In Her Name: The Last War (70 page)

“Yes, my priestess,” she said, trying mightily to inject a note of humility into her voice and calm the fire that raged in her veins. She did not wish to disappoint her mentor, but she felt chained away from her destiny.

“My child,” Sura-Ni’khan said quietly. “I believe you have the makings of greatness about you. Someday...someday I believe you may be worthy of wearing one of these.” 

Tesh-Dar glanced up to see Sura-Ni’khan’s fingers touching the dazzling ruby-colored eyestone, taken from a monstrous
genoth
she had killed long ago, in which was carved the rune of the Desh-Ka order. It was affixed to her collar, the rune matching the one on her breastplate that blazed in luminous cyan. Of all the warrior sects their civilization had known, even before the founding of the Empire, the Desh-Ka was the oldest, its priestesses the most powerful. But after the Curse laid upon their race by the First Empress, the great orders were dying out. 

“I am the last of my kind, Tesh-Dar,” the priestess said sadly, “and my time grows short before I must pass into the Afterlife. But I would rather the order end its existence and take my leave to join the Ancient Ones than surrender my powers to one who was not ready, or unworthy.” She paused. “Do not disappoint me, young swordmistress.”

“I will obey, priestess,” Tesh-Dar told her, tightly clenching her silver-taloned hands.

After brooding over the priestess’s words that evening, Tesh-Dar had an epiphany: she would do what the Desh-Ka and the other warrior priestesses did, and take up a single disciple. She would train a promising young warrior to a level of mastery that would see them easily through their next Challenge, when the
tresh
fought amongst themselves for the honor of besting their peers. That would see her through her own final Challenge, after which she could leave this place and be free to seek the glories that lay beyond the confines of the Homeworld.

“Your Bloodsong rejoices,” a soft and welcome voice said from behind her. 

Quickly getting up from her bed of animal hides, Tesh-Dar knelt and saluted. “Mistress,” she said happily. Seeing Pan’ne-Sharakh never failed to lift her heart.

With a sigh, the old armorer slowly knelt down on the young warrior’s skins. “The priestess spoke with me about you, young one,” she said. Her voice was serious, which was unusual for her. “I am concerned.”

Tesh-Dar again felt a wave of burning shame, a sensation that was alien to her. Disappointing the priestess was bad enough. Disappointing this ancient clawless one, who stood so high among the peers and had played a major role in Tesh-Dar’s young life, was far worse. “I have a plan, mistress,” she said humbly. She explained what she planned to do. “I will choose Nayan-Tiral,” she went on. “I believe she has great promise. I shall teach her all that I can.”

Pan’ne-Sharakh was silent for a time, considering. Then, she said, “It is not unheard of, to train a
tresh
in such fashion. Yet careful you must be, child,” she warned gently. “Teach her, yes, but mind the power of your sword hand, the fire of your Bloodsong. You must stay in the here and now, and not let your spirit merge with your sword, or lost shall you be.” 

Tesh-Dar nodded in understanding. When the most talented warriors fought, they lost all sense of self beyond their weapon and the battle. It was the ultimate state of mind for combat, but could be deadly in the wrong circumstances. Tesh-Dar fell into such a state almost instantly, using the power of the Bloodsong as a source of strength and speed. It was an ability of which she was exceedingly proud, for few warriors had ever attained this state at any age, let alone as a youth. “I shall not fail, mistress,” she promised.

Pan’ne-Sharakh nodded, then offered Tesh-Dar her characteristic mischievous grin. “Then come, child,” she said, “it is time for us to eat.”

* * *

With the next dawn, after the morning rituals were complete and training was to begin all around the
kazha
, Tesh-Dar took Nayan-Tiral aside and explained her plan. 

“Honored am I,” the young warrior, whose next Challenge would be her third, said gratefully as she saluted Tesh-Dar.

“Then let us begin,” Tesh-Dar told her, anxious not so much to teach Nayan-Tiral, but to prove to the priestess that she could indeed train the young
tresh
, and do so better than anyone at the
kazha
other than the priestess herself.

As the days passed, Tesh-Dar’s talents at teaching were revealed in the dramatic improvements Nayan-Tiral made in her swordcraft. Both the priestess and Pan’ne-Sharakh were impressed: it seemed that the headstrong young swordmistress had found her path to enlightening others. It was not the traditional way of teaching those of Nayan-Tiral’s age, but it was certainly not unheard of, and Sura-Ni’khan let the pair be.

Then, just as Pan’ne-Sharakh had originally feared, it happened. With the priestess and many of the
tresh
looking on, as was often the case these days, Tesh-Dar began sparring with Nayan-Tiral, demonstrating a new technique with combat weapons that bore a sharp deadly edge. This in itself was no cause for concern, for
tresh
at Nayan-Tiral’s level began to train with such weapons; it had its dangers, but danger was the constant companion for any warrior. While Nayan-Tiral was well below Tesh-Dar’s skill level, she had learned much from her young mentor, and her pride and love for Tesh-Dar echoed in her Bloodsong. The two danced a deadly ballet, with the younger warrior pressing her attacks with impressive skill and aggression. 

So well did Nayan-Tiral do that Tesh-Dar momentarily forgot where she was and what she was doing, the “here and now” that Pan’ne-Sharakh had once spoken of. It only took a single shard of time for Tesh-Dar to fall into the state of mind that so many of the peers sought, yet failed to achieve, merging her mind perfectly with her weapon. It was not a conscious decision; it was simply a momentary lapse of control and an unforgivable act of negligence by a warrior with her skills.

A heartbeat later, Tesh-Dar found herself staring at the blade of her sword, buried in young Nayan-Tiral’s chest, the tip having speared the child’s heart. The young
tresh’s
bright eyes were wide with shocked disbelief as she slumped to the ground, dead, and Tesh-Dar felt a faint flutter in the chorus of the Bloodsong as Nayan-Tiral’s spirit passed from this life to the next. Then Tesh-Dar fell to her knees, cradling the young warrior’s body in her arms.

“No,” she whispered as mourning marks began to flow down her cheeks, turning her smooth cobalt blue skin pitch black. “
No
.” Shivering with grief and shame, she held the young
tresh
, her soul torn by Nayan-Tiral’s dead eyes, still staring up at her mentor. Her killer.

* * *

Her mind returning to the present, Tesh-Dar opened her eyes, willing the dream away. It did not come to her often now, for many cycles had passed since that dark and horrible day. Part of her mind shied away from what came after, but she seized upon the memory, forcing it upon herself in what had become a ritual act of atonement. The night after she had killed Nayan-Tiral, she had faced punishment on the
Kal'ai-Il
. It was a massive stone construct at the center of every
kazha
in the Empire that served as a living reminder of the price for failing to walk the Way, for falling from Her grace. Nude, shackled hand and foot, Tesh-Dar had hung above the massive central dais as the warriors and the
tresh
of the
kazha
looked on from the great stones that circled the
Kal'ai-Il
. Sura-Ni’khan had lashed her with the
grakh’ta
, a seven-tailed barbed whip that was one of the most brutal of all weapons, with all her strength. Eight times the weapon struck Tesh-Dar’s back, flaying skin and muscle to expose the bone beneath. She grunted in agony, but never cried out. She had shamed the Empress, her priestess, her peers, and herself with her laxity; she would not further shame them by whimpering during her punishment.

When it was over, she was released from the chains, falling to the dais in a bloody heap. But her punishment was not over until she had staggered down the steps and along the stone walk to reach Sura-Ni’khan, who waited for her across a polished stone threshold. Had Tesh-Dar not reached her by the time the gong of the
Kal'ai-Il
had sounded twelve times, the priestess would have killed her.

Recovering from her wounds had been worse than being lashed, for the healers were not permitted to assist one who had been punished on the
Kal'ai-Il
. They could cover the wounds in sterile dressings, but that was all. Tesh-Dar writhed in blinding agony for two days. On the third, she forced herself to her feet, donned her armor, and staggered step by step to the arenas to train. In the days that followed, she nearly died from infection, something that was unheard of among her race in these times. Yet, her body eventually healed itself, and Pan’ne-Sharakh and Sura-Ni’khan had helped as best they could to heal her soul. 

With a sigh, her ritual self-punishment now at an end, she pushed aside the thick animal hides of her warm bed and rose like Death’s shadow in her night-shrouded room, ignoring the chill of the air around her. She stepped to the window that filled most of one wall of her quarters, staring out at the snow-covered landscape that glimmered from the light of the Empress Moon that hung high above. It was winter now in the Homeworld’s northern hemisphere, and the outside temperature was so low that anyone trapped at night without a shelter would almost surely perish. 

“Only a few steps,” she murmured to herself. It was only a few steps to the door leading to the outside and winter’s eager embrace. Such thoughts had come to her often after her punishment so long ago, but they were only fantasy. If she had learned nothing else on the
Kal'ai-Il
, she had learned the true meaning of duty. As often as Death had called to her, promising to take away her pain, as comforting was the thought of such release, she could no more kill herself than she could bear children. 

That thought brought her to Li’ara-Zhurah. Rather than remain on the nursery world until her child was born, as tradition held, she had requested to return to Tesh-Dar’s side as the Empire made its next move against the humans. It was unusual for one to be released at such a stage in the mating process, but not unprecedented, and Tesh-Dar could find no reason to deny the young warrior’s request. Tesh-Dar’s own First, the warrior who had served as her sword hand to assist in the many things the priestess did each day, had moved up another step toward the throne in the rankings of the peers, and was ready to lead her own
kazha
. Tesh-Dar had decided that Li’ara-Zhurah would make an excellent replacement. When the child was near birth, Tesh-Dar would send her back to the nursery world. In the meantime, Tesh-Dar vowed to herself that she would allow no harm to come to her.

Sighing softly, Tesh-Dar knelt to add more wood to the embers of the fire that kept her quarters from freezing, wishing that it could warm her soul.

* * *

“We have allowed the humans time to recover from the first blow. Now, it is time to begin the true Challenge,” Tesh-Dar said from where she stood at the center of one of the many enormous chambers in the Imperial Palace on the Empress Moon. Like all things built by Kreelan hands, it was in its own way a work of art: the floor was a great mosaic depicting the tragedy of the Curse, while the walls and ceiling were made of clear crystal panels that let the light of the Homeworld shine through. Around her, sitting on thick animal hides, were the last of the Empire’s warrior priestesses. In the time of the First Empress, they had numbered in the thousands. Now, there remained only a handful more than a hundred. There had not been a council of war such as this for millennia, and it had shocked Tesh-Dar to the core to see that so few priestesses remained. It was a clear and bitter illustration of the plight of her species. 

As the highest among them on the steps to the throne, Tesh-Dar led the council. The Empress was not present, for she was content to leave the details of war in Tesh-Dar’s hands. “We have shown them our power in the transformation of the world they called Keran, which we took from them,” she went on, “and also have we granted them fair combat by adapting our technology to theirs. We do not know how they have reacted as a species, but we will soon find out.”

She closed her eyes and summoned an image in her mind of the systems occupied by the humans. They had taken the navigational charts of the first human ship they had encountered and added to it the knowledge from the wreckage of the human ships left in Keran space. It was a convenience, for now that they knew of the humans’ existence, the second sight of the Empress could reach into every corner of their domain. 

As Tesh-Dar opened her eyes, the image that had been in her mind shimmered into existence in the air next to her. “Now we will begin to bleed them. Our deeds shall bring great glory to the Empress, but we also search for the One,” she explained. “There are two hundred and thirty-seven human-settled worlds. These,” a cyan halo appeared around sixteen of the planets, including Earth, “shall not be molested for now. They are critical to the humans for producing ships and weapons, and are the largest population centers. Instead, we will make widespread attacks against shipping and smaller colonies, forcing the humans to give battle while not destroying their ability to wage war.”

“Would it perhaps not be wiser, Tesh-Dar,” said Mu’ira-Chular of the Alun-Kuresh order, “to do the opposite? To bleed their heart worlds first? Where there are more humans, are we not more likely to find the One? Or should we simply attack all of their systems at once?” It would be a trivial matter for the Empire to do so: the human realm was minuscule against the ten thousand suns of the Empire.

“We strike a precarious balance between fate and time,” Tesh-Dar explained. “We do not know if the One has yet been born. The prophecies say that we will know him when his blood sings, but little more.” Looking at the images of the worlds suspended above her, she went on, “If we attack all their systems, we may exterminate them before he has taken his first breath. If we prolong the war as long as we are able, the Empress believes there is a greater chance of finding him. And thus may we bring Her more glory across the few remaining generations we have remaining.”