinting in the noonday sun.
 

Above them shone the great moon, in full splendor in the magenta-hued sky.

In the white sands that surrounded the dais knelt all of those who called the temple home. The priests and priestesses, acolytes, the non-warrior castes, the children, all were here. Even Keel-Tath, the youngest child of the creche, was there, cradled in the arms of one of the wardresses, her wide eyes transfixed by the spectacle.

Ayan-Dar felt the child’s presence. He wished that he could have held her, but as one of the most senior members of the priesthood, his place was in the first ring of those who knelt before the dais. The others who lived in the temple were arrayed in concentric circles that expanded outward across the sands.
 

The gong at the
Kal'ai-Il
sounded once. Twice.

When the echo of the last deep ring faded, T’ier-Kunai began to speak.
 

“The greatest honor accorded to us, and the most worthy task, is to welcome another into our fold. To have had a hand in shaping a life over many cycles, to have taken a child who would become a warrior, to see him rise above that most noble form to become something far more. To see him become a teacher of the Way, that our race may be preserved. To entrust him as a defender of our race in the ancient balance with the Settlements.” She paused, looking down at Ria-Ka’luhr. “To all these things did this acolyte aspire. He rose to each challenge of blood and honor that was placed before him, and has proven himself worthy of the priesthood.”

Looking up at those assembled around the dais, she said. “Today again the Crystal of Souls shall shine upon another, and it shall purify with fire. Each of us who wears the Collar of Honor with the sigil of our order knows the pain of the flesh this brings, and the powers it bestows upon those who survive the crucible of the Change.”

She again looked down at the acolyte kneeling at her feet. “Ria-Ka’luhr, do you accept your responsibilities as a priest of the Desh-Ka, and consign yourself to the sacred fire that shall sear your body and soul?”

“I do, high priestess of the Desh-Ka.” He spoke clearly, his voice carrying across the arena to the most distant listener. “My life and my honor are yours.”

“Very well.”

The six senior priests and priestesses, Ayan-Dar among them, rose to their feet. T’ier-Kunai turned and began to walk in a slow, measured pace toward the largest structure in the temple, a massive domed coliseum. Ria-Ka’luhr fell into step behind her, followed by Ayan-Dar and the other five senior members of the priesthood.
 

The gong again sounded from the
Kal’ai-Il
. As one, the other members of the temple rose to their feet and joined the procession.

The entrance to the dome was a massive wooden door, taller than three warriors stood tall and as thick as one, head to toe. T’ier-Kunai opened it with a brush of her hand and proceeded into the darkness that lay beyond.

Ria-Ka’luhr paused as the other six priests and priestesses filed past him on either side, disappearing into inky blackness as they stepped past the entry threshold.

The others of the temple gathered behind him in a semicircle. Many of the acolytes had never before witnessed this ceremony, for it had been over ten cycles since the last priest had been ordained.
 

Before Ria-Ka’luhr, the darkness was banished by a soft glow. With a deep breath, he stepped into the light.

The door closed behind him.

He found himself in a massive arena. It was the largest structure he had ever seen. Unable to help himself, he looked up to find the walls filled with carvings. Runes that told of the ancient history of the Desh-Ka and scenes of glorious battles rose to the apex of the dome high above him.
 

Around the great arena, a series of thin windows rose from the ground toward the top. While magenta light streamed in, Ria-Ka’luhr could not make out any of the other buildings of the temple that should be outside. It was as if the coliseum was floating in the sky.

He moved to the central dais, itself a work of art as much as that which adorned the walls of the dome that soared above him. He knelt on the smooth stone and waited.

In addition to the door through which he had entered, there were six others, evenly spread around the arena. Seven doorways. Seven priests and priestesses. Seven Crystals of Souls. Seven ancient orders. It was a form of symmetry that had survived for hundreds of thousands of cycles.

How much longer it might survive was a question that was never asked.

All seven doors opened. T’ier-Kunai, Ayan-Dar, and the other priests and priestesses of his escort stepped into the arena. He assumed they had used their power of teleportation, for there was no hallway or room from the door to the outside through which they could have reached them.
 

They approached the dais, then knelt in a circle to his left and right. T’ier-Kunai knelt opposite him.

“Now,” she told him, “shall your true training begin.”

* * *

The storm raged beyond the mouth of the cave. Dara-Kol huddled against the far wall, shivering from the cold as a barrage of lightning and thunder tore the night sky. The rain fell in sheets, so heavy that she could not have seen beyond the length of her arm had it been daylight.

She would have given anything to be able to build even a small fire, but to do so was to invite death. Her two companions, one of them the fierce young spear-carrier, had been killed through similar desperate recklessness in the months that had passed since Kunan-Lohr had tasked her with taking his sword to his daughter. Dara-Kol had known from the outset that it would be a difficult journey, but she could never have imagined the nightmare it had become.

The three had made their way south as Kunan-Lohr had instructed, and they had been welcomed in the southern kingdoms. They were making good progress in traveling west, taking a long roundabout path far from Keel-A’ar before swinging north toward the Desh-Ka temple.
 

One night, while they rested at an inn in a small village in the south, they were set upon by the very people who had given them shelter. She and her companions had not known that the Dark Queen had sent word to the far corners of T’lar-Gol that any survivors of Keel-A’ar were to be handed over to her, lest those who sheltered them suffer the same fate as their home.

Dara-Kol and the others had known, of course, that Keel-A’ar was gone. She had felt them die, and Kunan-Lohr, as well, through a wave of agony that against her through the song in her blood. The three of them had curled up, unable to move, so blinding had been the pain.

While the trio had claimed they were from another city when asked, Dara-Kol knew that some folk they had encountered had recognized Kunan-Lohr’s sword. Just like the dagger he had given her as proof of his words to Eil’an-Kuhr to pull his warriors out of the queen’s encampment, his sword was unique. It was a Sign of Authority, a signature that was easily recognized by any who had encountered him. She would have covered it up, tried to conceal it, but that would have made it stand out even more, for warriors never hid their weapons.