Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1) (3 page)

 “We Talurians
are not cowards! Why don’t we march now and cut through the rest of Kilgar?”
said one of the men, anger accentuating the scar below his eye, “We can kill
the remaining forces and make our way to Targa’s border!”

“Are you
serious? You want to keep going?” started another, “If we don’t do this
carefully we will lose the war. We have significant intelligence that suggests
the entire island taking up arms against us. They’ll slip behind our lines and
cut out our heart.”

The tent was
filled with men waving their fists, shouting, and cursing at each other. The
officers had caught word of the possible diplomatic meetings amongst the other
tribes.

“He is right.
Thandril should be back shortly and will no doubt confirm the accuracy of the
rumors. My house will not march,” said a different man, moving toward his
comrade’s side to show support.

Five tables
were set up inside the tent, all facing inward. This mimicked the way the
central section of the capital city was structured—the trueblood houses. General
Saris sat at the back of the tent, slightly away from the circle, between his
two, regular standing Captains, Arteus and Barolas.

Saris slammed
his fist on the heavy wooden table, silencing the men. “Commanders, you must
control yourselves! I barely consider you men, at best adolescent boys. Though
from what I’ve seen this week, you’re acting as if fresh off your mother’s
teat. How can we get anything decided with all this childish bickering?”

Mouths
dropped, shocked at the manner in which Saris had addressed them. Some of the
men had to be pleaded with by their entourage to not lash out at their leader.
Everyone knew they would pay for it later if something was said in
contradiction.

These were the
eldest sons from each of the five great Houses of Taluria. During times of war,
they would be given the title of Honor Guard Commander, to represent their
House on the battlefield.

All graciously
accepted the title, except for Drakken of House Bloodborne; the young man had
sent a senior House member to occupy his position. Saris thought him a coward,
in any case, so when the replacement showed up at training camp, he did not
waste another thought on him.

The General
cleared his throat, “I have fought alongside each of your fathers when they
were your age—when
they
were the Honor Guard Commanders of your houses.”
He pointed around the room. “This display you make in my tent this morning
would bring shame to them, and houses’ legacies.”

The room was
silent.

“We are going
to wait for Thandril before we take even a single step from this spot. Ready
your troops. If I see any of you start to move north, I will personally deliver
your head back to your father in a beautiful box, maybe with a ribbon of your
House’s color—to give it a unique touch.”

They all nodded
their understanding. Few could talk to these men in this direct fashion, but
Saris was one of them.

The rank Saris
held was outside the political sphere of the Houses. He came from High Council,
a long-lived family, and one of the original to form Taluria. Since named
General, he was not considered a member of High Council—one of few offices held
by someone, not within their own house. The only others were Chancellor,
Overseer, and the Emperor himself. These four positions made up the Inner
Circle. They were the final word on matters of the empire.

Before they
could start arguing again, a rider ducked in through the tent flap and
whispered to the Harmite slave at the door, who, in turn, raised his hand to
get Saris’ attention.

Saris sighed
and rolled his hand in the air, permitting the rider to approach.

“Sir!” He
saluted the General and then the other officers around the circle. “I have word
from Hillsford that your wife has gone into labor. The physician said if you
ride out immediately, you should be able to make it in time for the birth.”

The small town
of Hillsford was located right inside the border of the Talurian Empire and had
been an important staging area used in the attack on the Kilgarian fortress.
The General’s pregnant wife had stayed there due to being near the end of her
third trimester.

“Alright…”
Saris slowly stood from his seat and motioned for the messenger to leave. He
turned to his horsemaster. “Is my mount ready?”

“Yes, sir. I
sent a runner to the stables the second I saw the messenger coming, in case
there was a need,” the man bowed and left the tent to check on its arrival.

Saris leaned
down on the table in front of him. “Well,
gentlemen
, we will determine
our next move when I return.”

He started
walking toward the tent’s opening. His private guards quickly moved from the
surrounding walls and fell into place around him. He suddenly stopped and
turned to his Captains. “When Thandril shows up, tell him to meet me in
Hillsford.”

Nodding to
himself, he left the room.

“Where is my
horse?” He yelled as he exited the tent, spitting his words at the horsemaster.

It was time to
meet his baby.

Smoke rose
from the funeral pyre.

Rurik Kaster
stood over his brother’s wrapped body. His soul—his spark of life—was gone. He
had urged Aamin to stay home. He was too young, still more a boy than a man,
but Aamin wanted to be a warrior, always wanting to be like his big brother.

The fire bit
at the perfumed corpse. The herbs used to keep the body fresh filled the air
with the sweet scent of lavender. The boy never smelt that good when he was
alive. Tears streaked down Rurik’s cheeks.

Is this my
fault? Could I have done something differently to save you?

“My brother,”
Rurik knelt down before the fire, “Rest easy. Wherever you are now is surely
better than this cursed island—with its warring tribes and stubborn emperor.
Maybe you are finally enjoying the company of a beautiful woman.” Rurik laughed
to himself, barely a chuckle, one that was full of sadness.

“It was just you
and me for the last couple of years, but you had grown so much in character and
strength in that time. Mother and father would have been proud of the man you
became—I
am
proud of the man you became. I love you, little brother.”
Rurik took his knife from his belt and slashed his palm open. He dropped
nineteen drops of blood into the fire—one drop for each year of life.

He stood up
and took a couple steps back. He didn’t bother to wrap his hand; he wanted the
physical pain to linger as long as possible. He would surely never lose the
pain in his heart.

Before being
done with his thoughts, Sergeant Linket came walking over. “Gather the
soldiers. We’re escorting the General to Hillsford.”

The pompous
fool sauntered off without even mentioning Rurik’s brother, whose body burned
ten feet in front of him.

“Ass,” Rurik
mumbled under his breath.

He took a
necklace out from under his tunic and kissed the newest pendant on the chain.
It was a flattened disc of gold with the Kaster family crest on it. A design
his father had made, and a tradition he wanted to continue when he had children
of his own. The necklace carried his own charm, his father’s and mother’s, and
now his brother’s. He reverently tucked it away and turned to gather his other
brothers—his brothers of the sword—the men he fought alongside, day in and day
out.

This was
just the start of the war. What loss will I feel by the end?

The sun was
setting; deep purples and vibrant oranges streamed across the sky.

Thandril flew
high above the ground, nearing the army’s campsite. He had learned of the
Merkadians’ plan to conquer the other tribes of the island. They were using the
fear of the Talurian army to convince the other tribes to fall under Merkadian
law. They were now the largest army under one banner, and the campaign would
become increasingly difficult for the Talurians.

He saw the flickering
orange glow of campfires preparing to cook the evening’s meal. He flew toward
the command tent and dove to the earth below. A bright green flash lit up the
darkening sky, briefly bathing the camp in blinding light. The bird was gone.
In its stead, kneeling, was the hunched form of Thandril, returned to his human
shape. He stood to his feet and walked in the direction of the pavilion.

Upon entering
the room, he turned his eyes to the General’s empty chair and then to the
Harmite at the door. “Where is he? I have urgent news.”

The slave lost
his words. Thandril stood over seven feet tall and was the width of two
soldiers from shoulder to shoulder. When he opened his mouth and that deep
voice asked a pointed question, most feared to answer wrongly.

“He went back
to the southern camp. His wife is having the baby. He said to tell you to go
and meet him there,” said Captain Arteus, slapping Thandril on the shoulder.
“You’re going to give that damned boy a heart attack.”

Barolas walked
up on his other side. “No one quite knows you like we do—a big teddy bear.”

Thandril
grinned and then pushed both backward, landing them on their asses. “Thanks for
the information.”

“Bastard!”
Arteus yelled out, laughing

Barolas
slapped his hand on the ground. “I haven’t been knocked around this much since
that crazy night in Romla’Tal with your mother!”

Thandril shook
his head as he made for the door. “You two have a good evening. I’ll be
enjoying a deluxe suite in Hillsford.”

*
* *

“Get this
thing out of me!”

The nurses ran
back and forth grabbing fresh rags and warm water for the doctor.

“Only a little
more time m'lady,” he reassured.

A nurse walked
over to the foot of the bed and stood with the physician, looking at the woman.

“Is she
supposed to be bleeding that much?” she whispered in his ear.

He motioned
for the nurse to walk from the bed with him.

“Is Saris here
yet?”

“I don’t
know.” She kept looking back at the bed. “Kuran, she doesn’t look so good.”

“Hush! We will
do everything we can for her.” He put his hand on her arm. “You need to calm
down or you won’t be any help to me. Now, go out into the hallway and see if
Saris has arrived.”

The nurse
composed herself and moved to the door. Kuran walked back over to the bed and
looked down at the woman again. She was bleeding profusely and growing weaker
by the moment.

He looked into
her eyes and smiled. “You’re doing great.”

Saris had
chosen his wife more for political reasons than romantic ones. Within the House
politics, it is a great honor to a family when a member of the Inner Circle
chooses a mate from their House. The last three Emperors have all been from her
House, White Mantle—the other founding house, along with Saris’, High Council.

Saris lost his
House ties by carrying the title of General, but any offspring is traditionally
placed in the wife’s House. He thought of this when choosing a woman, in hopes
of one day having a son to take full advantage of such influential ties.

The nurse
opened the door to the hallway and was greeted by a crowd of men coming toward
the room. Saris was at the head of the group.

“What is going
on?” he yelled at the young woman. “Has the baby been delivered? Can I see
them?”

A loud,
shrieking cry of pain came from inside the room.

He sighed, “Do
you think it is going to take much longer?”

“I can’t say,
sir. I do need to warn you, there may be a problem with your wife. She is
bleeding more than usual for a birthing, but the doctor is doing everything he
can to help her.”

“What?” He
reached down and grabbed the nurse by her collar. “Will it affect my child?”

He pulled her
completely off the ground. Her body trembled in his grasp.

“No, sir, but
your wife might die.”

His wife let
out a howl of a scream, gaining in volume and then quickly stopped. Moments
later, the faint sound of a baby crying filled the hallway.

His expression
relaxed and he put the woman down, “She is a good woman—a strong woman. Our son
will be great someday, and she knows at some point in our lives we will both
have to make sacrifices to that end.” He looked through the doorway at the woman
who just gave birth to his son, the color fading from her skin. “This might be
her
time.”

The doctor
backed away from the bed with the small baby wrapped up in a blanket. The
mother laid there motionless, her eyes staring off at nothing.

Kuran handed
the baby to Saris, “It is a boy, healthy and strong. His breathing is good and
body free of imperfection.”

Saris held the
baby close to his face, “Hello, my son. I have waited for you for so many
years. You are going to be great among our people. I will teach you everything
I know and train you to be strong.”

The baby’s
tiny hand gripped at Saris’ finger.

“My little,
Archaos.” The new father smiled at his son.

*
* *

Thandril rode
along the northern road to Hillsford. He didn’t like using horses, but he had
been in an animal form more than usual the last couple weeks and it had drained
a lot of energy—he needed a rest from using his powers. Many small detachments
of soldiers passed him on the road, all most likely being deployed to the
northern camp, inside Kilgar’s border.

The sun had
been down for three hours, and as he made his way over the last hill, the warm,
inviting lights of Hillsford came into view. He made his way along the road,
lined with farms and modest hovels. His horse snaked through the crowd of
families, craftsmen, and Harmite slaves, all making their way through the city
gates after a long day of work.

The border
cities of the empire were different than the rest.

They centered
on a massive stone Keep, made to be like a miniature castle. They had many
rooms, banquet halls, a garrison, and armory. The outer walls were designed for
archers to pick off offenders while giving them ample defensive cover. In the
case of an attack, all the citizens of the developing town could retreat there.
Then, the town’s soldiers would go out and dispatch the invaders.

A massive,
stone wall separated the Keep from the merchant district—during the day, the
streets would be lined with citizens selling and buying various goods and
services. Rippling out from the merchant district was the residential area,
containing houses of all size and architecture. Beggars huddled together in
stolen shipping crates. Hard-working merchants gathered with their families in
multiple room houses. Powerful nobles lounged about in their tri-level
mansions.

After the
residential district was another enormous stone wall that wrapped around the
entire city. There was a gate on each side, leading out of the city and into
the miles of surrounding farmland.

He reached the
city perimeter and stabled his horse. The inner streets were just as crowded as
the highway. He continued toward the Keep at a light jog. Saris would be
staying there.

Thandril
approached the entranceway and slowed to a walk. He nodded a quick greeting to
the team of soldiers positioned at the gate and entered the outer yard.

The Druid was
special in the army. Every man had seen or heard of his primal fighting
tactics. He answered to no one but Saris. He carried no rank, but not a single
officer would argue an order. He needed to find his Master, tell him what was
happening in the north, and warn him against some unknown plan that was already
set in motion for his demise.

No one would
get in his way.