Forged In Flame (In Her Name: The First Empress, Book 2) (17 page)

Those gathered around laughed as Keel-Tath let out a loud sigh of pleasure. Of all the parts of their daily dress, the sandals were in some ways the most important. A warrior could be called upon to march for leagues in a day at short notice, or to stand watch for long hours. Keel-Tath had suffered with ill-fitting sandals since Dara-Kol had rescued her, and they had caused a considerable amount of discomfort. Now, her feet had returned to their accustomed paradise.

Last came the armor plate. The armorer had already shaped the metal into rough shape, just from a quick look of Keel-Tath that she had taken earlier. She held up the different plates to Keel-Tath and, muttering quietly to herself, began to finalize the shapes with her hands.

Keel-Tath was surprised, because normally armorers used hammer and anvil to shape the armor plate, for it was not of living metal as were the blades of their weapons. 

But this armorer apparently had no need of them. The metal surrendered to her will, bending and curving as she guided it. She fit the plates again, her assistants holding them in place for her inspection.

Satisfied, she had the assistants lay the finished pieces on the table, where she bonded the necessary buckles and fasteners. The assistants then attached the plates, fastening them with small, nimble fingers. They slipped into place like the pieces of a puzzle, and Keel-Tath was gratified — although not surprised — that none of the fasteners or seams of the leatherite conflicted with the plate armor. 

Last of all, the armorer set out the making of the gauntlets. She took Keel-Tath’s hands in her own, moving every joint and probing every muscle and bone with her fingers, just as she had with Keel-Tath’s feet. Then she trimmed out the necessary pieces of leatherite, thinner than the armor on her body, to form the gauntlet itself, welded the seams, and then trimmed and bonded the metal to the leatherite.

The assistants slipped them onto Keel-Tath’s hands, and she flexed the supple material, noting with great pleasure how easily her fingers, which were protected by metal all the way to where her talons protruded from the tips, moved. There was no binding, no conflict.

They were perfect.

Kneeling down, Keel-Tath said, “I thank you for this wonderful gift, mistress.”

“It is no gift, child,” the ancient woman said in a soft voice that was laden with pride. “It is your birthright.” As Keel-Tath stood, the armorer looked her in the eye. While the woman was very old, her eyes were still bright and sharp. “I only wish that I could craft a sword worthy of your hand, but I would not presume to best the blade of your father.” She eyed the weapon as Dara-Kol handed it to Keel-Tath. “It was made long ago, by one of the finest who has ever worn the robes of black. It is yet too big for you, but that will soon change.”

With that, she bowed and saluted, then shuffled out of the hall.

“Outside you will find fourteen mounts,” Sura’an-Desai said, “the best of our stables. Half of them are yours to ride, the others carry packs with water, food, and other provisions for a long journey. There are also some extra weapons.” 

“I have no words to thank you for your generosity.” Keel-Tath bowed her head to him. 

He smiled thinly. “As I told you, mistress, it is not a simple act of generosity. There is a price that must be paid.”

“What price?” Dara-Kol, instantly suspicious, laid her hand on her sword, as did the other warriors of Keel-Tath’s party.

“It is not you or yours who must pay it.” Sura’an-Desai stood up from the table, gathering himself to his full height with some difficulty. He drew his sword. “It is I. The Dark Queen will slaughter my people if I simply let you walk away. But if you best my sword in a Challenge, they will be safe from her wrath.”

Keel-Tath shook her head and stepped back. The others in the hall moved toward the walls, freeing up the area around the fire pit. “No. No! I will not. Not after all you have done for us.”

“You must, mistress.” Dara-Kol faced her with sad eyes. “It is the only way we might avert the Dark Queen’s wrath upon the people here. If we leave without the master paying a debt of blood, she will certainly kill everyone beholden to him. But if he dies in a ritual Challenge, she may let them live.”

“Child,” Sura’an-Desai said softly, “I am old and near death. There is nothing else in this life for me, and to die at your hand to save those who yet live here, in my home, would bring me great honor.” He smiled. “If you consider what we have given you a gift, then consider this a gift to me in return.”

“This is part of the Way, mistress,” Dara-Kol told her. “You must honor his Challenge.”

Slowly, Keel-Tath nodded. She drew the long dagger from its sheath and held it at the ready. 

Sura’an-Desai attacked, as Keel-Tath knew he would. He put up a spirited fight, and she knew he must have been a formidable warrior in his younger years. Even now, had she not been the pupil of sword masters such as Ayan-Dar and Ria-Ka’luhr, he very well might have beaten her. 

His blade nicked her cheek, which lightened her heart, as she would have a token of his sacrifice to carry with her forever.

He fought well and fiercely, driving her around the fire pit, then against one of the tables before she turned the tables and did the same to him, her swiftness with the dagger making up for the more powerful blows of his sword.

Then it was time. His body was quickly reaching the end of its endurance, and blood was trickling from his mouth as he fought to suppress the coughing that was hemorrhaging his lungs. As he raised his sword to make a two-handed overhand cut, she lunged forward, blocking the blow by forcing her free forearm up against his own before driving her dagger into his stomach, through the gap in the armor below his breast plate.

With a grunt, his body stiffened, and his sword fell from his hands to clatter on the floor. He collapsed into her arms, and she knelt down, cradling his head to her chest. 

“Do not mourn for me.” He reached out and put a hand to her cheek, where the black streaks had already begun to appear. “Your honored father and mother would both be very proud of you.” His body tensed, and his face contorted in pain for a moment. “May thy Way be long and glorious, child.”

With a final, rattling breath, his body stilled. She gently closed his eyes with her fingers, then laid him down. She picked up his sword and laid it upon him, the handle on his chest.

When she looked up, the villagers were kneeling, heads bowed. “See that he is given a funeral pyre befitting the warrior he was,” Keel-Tath told them. She got to her feet, her heart still pounding from the exhilaration of combat. Her blood was filled with songs of sadness at his passing, but joy that he had died well, with honor. She wanted more than anything to light the pyre that would mark his passing, but knew she could not. They could stay no longer.

“Come,” she said to the others. “It is time that we leave.”

In silence, her companions followed her out of the great hall into the night beyond.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Death In The Vale

The land echoed Keel-Tath’s dark mood as the group made its way west toward the Great Wastelands. They traveled mainly at night, although Keel-Tath wondered if it was an unnecessary bother. The handful of villages and towns they passed or saw from a distance were abandoned. From the looks of them, it had happened not so long ago, but even the honorless ones had not taken up residence here. Everything was overgrown with twisting vines and other vegetation that had quickly moved in from the surrounding forests, and feral eyes watched the travelers as they passed. Now and again an animal cry or grunt would rip through the night, often followed by the terror-stricken squeal of a prey animal that had met its end. She shivered when she heard those unaccustomed sounds, or saw the glowing eyes follow her as she rode. Having spent her life at the temple, this was like being cast into an alien and decidedly hostile world. To her, the great vale west of the Kui’mar-Gol mountains had become a place of the damned.

At one point the air was torn by a horrendous roar from the direction of a ruined village to their south, followed by an ear-piercing shriek that ended with brutal abruptness.

Her blood turning to ice at the sounds, Keel-Tath turned to Dara-Kol. “What was that?”

“A
genoth
,” Dara-Kol told her in a muted voice, and Keel-Tath could clearly sense a spike of fear through her and their companions. Their eyes were all fixed on the town, hands on their swords. There was a flash of movement through a broken segment of wall, but no more. Dara-Kol kicked her mount, which was now tense, as well, into a fast trot. “The warriors of these villages kept the creatures of the wastelands, even the
genoths
, at bay, using them for meat and trade. With the warriors gone, the animals are expanding their territory.”

“What happened to the villages?” Keel-Tath asked.

Dara-Kol shrugged. “Once the warriors, healers, and builders have been drawn away by the Dark Queen, the remaining people can only stay and eventually perish, or leave in hopes of pledging their honor to the lord of a village or city that can harbor them. This is especially true here in the vale, for every manner of creature in the wastelands is dangerous. If it flies, it stings, and if it crawls, it bites. Without warriors to protect them, the robed castes would fall prey, and would be helpless before the likes of a
genoth
.”

They pressed on, passing from the forested vale to a wide stretch of grassland that extended as far north and south as the eye could see. They found the ruins of other villages and towns, and even what once must have been a great city, but was now only crumbling sun-whitened rubble that showed through the waist-high stalks of grass. Now it was a haven for a colony of what looked like miniature
genoths
, sleek and deadly looking reptiles as long as a warrior was tall.

“
Uran-Kamekh
,” Dara-Kol said, steering them clear of the ruins. “They will not attack us as long as we do not enter their territory.”

“How do we know where their territory is?” Keel-Tath asked.

Dara-Kol gave her a humorless smile. “We will know if they attack.”

The grasslands ended abruptly at the edge of the desert that was the boundary to the Great Wastelands, which occupied the entire western portion of the continent all the way to a narrow strip of fertile land that ran along the edge of the sea. There was no transition in vegetation, no gradual fade from grass to sand and sun-blistered rock. With a single step, Keel-Tath’s
magthep
moved from one to the other.

Dara-Kol led them to a rocky knoll that overlooked the grasslands from which they had just come. Keel-Tath thought it was a natural formation until her tired
magthep
crested the top, where she found a number of ancient stone slabs laid out in a rough circle. Some of them were intact, others had been shattered and fallen to dust with time. 

“Was this not a
Kal’ai-Il
?” 

Nodding, Dara-Kol told her, “Yes. There once was a city here, long ago. This is all that remains. I have seen other such things deeper in the wastelands, traces of habitation, but from very, very long ago.”

Keel-Tath dismounted with infinite relief, and Lihan-Hagir, the mute, took the reins of her mount. Not accustomed to riding, she had suffered the agonizing indignity of saddle sores across her bottom and along her inner thighs, and her legs felt like molten lead. She had refused Han-Ukha’i’s offers of assistance, instead preferring to let her body harden itself against the rigors of riding. She also knew that Han-Ukha’i had been suffering even more. “Tend to your own hurts,” Keel-Tath said, putting a gentle hand on the healer’s shoulder. “Suffering is the path of a warrior, but a healer should not have to endure such things.”

Bowing her head, Han-Ukha’i was grateful. “Thank you, mistress.” 

“Go and sit down. Rest and eat some food.”

Han-Ukha’i bowed again, then did as she was told. 

Keel-Tath saw that Dara-Kol and the other warriors were staring off to the east. Moving over to join them, she said, “What is it?”

“We are being followed,” Ba’dur-Khan said. 

“Where? I do not see…” 

She fell silent as Ba’dur-Khan pointed. “There, mistress. You can see them, just barely.”

Keel-Tath squinted in the direction the one-armed warrior indicated. At first she saw nothing but grass. Then she saw that there was a tiny bead of darkness moving within the grassy sea. She looked at the tall warrior, awed by his keen sight.

“Turn the
magtheps
loose.” 

Everyone turned to stare at Dara-Kol as if she had lost her mind. 

“You do not take
magtheps
into the wastelands, not if you wish to live long,” she explained. “Their scent draws predators from a great distance, and they need too much water. Better we free them here as a ruse for those who pursue us. Shil-Wular, no doubt.”

“Do you think he survived?” Keel-Tath had seen that some of Shil-Wular’s warriors had survived death by water in the ancient crypt, but she had assumed he had been inside, leading them.

“He is a cunning and determined warrior.” Han-Ukha’i limped over to join them. “If he survived, he will not give up until he has caught up with us.”

“My question,” Drakh-Nur rumbled, “is how they came to be following us to begin with? They could not possibly have followed us down from the mountain, for we were leagues away by then.”

“For that, I have no answer.” Dara-Kol frowned. “It would not have been difficult to pick up our tracks in the vale, for how many other travelers did we see? None. We were probably spotted by a scout, who would not need terribly keen eyes to see a group of riders threading their way westward through the grasslands.”

Drakh-Nur grunted. “Well, hopefully they will be distracted by our
magtheps
, assuming the beasts don’t simply sit at the edge of the grassland and eat until they burst.”

“I guarantee they will not.” She moved to where Lihan-Hagir stood silent, holding the reins to the
magtheps
. He had already unstrapped the bundles of provisions and set them on the ground nearby, leaving only the saddles and reins still on the animals. “Release the reins and stand away,” she warned, and Lihan-Hagir instantly complied.