Mistress Of The Ages (In Her Name, Book 9)

By Michael R. Hicks

In the third book of the In Her Name: The First Empress trilogy, the Kreelan warrior priesthoods, once charged with teaching and preserving the tenets of the Way, have sown the seeds of their own destruction by allying themselves with the Dark Queen and letting loose the ancient evil of Ka'i-Nur.

All that stands against the looming darkness is young Keel-Tath and a handful of surviving priests and priestesses of the Desh-Ka. Battered and bloodied from their own brief, vicious civil war, their honor and swords are now bound to the Child of Prophecy in a war that will determine the fate of their species forever.

If you’re new to the In Her Name series, here is the author’s recommended reading order:

The Last War Trilogy
— First Contact
— Legend Of The Sword
— Dead Soul

The Redemption Trilogy
— Empire
— Confederation
— Final Battle

The First Empress Trilogy
— From Chaos Born
— Forged In Flame
— Mistress Of The Ages

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael R. Hicks
• Release date: Aug 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311038333

Michael R. Hicks

Born in 1963, Michael Hicks grew up in the age of the Apollo program and spent his youth glued to the television watching the original Star Trek series and other science fiction movies, which continues to be a source of entertainment and inspiration. Having spent the majority of his life as a voracious reader, he has been heavily influenced by writers ranging from Robert Heinlein to Jerry Pournelle and Larry Niven, and David Weber to S.M. Stirling. Living in Florida with his beautiful wife, two wonderful stepsons and two mischievous Siberian cats, he is now living his dream of writing full time.

Book preview

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?

I do not know. They said only that you would know it when it came for you, and it would be the last thing you would see before an agonizing death snatched you from this life.

And how do you know this, if they died before they could speak of their fate?

He laughed. Remember, child, I am among the dead now. Those unfortunates dwell here, as well, and these things they told me.

Keel-Tath felt a fresh surge of warmth under her eyes at the reminder that Ayan-Dar was dead. It was so easy, standing here, even as strange as the world around her appeared, to believe that he was still alive. She reached out to touch him again, knowing he must not be real, but unable to deny what her senses told her. Then why would you have me go there? I can die here just as easily. She could not keep the bitterness from her voice.

I do not taunt you, child, he told her gently. One of the architects of the Great Moon should be familiar to you: Anuir-Ruhal’te. She was responsible for creating its defenses. It would be easy to believe that her efforts were a failure until you realized that, when the defenses finally collapsed and the settlement there was destroyed, the resources of three entire worlds from when our civilization was truly at the height of its power were focused on its destruction.

Even should all that be true, these ancient defenses would kill me as well. It brings us no closer to sanctuary.

His eye narrowed as he gazed upon her. She was probably the most brilliant mind to ever grace our species, and managed to create something so perfect as you from a distance in time of a hundred thousand cycles. I must believe that whatever remains on the moon, forged by her hand, has been waiting all these millennia for you, just as we have.

Can you…can you ask her?

Ask whom, and what?

Anuir-Ruhal’te. Can you ask her what this weapon is, and how I might defeat it?

Ayan-Dar’s expression fell. Sadly, I cannot. There is a veil in the realm of the dead that separates us from the ancient ones, from the old gods such as she. I have tried.

Keel-Tath was silent for a moment. Can I speak to others of the dead, or only you?

For now, it appears only me. We shared blood before you touched the Crystal of Souls of the Desh-Ka. I believe that partly opened a bridge between our realms that only I can cross. But I suspect as your powers grow, this will change. He nodded, finally realizing the thrust of her question. You are thinking of Ria-Ka’luhr.

Yes, she replied. Is he…is he with you?

No, child. He is not dead. Not yet.

Then where is he? I must find him! We need his help.

Shaking his head, Ayan-Dar told her, His destiny lies along a different path. That is all I may tell you for now.

Will I ever see him again?

I do not know. Looking down, Ayan-Dar made a deep growl in the back of his throat at the legions that carpeted the plains below the temple, and his hand moved to the handle of his sword. Time grows short, daughter. You must go to the moon. Alone.

I am afraid, she whispered.

Putting his hand to her cheek, he said, There is no shame in fear. Just do not let it control you. Remember, you are the light that stands against the darkness. Never forget that. Leaning close, he kissed her on the forehead and held her one last time as he did when she was but a child.

CHAPTER TWO

Tara-Khan knelt beside Keel-Tath. He had never left her side, never let his gaze wander from her face, since she had fallen into a deep sleep the evening before as the sun set on the darkest day in the long history of the Desh-Ka, the day the priests and priestesses had fought one another over Keel-Tath, over the future. Keel-Tath had prevailed after assimilating the powers of the Desh-Ka Crystal of Souls, but the Desh-Ka were vulnerable now, a lonely candle against the darkness.

Dara-Kol had wanted to rouse her with the rising of the sun, but he had sent her away, for he knew that Keel-Tath was not simply tired, not simply resting. Her body was exhausted from its ordeal with the crystal, yes, but something was happening within her mind, within her soul. He could not tell what it was, but somehow knew that it was important. He could feel it just as he could feel the rain upon his skin, even if Dara-Kol and the others could not.

Once during the night, he was overcome with boldness and took Keel-Tath’s hand in his, holding it ever so gently. In the flickering candle light that was the only illumination in the crude shelter in which they had placed her, there being no habitable buildings left in the temple, he thought he saw her lips turn up in a smile and her fingers gave his a slight squeeze. She had rolled over toward him and put her other hand over his, her head resting against his knee. With his other hand, he brushed back a wisp of her snow white hair that had come undone from one of her braids and fallen over her eyes. She murmured his name, and his heart melted.

As the sun continued to rise, the others, those who had survived the destruction of the temple, gathered outside, and he could not help but hear their voices. With great care, he extracted his hand from Keel-Tath’s and slowly, quietly, rose to his feet and left the shelter.

While she sleeps, our enemies prepare to strike. Alena-Khan, who now held the honor of high priestess of the Desh-Ka after the death of T’ier-Kunai and the other elders, said. The child may be the chosen one, but she knows nothing of war. We dare wait no longer. We must act.

She sleeps to regain her strength, Tara-Khan said as he emerged from the entrance of the hastily erected shelter that had protected Keel-Tath from the heavy rain that had deluged the plateau. An unnaturally fierce storm had swept through not long after the battle at the temple had ended. Tell me, did your hands touch the Crystal of Souls when you became a priestess? Or were you merely singed by its fire?

The priestess’s eyes widened and her hand dropped to her sword.

Tara-Khan! Enough! Dara-Kol waded through the ankle deep water toward them, Ka’i-Lohr and the hulking Drakh-Nur in tow.

I will let your arrogance pass, child, Alena-Khan hissed. This time.

Stepping closer, his own hand gripping his sheathed sword, Tara-Khan said, I do not fear the sword in the hand of another, even a priestess of the Desh-Ka.

Dara-Kol grabbed the top of his breast plate and pulled him so close that their noses, dripping water from the rain that still poured from the sky, touched. Have not enough of us died already? Think! You cannot serve Keel-Tath if you are dead.

He wrenched free of her grip and stepped back. He held her stare for a moment before finally dropping his gaze. My apologies, priestess, he mumbled in Alena-Khan’s direction, barely audible above the rain.

Accepted, Alena-Khan grated. To Dara-Kol she said, What did you discover?

Dara-Kol, Ka’i-Lohr, and Drakh-Nur had been tasked with a reconnaissance of the approaches to the plateau. It would have been an easy task for any of the priesthood, but Keel-Tath had ordered them to find any survivors in the wreckage of the buildings and aid the builders in preparing what defenses they could against the attack that must soon come. With so many lost during the fierce fighting at the temple, every Desh-Ka had become that much more precious.

At least eight legions have gathered near the trailhead leading from the valley, Dara-Kol answered. More were visible on the plains before the rain shielded them from view, but they were too distant to see clearly.

At least as many have taken up positions to the north, on the far side of the river, Ka’i-Lohr added. He and Drakh-Nur had made a harrowing ride on magtheps to the opposite side of the plateau, which was bounded by a swift flowing river in a deep gorge. The river has already risen so far from this infernal storm that the bridge was swept away. Syr-Nagath’s forces are trapped on the far side.

As we are here, Alena-Khan concluded, frustration plain in her voice.

They would be as helpless meat before your swords, let alone your greater powers, Tara-Khan said. He looked up, letting the rain splatter in his face. I do not understand why you fear them. They would never even realize we were upon them in this weather. Not until it was too late.

Alena-Khan grabbed his arm and whirled him toward the Kal’ai-Il, where a mass of robed ones huddled in silent misery. They were guarded by four warriors of the creche, and the cries of younglings rose above the pelting of the rain. They had returned after the battle had finally ended. In case it escaped your notice, not all of us here are warriors. Would you have the younglings snapped up by the Dark Queen? Let her slaughter our robed ones as she has done elsewhere when it suited her? No, I say. We are beholden to them. Our honor and duty extend beyond personal glorification. This is something a true warrior understands. She let him go with an angry shove. Turning back to Dara-Kol, Alena-Khan said, We can hold off Syr-Nagath’s legions for a time. The trail to the plateau is narrow, and they…

They need not use the trail, Ka’i-Lohr reminded her with a glance at Tara-Khan, who nodded, his expression even more grim. Her forces attacked Ku’ar-Amir from the sea and the air.

Even as weakened as we are, such fragile things as those airships would be a trifle for us to deal with, Alena-Khan assured him.

And the ships she plans to use to cross the stars and attack the Settlements? Ka’i-Lohr persisted. What if she uses those?

Alena-Khan opened her mouth, then slowly nodded. None who stood here now had been born when the last war across the stars had been fought, but all had been told the tales from the generation that had come before them. The Desh-Ka had, at the end, turned the tide and defeated the invading fleet. But the builders had been given months to prepare the temple’s defenses, creating great machines that the keepers of the Books of Time had brought forth from the temple’s storehouse of ancient knowledge. But those machines, as the Way dictated, had been done away with, their essence converted by the builders to other uses, once the war was over and the great cycle of civilization began again. But now, with Syr-Nagath’s legions at the temple’s very gates and the other priesthoods likely gathering to contain the Desh-Ka’s heresy, the builders would not have months. They likely would not have hours beyond what it had taken to help recover those who had been trapped in the buildings that had collapsed during the battle.

Alena-Khan swept her eyes around the plateau. Little was visible through the rain beyond the distance of a stone’s throw, but she did not need her eyes to see that doom was upon them. We will fight and die with honor, she said, but in the end it will all be for naught.

Do not despair, high priestess of the Desh-Ka.

Startled, they all turned to find Keel-Tath standing outside the entrance to the shelter. She wore a new set of armor to replace that which had been scorched and melted when she had touched the crystal. The cyan rune of the Desh-Ka glowed in the center of her breastplate, and some trick of the dreary light made a halo that framed her snow white hair. The sword of her father, Kunan-Lohr, murdered by Syr-Nagath, was strapped to her back. A smaller sword, better suited to her still growing frame, was at her waist. The rain seemed not to touch her.

Mistress, Alena-Khan said, bringing her left fist to her chest and bowing her head in the tla’a-kane, the ritual salute. The others, not just in the circle, but all who could see Keel-Tath, fell to one knee and saluted.

As Keel-Tath stepped forward, she gently put a hand on Tara-Khan’s shoulder. He looked up, their gazes meeting for a brief moment before he averted his eyes.

Arise, Keel-Tath told them, a bloom of warmth expanding in her chest at the honor they rendered to her. Alena-Khan is right, she said. With all the Homeworld now bound to Syr-Nagath and the other orders aligned against us, the Settlements would not likely shelter us, so we are indeed trapped. There is nowhere we can go where the Dark Queen or the priesthoods will not eventually find and overwhelm us. She flashed her fangs in a fierce smile. Or so we would have them believe.

What do you mean? Alena-Khan asked.

Keel-Tath’s smile faded as she stepped close to the priestess. There is one place where we may find sanctuary, but the door is locked and only I have the key. You must take me there.

Mistress… Tara-Khan stepped toward her. Wherever you would go, I would go with you!

No, she told him, sensing his fear, his concern. His love. While she could hear the spiritual song of all those in her bloodline, the Bloodsong, his had become stronger than any other after she had saved his life, and its melody was pleasing to her soul. This I must do alone, dear one. Taking Alena-Khan’s hands, Keel-Tath said, I know I now have the power to whisk myself from one place to another, but I do not yet know how to use it and we have not the time for you to teach me. I can guide you, but until I learn, you must take me upon your wings.

Are you sure, mistress? Such a thing has been done before, but is terribly dangerous.

Yes, I am sure, Keel-Tath said in what she hoped was a brave voice. Inside, she was shaking. To the others, she added, Make ready to leave as soon as we return.

But where are you going? Dara-Kol cried. Wait!

There was no answer. Alena-Khan and Keel-Tath had already vanished.

CHAPTER THREE

Syr-Nagath, born of Ka’i-Nur and now undisputed ruler of the Homeworld, strode into the great hall of the palace of Ku’ar-Amir. Porters of water were still at work, cleaning the blood stains from the healer Syr-Nagath had killed before the inquisition of Keel-Tath, and builders were repairing the damage inflicted on the hall during the brief but fierce battle when Ayan-Dar had come to rescue the girl and her companions.

At first convinced that the Desh-Ka would upset her plans, Syr-Nagath had howled with glee when she saw, through the eyes of Ka’i-Lohr, that the Desh-Ka were gutting themselves over the white-haired abomination. The ancient priesthood still posed a threat, but one that could now be dealt with far more easily than before. Unwittingly, they had done her a great service, and she made note to personally thank Keel-Tath when they next met, which would be soon. Using those she controlled through ancient magic drawn from the Books of Time held deep in the fortress of Ka’i-Nur, she ordered her legions to surround the Desh-Ka temple and prepare to destroy the priesthood. For the attacking warriors, there could be no greater honor than to die at the hands of a Desh-Ka, and they marched with haste born of anticipation of combat as much as fear of Syr-Nagath’s wrath if they failed in their task.

You presume too much, Syr-Nagath.

She favored Ulan-Samir, the high priest of the Nyur-A’il with a contemptuous look. She knew that he could easily kill her with the power of his mind, choking the life from her body with an act of whim. But he had dishonored himself when the Desh-Ka had arrived to rescue Keel-Tath. He should have challenged Ayan-Dar, but had backed down from the one-eyed priest in scarcely concealed fear. That he had remained here, rather than returning to his temple to consult with the elders of the order, told her that he was afraid to face them. Syr-Nagath knew the measure of Ulan-Samir now, and found him lacking. He was perfect for her needs.

You dislike my attire, Ulan-Samir? she said, turning in a full circle with the grace of a dancer. She still wore gleaming black ceremonial armor, just as would any warrior in garrison. But her breast plate now bore a cyan rune that had not been worn in such a fashion in long millennia: that of the Ka’i-Nur priesthood, which had fallen from grace near the end of the Second Age. Her Collar of Honor bore an oval of living metal inscribed with the same rune, and a black robe with silver piping rippled from her back as she turned.

You are no priestess! Ulan-Samir spat.

Syr-Nagath came to him, her mouth twisted in sudden rage. Do you, high priest of the Nyur-Ai’l, for one moment doubt that I would be high priestess of the Ka’i-Nur if our Crystal of Souls had not been taken from us?

Ulan-Samir’s eyes narrowed. It was never taken from you.

Do not bandy words with me, priest, she snarled. "If what is yours is placed by another’s hands forever beyond your reach, it has been taken. I wear these adornments by right, and by right I should have the powers of the crystal of the Ka’i-Nur."

But you do not, Ulan-Samir said, his face twitching up into a thin smile, and never will.

Do not be so sure, she told him, her opinion of him falling even more. One such as Ayan-Dar would have had my head for speaking in such a fashion, she thought. She knew through Ka’i-Lohr that the old priest was dead, and the thought saddened her. She would have liked to watch him burn alive, turning on a spit over an open fire after she had finished skinning him.

She turned her attention to the enormous table that was the centerpiece of the hall. Half of it was covered with a map of the world, unrolled from an enormous scroll and tended by several keepers of the Books of Time that showed the disposition of her forces across the planet. Legions of warriors and the robed ones who attended them were moving toward the seven locations where her builders were creating the ships that would travel across the stars to the Settlements. Favoring the great map with only a rapid glance to make sure all was proceeding according to plan, she moved to the part of the table that held a smaller map showing just the part of T’lar-Gol where stood the temple of the Desh-Ka. A total of forty-seven legions, nearly a quarter million warriors, were converging on the temple. She had ordered them to march weeks before, anticipating this battle long before the events of the conclave of the priesthoods had made it inevitable. She must destroy the Desh-Ka priesthood and its warriors. On that, all her plans depended.

But something was amiss. The miniature likenesses of the warriors that represented her legions were tightening the noose around the temple, but the fish-shaped airships, carved in exquisite detail, were approaching the temple from east and west. Why are the airships moving in now? They must wait for the ground attack!

The weather, my priestess, said Syr-Nagath’s First, her voice quaking with fear. She had only been the right hand of her sworn mistress for two days, which was twice as long as her predecessor had lived before Syr-Nagath had taken her head in a fit of rage. Being chosen as a First was a great honor, but under Syr-Nagath it tended to be a brief one. A sudden storm swept across the plateau, bringing heavy rain and strong winds at altitude. The airships are advancing now, taking advantage of a lull to get into position to strike. The legions on the ground can still attack…

Hold back the airships until the Desh-Ka are fully engaged on the ground, Syr-Nagath grated, or I will have the heads of those in command. Their attack must be closely synchronized with the legions.

But…but mistress, er, my priestess, if the airships delay their approach and the winds aloft quicken…

In a blur of glimmering steel, Syr-Nagath’s sword sang from its sheath. The blade of living metal was sharp enough to shear metal and stone, and met no resistance as it sliced through the First’s neck. The warrior’s face never had time to register fear or surprise before her head toppled from her torso to land with a wet thud on the cold stone floor. With bright arterial blood fountaining from the neck, the body crumpled. In a reflexive move, Ulan-Samir took the hem of his cloak and brought it up in time to shield his glossy armor from the crimson rain that came his way. Syr-Nagath did not bother. She did not so much as blink as the blood struck her face and splattered over her. A few drops landed close by her mouth, and her tongue snaked out to lick them away.

Blood. Syr-Nagath had tasted so much, nearly gorging herself on it, since she had begun the great conquest that would return Ka’i-Nur to the fullness of its deserved glory. She had fought endless challenges to win the honor of those now bound to her, and had punished countless warriors who chose to defy her. Still bound to the Way as maintained by the priesthoods since the end of the Second Age, those she conquered had yet to embrace the Way of the Ka’i-Nur, which was brutal and unforgiving, where pain was meted out and accepted as a matter of course, and often for its own sake. And in that feral, primal spirit Syr-Nagath saw the ultimate beauty that she intended all of her kind to share, willingly or not. Many who pledged their honor to her rebelled when ordered to kill robed ones or younglings, and many had been the fires that had consumed them alive before the eyes of their kin, after she had taken the Braid of the Covenant from those who had betrayed her. Having set enough such examples for others to witness, few now chose to forsake their honor after offering her their sword.

Giving her former First one last, disgusted look, Syr-Nagath returned her sword to its scabbard. To the nearest warrior, who stood at rigid attention, she said, You are now my First. Did you hear what I told this craven fool?

Yes, my priestess! The male warrior bellowed.

Then do as I command, lest you suffer the same fate.

At once, my priestess! Without another word, the young male dashed for the adjoining chamber where keepers of the Books of Time were gathered. The empathic links of keepers were stronger than that of the other castes, and they could convey instructions to one another in messages akin to waking dreams. Other keepers were deployed with Syr-Nagath’s forces to receive commands and report back on their progress, or lack thereof.

Ulan-Samir, having lowered his arm and the shield of his cape, looked at the map showing the Desh-Ka temple and the attacking forces arrayed around it. What makes you believe you will succeed? They have never been defeated in open battle, not once in all the Books of Time.

Syr-Nagath slowly wiped her former First’s blood from her face with the back of her gauntleted fingers and licked it up with her tongue. Your records do not reach far enough into the past, high priest of the Nyur-A’il, she said with a smile, the lines between her teeth glistening with crimson. The Books of Time held by the Ka’i-Nur are far older, and they tell a different story.

***

The three worlds of the ancient settlements beyond the Homeworld bore the names of the priesthoods that had been tasked with their stewardship at the end of the Second Age. Like the Homeworld, kingdoms great and small on each of the Settlements rose and fell time and again, with the priesthoods ensuring the feet of those in their charge remained firmly on the path of the Way. The three settlements and their priesthoods also balanced out the power of the Homeworld for those rare times when a leader arose to gather enough power and resources to

Reviews for Mistress Of The Ages (In Her Name, Book 9)

[Gina · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

With regret have I finally finished this 9th book in the amazing 'In Her Name' series and my rating pertains to all 9 books.
It's been ages since I have come across such a well written work - with just the right amount of feelings and emotions expressed by the characters without sounding too soppy - which kept me spellbound on the interesting journey it took me and made me shed quite a few tears at the unfolding tragedies.
Yes, this was a wonderful read and I only wish there were more of those around; and my opinion is that this surely beats the silly 'magic spells' fantasy books...