by Alex Janaway
RESISTANCE
END OF EMPIRE
Book Two
Copyright © Alex Janaway 2018
The right of Alex Janaway to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher or unless such copying is done under a current Copyright Licensing Agency license. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
RESISTANCE
END OF EMPIRE
Book Two
by
ALEX JANAWAY
First published 2018 by Fantastic Books Publishing
Cover design by Gabi
Artwork by Kirsty O’Rourke
Map illustration by Fez Baker
ISBN (ebook): 9781-912053-76-6
ISBN (paperback): 9781-912053-74-2
The Tissan Empire
DEDICATION
To Siobhan, who tells me when I’ve got the words wrong …
Table of Contents
Dramatis Personae
Chapter One – Killen
Chapter Two – The Nidhal
Chapter Three – Michael
Chapter Four – Cade
Chapter Five – Killen
Chapter Six – Fillion
Chapter Seven – Michael
Chapter Eight – Owen
Chapter Nine – Fillion
Chapter Ten – Michael
Chapter Eleven – Cade
Chapter Twelve – Fillion
Chapter Thirteen – Owen
Chapter Fourteen – Michael
Chapter Fifteen – Fillion
Chapter Sixteen – Michael
Chapter Seventeen – Cade
Chapter Eighteen – Owen
Chapter Nineteen – Michael
Chapter Twenty – Fillion
Chapter Twenty-One – Michael
Chapter Twenty-Two – Cade
Chapter Twenty-Three – Killen
Chapter Twenty-Four – Fillion
Chapter Twenty-Five – Michael
Chapter Twenty-Six – Cade
Chapter Twenty-Seven – Fillion
Chapter Twenty-Eight – Cade
Chapter Twenty-Nine – Owen
Chapter Thirty – Fillion
Chapter Thirty-One – Owen
Chapter Thirty-Two – Fillion
Chapter Thirty-Three – Michael
Chapter Thirty-Four – Fillion
Chapter Thirty-Five – Cade
Chapter Thirty-Six – Fillion
Chapter Thirty-Seven – Owen
Chapter Thirty-Eight – Michael
About the Author
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
The Expedition
Father Michael – ex arena champion, protector of the Emperor
Emperor Tigh – ruler of the Tissan peoples
Ellen – a Gifted, and friend of Father Michael
Bron – woodsman
Uther – squire to the Emperor
Cadarn – a Leader of the Eagle Riders; rides Hilja
Bryce – an Eagle Rider; rides Nukka
Corporal Fenner, Beautiful, Wendell and Coyle – marines
Eilion – a Gifted, commander of the Emperor’s bodyguard
Raspa, Loras, Grieg, Leisha, and Mercer – the other Gifted with the expedition
New Tissan
Father Llews – counsellor to the Empress
Cardinal Yarn – head of the Schools of the Gifted
Arch Cardinal Vella – head of the Imperial Church
Empress Alana – the Emperor’s mother
Admiral Lukas – commander of the Imperial fleet
Japes – a marine
Malik – a Gifted
Jenna – an Eagle Rider; rides Lissa
The Heartlands
Captain Sabin Fillion – Imperial officer and half-elf
Patiir – a Member of the Elven Parliament
Nadena – daughter of Patiir, wife to Fillion
Brynne – daughter of Fillion and Nadena
Hedra and Alica – son and daughter of Patiir
Kanyay – Servant from the wood elf tribes
Marmus – ambassador of the Dwarf Nations
Reygar – Dwarf guide / warrior
Rabi – of Patiir’s household
Tekla – a Member of the Elven Parliament
Ezra – Servant to Member Tekla
Kefe – a member of the Elven Parliament
Lenard – elf historian
The Dwarf Nations
Cade – Crew boss and slave
Devlin – ex Imperial officer and member of Cade’s crew
Issar, Meghan, Evan, Krste, Miriam, Anyon, Emerich and Trent – members of Cade’s crew
Vidar – dwarf and mine owner
Geir – Accounter working for Vidar
Gwillem, Sent and Winders – slaves
Rula – slave and midwife
The Highlands
Owen Derle – Eagle Rider and Head of Eagle’s Rest; rides Arno
Murtagh – second in command of Eagle’s Rest
Naimh – Murtagh’s sister
Jenni – Murtagh’s wife
Larsen and Saul – trappers
Jussi – Eagle Rider; rides Ayolf
Erskine and Ernan – Eagle Rider and brothers
Anneli – Eagle Rider; rides Taru
Skeet and Breege – Highlanders
The Nidhal
Nutaaq – Father of his tribe
Arluuq and Immayuk – Nutaaq’s brother
Weguek – a Nidhal warrior
Gantak – a Nidhal shaman
The Erebeshi
Major Killen Roche – Imperial officer commanding the Third Erebeshi Scouts
Captain Jehali Rashad – Erebeshi Scout
Hassan and Sadad – Erebeshi Scouts
Scotia
Gerat – resistance leader from Scotia
Bedwyr, Hosen and Dill – Scotians
CHAPTER ONE – KILLEN
Killen shifted uncomfortably. No matter where he lay his head he encountered bare, uneven rock or lumps of stone. None of it was flat. He should have made more of an effort to clear the ground beneath him. He’d been living this life for long enough it should have been second nature, but some part of him must still be hoping it was all temporary. He sighed and rolled on to his side resting his head on his hands. In the shadowed gloom he watched the rise and fall of the camel’s rib cage, expanding and contracting at a slow measured pace. At least someone was sleeping comfortably. Its thick patchy hair, covering mottled skin, was coarse to the touch. Red patches tracked where some insect had feasted upon its flesh; perhaps one of the big ugly spiders, all hues of yellow, brown and cream, aggressive and bitey. He’d been warned of the horror of the scuttling bastards injecting venom to dull the pain, biting into the skin, and leaving their eggs to hatch into baby horrors that would eat their victim from the inside out. He’d believed it too; for a good six months until a grinning scout put him right. Humans were never their hosts. Still, every night he made sure the edges of the blanket were weighted down with stones, the thick fabric stretched taut, creating a cocoon of space; dark, cool and stinking of camel scent.
He hated his camel.
He hated it with a passion that defied logic. It was the embodiment of everything that was wrong with the world. Everything that had gone wrong for him. He should have stayed in the capital. His banis
hment to the south was unwarranted. He was not the first imperial officer to share a courtesan. Lucy had been a fine woman, a little older than him in her early forties (she wouldn’t say which year exactly), worldly-wise and a little jaded perhaps but with a body that was the envy of girls half her age. Just because she’d chosen to lie with his colonel, it all went to shit. He was fine with it but that self-important idiot wanted her all to himself. He remembered the colonel’s smug look, his smart uniform, his preening superiority the day he’d issued the summons. ‘Congratulations, Major Killen Roche, your first independent command. The Third Erebeshi Scouts. Good luck to you. I’m sure your career will know no limits when your five years are done.’
Five years? Five. Fucking. Years?
Killen hand had itched to draw his sword, but he was not a fool. His good times were coming to an end. Twenty happy years working in the headquarters shuffling paper and passing messages, out of the way of any real military action, had ended. He’d always nursed a hope that the ending might coincide with his mandatory retirement. That hadn’t worked out. It was cold comfort that this chain of events had kept him alive when everyone else was likely dead. Including that vindictive colonel and poor Lucy too. He didn’t blame her. She was a professional.
His wildest imaginings had never seen him spending nights in the desert. And he’d never known it would get so cold during the winter months; that he could be baking in the sun one moment then shivering his ass off the moment he stepped into shade. And if he thought that was cold, it was nothing to the nights that came in fast and hard with a cold that could kill a man if he wasn’t prepared. Such was life in the Jebel, the high country of central Erebesh.
The camel whined and snorted, its whole body shuddering as it began to wake, rising slightly then settling back down.
He hated that camel.
It was lighter in his little hole now. The morning sun was making the edges glow. He’d have to get up soon, even though he’d had no sleep. He was in charge. There was an image to maintain. Even though the whole bloody trip was a waste of time.
He heard the scuff of boots, footsteps drawing near.
‘Major?’
‘Yes?’
‘You are awake.’
‘Yes. It would appear so.’
The blanket was ripped upwards, his small securing rocks flying all ways, many falling on to him.
Killen blinked at the burst of light. He was facing almost directly eastwards, right towards the sun. A figure stepped into his vision.
‘Sir, come and look!’
‘Yes, Hassan. Right with you.’
Hassan spun away, cloak billowing, his camel skin boots kicking up small dust clouds as he stalked off. Killen took in the air of excitement on his young features.
Pushing the collapsed blanket shelter away from him, he stood up. His camel, its long neck turned his way, seemed to regard him with mild contempt.
‘I hate you,’ he said, forcefully.
The camel stared back, its jaws working. Killen suspected the camel didn’t care.
He stretched his arms and gazed around the camp. Everyone else was already up, packing away their blankets, taking a quick breakfast of dried meat or a sip of water. Each man wore light leather breastplates over their traditional off-white robes, and sleeveless, striped aba coats over the breastplates. No one wore their pointed helms, preferring a kufeya, a square of fabric folded into a triangle with a point on each shoulder and held in place by camel wool. He’d resisted at the start, preferring the helm, with its long chainmail neck and cheek guard. But his head had started to boil sufficiently for him to change his mind. He pulled his kufeya from under the blanket and settled it on to his head, arranging the material around his shoulders. His own breastplate was steel and he’d elected to go without its protection for now.
He, Killen Roche, officer of the imperial army, had gone native. His sun-bleached beard was long (the shaving had stopped very early on), his skin a dark brown. At a distance he might pass for one of the Erebeshi, the only anomaly being his standard issue cavalry sabre, rather than the scimitars and bows the scouts carried.
Killen worked his jaws and ran his tongue around his dry gums as he walked to the saddlebags piled next to his beast, and reached for a waterskin. Pulling the stopper, he took a swig, sluicing the cool liquid around his mouth and spitting it on to the ground where it was absorbed fast, leaving a dark patch on the rocky ground. He ran over it with his foot, feeling small stones, no bigger than the rivets in his armour, roll underneath. When he lifted his foot the patch was gone; no evidence of it ever having been there. The desert had swallowed it, like it did with anything humanity tried to impose. There was no permanency to be had here, no stability, no growth. That’s why the tribes moved on. It was impossible to stay in one place, the desert wouldn’t let you. He lifted the waterskin again and took several deep gulps. They had a good supply back in the caves. They’d been there longer than anywhere since they’d retreated into the high country. At first, he had been in daily fear of running out of water and food, doomed to wander the wasteland until madness and death took them all. Yet the Erebeshi were not bothered in the slightest. They had been born to this life and saw no future where they were not the princes of the desert. It was an alien culture but in the last year he had learned to trust their ways when it came to survival.
I may be a fool, but I thank the Emperor he granted me the wisdom to hide the worst of it. When word had reached them that the last Erebeshi city had fallen, that all pretence of imperial control had been lost, his command could have left him to fend for himself. God’s above, they could have slit his throat, and he wouldn’t have blamed them. Happily, they decided to bring him along and treat him like he was still their commanding officer. He had Jehali Rashad, the native captain of the scouts, to thank for that. And now, due to Rashad’s urging, they had embarked on an expedition to the northern borders of Erebesh, on the flimsy excuse of an uncorroborated report of signs of life. A whimsical adventure indeed.
If Killen wanted out, away from the desiccated earth and the heat, now would be the time. Strike out for more temperate climates. Perhaps the Riverlands. But he hadn’t and he wouldn’t. Because then he would be alone.
‘Major. Come along. You must see!’ Hassan beckoned to him from the top of a small rise. Others were heading in that direction, a hubbub of excitement building. Killen stoppered the skin and returned it to the saddlebag. The camp lay empty around him, only the camels left, so he quickened his pace, kicking up small puffs of red dust, climbing the slope, part of a gaggle of scouts. At the top, he found himself at the back of a group, who to a man were looking at the skies, hands raised to shield their eyes. He did the same, scanning the blue. Far away to the east, high in the sky, he spied the smallest wisp of a cloud.
‘What am I looking at?’ he asked no one in particular.
A few heads away Captain Rashad looked at him and smiled.
‘You are looking in the wrong place, Major. Look up there.’ Captain Rashad raised his hand and straightened his index finger.
Killen followed the line. He felt his eyes squint, his muscles pull his mouth into a frown.
‘Do you see it, Major?’ asked Hassan, his grinning teeth sharply highlighted against his dark skin.
Yes. He saw something.
‘What is it?’
‘Sadad.’ The Erebeshi officer called to their best scout. ‘You have the best eyes. Tell us what you see.’
Sadad, a wiry, moustachioed man of indeterminate age tugged at his beard and looked thoughtful. ‘I see a bird,’ he said.
‘He sees a bird, Major,’ stated Hassan.
‘A bird?’ How utterly unremarkable. Now that he had a name to give the dark shape in the sky, it made sense. The creature was little more than a dot, yet he could begin to make out a slight flaring to either side. A suggestion of wings. ‘Yes, it’s a bird. What of it? There are many predators out here.’
Rashad shook his head. ‘Not like thi
s.’
Was this what had dragged them out to the wilds, a rare bird? When some of their scouts had returned saying they’d seen signs of life, a thought he had not dared to entertain with all the evidence to the contrary, he had assumed they had meant human life. Now he was angry at himself for allowing a spark of hope. This was a waste of time. There could be no life the way he understood it.
He sighed heavily. It was a clear enough day to see the far ranges to the north; a week’s travel at least to even get close. North. That way lay home. Half a continent away, before his assignment compelled him to the barren wastes of the Jebel.
‘Right. We’ve seen the bird. Let’s return.’
‘No. Major Killen, you don’t understand.’ Captain Rashad turned to look at Killen. His sparsely bearded cheeks were taut, hollow. He shook his head, his lips still turned upwards into a wry, knowing grin.
‘That is not just a bird. That’s an eagle.’
CHAPTER TWO – THE NIDHAL
The sun stood alone in a deep blue sky. Far off to the horizon, there was the suggestion of cloud, but perhaps it was nothing more than the eddying of the snow that rested upon the tallest peaks. The spring heat was bringing plenty of meltwater down from the mountains, and the rivers provided a cooling relief to the Nidhals’ work. Not that Nutaaq was in any position to enjoy it right now. His head was hot and beaded with sweat, but he resisted the temptation to run his hand over his brow. Better the water run down his face than movement give away his position. He had already given a mighty effort to this hunt. It would have been better if he had removed his bearskin jacket, but he had neglected to cover himself in goose fat this morning. Their prey was too good at sniffing out his kind, and it was only the bearskin that disguised his scent.
His eyes moved left and right, scanning the undergrowth. His brothers were close, but he could not see them. That was good. After the snows, the trees had yet to recover their leaf and the bushes and grasses provided minimal cover. His family were wise to that, the cycle of the world was constant change and they adapted as necessary. What never changed were the ways of the beasts that shared their world. They were predictable, their needs driving them to the same habits. Nutaaq smiled.