Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1) (15 page)

Out of range
of the crossbowmen, he sped the horses on, making toward the main gate of the
city, keeping his eyes alert for any more resistance. They made it to the
central road, which ran through the middle of the city. Standing in front of
the gate, blocking them from freedom, a line of men stood ready to greet them
with the sharp points of their spears. Rurik hesitated for only a moment and
then charged forward.

“Klaric, grab
a bow. We only need to take out a few, enough for a hole.” Rurik shouted over
the sounds of the speeding wagon, horseshoes slapping on the stone pavement.

“Right,”
Klaric said, quickly notching an arrow and letting it fly.

One of the far
off soldiers wobbled and fell backward. “Good shot,” Rurik nodded to his
friend, “Again. Same place. Let’s punch a hole through this line!”

Three more arrows
and three more dead soldiers gave them the space they needed, and by the time
the wagon reached the blockade, Rurik slipped right through the gap. The wagon
only getting glancing blows from the other spearmen.

They sped
through the gate, out onto the road to Talur. Rurik took one last look back,
checking for any pursuers. Underneath the gateway overhang, a capable-looking
warrior, with an eye patch over his right eye, sat atop a black stallion. He
watched them until they were out of sight.

Rurik didn’t
know who that man was, but had a sneaking suspicion that he was the one who had
led the attempt to kill them. He didn’t look the part of a street thug, nor did
his soldiers. Something was going on, and Rurik needed to be more on guard than
ever. Saris’ warning about others within the empire wanting to harm his family
seems warranted. They would keep moving, once at Talur, they should be safe at
Saris’ estate.

Balar climbed
the stairs of the outer wall, being one of the few awake at the cusp of the
coming battle. His senses had woken him in the middle of the night, alarms
ringing in his head. It was the group of scouts that he had tagged days before,
and they had followed his army all the way to Hillsford.

He made his
way to one of the wall’s towers, planning to search out the Merkadian Army.
They had to be close now, and he should be able to sense them. He passed a few
soldiers that were on watch, each dropping their eyes when he stepped by. He
decided on a nice spot, clear of unwanted viewers, and focused his powers,
sending out his magically enhanced perception. He quickly found the group of
scouts, hiding nearby in an abandoned farmhouse on the outskirts of the city,
no doubt left by one of the fleeing families after the fires.

He glided over
them, looking for the army. His mind’s eye reached an area of land that was
extremely hilly. The location would hide the Merkadian Army from the view of
the city. He crested the horizon, and, as he thought, they were there, inching
closer with each passing minute.

Balar searched
for a familiar lifeforce and located Taverous, riding beside, who could only
be, King Melidarius. It was time. They didn’t seem very concerned with setting
up camp.

There was
going to be bloodshed before dawn.

Balar quickly
reined in his awareness and moved to alert Saris and his army. “I hope you are
still competent enough to battle me, Taverous. I have a whole bunch of new
tricks.” He said to himself, smiling, as he confidently, and casually, strolled
down the walkway, already conjuring his first attack.

*
* *

“It’s time!”
Melidarius shouted out to the assembled soldiers. He galloped back and forth
along the wide stretch of his army. General Vyker a stride behind. “The
Talurians will pay in blood for their past deeds.” The Chieftains from the
other tribes yelled out translated versions of Melidarius’ words.

“For our dead
ancestors, fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters. For destroying our lands and
food sources over the years, causing famine and strife. There will be blood spilt
to quench our long awaited thirst for vengeance!” Melidarius reared his horse
back and lifted his sword into the air, roaring in the night. The soldiers
howled back, beating their spears on the ground and drumming their swords on
their shields. “They know we are coming. Let’s give them something to fear!”

Off to the
side, Taverous stood watching the display, watching the bestial expression of
decades, even centuries, of abuse from the Talurians. He knew at that moment he
had chosen the right side in the coming battle. He needed to make sure they
won.

This was the
first time since the Blood War of the Tearanei that he had felt so emboldened
with purpose. Then, while relishing the moment, his senses boomed around him.
He spun around and noticed his Tearanei guardians had also felt something.

“They have
come out to meet us,” Taverous said.

The three
nodded in confirmation.

“King!”
Taverous yelled over the noise of the crowd.

Melidarius
heard him and hurried over. “What is it?” he asked, leaning down from his
horse.

“Your majesty,
they have come out to meet you. They are just over the hill.” Taverous
cautioned, “Be weary, we do not know what dark powers may be at play here. My
ominous vision is not to be taken lightly.”

Melidarius
grinned, “We shall see.” He rode back over to the anxious army and raised his
sword once more, “Charge!”

Taverous
watched the warrior King lead his army over the hill, barely staying in range
of his loyal General. Melidarius was overcome with the thrill of battle, not
willing to be cautioned. Taverous motioned for his guardians to follow and he
too crested the hill.

Nearly
tripping over each other, the army was halted by the jarring sight of Hillsford.
Not because of a great army, or menacing war machines, or even showings of
powerful magic. They stopped because of the complete lack of life encompassing
everything before them. There were no fires burning along the city walls, no
light coming from inside the buildings, no noise of alarm, and no hustle of
troops coming to meet them.

Taverous
reached a confused, Melidarius.

“Explain
this.” The King kept his eyes forward.

Before he
could respond, another blast assaulted Taverous’ senses. “Something is very
wrong.”

A scream cut
through the night, followed by a blood-choked gurgle, then another, and
another. Sounds of uneasiness spread through the army. The screams were coming
from their fellow soldiers.

“What’s going
on?” Melidarius growled, looking at Taverous for an explanation.

Kaillum and
Dageros pulled up to the men, both riding from opposite sides of the army,
leading different companies.

“We are
suffering casualties and we don’t know why,” said Kaillum.

“Same with
us,” Dag added. They both had fearful looks on their faces.

“Sir,” Vyker
rode up with blood splattered on his shield and face. “We need to get out of
here, this place is haunted. The men are randomly being torn apart by unseen
magic. One died right next to me.”

“Unseen
magic…” Taverous whispered to himself. He had an idea. “I’m going to try
something. Prepare yourselves.”

Taverous
spread out his arms.

After a
moment, a yellow glow started to emanate from his body, flickering in the
night. He shouted and the light extended momentarily, then he repeated it,
causing the light to flash again, this time, farther out. On the third time,
the light showed figures that were not visible a moment before, and when the
blast of light faded again, the beings were covered with a glittering essence,
keeping them visible.

“Shadow
demons! Aim for their heads!” Taverous yelled to the men.

The soldiers
didn’t hesitate, charging the closest ones. The creatures cringed at their
discovery, crouching down, baring their long fangs and stretching out their
clawed hands. A mob of soldiers fell upon one and, with a roar of victory, they
waved the glittering head in the darkness.

Taverous
turned to Arclite, Mathis, and Lasal, “Go! We don’t know how many of them are
there. Help along the line.”

The three
spread out across the field, each using their own magic to help the army.

Lasal released
glowing orbs into the air, which would tag any of the demons, in the way that
Taverous’ pulses had. Mathis channeled a spotlight over his head that picked out
any invisible movement and focused on it, pointing out the demons to the
soldiers. Arclite ran through the darkness, blades were drawn and bright beams
shooting from his eyes. The spell enabled him to see the demons, and four fell
before they knew they had been revealed.

Within minutes,
the attack was over, but the army had lost nearly four hundred men, most of
them before Taverous had discovered the demons. The army had seen their new
allies in action and was grateful for their help. Magic was something they were
not prepared to combat.

A low rumble
echoed from the city, silencing the troops. What was coming for them now? The
rumble turned into a roar, and the soldiers watched as a figure stood atop the
wall of Hillsford, backlit by a blood-red glow. The howl of anger had an
inhuman range to it, traveling the three hundred yards that separated the army
from the outer wall, coaxing the soldiers’ hands to their ears.

*
* *

Balar held his
scream out for what felt like an eternity. Saris, Thandril, and Captain Arteus
kept hidden behind the wall, hands clasped to their ears, cringing at the
horrid sound.

Then, Balar
stopped. The contorted look of anger faded from his face, and now all was
serene about him.

“Taverous
brought help. His damned Tearanei,” Balar said, directed at no one. “I think it
is time to rattle him up a little.” He grinned.

He conjured
the impenetrable shield that he had used during the massacre at camp and shot
out his consciousness across the open battleground. A tiny shard of red light
sped through the air and reached Taverous, engulfing him in a glowing bubble.

*
* *

Taverous
blinked his eyes, trying to focus them.

He was no
longer on the battlefield.

Where am I?

He stood
amidst a desert of sloping sands and twisted winds. The sky was black and
starless, but the sand was lit up as if kissed by the midday sun. Taverous no
longer wore his custom armor, nor carried his blade. He was wrapped in a robe
that he had not worn in a very long time, not since the Three were united. The
robe was of green material and embroidered across the back was his symbol of
the Protector.

Taverous had
not worn this robe since the day Rykin, the Summoner, died, and Balar, the
Champion, had been destroyed. Why wear a robe that marks you as one of the
Three, when there is only one left?

The sands
before him swirled and churned, as a figure emerged from beneath. The figure was
dressed in a black robe, a hood hiding any features. He walked to Taverous,
stopping inches away. At the extremely close proximity, Taverous could see that
the hood didn’t hide anything, the man actually had no distinct facial
features—a blank face, yet a horrifyingly familiar presence.

“With all of
my being, I had hoped this wasn’t the answer to my searching, but in the
deepest parts of my heart, brother, I knew you were at the center of this
evil.” Taverous sighed, dropping his head.

The phantom
shifted into a man, slightly shorter than Taverous, and his face contorted into
a new shape, yet old and all too recognizable. “So, Taverous, you suspected
me?” Balar smirked, his lips curling devilishly. “My reputation of power
precedes me, even within my own family. I am flattered.”

Taverous shook
his head, “I prayed, for Rykin’s sake, that it was something other than you. He
sacrificed his life to finish you!”

“Tsk…tsk…”
Balar waved his finger in Taverous’ face, “I don’t want you talking about our
late brother’s failure like that.”

“But you
pushed him to do it!” Taverous blurted out, shoving his brother way, but his
hands reached through Balar, as he floated to the side.

“You can’t
harm me. I’m only a guest in your mind.”

Taverous
frowned, rubbing deeply into the sides of his skull. “How is this even
possible?”

Balar laughed.
“I actually have no idea. It was as if one moment, my body was being torn apart
from Rykin final assault, then the next, I was hovering over this damn island
void of any physical form.”

“But you
possess one now?”

“Literally.”
Balar scoffed. “Killed the fool to get it. My power and lifeforce were waning
without an anchor.”

“So, where
does this leave us? Are you going to hide inside Hillsford forever? Afraid to
show your true self, face to face?” Taverous asked.

“You call this
hiding?” Balar waved his hands in the air. “I wanted to show you who you were
dealing with. The only man in the history of Ethindriil to conquer the
constraints of death! I wanted to say hello to my long, lost brother, before saying
farewell for good. You bore me now, brother.”

Balar stepped
away, and with each step, faded out into the night. Suddenly Taverous screamed
out and dropped to his knees, gripping the sides of his skull.

The illusion
that Balar created slipped away, and he found himself surrounded by his
worried-looking Tearanei. Overtaken by pain, he fell backward onto the dirt. Before
drifting unconscious, he mouthed a string of words to his companions. “He is
back.”

Rurik pulled
his coat tighter around him. When the sun went down around the southern tip of
the island, where Talur sat, the unbearable heat turned to cold winds, sweeping
off the nearby ocean.

It was five
hours past sundown and everyone was sleeping away in the back of the wagon
while Rurik slowly guided the horse toward the growing lights of Talur. Since
the unexpected assault in Dartholme and, the coinciding run for their lives,
things had calmed. Now well within the province of Talur, their journey was
almost at an end.

Their new
traveling companion, Elop, had taken a nasty wound to the shoulder, but Amira
had tended to it daily, and he was back to normal health, mostly. Since feeling
better, Elop, who had been a cook at the Inn for so many years, had taken to
helping Gleb prepare the daily meals. He seemed to like having a job in the
little ragtag team.

Rurik started
to get sleepy himself but didn’t want to stop with the city so close. So, he
pushed on and within an hour, he was driving through the wooden palisades that
marked the outer city. The home of all the Harmites, since they were not
allowed to live within the city proper, unless as slaves. The outer city also
housed less-privileged Talurians and a good portion of the military, due to
lack of space in the inner city.

Even at such a
late hour, there were people and carts lining the main road, which stretched
all the way to the heavily guarded inner gate. Peddlers showed their wares, and
various smells came from the food vendors, wrapping up grilled meats and fresh
potato and vegetable pies to go. Rurik heard movement from inside the wagon.
The sounds of the city must have woken someone.

Klaric climbed
through the latch door and sat next to Rurik, slowly coming fully awake, running
his fingers through his matted hair. The two men scanned the never-sleeping
city and silently relished being home for the first time in many months. Both
were born and raised in the capital, and since their families were not well
off, or part of an inner family, they grew up on these very streets—the slums
of the Empire.

They moved past
the outer city’s main court and saw the cages set up for the public execution
of mix-race violators, all too many were occupied.

Klaric shook
his head. “That’s certainly something I don’t miss seeing, or worse, hearing
from my house.”

Rurik kept his
eyes on the road. “We may have some trouble.”

Klaric turned
his gaze forward again. “Damn. A blockade. Doesn’t look like they are letting
anyone into the inner city.”

Rurik
positioned the wagon into the line that had formed. “Here take the reins. I’m
going to check ahead.” He pulled out the papers that Saris had given them. “Be
right back.”

Rurik leapt
down from his seat and started jogging through the line. The blockade was
heavily guarded, not only by many soldiers but large crossbow artillery. This
was a standard wartime blockade. The high-speed messengers that General Saris
had sent ahead of them must have reached the Emperor. Rurik noticed a Lieutenant,
who was standing at the head of the blockade, turning each person away, causing
much protest.

Rurik pushed
his way to the front of the line, which brought, even more, objections.

“You may not
enter the city,” the Lieutenant said, bluntly, to the man standing in front of
him.

With the first
sign of outrage from the citizen, the officer motioned for him to be taken away
by the guards. He shouted and kicked his feet as the soldiers dragged him away.

Rurik stepped
forward. “My name is Rurik Kaster, Second Corporal of the thirty-eighth company
of the Talurian army. I am on a mission from General Saris. I need to enter
these gates. My wagon is—”

The man put
his hand up to silence him, “No need to keep talking. Nobody is permitted
within these walls after sunset. And, you will never get inside during daytime,
without special papers.”

Rurik pulled
the letter that Saris had sent along with him, in the case of resistance, and
to grant the group entrance and retreat in his private estate.

The Lieutenant
laughed at him. “Even with papers, I will not permit you tonight. Only in the
morning may you gain entrance, when the Magistrate is present. And then, he
will decide if that piece of paper you hold is worth anything.”

Rurik took a
step closer to the man, putting himself right in the officer’s face. “We need
to enter the city
tonight
,” Rurik said in a harsh whisper.

The officer
made a quick glance toward his soldiers, and they quickly circled around Rurik.
But, Rurik didn’t want to push it past a point that would endanger the group,
so he put his hands up in surrender and walked back to the wagon.

“Well?” Klaric
asked, handing him back the reins.

“Not getting
through.”

“What? Why?”

“The old
apartment is still in my name. We will stay there tonight.”

Rurik maneuvered
the wagon out of line and down a side street toward the apartment his brother,
Aamin, and himself shared before they were called out to war.

The building
was located in a calmer area of the slums, away from the hustle and bustle of
the street vendors and beggars. Rurik pulled the wagon into the stable around
back.

“Go wake the
others. I’m going on up. Remember, apartment nine.” Rurik took to the stairs
that ran back and forth along the side of the structure, stopping at the third
floor.

He reached the
door and froze.

When they left
for the front line, Rurik thought it would be at least two years before he
would be standing in front of this door again. He reached into the neck opening
of his shirt and pulled out the chain necklace that contained the family
pendants of his entire family, along with a single bronzed key. He slipped the
key off the end of the chain and pressed it into the lock, hearing the
mechanism click as he twisted. The door creaked open, and brooding emotion
swept over him, coming back to the house without his brother.

He stepped in.

The moon,
glimmering through the doorway, was all that lit the room. The tightly closed
curtains blocked any light from trickling through the windows. Knowing where
everything was from memory, Rurik navigated the dark living room with ease. He
reached a shelf along the back wall that housed a mixture of candles. As he
started to hear footsteps coming from the stairway, the front room had been
sufficiently lit. He looked around at all the furniture, each piece covered
with heavy blankets, staged for the brothers to be away for a long time.

“This will do
fine,” Amira said. She dropped her bag as she entered the house, resting the
baby on her hip.

Rurik yanked
off the cover to one of the chairs and offered her the seat. She gladly took
it.

“You really
were not planning on being back here very soon,” she said, looking around the
room.

“No, the war
was supposed to go on for a good couple of years, with all of the traveling and
opposing tribes.” Rurik knelt down to start a fire in the hearth. “It doesn’t
look like that will happen anymore. The battle at Hillsford will probably be
the end of it.”

Rurik backed
away from the fireplace, nodding in satisfaction. The men reached the front
door with the rest of the necessary bags for the night’s stay. They didn’t need
many supplies in the apartment, but the men insisted that if items were left in
the wagon, they would get stolen.

After everyone
had sat for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the cushioned
furniture—each person mute from exhaustion—Rurik took them around the rest of
the house. The apartment had the front room, in which they entered, with three
bedrooms off that, and a shared central bathroom.

One of the
bedrooms was used as a library and sitting room, which Amira claimed, Galro and
Klaric were going to sleep in Rurik’s master bedroom, Elop and Gleb chose to
stay out in the living room, and Rurik wanted to stay in his brother’s room.
The most people that house had seen for many years. When the men were settled
in, Rurik went to check on Amira one last time.

He gave a
quick knock, announcing himself, and opened the door. Amira had her back to
him, quickly pulling the rest of her nightgown around her. Rurik enjoyed a good
view of her slender back and shoulders in the process. He surely didn’t mind
the surprise.

She turned
around and gave him a surprisingly affectionate smile. “We need to stop running
into each other like this. It really isn’t decent,” she said, holding her smile.

“I am sorry.
There hasn’t been a woman in the house, since my mother. I guess I’m only used
to being around other men. I wanted to make sure you were fine in here, before
tucking in for the night. Need any more blankets?

“No, thank
you. I think we are okay.” Her eyes scanned to where Archaos was fast asleep.

“Very well.
Goodnight,” Rurik said.

“Goodnight.”

Rurik kept his
eyes on her while slowly closing the door. Not wanting to lose that image.
Damn
it! Stop. She is spoken for by one of the most powerful men in the Empire.

He walked the
house one more time and checked the lock again, trying to shake her from his
thoughts, then made his way to his brother’s room. As he twisted the handle of
the door, he thought he heard a sound from inside the room. He pushed the door
open, pulling a knife from his belt.

Nobody was
there.

The sounds of
an old house, he told himself. But, he noticed the window in the room didn’t
have the curtains drawn. He knew they didn’t leave any window uncovered. He
moved over to the window, and the moonlight practically spotlighted a footprint
in the layer of dust atop the dresser that sat directly underneath.

Rurik quickly
opened the window and stuck his head out, looking for the intruder. There was
nowhere for anyone to go, or hide. That bedroom faced the alley, so there was
no walkway or ledge, and the apartment sat three stories up.

Rurik pulled
himself back inside and bolted the window shut. He wasn’t going to sleep very
heavy tonight.

*
* *

Krul hung by
his fingertips. Using all his strength to stay gripped to the narrow ledge that
ran along the roof of the apartment building. Sweat beading on his forehead. A
narrow outcropping above the bedroom’s window, mixed with the darkness of the
night and his signature black outfit, kept Rurik from seeing him.

Krul’s face
was set in a silent grimace, holding on for his life, waiting for the soldier
to pull his head back inside. Any sound would have given him away. Rurik
stopped the search, and finally, Krul could breathe.

Now feeling
like he could move around a little, without drawing attention, he released one
of his hands and frantically threw his arm over the edge of the roof, almost
causing him to fall to the ground. With one arm holding onto the roof, he
repeated the maneuver with his other arm and pulled himself to the roof. He
quietly crawled along the building, knowing right below him, Rurik lay awake in
his bed, on high alert.

Soon Krul was
far enough away, that he stood to his feet and started running across the
rooftops of the nearby buildings, making his way back to his horse. Now he knew
for sure, where they were staying. He would be back before dawn. “I’m not going
to wait for that boy’s signal anymore,” he said to himself in determination.
“Once they reach Saris’ estate, it will be impossible to reach the woman and
baby.”