Mistress Of The Ages (In Her Name, Book 9)
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Authors: Michael R. Hicks
MISTRESS OF THE AGES
In Her Name, Book 9
Michael R. Hicks
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
ISBN: 9781311038333
MISTRESS OF THE AGES (IN HER NAME, BOOK 9)
Copyright © 2015 by Imperial Guard Publishing, LLC
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Published by Imperial Guard Publishing
CHAPTER ONE
Keel-Tath stood atop the low wall that bounded the temple of the Desh-Ka, high upon the plateau that overlooked the valley below. It was a spot she knew well, for it was where she had stood every cycle during her time as an acolyte to wave farewell to her companions as they left the temple for their free time. It was a brief respite from the rigorous duties and ceremonies demanded by the Way, and was something she had only been able to enjoy once before her world had changed forever.
She looked upon that world now, but it was not the same as before. The snow-capped mountains of Kui’mar-Gol, so imposing in the past, no longer bound the far horizon. They were diminished, the peaks no longer blocking her sight to what lay beyond. Instead, the entire continent of T’lar-Gol lay before her, all its wondrous expanse from the Eastern to the Western Sea. Every feature of the land of Keel-Tath’s birth was laid bare, from the endless plains in the heart of the continent to the countless mountain ranges, some of which belched fiery ash and lava, the wave-washed beaches, and the Great Wastelands that had not so long ago been her sanctuary.
Her feet left the ground, and she rose high into the sky. The planet unfolded below her, as if the surface of the sphere of which it was made was flattening itself into a map upon a celestial table, and the other continents came into view. She could see Uhr-Gol beyond the Eastern Sea, its mighty rivers wending their way through the mountains and forests like great sapphire serpents. Then came Ural-Murir, the island continent and home to the intrepid seafarers who braved the perils of the deep to reach other faraway lands, be it for commerce or war.
Upon the lands of her world, the temples of the priesthoods shone like beacons: the Desh-Ka below her, of course, and the Nyur-A’il shining from Ural-Murir, and the Ana’il-Rukh from Uhr-Gol. The only one hidden from her view was the Ka’i-Nur in the heart of the Great Wastelands. The brooding obsidian fortress was a deep shadow that devoured all light that fell upon it.
Shuddering at a sudden frigid wind, she looked down at the Desh-Ka temple below her and stifled a cry of grief. Save for the great coliseum, which had been scorched but was otherwise unharmed, the temple lay in smoldering ruins. A pall of smoke rose high into the sky, flattening out in the shape of a dark gray anvil that drifted slowly to the south. The buildings of the barracks where she had spent her youth had collapsed, the stone walls smashed in and the roof timbers set aflame by the tremendous energy discharges from the priests and priestesses as they had fought. The building that housed those of the priesthood was mere rubble. The creche was a heap of stones and blackened wood, and for a moment she feared for the children until she remembered that the mistresses who cared for them had taken the children and escaped. Even the Kal'ai-Il, the ponderous stone construct that stood at the heart of the temple, had not gone unscathed.
But where was everyone? The temple was completely deserted, bereft of even a single soul.
“Tara-Khan?" she called as she drifted back to earth, landing on the wall lining the plateau’s edge. Cupping her hands to her lips, she shouted, “Ka'i-Lohr? Dara-Kol? Is anyone there?”
The only answer was the wind whistling through the wreckage and the crackling of the fires that had not yet died out. Of the others, the survivors of the savage battle between the most powerful warriors of her kind, there was no sign.
Her ears picked out another sound, one she recognized from the time she was held captive by Syr-Nagath, the Dark Queen: thousands of warriors on the march. It was faint, just audible against the wind, but there was no mistaking it.
Dark shapes moved across the face of the land. The tiny black motes of warriors marched within the rectangular formations of the legions of which they were a part, all of them bound to the Dark Queen by honor or by blood. They emerged from every city across T’lar-Gol and were spawned from every village, and every single one turned and headed toward the Desh-Ka temple, toward her. A chill ran down her spine as she heard their voices raised in cries of battle, and she could sense in her blood the song of their spirits. She drew some small comfort from the sensation that many who now marched toward her did not wish to do so, but the Way was too deeply ingrained in their souls to be easily cast aside. No. Even the most reluctant of the millions who marched on the temple would not hesitate to take her head.
The earth began to lose its color, the emerald green of the forests and plains, the fiery lichens and ferns of the great mountains, all fading to a lifeless black as the land was filled with the Dark Queen’s warriors, so many that Keel-Tath could sense the very world sagging under the weight of their number. Even the magenta of the sky began to fade toward a dingy gray.
She stared out at the approaching horde, her heart caught in her throat as she lost all sense of hope. Mesmerized by the sight, she did not notice that her body was leaning forward, about to plunge toward the rocks far below at the foot of the plateau.
A powerful hand caught her just before she fell, pulling her back to safety. “Have a care, child,” a familiar voice gently admonished.
“Ayan-Dar!” She flung herself against him, wrapping her arms tight around his great chest. She pressed her face against his breast plate, comforted by the cool smoothness of the ebony metal. She breathed in deep, reveling in the musky scent of his body that she had known for as long as she could remember. It was the scent of strength, of comfort, and it brought with it pleasant memories of far better times. He had been her father in everything but blood, and her love for him was boundless.
The old warrior laughed and heartily returned the embrace with his one arm, the other having been lost in the last war fought between the Homeworld and the Settlements many years before Keel-Tath had been born. “I knew you would change much about the Way, dear child, but never dreamed this would be the new way warriors greeted one another.”
“Forgive me, my priest.” With one last hug, she pulled herself away and gripped him by the forearm, as one warrior to another. Looking into his good eye, the other covered with a black leatherite patch, another casualty of that long ago war, she said, “I only wish you were real, that you were truly here with me. But this is only a dream.”
Leaning closer, Ayan-Dar tilted up her chin with his hand in a long accustomed gesture. “This,” he nodded his head toward the darkening world beyond, “may be a dream, but I assure you I am not.”
She pulled away, a surge of anger flaring in her heart. “I have had enough false hope. Do not give me more.”
His mouth turning down in a frown, Ayan-Dar stepped toward her. Reaching out with his hand, he flicked her head with his powerful fingers as he often used to do when she needed motivation in her studies.
Recoiling, she bit down on the urge to cry out as she rubbed the spot where he had thumped her. His fingers were like metal rods.
“When you feel pain in your dreams,” he said, “do you not awaken?”
“Yes. Usually.”
Exposing his fangs in a grin, he reached out toward her with his hand, ready to thump her again. “Perhaps you need more before you believe?”
She reached up and took his hand in hers. “No. I want to believe you are real. I need to believe. But how can it be so?”
“It simply is,” he told her, lowering his arm. “Death is but a doorway, child, nothing more. The door closes behind us, separating our souls from those of the living, but even that barrier will someday fall.”
“I do not understand.” She lowered her head, suddenly feeling the weight of the very Universe on her shoulders. Her cheeks flushed with warmth as the mourning marks under her eyes darkened even more. “All I know is that I miss you with all my heart. I am lost without you.”
“How can the beacon that shines bright in the darkness ever be lost?" he told her softly. “You are the destination, child, that others, even the souls of those who have gone before, seek to reach.”
She shook her head. “Do not speak to me in riddles. If I am a beacon, then I only help draw our enemies closer.” Looking again out at the world below, she watched the Dark Queen’s legions continue their advance. Some had already reached the foothills of the plateau. “They are the only ones who seek to reach me, so they can put my head on a platter and set it before the Dark Queen. I fear the others of the Desh-Ka would be put to death or have their braids taken and be sent into exile as honorless ones if they refuse to surrender their honor to her.”
Ayan-Dar said, “Look about you more closely and tell me what you see.”
“I see death,” she whispered. Looking up to the heavens, she could see the Settlements, three tiny stars in the vastness of the cosmos. Bright streaks of flame, like fire arrows loosed in a barrage, fell toward them, heralding ships of the Dark Queen intent upon interstellar conquest. She knew that the ships she was seeing were not yet real. But they would be, and soon. “I see only death.”
“Your fear and melancholy blind you, child.” Leaning close, Ayan-Dar pointed at a different spot in the sky.
“The Great Moon?” She opened her mouth to say something else, but instead snapped it shut. Alone in the universe around her, the moon, the enormous orb that hung in the sky of the Homeworld, retained its color. The darkness that threatened to consume everything else was repelled by the moonlight. “A beacon?" she whispered.
“Yes, my child,” he said. “It is not just a beacon, but a sanctuary.”
“But how? We may escape Syr-Nagath for a time until her ships are built, but we cannot escape the priesthoods. The priests and priestesses of the other orders may attack us there as easily as here.” She frowned. “I do not understand why they have not already struck.”
Ayan-Dar snorted. “Because they are caught in their own web of indecision and paralyzed by the fear that they have dishonored themselves, which they indeed have. Believe me when I say they are far more lost in their own way than are you. Do not fear them for now. Besides, they will not set foot upon the Great Moon. Not of their own accord.”
“But why? The moon is lifeless and barren, left as a monument to the Final Annihilation.” She shrugged. “No one has set foot upon it since then, as it is forbidden by the priesthoods. But that means nothing now. The other orders would not hesitate to pursue me if they knew I had fled there.”
Ayan-Dar’s face turned grim. “They will not undertake such a pursuit lightly. Even after the weapons of the Final Annihilation shattered the moon’s crust, the moon was not rendered entirely lifeless. Something remained, and it killed those of the priesthoods who went there after the surface had cooled. All of them.”
She stared at him. “But how could anything have survived the attack on the moon? Even the smallest organisms must have been destroyed.”
“Perhaps my words were ill-chosen, as they implied something alive. It may have been some type of unfathomable machine from the early ages. None knew what killed them. They called it the black wind.”
“The black wind?” She slowly shook her head. “What does that mean?”