Forged In Flame (In Her Name: The First Empress, Book 2) (25 page)

The scene made her shiver, and she felt a comforting hand on her shoulder. She covered Ka’i-Lohr’s hand with her own, a sign of thanks. Knowing she should not neglect Tara-Khan, she turned and offered him a smile. His mouth turned down into a frown, but he acknowledged her expression with a slow nod. 

“Tara-Khan,” she said, “I think you smile upside-down.”

He only stared at her as Ka’i-Lohr burst out laughing.

Dara-Kol emerged from the hatch that led below decks and came to join them. 

“How is Drakh-Nur?” Keel-Tath wanted to know. Their other two companions were down below, where Han-Ukha’i had been nursing the giant warrior back to health and tending the other warriors who had been wounded, for the ship carried no healers. While the spaces below decks were clean and tidy, Keel-Tath had hated the strange sensation of her body telling her she was moving and rolling while her eyes told her she was not. Here on deck, the sensation and discomfort in the pit of her stomach disappeared.

“He will be well, but the sea does not suit him.”

Keel-Tath cocked her head, unsure of Dara-Kol’s meaning.

Tara-Khan snorted, and this time he did smile. It was a cruel expression that Keel-Tath thought might break the chiseled stone of his face. “Even the greatest of warriors can be felled by seasickness.”

“Let us hope it does not take hold of you, mistress,” Ka’i-Lohr said charitably, shooting Tara-Khan a despairing look.

She looked up at a fluttering sound. More sails were unfurling from the tall masts, and as they snapped full of the wind she could feel the ship pick up speed. She was standing close enough to the bow to feel the spray kicked up as the hull cleaved the waves below. The sun was full overhead, and the Great Moon, a massive silvery crescent, was rising in the east. The coast was a lush green paradise rising from the white beach, while on the other side, toward where the ship was turning, was endless ocean as far as she could see. 

At any other time, it would have been a moment of great beauty, a moment to treasure and savor. Now, it only brought her sadness and a sense of foreboding. T’lar-Gol, the land of her birth, of her family and those she loved at the temple of the Desh-Ka, fell away behind her, lost over the horizon as the ship sailed into the Western Sea.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ocean Passage

Despite the ever-present danger posed by the beasts that cruised below the surface of the water, Keel-Tath found that she enjoyed being aboard the ship. It had no name, but Wan-Kuta’i had told her that ships were spoken of by using the names of their masters or mistresses. Wan-Kuta’i had commanded this ship for over three years, and had been sailing since she left the creche. It came as a shock to Keel-Tath to learn that some of the larger ships had creches and
kazhas
, a tradition that went back to the early days, even before the formation of the Ima’il-Kush priesthood, one of the three ancient orders that long ago had left to be with the Settlements among the stars. 

The weather since they had departed T’lar-Gol had been fair and the winds strong, and Keel-Tath had spent every waking moment above decks, breathing in the sea air and helping the crew where she could. Even though she was still weary from the long trek across the Great Wastelands, working beside the warriors who crewed the ship, especially Ka’i-Lohr and Tara-Khan, pleased her, and she thought it also pleased them. She got to know their names, but could not feel them in her blood, for they were descendants of the Nyur-A’il, a different bloodline than her own. 

The sea, as dangerous as it was, was something she could grasp. The rolling motion of the ship, the sound of the water flowing along the sides of the hull, the wind that filled the sails and caressed her face with saltwater spray; these things were a balm to her soul. For the first time in her life, she felt truly free. She knew it was only a passing sensation, a pleasant fantasy, but she embraced this time with her entire being, determined to treasure every moment. 

Dara-Kol had adapted to their new environment quickly, and it came as no surprise to Keel-Tath to learn that she had spent some time aboard ships during her long exile. She spent most of her time now with Wan-Kuta’i, although she also lent a hand to help the crew. But always, always, she was in sight of Keel-Tath, and rare was the time when Keel-Tath looked at her that Dara-Kol did not return her gaze. In Keel-Tath’s eyes, Dara-Kol had been everywhere and done everything, and would do anything to protect her, just as Ayan-Dar would have.

Ayan-Dar. Every time she thought of him, she could feel the warmth of the mourning marks start under her eyes, for she missed him terribly. She could sense his song in her blood, but it was low and weak, a flat, toneless melody that once had been powerful and vibrant, a beacon among all the souls that had ever touched hers. She could not bring herself to regret leaving the temple, but she would have given nearly anything to have him with her. He was the father she had never known, and she vowed that somehow, someday, she would repay his kindness and his love.

As for her two other companions, Han-Ukha’i, again resplendent in the white robes of a healer, made from the strong and light sail cloth by the ship’s armorers, was treated like a goddess by the crew. Even though life aboard ship was hazardous and many warriors died of injuries at sea, healers were never placed in harm’s way. They were only permitted aboard huge vessels such as those Keel-Tath had seen in Ku’ar-Amir. Han-Ukha’i was the first healer who had ever been aboard Wan-Kuta’i’s ship, and she found herself busy treating injuries great and small, instantly beloved by the crew.

Drakh-Nur also found a place in the crew’s heart, but for a very different reason: the giant, indomitable warrior, fully healed now, was constantly seasick. Even Han-Ukha’i, as hard as she had tried, had been unable to cure him. He spent day and night hanging over the side rail, and his periodic retching could be heard from bow to stern. The crew howled every time, not in derision, but in good-natured support. They patted him on the back and gave encouraging words as they passed the humbled warrior.

“We have all suffered at one time or another,” Wan-Kuta’i had said. “Even I, as long as I have lived upon the sea, have been seasick, although that was in the worst storm I have ever endured.”

Everyone aboard ship (even Drakh-Nur, sick as he was) was given duties to perform. With her keen eyes, Keel-Tath was given the task of a lookout, assisting Ka’i-Lohr and Tara-Khan, who had become her constant companions. Dara-Kol had taken the role of First to Wan-Kuta’i, for the warrior who had been her First had fallen to the enemy during the battle on the beach. Han-Ukha’i continued to tend to those who needed her aid, including several of the crew who had suffered amputated limbs. Under her care, the arms and legs were being regrown.

The three young warriors spent their time from before dawn until after dusk on a lookout platform high on the mainmast, keeping watch along the horizon for signs of ships or dangerous sea beasts. From her perch far above the deck, she could see forever as she held on tight against the exaggerated sway up there, so high above the ship. It was an exhilarating feeling, as if she was flying without wings over the endless sea, soaring ever higher. The water and sky were glorious hues of blue-green and magenta under a bright sun in the day, and millions of stars and the Great Moon shone overhead at night, reflecting off the water in a kaleidoscope of light. Staring up at them during the time they stood watch before the sun rose and after it set, she wondered about the Settlements and the great ships that could sail between the stars. The great ships were gone now, for the priesthoods had destroyed the last of them nearly a hundred years before, at the end of the most recent great war between the Homeworld and the Settlements. She had seen images and read descriptions of them in the Books of Time, but they were too fantastical for her to fully comprehend. But she knew that they would be built again as they had in times past, once a leader had accumulated enough builders with the skills to make in form the information provided by the keepers of the Books of Time. The thought filled her with dread, for the only one on the Homeworld with enough resources to accomplish the feat was Syr-Nagath.

“You have that look again.”

Ka’i-Lohr was staring at her, the ends of his lips turned up in a grin. 

“What look?” She asked.

“The one where you see the vision of your mind, not your eyes.”

She looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. “I have seen much in my mind that I wish I had not.”

“So have we all,” he told her. 

Tara-Khan glanced at him, then at her, before rolling his eyes and returning his gaze to the horizon.

“Not like this,” she said, trying to ignore Tara-Khan. “I saw the Final Annihilation of the Second Age through the eyes of Anuir-Ruhal’te, when fire rained from the skies and our kind nearly perished. And I fear the same fate awaits us if the Dark Queen is not stopped.”

Tara-Khan snorted. “How can she be stopped? She will soon rule the Homeworld, and not long after will launch a war against the Settlements.”

“She has not taken Ural-Murir,” Ka’i-Lohr countered.

“But she will. It is inevitable.” He leaned toward his companions. “We and the other kingdoms of Ural-Murir will fight, but she now has the command of all the legions of T’lar-Gol and Uhr-Gol, and all their builders and other robed castes.” He poked a taloned finger at Ka’i-Lohr. “I have studied the Books of Time more than you. Every leader in recorded history who has won those two continents before launching an attack on Ural-Murir has been victorious.”

Ka’i-Lohr refused to give in to the argument of his tresh. “We will bleed her badly.”

“Of course. But she will win in the end.”

“And finally take my head.” Keel-Tath wrapped her arms around her chest as she turned away, stricken with despair. “Is that what you want, Tara-Khan? Why do you not simply take your sword and strike me down?”

Tara-Khan stared at her with hooded eyes, and for a moment she wondered if he were considering doing just that. “I speak of what I believe must come to pass,” he said, his voice held carefully neutral. “I did not say it would fill my heart with joy.”

“We will not let harm come to you.” Ka’i-Lohr touched her arm, drawing her attention away from Tara-Khan’s stare.

She appreciated his kindness, but her voice was bitter nonetheless. “How can you say such a foolish thing? The Dark Queen has millions at her command. Yet the two of you will protect me, when I can likely best either of you in single combat?”

“My respects, mistress,” Tara-Khan told her with a cold smile, “but you will not best my sword.”

“I was taught by the greatest warrior of the Desh-Ka,” she said proudly, her hand tightening around the grip of the sword the ship’s armorer had made for her, which fit her hand far better than her father’s, which she wore strapped across her back. 

“And how many Challenges have you faced?”

“Only my first,” she admitted. “I was…I was banished from the temple the day I was to face my second.”

“Tara-Khan has fought all seven,” Ka’i-Lohr told her, pride unmistakable in his voice, “and was never defeated.”

Keel-Tath stared at Tara-Khan, who graced her with a barely perceptible nod of his head. “How is that possible? You can scarcely be older than me!”

“I was raised by the Nyur-A’il,” he told her, “and learned sword craft from their high priest. I had a great gift for it, even at a very early age.”

“Then why did you leave the priesthood?”

Ka’i-Lohr turned away, clearly trying not to laugh. 

Tara-Khan shot him a sour look. “Let us say that I did not have the temperament to become a priest of their order.” He shrugged. “I was sent to Ku’ar-Amir as a ward of Li’an-Salir, and served one of the seagoing
kazhas
where I met him.” He nodded to Ka’i-Lohr. 

“And there you were bound as tresh?”

“Yes,” Ka’i-Lohr said. “I have been at sea most of my life. Both of us are orphans. He, at least, knows who his parents were.” He frowned. “I was found by one of Li’an-Salir’s builders, left naked on a pier next to one of the great ships. I was old enough to know the name I was given, but little more.”

Tara-Khan flicked his fingers as if ridding them of something better left unmentioned. “We are born, we live, and we die. The past matters no more than ashes in the wind.”

Keel-Tath looked away toward the horizon, a chill breeze across her soul. “My past mattered a great deal to me.”

***

On the third day of their journey to Ku’ar-Amir, a voyage that Wan-Kuta’i said would normally take seven days if they met with favorable conditions, Keel-Tath was at her accustomed post on the lookout platform. She was practicing tying and untying the knots that Ka’i-Lohr had taught her, except he would not let her look at her hands. 

“Keep your eyes on the horizon,” he told her with a sly grin as he had handed her two ropes he had already knotted together, the free ends whipping about in the wind. “You may only use your hands and your fingers to see.”

“Why can I not look?” She asked, bewildered as she accepted the fist-sized knot.

“Were it dark or were a storm upon us, do you think you would be able to see the strands of rope?”

She shook her head, frowning.

Tara-Khan looked at her and grimaced. “I hate that knot,” he muttered. 

The devilish binding of the ropes had occupied her hands for over an hour as her eyes watched the horizon. She gave a whoop as she wrestled one end of the rope loose. Unable to help herself, she glanced down at her handiwork. 

“No looking!” Ka’i-Lohr chided. He and Tara-Khan both laughed at her.

With a grin, she returned her gaze to the sea. That is when she saw it. A dark smudge, very faint, on the horizon behind them. 

Setting the knot aside, she pointed. “What is that?”

The other two looked, then froze. 

“What is it?” She asked again, puzzled at their reaction.

“A ship,” Tara-Khan said grimly.