War and the Wind

by Tyler Krings

  War and the Wind

  The Fate of Heaven, Book One

  Tyler Kring

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  © Copyright 2021 Tyler Krings

  All rights reserved.

  Editor; Alana Joli Abbott

  Cover art; Jeff Brown @ jeffbrowngraphics.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and places portrayed in this book are entirely products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  The first one goes out to Cody. For that little book you gave me at my wedding that started this whole journey.

  1

  The Battle

  General Ivan Emersin stood on a hilltop, a large clearing in the middle of a massive forest. As he inspected the area in front of him, the general could not see more than a few meters into the trees, the dead of night doing him no favors. He watched the men below, a company of soldiers that might as well have been children playing at war, not so much older than his own son back home. Early creases bordered his sharp eyes, and the frost of age found its way into his receding hairline. Around them, the forest was silent—not a bird nor a cricket, nor the gasp of a breeze—and the fog settled thickly on the wooded floor. Men lounged at their posts, lazily praying for the return of the morning light, nonchalantly fingering their swords as if to remind themselves that they were still there.

  Too much new blood, Emersin thought. The man next to him, a dozen years his younger and the lord commander of their army, made efforts to see through his looking glass. A few more years and maybe he would not have been incompetent. But those in the capital, from whom they received their orders, were eager. Impatient.

  “I don’t see anything,” Lord Commander Ustin Anarsin said, his voice full of confidence.

  “Your pardon, my lord, but I don’t think you will,” said Emersin. Also, its dark. “My men reported several birdcalls a short time ago and have reported nothing sense.”

  Ustin Anarsin lowered his looking glass and sighed, “A birdcall. In the forest.” He turned to the general and shook his head. “They said you were paranoid.” He began to walk back to his tent, motioning for his retainers. “Send a patrol if you must.”

  “We have. They have seen nothing the scouts have not already reported,” the general replied. The boy-commander stopped and made to insult him further, but the general interrupted. “There are no birds in this forest. None flying, and none chirping. We’ve seen little to no game. There is something wrong here, my lord.”

  Anarsin looked as though he would retort, but hesitated and thought better. He walked back to the general and took out his looking glass again.

  Emersin rolled his eyes. “As I said,” he said patiently, “you’ll not see anything.” The young lord drew it out all the same and peered into the dark shadows. “They are in the forest, and I am fairly certain that they already surround the camp.”

  “How are you sure?” the lord commander asked.

  “It’s what I would do.”

  “Will they attack?” The boy was beginning to allow a touch of fear into his voice.

  “That is my belief. They have every right to for this is their land.”

  “It is the Emperor’s land. Just ask all who fell before them.”

  “Very well recited, my lord, but all who fell before them were not given the option of tactical advantage,” said the general. “These are different. All other tribes met us on the open field. They will not.”

  Anarsin hesitated. “What is it you recommend?”

  “Retreat from the forest. Reassess.”

  The lord folded and stowed his eyeglass and looked to the general. “You know we can’t do that. Our scouts report their village has no defenses. No men looking to be soldiers, only women and children gathering herbs and weaving baskets. The finest in Imperial intelligence offers nothing to back up your claims. If we go back now, based on nothing more than a goddamn birdcall, my father would have my head.”

  “Blame the whole thing on me if you wish. It is my suspicion, with regards to what our scouts have reported, that what we see is exactly what they would have us believe.”

  “General,” the boy sighed, “we cannot turn around. Not yet.”

  The general turned back to the forest. “Then we must pray I'm wrong.”

  The road to the village was more a winding path that wove in and around dense foliage with trees as wide as seven men. Rough sketches of the village, provided by the scouts, described a city of homes, large and small, wrapping around the massive trees that reached nearly a kilometer into the sky. A carpet of leaves, ankle deep mud in some areas, and a meshwork of twisting vines made marching weary work, and they had to rest often. It was not till the second night that the general’s suspicions were confirmed.

  Every single man of the night’s previous watch, and those that came to relieve them, lay still. Congealed blood stained both armor and the forest floor where the stacks of bodies were found.

  Nearly two hundred men dead in total, and not a shout had been heard nor a shadow disturbed. The surviving soldiers raised their concerns with their sergeants, whispering of ghosts and demons, and spreading rumors like wildfire that the wood was haunted. The general knew better, of course. Ghosts and demons did not use steel to slit throats, nor practice murder with such precision.

  “We shall march all day and all night if we have to,” the lord commander was saying. The general watched as the younger man’s face contorted with anger and embarrassment. His youth was getting the better of him. His retainers eagerly nodded, presenting approval. The war council had convened in the command tent shortly after their crews had finished gathering up the dead. “They can’t have more than a few hundred men in this fucking forest. Eventually we will draw them out.”

  The general scratched his shaven chin. That is what I’m afraid of.

  “When we arrive, I want all the village women brought before the Inquisitor. He is to go through each and every one of them, in public, until the culprits of this act come forth!”

  Wonderful, the general thought sardonically, he will have the women raped and beaten in public to draw out the fighters. A proven effective strategy, if extreme, assuming the forest warriors would even let them get that close. Getting to the village would not be as easy as the lord commander thought.

  “If I may interrupt, my lord,” the general started. The crowd of officers hushed, minor nobles taking cues from the respectful silence of the more seasoned commanders. Anarsin reigned in his anger with visible difficulty. A moment passed before he nodded to the general. “My lords,”
Emersin began, “a more cautious approach may merit consideration. A headlong rush into unfamiliar terrain will likely yield poor results, and it is exactly what they—”

  “If its war with the Empire that they want, then I say we should give them such that they will forever regret this insult!” A noble interrupted to a choir of agreement. Even some of the seasoned commanders close to the general’s age nodded along.

  “A war we started,” the general pointed out. “This is obviously a trap.”

  “What difference would it make if it is?” asked Colonel Trandal. The general’s brows raised in surprise at the blatant indifference. The “Colonel” was a noble, and his rank a gift of birth, not experience. “They will spring their trap and die on our shields. Without the cover of night and against our numbers, they’ll not stand a chance.” Another chorus. The general looked from man to man, seeing the delight in their faces, a wild savagerly in their eyes, and he suspected his cause lost. How he had suddenly lost the trust of men he had served with for the last decade, he did not know.

  He began again with a growl, “My lords—”

  “We’ve heard your words, general,” Anarsin interrupted, “but this is my army. I will take what you’ve said into consideration.”

  No. You won’t.

  The lord commander turned to his other advisors in clear dismissal. The general watched for a moment more, scanning the officers’ and advisors’ reactions to the battle plans. This does not make sense. A flash of reflected light in the corner of the tent caught his eye. He stared and found a seated noble, lounging with his feet stretched. A man he had never seen nor noticed before, cleaning his fingernails. The noble noticed his attention and smiled. The lips curled around serrated canines and decaying gums, creeping up too far along his cheeks. The noble waved his fingers. The general grimaced and left the command tent.

  Leaving the council behind him, the general made for the practice fields. He passed men as they marched or huddled around cook fires in large groups, their eyes constantly scanning the treetops, suspicious of every move of the canopy. The Imperial Army had drawn in its picket lines; barricades with sharpened tips guarded a smaller perimeter, bringing in everyone a little closer. The smells of man and animal doubled its usual pungency. From a bird’s eye, it was a circle of white on a field of green.

  He found his second, Captain Vernon Athos, in the fields with his personal guard. Vernon perched upon a rain barrel, smoking his pipe and barking commands at soldiers practicing with their shields and swords. Younger than the general by only a year, the man had aged just as well. He kept his grey hair short and his chin shaven; years of exercise disguised time’s efforts.

  The general approached, and Vernon spoke first without looking in his direction. “Bad business, the watch.”

  “Aye.”

  “They’ve been there for days. Knew the shifts, and where to hide the bodies.”

  “Aye.”

  “Lots more going to die.”

  The general gravely nodded. “Aye.”

  “Ivan.” Vernon met the general’s eyes, “They’re not like the rest. Not going to lay down and pay their taxes. We should turn back.”

  The general sighed. “I’ve said as much. Something has happened.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Something has our…superiors stirred up, and I don’t think it’s the murder of the night watch. We’re marching at dawn.”

  Vernon spit. “Well, gotta die somehow.”

  “Cheery. How stand our men?”

  “Old. Want to go home.”

  “Aye.” The general took a deep breath before taking out his pipe. “One more village. Then we can go home.”

  Vernon stared at the general for a long time before he took another puff and looked again at his soldiers and friends in the yard with a frown.

  “There you are!” One of the commander’s retainers, a lord of little merit, hurried to them. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “And now you’ve found me,” the general answered.

  “Yes. You’ve orders from the lord commander,” he said quickly.

  The general stared.

  The boy continued, “You and your unit are to have the honor of commanding the forward guard tomorrow. The lord commander expressed his wishes to have his best general lead the charge and show these cowards how the empire does battle.”

  Emersin waited before he responded, “How generous.”

  The boy nodded. “I will have the honor of accompanying you, sir, as your second.”

  Vernon cocked an eyebrow.

  “I already have a second,” said the General.

  “Yes, of course. However, Lord Commander Anarsin feels that a noble should be present should things prove difficult.”

  Vernon barked a laugh. “I feel better already.”

  “As do I,” the general agreed, doing his best to hide the sarcasm. “Tell the lord commander that I find this most acceptable, and we would be honored to have you ride with us.”

  The boy saluted and turned on his heel. The general watched him go until he was well beyond the yards. “Anarsin must not like that fellow.”

  Vernon smiled, but he did not laugh. “Aye. Or us. Ya must have said something that pissed him off.”

  “Pissed something off.”

  Vernon’s look posed a question. The General waved it away, “Nothing. Just a feeling.”

  They marched in long files with the spear infantry leading. The cavalry followed behind, making use of the deep furrows in the heavy foliage left by the thousand marching boots. The general’s personal guard were dispersed among the leading squads, whipping the soldier’s worn motivations and increasing fatigue. The two-day march to the village had not been made easy, as rain battered their clothing and bogged down the soles of their shoes.

  Lord Commander Anarsin had given the order on the second day that they were to march long into the night before making camp so as to come upon the village in the morning. They left their supply train behind with a single company, taking only a few days’ rations with them, and as much gear as that they could fit on their backs. The rains stopped just short of midnight; the ground swallowed boots as easily as hooves and the wheels of wagons. Shadows danced in the rising fog. Shadows danced in and out of vision as soon as one turned their head. The men spoke quietly among themselves of seeing ghosts among the leaves above them. It was, by any means of measurement, a shit situation.

  “It’s a shit situation,” said Vernon quietly.

  “Aye,” the general replied.

  “The look of it, Anarsin’s going to make us go all night.”

  “A bold strategy,” said the noble serving as the general’s second as he rode up next to them. The general looked to the eavesdropper with admonition but said nothing. “Teach these barbarians the throes of proper warfare, before they even know what hit them.”

  “Isn’t too much ‘bout warfare that’s proper,” Vernon mumbled. The general gave a small nod in agreement. A sudden command from the front brought them to a halt. The lines dispersed quickly into a guard formation; shields up and spears forward.

  “What is it? What’s happening?” the young noble questioned. The general ignored him and nodded to Vernon to find the source of the order. The old soldier rode forth along the edge of the lines, forging his way through uncleared underbrush. The general waited with the fidgeting lord long enough to grow impatient before a spearman appeared at his side.

  “General, Captain Athos requests you join him at the front.” The general waved the man away, and he disappeared as quickly as he had arrived. He set his horse on the path Vernon had left for him at a slow canter, and the lord followed. The closer the general got to the front, the more he noticed the growing nervousness among the ranks. Soldiers danced back and forth from heel to heel, spears wavered in declining discipline on all sides, and many hid behind their shields rather than watch the flanks.

  As the general approached the front, he saw the reason f
or their apprehension. A man in a broad brimmed hat and the mask of a demon sat cross-legged before the army. A longsword lay across his legs still sheathed, his head bowed as if in prayer. Vernon had dismounted and stood before the lone figure perhaps a dozen yards away.

  “It’s one of them,” the lord whispered.

  “Aye. Be quiet.” The general dismounted and strode to Vernon.

  Vernon spoke as he drew closer, “He says he would break words with you.”

  The general said nothing. He looked to Vernon and motioned for him to return to the ranks before he walked forward, loosening his sword in its scabbard.

  “I am General Ivan Emersin,” he said.

  “I know who you are,” the figure said, his voice thick with an accent the general could not place. “You are to leave. This is your warning.”

  The general took a moment to peer through the fog and cast and eye to the treetops. “Men have died already. A peaceful transition will be…very difficult at this point.” The figure cocked his head, and his eyes seemed to glow.

  “So be it,” the man stood. “Fight well this day, Ivan Emersin.”

  The general watched as the man turned his back and walked into the fog, vanishing entirely. Behind him, men began to scream. Emersin whirled, expecting to see the native army coming through the fog. He witnessed no such thing. The demons came from underneath.

  Men in cloaks and dark masks made no sound as they sprang from concealed places in the foliage while arrows rained from the trees. The shadows whirled in a wild storm of steel, slaughtering whole squads of spearmen, too quick to allow any chance of proper defense. Their finely edged swords held no regard for shields or armor, cutting just as easily through bone and muscle. The young lord took an arrow in his back with a cry of horror and fell from his horse. The general rushed to grab the boy by the arm, dragging the noble through the mud and leaves as the young man writhed in pain. Blood gushed from the lad’s mouth and the boy spasmed. A strong arm grasped the general’s, dragging him from the dying youth. Ivan barely registered Vernon’s bellowed words that made him turn to witness his men breaking.