In Her Name: The First Empress: Book 01 - From Chaos Born (23 page)

Now that the builders had provided what she needed, the war for T’lar-Gol would shortly come to an end.

Her warriors were arrayed on the slope of the ridge overlooking the main battlefield where they had been fighting for weeks. None had advanced to the main killing ground, where the enemy ranks now stood, waiting. Tens of thousands of them stood before her in ranks a hundred deep, with hundreds of thousands more arrayed to the north and south. At the head of each army group stood the king or queen, waiting impatiently for Syr-Nagath’s army to engage them.

Along the top of the ridge behind her, the strange machines created by the builders formed a line that stretched the length of the battlefield. Even now, more machines were being built and quickly moved into positions along the distant wings.

Syr-Nagath turned to the builder mistress of the Ka’i-Nur, who stood beside her. “The warriors understand how to use these devices?”
 

“Yes, my queen. It is very simple, actually. One warrior looks through an aiming device to align the weapon while the others turn cranks to align the mirror to the point of aim. The mirror itself is…intelligent, and able to change shape as needed to focus the maximum amount of energy on the target. You will not be disappointed.”

Frowning, Syr-Nagath only nodded. She was not accustomed to hearing words like “target” or “aiming device” in the context of a battle. But those words and many more would become part of her vocabulary soon.

The opposing warriors began to shout encouragement to her army to come forth and give battle. They did not jeer or mock, for that was not part of the Way. They simply wanted to fight. That was what warriors did.

But not today.

“Soon,” the builder said. The clouds were thinning now, and the sky began to brighten, revealing a beautiful magenta hue where there had only been oppressive dark and gray.

The sun suddenly emerged. It was not on the horizon, but was midway toward noon, rising in the eastern sky above the enemy positions.

“Perfectly positioned,” the builder mistress said quietly. “When you are ready, my queen.”

“Let us finish this.” Syr-Nagath turned to her First. “Activate the weapons.”

* * *

Ayan-Dar and T’ier-Kunai had moved, changing their vantage point to an unoccupied knoll behind the lines of the queen’s army. They masked themselves using an ancient technique that made it nearly impossible for anyone to see them. It was not the same as being completely invisible, but only someone looking directly at them, who knew they were there, could see them.

They had an excellent view of the battlefield and, more important, of the war machines that were aligned along the ridge behind the queen’s battle line. From here, they could see beyond the enemy lines all the way to the foam-flecked shores of the Eastern Sea.

As the sun broke from the clouds, the landscape came alive. Even trampled as it was, the battlefield and the ridges to either side exploded into the deep green of the steppe-grasses and ferns. Where the conditions suited it, yellow and orange lichen blazed. A freshening breeze whipped in from the ocean, the air clean and crisp after the rain had washed the stench of the living and the dead from the air.

“A beautiful day.” T’ier-Kunai breathed in the salt air from the ocean, enjoying the scent after having momentarily set aside the reason she was here. “A good day for battle.”

“I fear not.” Ayan-Dar pointed at the nearest of the war machines. Like the hundreds of others arrayed along the ridge line, the great mirror mounted on the pedestal was tilting. All of them had been pointing straight up, but in synchrony they were now all tilting and turning toward the sun. It was a sinuous motion that reminded him of the carnivorous
zhel’aye
plant, just before it struck its unwary victim. “Not for the armies of the east.”

There were cries and shouts of surprise and anger from the opposing armies as their warriors were dazzled by the massive mirrors. Ayan-Dar and T’ier-Kunai could see the rectangles of light overlaying the lead ranks of opposing warriors along their entire line.

The curved surfaces of the mirrors began to slowly flex, focusing the full energy of the sun on their targets, and the cries and shouts of the enemy warriors suddenly turned to screams of agony. The kings and queens were reduced to smoldering piles of burned meat, and the warriors in the lead ranks, those most senior in each of the armies, went down, their bodies charred and smoking. Their leatherite armor burst into flame, and the breastplates melted into their flesh.
 

By the thousands did they die.
 

The warriors operating the queen’s weapons swept the blazing focal points of the mirrors over the packed masses of warriors with methodical thoroughness. With their leaders and senior warriors gone, and never having seen such weaponry before, many of the warriors simply stood rooted to the ground in shock and disbelief.
 

“It is a massacre.”
 

Ayan-Dar did not need his emotional bond with the high priestess to sense her revulsion. He could hear it in her voice. “This, my priestess, is but a glimpse into what is yet to come.”

* * *

From her vantage point, Syr-Nagath watched the carnage with clinical detachment. Her nose wrinkled at the stench of burning flesh and seared metal carried by the smoke that began to pour from the dying and the dead.
 

“Once the smoke becomes too thick,” the old builder warned, “the mirrors will no longer work as well.”

“There will be more than time enough.” Syr-Nagath gestured toward one of the massive phalanxes of warriors opposite them. Fully half had been reduced to crumpled heaps of burned meat, or were flailing on the ground in agony. The remaining warriors were kneeling and saluting. The Dark Queen turned to her First. “Lift the fire from those who wish to surrender. Send runners to them to bring their senior warriors here, that I may bind their honor to me.”

After saluting, the First turned to a group of other warriors, relaying the queen’s instructions. Runners immediately dashed forth down the slope toward the first group of enemy warriors who had surrendered.

One by one, the other groups of warriors, entire armies, began to surrender. Others, despite the loss of their leaders and senior warriors, charged forward. Those were met by the queen’s warriors and quickly overwhelmed.

Long before the sun had reached its zenith, the battle, and the war for mastery of the continent, was over. Syr-Nagath was now the undisputed ruler of all T’lar-Gol.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The mountain trail to the pass at Dur-Anai led Kunan-Lohr and his warriors along the edge of vertical cliffs that, at their height, dropped nearly half a league to the river below. The trail had been cut into the mountain very early in the First Age, even before the great east-west road had first been laid. It was a narrow, twisting path that was perilous under the best of times. The rock was brittle, and often fell from the mountain face above without warning or crumbled along the edge. The trail had been widened many times, so much so that in some sections it was more like a tunnel dug into the mountain, save that one side was open to the cliff.

He had lost more than a few warriors to the perils of falling stone, and some had plunged to their doom when part of the trail gave way, or slipped and fell on the water-slicked rock. This was a path that was usually only taken by a few hardy souls at a time, traveling with great care and in good weather, not by several thousand warriors moving at desperate speed through a storm.

And speed, above all, was of the essence. Kunan-Lohr drove himself and his warriors without mercy. They ran through the morning until exhaustion overwhelmed them. He gave them a time of rest when the sun finally emerged, driving away the rains. Then they staggered and shuffled until nightfall when even their acute night vision could no longer make out the weakened areas of the path. Only then did he let them rest against the cold stone.
 

They could build no fires for warmth, nor had they food, and precious little water. Where the trail rose high enough to touch the snow line, the parched warriors grabbed handfuls to melt in their mouths. It was all they had, and so they made do.

The warriors of his rear guard, trailing the main group by half a league, were watching an entire legion that had been sent in pursuit. The enemy warriors were still at a distance, but were closing the gap quickly. Unlike the warriors of Keel-A’ar, who had been forced to flee with nothing more than their weapons and armor, the legion sent by the queen were provisioned with food and water, and were not suffering from acute exhaustion.

When Kunan-Lohr called for a stop to rest each night, he and Eil’an-Kuhr, who now acted as his First, had made their way along the line of warriors, offering encouragement. A few words and a bit of humor from their lord and master helped to keep the warriors in good spirits.
 

But this day had been different. While Kunan-Lohr and his First had made their way along the line as they had the morning before, but their mood now was somber. For today they would have to cross the much-feared tributary of the Lo’ar River.

The trail descended rapidly from their previous night’s stop. Kunan-Lohr, who was always at the head of the column, heard the rush of water long before he saw the river. He was relieved that the torrential rains that had swamped the battlefield to the east had already passed through, leaving the water in the river at a normal level.
 

“At least we need not face a raging current,” he said grimly as he stepped to the edge of the path at the river’s edge.
 

Eil’an-Kuhr looked at him with a carefully controlled expression. She had never shown fear on the battlefield, but he could sense it in her now. Fear had wrapped its icy fingers around the hearts of his warriors, and himself. But he would not let it rule him, or his army.

The trail on this side of the river ended on a flat shelf that was as far across as five warriors with their arms spread wide. There was nothing left of the simple suspension bridge, which had been rebuilt countless times over the ages after being washed out by torrential rains. On either side of the river, the sheer face of the cliffs rose above them, disappearing into wispy clouds that moved rapidly across the sky, blocking what little sun made it into the great crevasse.
 

Flocks of flyers circled above, periodically darting toward the surface of the water, where their clawed feet snatched out wriggling fish.

But the fliers did not have full sway. As Kunan-Lohr and the others watched, one of the fliers, with a wing span as great as a warrior stood tall, swooped to the surface of the water, intent on snatching its prey. A much larger fish burst from the water, snapping its jaws shut on the flier’s lower half. With a shriek of pain, the flier disappeared into the water, dragged down by the fish. A long smear of crimson on the water’s surface drifted by the watching warriors.

Kunan-Lohr stared at the river, acid welling in his stomach. The river was small, tiny in comparison to the downstream segment that ran through Keel-A’ar. His strongest warrior could throw a stone to the far bank, and with the water running as it was now, the deepest part here would only reach the waist. The water was swift, but not so much that it would carry a warrior away too far downstream.

No. The water itself would not have given him the slightest pause were it not for the things that lived in it. He saw flashes of silver just below the rippling surface. Some seemed to hang in place, while others darted in and out of sight. Some, he could tell, were small, glints that were no longer than a finger. Others, like the one that took the flier, were much larger, as big as a warrior’s arm or leg. And all of them, even the small ones, had formidable teeth.
 

He turned to his senior warriors, whose eyes were locked on the water and the horror it contained. “We will not have much time before the queen’s warriors arrive, so we must hurry.” His expression hardened. “I will need some warriors who can swim.”

* * *

Dara-Kol stood next to three other warriors along the edge of the river. Like those standing beside her, she had the great misfortune of knowing how to swim. The dark water swept by a mere hands-breadth from their toes. She and the others were nude, and the four of them shivered, but not from the chill air. They had removed their armor, weapons, and black undergarments, for their weight and drag would slow them down in the water. And every moment in the water was a moment spent with Death.

Around their waists were tied lengths of rope, the ends of which were held loosely in the hands of warriors behind them. The job of these first four warriors was to reach the far side of the river, then pull the rope across. The first rope would be used to pull others, and in a short time they would have a functional, if very primitive, rope suspension bridge.

That assumed, of course, that any of the four survived. There were more warriors waiting to take their place, but not many. Few who lived on this continent ever learned to swim, for rare was the body of water that did not have fish willing and able to kill them. And wading across would be nothing more than suicide.

More warriors stood in two lines on either side of the swimmers, stretching back to the entrance to the trail. Each of them held two rocks, about the size of a fist. At the rear of the two lines, more warriors hurriedly piled up even more such rocks. Each warrior had sliced open one of their palms with a talon, drizzling a few drops of blood onto each rock.

Dara-Kol felt her master’s hand grip her shoulder, and she fought to suppress the tremors that wracked her body.
 

“Force your fears aside, warriors,” Kunan-Lohr told them. “This is a battle, with the creatures in the water as our enemy. As battles we have fought before, we will win by fighting together, as one. Not all of us will survive, but those who die, shall die with great honor.”

“Yes, my lord.” Dara-Kol and the others saluted and bowed their heads, and Kunan-Lohr returned the honor.