Mistress Of The Ages (In Her Name, Book 9) Read Online Free
Author: Michael R. Hicks
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,
“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,
Readers choose
Julia Talbot
Catherine Asaro
Kaitlyn Dunnett
Lee Weeks
Steve Almond
Parker Kincade
P. J. Belden
Christopher Stasheff
Brian Delaney