Forged In Flame (In Her Name: The First Empress, Book 2) (8 page)

Turning to look at the ship that was pulled right alongside, she saw that the thick wood of the hull bore fresh marks, scratches and gouges running the length of the vessel, that even now builders were working to repair.

“The meat you were served last night and this morning was fresh-carved from this beast,” Li’an-Salir said. “It is much sought after, and once it is salted and dried we use it for trade among the other kingdoms of the world. There are other things taken from the sea that those of the land consider valuable, but this one is the most prized. It is also the largest that we can catch.”

“There are…larger things?” Keel-Tath looked at her with disbelief.

“Oh, yes, child.” Ayan-Dar nodded, and Keel-Tath saw a haunted look cross his face. “Remember that I told you that there are some things in the sea that were never hunted even at the height of the First Age. There are things out there in the sea that eat creatures such as this.”

“You really saw one?”

He exchanged a glance with Li’an-Salir. “Yes, on our crossing to T’lar-Gol long ago, we saw such a beast. It showed no interest in us, but I vowed to never again set foot on a ship.”

“The sea is not so harsh if you respect and understand it,” Li’an-Salir said. She smiled. “Ayan-Dar was terrified the entire voyage. I loved it.”

Ayan-Dar muttered something under his breath, and Li’an-Salir smiled. “Come,” she said. “There is more I would show you.”

By the end of the day, Li’an-Salir had taken them aboard some of the ships, including the mighty warships that were at the heart of Ku’ar-Amir’s power, and shown them the great beacon that sat atop one of the natural rocky spires at the end of the league-long breakwater that sheltered the harbor.

As they returned, Li’an-Salir took them on a different route, guiding them to the harbor’s opposite side where a long row of stone buildings faced the harbor. Most of the buildings were no higher than the dwellings higher up in the city, but a few of them were much larger. Two were large enough to hold modest-sized ships, and Keel-Tath noticed that water channels led to them from the harbor. 

Ayan-Dar recognized the place immediately. “Ah. This is the foundry, I take it.”

“Yes. This is the heart of our metalworking, where the armorers ply their trade.”

Ayan-Dar frowned, shooting a quick glance at Keel-Tath. “It has been a long day, mistress. Perhaps we should retire for dinner. The temple has its own armorers; none of this will be new to young Keel-Tath.”

“I want to see it!” Keel-Tath had, of course, dealt a great deal with the armorers. Every warrior did. But the armorers of the temple created swords and armor, along with the collars for the priests. Other than that and the odd metal plate or dish, there was little else that the temple called upon them to create.

This, the foundry, was something else entirely.

“Very well.” Ayan-Dar was not happy, and Keel-Tath could not understand why. She saw him exchange a look with Li’an-Salir, who only turned and led them in.

The walls were decorated in art depicting life at sea using metal inlaid into the stone in such a way that it seemed that the metal was part of the stone. The likeness was amazing, as if she was standing on a ship gazing upon the scene. Hundreds of armorers, wearing the black robes of their caste, were at work. Many of them were toiling over pools and ingots of the living metal from which weapons were made, while others were gathered around forges that glowed red with heat where steel and other metals were fashioned. The projects on which the armorers worked seemed to grow in scale the farther the trio moved toward the largest buildings at the far end. Keel-Tath began to see blocks and tackle, levers and pulleys, used to handle the large fittings for the ships. When they reached the far end where the largest buildings were, she saw that they were not intended to hold ships. Instead, the largest fittings for the great hunting ships were made there before being towed out on barges to the ships. Looking across to one of the piers, she could see a great many armorers and builders working together to lift an enormous circular fitting from a barge to the deck. While she knew that the builders could fashion things from metal, it was much more difficult than to create from stone or wood. The armorers could make such things far more easily. Porters of water were also involved, and she could see that they had parted the water around that segment of the ship’s hull so armorers and builders could also work below the ship’s waterline in safety. 

When Keel-Tath turned back, she saw that Li’an-Salir was holding something in her hand that glittered like the sun on the waves. It was smooth and oblong, not unlike an egg.

“Living metal.” She had seen it often enough in this form at the temple, for this was how it was first formed from the growing vats. Ingots such as this were taken from the vats by the armorers. Each one was different, tailored by the armorer to contain the precise amount of metal she needed to make a given weapon. 

“Here, consider it a gift from me to do with as you would.” 

As Li’an-Salir handed her the ingot, Keel-Tath noticed that both the city’s mistress and Ayan-Dar were looking at her with unusual intensity.

“I thank you, mistress of Ku’ar-Amir.” She took the ingot, noting that it was still warm to the touch. It must have been removed from the vats only moments before. She had always been fascinated by it. The armorer at the temple had a small ingot that she showed the disciples during their training, one that would never be forged into a blade. The touch of any but an armorer introduced impurities that had no place in a weapon. She felt a momentary pang of guilt, realizing that the metal she now held, perhaps enough for a small dagger, would never find its true destiny as a blade in a warrior’s hands.

“Stroke it,” Li’an-Salir suggested. “Use your fingers, just as you have seen the armorers do.”

Keel-Tath was stricken with fear, remembering the fate of the healer the day before.

“No harm can come to anyone,” Ayan-Dar reassured her. “Stroke it, caress it, or bite it, as you wish.” He grinned. “The only damage done will be to your teeth.”

“As you say, my priest.” She remained uncertain, but did as Li’an-Salir had bidden. Holding the ingot gently in one hand, she began to stroke it with her palm. The metal changed color where her palm touched it, darkening slightly, and even after a few strokes they could all see that it was flattening out and lengthening. The change was very slight, for it took a great deal of work to fashion an ingot into a blade, but there was no doubt that it was changing shape at the young warrior’s touch.

“By the gods fallen from grace,” Ayan-Dar said as he stared at the ingot in Keel-Tath’s hand, “I do not believe it.” He looked up to Li’an-Salir. “How did you know?”

“I did not, but I suspected. If she could take the bond of a healer’s symbiont, then why not shape living metal?” She turned an appraising eye upon Keel-Tath, whose hands were still now as her mind was staggered by the implications. “Or water.” 

An armorer appeared at Li’an-Salir’s side with a shallow dish of water. The city’s mistress took it and held it out toward Keel-Tath. “Touch it.”

“No, mistress.” She stepped back as if the water was the deadliest of acids. With wide eyes, she looked to Ayan-Dar. “This is another impossibility, is it not?”

“Yes, child, but it will hurt nothing for you to touch—”

He did not have a chance to finish.

Keel-Tath had turned and fled, running as fast as her feet would carry her.

***

In the clearing where she and Ayan-Dar had first appeared, Keel-Tath stared into the fire. She was hungry, thirsty, and exhausted, but none of that mattered. Animals slithered through the dark forest around her, growling and chirruping, their eyes reflecting the glow of the fire, but she paid them no heed. Any other time, she might have been frightened, for she had never been in a place such as this. The only nights she had ever spent before coming here had been at the temple, where creatures were not permitted to prowl unbidden. Her sword lay across her lap should she need it, but the animals that watched her seemed content to stay hidden in the darkness, and did not stray into the light of the fire.

She felt a deep sense of shame at fleeing from Li’an-Salir and Ayan-Dar. Now did she truly feel alone.

“You are not alone, child, and you need not feel ashamed.” A familiar voice called quietly from the darkness. 

She turned her head to see Ayan-Dar standing at the edge of the fire’s glow. 

“May I sit with you?”

Nodding her head, she turned to again stare at the flames. “I am surprised you did not find me earlier.”

The old priest knelt beside her with a quiet groan. “I have known where you were the entire time, child. I watched you with my second sight, just in case something ill should befall you. I did not come earlier because I knew you would need some time alone.” He sighed. “I owe you an apology, child, and Li’an-Salir sends her own, as well. We were too eager to satisfy our own curiosity, and did not think of how it might affect you. For that, I am sorry.”

She nodded, but remained silent for a moment. “What does all this mean, Ayan-Dar? And how is it even possible?” Turning to face him, she went on, “I have been touched by healing gel before, and have even touched an ingot of living metal that the master of the armory once showed us when we were children. And water, of course, I have touched many times. Why is all this happening now? And how?”

“I can only assume the change your body underwent, your coming of age, triggered changes in you that we would never have expected. And how?” He made a rude noise. “That, even the healers do not know. Li’an-Salir and the masters and mistresses of the different castes spoke of your latent abilities at great length after you took your leave. The discussion had equal measures of disbelief, awe, and bafflement. The only conclusive result, which likely will not please you, is that most of those who dwell in Ku’ar-Amir are now believers, and that belief will spread with the sailing of every ship to distant lands.”

She nodded, a pained expression on her face as if he had just told her she would be chained to the
Kal’ai-Il
at sunrise and the flesh flayed from her back with the
grakh’ta
whip. “I have the gift of the porters of water, as well,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “I found a small pool of still water in the forest nearby. I put my hand in it and imagined the water rising into a column, and it did. It did not shape itself as I imagined and was very small, but the water reacted to my wishes.” She clenched her hands into tight fists. “Even if I can do these things, I cannot control them. I have been raised as a warrior.”

“True. I have no answer for you, and the prophecy of Anuir-Ruhal’te is singularly unhelpful in this matter.”

“I would ask something of you,” she said.

“Anything, child.”

“Please do not tell T’ier-Kunai or the others about what has happened here. I do not think I could bear it. The peers would not understand. They would shun me.”

Ayan-Dar frowned. “Child, they will learn of it sooner or later. Better that it should come from you or, if you wish, me, than from tales one of the priests hears from beyond the temple walls.”

He said nothing about what the peers might do, and she took that as a tacit admission that her fears were just.

“Then only tell the high priestess, and ask her to keep it a secret for now. I beg of you.”

“That I will, child,” he said, untying a strap over his shoulder. “And now that we have concluded that small matter, I thought you might like something to eat and drink.” He handed her a satchel that was stuffed full of the succulent meat and other food from the sea and a flask of the sweet ale. “You will need to keep up your strength, for we must return tomorrow to the temple, and the next day is your second Challenge.”

Keel-Tath was grateful for the gift, but as she ate and drank, she wondered if her life at the temple could ever be the same.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Exile

The disciples were again arrayed around the central dais of the temple, much as they had been on the morning T’ier-Kunai had released them for their free time. Only now the acolytes stood beyond the low walls of the arenas. The savage contests that would take place on the sands this day were not for them, for they had all survived their seventh and final Challenge. This was a day for the disciples alone.

In her customary place among her peers, Keel-Tath knelt facing the dais where T’ier-Kunai stood. The priests were arrayed around her, standing and facing out toward the disciples this time. Keel-Tath caught sight of Ayan-Dar and Ria-Ka’luhr, both of whom had their eyes fixed on her. 

She lowered her eyes, remembering the happy reunion with the young priest when Ayan-Dar had whisked her back to the temple, and the uncomfortable meeting with T’ier-Kunai, where Ayan-Dar described in no small detail Keel-Tath’s newfound abilities. Keel-Tath had sensed a great deal from the high priestess, not least of which was a feeling of conviction that seemed out of place. It was as if she felt right about something, but Keel-Tath had no way to discern what it might be, and it was far from her place to ask. She had answered a few questions the priestess had posed, but Ayan-Dar had done most of the talking. T’ier-Kunai, thankfully, had agreed to his request to keep this knowledge secret.

Pushing those thoughts away, Keel-Tath tried to focus on the here and now. It was difficult, for she was torn by conflicting emotions. She wanted to fight in the Challenge, for the bloodlust that was in the heart of every warrior was burning brightly, stoked by the feelings of those around her, their song flowing through her veins like molten metal. But as powerful as those feelings were, it was like a thin, brittle veneer over a vast emptiness in her heart, a chasm that had opened when she had first set eyes upon the tomb that was Keel-A’ar. Her contempt for the indifference shown by the priesthoods to the horrors wrought by the Dark Queen had become a ravenous beast in her soul that she could not contain with tradition or codes of honor that were nothing but lies.