Fallen Empire

by Keith McArdle

  Tork clenched his fists against the deepening numbness sweeping across his knuckles and into his palms. “Please do, sire. I have a feeling tonight will be much worse.”

  * * *

  Two miles north of the city’s northern gate was the military cemetery. Tens of thousands of graves lay in neat rows and columns. Each headstone indicated where a warrior who’d served his king and country had laid down his life.

  At the centre of the graveyard, inside a large open square, Tork sat mounted upon Might, staring out upon the near entirety of the King’s Own formed up facing him. To his right, in extended line, were ten captains, and to his left, the remaining nine. In the area of short clipped green grass between the officers and men of the King’s Own lay six coffins. Beside them, and enshrouded in the Blue and White flag of Wendurlund, lay the lifeless bodies of four horses. The warhorses who’d died carrying their warriors into battle would be buried in the same grave as their human counterparts. Immediately behind each coffin stood a riderless horse, held by a bugler. Two of the horses were the steeds belonging to dead soldiers, the others being spares used especially for the ceremony.

  Off to the side of the mighty formation, stood either side of the coffins, huddled a small number of family members, watching the ceremony as they dabbed already damp handkerchiefs to their eyes, hugged one another, or comforted weeping children, who’d never again be able to feel safe in the arms of their fathers. But around the family of the dead was a much larger group of family members belonging to those soldiers still living. They attended not only to show their respect but to comfort the forlorn.

  A truly special unit.

  Tork looked away from the men and women huddled around the group who’d lost a loved one. He returned his attention to the priest whose voice continued to boom out over the formation, entombing the dead into the care of the gods. When the priest spoke his last word, silence reigned supreme. A gentle wind flittered across the field, touching uniforms, brushing across horses’ manes, and playing with the mighty Wendurlund flag, which flew high above the formation.

  The buglers brought the instruments to their lips and blasted out a single command. Stand down! They allowed the bugles to drop to their sides. Silence ensuing once more.

  Tork deliberately looked from one coffin to the next. Silently giving his respect to each soldier.

  Bringing the instruments back to their mouths, the buglers sounded a funeral call. Your duty has ended!

  Tork stared out at the horizon and focused upon a large cloud nestled above the distant treetops, but it disappeared in a green blur. He blinked and felt the tear slide down his cheek.

  Stand down, brother, stand down!

  VII

  Miriam lay on her bed, the top sheet pulled up to her chin. She stared into the darkness. Sleep would not come, and she’d been turning and tossing without avail since she’d retired to her bed. She knew exhaustion would take her come dawn, and the struggle to keep her eyes open throughout the day would be a chore. Miriam was envious of the muffled snores she could hear rumbling from the adjoining bedroom in which Endessa slept. She took a deep breath and let it out through pursed lips.

  That seems to help.

  She closed her eyes and felt the fickle call of slumber. Such a faithless beast was sleep, that no matter how close, it would dart away or melt into the shadows at the slightest movement or noise. Faint horn blasts rent the sky. She frowned. Intermittently, and in seldom the same rhythm, the horn blasts continued.

  Must be some party! Hopefully the Watch will take care of them before long, I need sleep!

  Miriam took a few deeper breaths and allowed herself to relax, sleep once again beginning to tease her.

  It’s good to be home, however. Although Vyder may have become a changed man, he was still alive. Miriam hadn’t seen Gorgoroth take over Vyder’s body since they departed the cave several days before.

  Thank the gods. If I never see or hear from Gorgoroth again, it’ll be too soon.

  She heard a crackle roll out over the city, and her eyes snapped open. The sound came again, then again. Slumber fled like the fickle bastard she knew it to be. An ache built in her chest, and as it increased to the point of discomfort, Miriam realised she’d been holding her breath. She exhaled in a rush and sat up. Miriam had been but a child when her father departed to hunt their dinner. She could vaguely remember the distant musket shot echoing from the forest maybe an hour later. Aside from mouth-watering memories of the juicy rabbit they’d eaten at the dinner table that night, the noise of her father’s trusty musket had sounded for all the world like what she’d just heard. A mighty boom thundered through the night sky like some monstrous explosion. Then silence. More horn blasts, so distant she was unsure if it was her imagination.

  Another crackle cut through the night sky from what must have been the outer western edge of Lisfort. A second musket barrage fired, a third, a fourth, then a fifth in well-timed, consistent barrages. She flung her legs out of bed, slammed bare feet against the cold ground, and stood, heart thundering within her breast. She rushed out of her room, bustled down the corridor past the living room, and opened the door leading into the kitchen.

  Miriam stood by the open window of the kitchen, staring out towards the west. It was difficult to know the exact time without one of those expensive, round, timekeeping devices the pretentiously rich carried in their pockets. But she knew the sun had dipped below the horizon many hours before. Another slew of distant musket fire echoed. She thought she could hear yelling or screaming, but it was so far away she couldn’t be sure. If it wasn’t some stunt or military exercise, something serious was taking place in Lisfort.

  She heard the front door creak open and stood on her tip-toes to look down at the road in front of Vyder’s mansion. The shadow of her master stood in the middle of the street. He clasped his blunderbuss but remained silent and still, facing west.

  Padding from the kitchen, she made her way downstairs, brushed past the half-open door and out onto the street. She stopped beside Vyder.

  “You heard it, too?”

  He grunted.

  She glanced at her master. The bright blue glowing orbs indicating Gorgoroth’s presence were absent.

  “It was musket fire. I’ve never heard that many muskets inside the city walls before.”

  She nodded and sighed. “I thought it was muskets. What’s happening, Vyder?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Could it be a Huronian attack?

  She voiced her concern, but it went unanswered.

  They stood in the middle of the street for quite some time, but the musket fire, which had crackled consistently for such a long duration, remained silent. It was clear, whatever had occurred, the threat had been contained.

  I hope.

  She turned away and made her way towards the mansion. “I’m going back to bed, Vyder. I shall have breakfast ready for you at sunup.”

  “Thank you, Miriam.”

  She’d already helped him gather the few belongings he’d need to survive on his mission. She’d never travelled outside the mighty city limits of Lisfort, so it meant nothing to her when he explained the road he travelled would take him through the forests and badlands of Wendurlund. Then it would be on into Huronian territory.

  Enemy territory. A place where they’ll kill a Highlander on sight, from what I’ve heard. You think you live among barbarians here in Lisfort until you hear something like that.

  She slid back into bed and pulled the cover up to her chin. Sleep betrayed her still. She was tired, but her exhaustion belied Miriam’s eyes.

  Just after breakfast, she knew Vyder would depart on his mission.

  Whoever, or whatever, you are, Gorgoroth, you’d better watch and keep him safe out there.

  Miriam forced closed her eyes, took a deep breath ,and allowed exhaustion to sweep her being, spiriting her away into the dark blankets of slumber.

  * * *


  Vyder stood in the darkness, clasping the cold metal of the blunderbuss. Watching and waiting. For what, he wasn’t sure, but it was clear something was amiss inside the city walls. An uprising? A bar brawl gone wrong? A Huronian scouting group venturing too close to the city? If word on the street was to be believed, small scouting patrols from the King’s Own were often sent out into Huronian territory to collect information and news on the activities of their enemy. What was to stop the Huronian Army from doing something similar? And if what he’d heard was indeed a Huronian scouting patrol being engaged, would it mean all-out war?

  If that’s the case, will my mission be cancelled? Will I still get paid?

  The front door of his mansion creaked and soft footfalls padded towards him through the darkness. One stride sounded much shorter than the other, indicating a limp.

  Not Miriam then.

  “How goes it?” the Wiccan’s voice broke the silence.

  “Not sure.” He placed the butt of the weapon upon the cobbled street and held the barrel with a hand. “Something seems to have gone horribly wrong out there.”

  She touched his elbow. “I’m not interested in what’s going on out there.” She stepped in front of him and pointed at the patch of skin between his eyes. “I’m more bothered about what’s going on in there!”

  “You mean Gorgoroth?”

  “Has he revisited you at all since I retired to my bed?”

  “Not a skerrick. It’s almost as if he never was.”

  Endessa turned away to face the direction from which the musket shots had so recently rolled across the city. “He’s up to something,” she muttered. “Oh, by the gods, he’s up to something alright. Although, I know not what.”

  “What could he possibly do?”

  “It’s not a good idea to underestimate him, Vyder. Gorgoroth is much more powerful in physical form. More power is at his disposal now than he has ever known.” She turned to Vyder and clutched his arm. “I mean no disrespect, as you seem a good boy, but I hope I don’t grow to regret using him to bring you back from death’s clutches.”

  “Thank you.” He chuckled. “I think.”

  She grunted and released his arm.

  Vyder stared out into the vast blackness. “You think he had something to do with whatever happened out there tonight?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you have any way of communicating with him?”

  She hawked and spat, rubbing the globule into the street with a foot.

  Charming.

  “Not now that he is in physical form, no. I can communicate with many of the…” she fell silent.

  The assassin watched her intently. “What?”

  “I’m already telling you too much, Vyder. Things you need not know. Things you should not know.”

  He grinned. “I won’t tell anyone.” He touched his nose and winked. “I promise.”

  She cursed and whispered a string of words under her breath Vyder could not understand. It sounded almost like some kind of odd chant.

  “What’s that you say?”

  Endessa ignored him, turned away, and walked back inside, slamming the front door behind her.

  Vyder shrugged. “Nice talk.”

  Lifting the blunderbuss from the ground, he rested it upon one shoulder and made his way towards his home. He tried the door latch.

  At least the crazy old bat didn’t lock the door, I suppose.

  He closed the door behind him and engaged the locking mechanism. Padding upstairs without haste, he strode to the master bedroom, leaned the weapon against the wall closest to the door and collapsed upon the bed. He closed his eyes, the dark, blurry heaviness of sleep sweeping around him immediately. He allowed himself to be taken away, and as slumber settled upon him, he heard Verone’s voice, clear as crystal. She called for him.

  * * *

  Miriam stood just outside the front door, watching her master fastening a bulging saddlebag. “Are you sure you have everything?”

  He pulled tight the leather strap and allowed the steel tang of the buckle to bite into one of the holes. “I’m sure, Miriam. Worry not.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need to take your blunderbuss? You might need it. It may save your life, Vyder!”

  He held up his hands, and smiled. “I’m sure, Miriam. It’s loaded with shot, and you know where the powder and rounds are. At least you can feel safe knowing you have it at your disposal if needed.”

  She nodded.

  “I’m an assassin. If I needed to shoot that weapon, it means everything’s gone to hell, anyway.”

  That makes me feel so much better.

  Miriam nodded again. She walked out to him and gave him a brief hug. “Stay safe. You too, Endessa.”

  The Wiccan grunted and spat onto the street, ignoring her.

  “Always.” He swung up into the saddle, patting Storm’s neck. “Thanks for breakfast. Delicious as always.”

  Miriam smiled, refusing to cry. After all, this may very well be the last time she ever saw her master. Her struggle disappeared, and she stifled a chuckle as she watched Endessa wrestle her way up into the saddle of a much smaller bay mare. Vyder had purchased the horse for the Wiccan the day before.

  Endessa shouted a string of curses as she attempted to clamber into the saddle.

  “The horse suits you,” Vyder called before looking back at Miriam with a grin and winked.

  Miriam held her hands over her mouth and tried not to burst out laughing.

  To the horse’s credit, it stood patiently in place, waiting for Endessa to mount. Eventually, red-faced, she was successful.

  “It’s been many-a-year since I’ve ridden a horse, I’ll have you know.”

  Miriam smiled. You don’t say!

  “Gods keep you safe!” Miriam called, waving at the pair as they turned away.

  Vyder swivelled in the saddle, waved once, and then disappeared around a corner in the road. Miriam walked back inside, closed the door, and locked it.

  Then she allowed herself to cry.

  * * *

  Vyder watched the bay mare walking beside him. The animal moved well, and the muscle bulging with each step beneath the glistening coat suggested she was powerful and fit. “How is she?”

  Endessa glanced up at Vyder and shrugged. “Good so far. The journey is yet young, however. Time will tell.”

  “You doubt my ability to choose a worthy steed?” Vyder smiled. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised, Endessa.”

  They weaved their way through the streets, winding towards the eastern gate. When the sun was close to its zenith, the pair had merged onto the main arterial road leading towards the gate. They followed the flow of traffic like sheep.

  Eventually they’d made their way through the great eastern gate and along the road that would, in time, lead them into Huronian territory.

  * * *

  Tork sat before his officers at the table within the King’s Own headquarters. He’d still not slept, much less removed his armour or bathed the stink of stale blood and sweat from him. Captain Beel, further down the table, was in a similar state, bags under his eyes. The others were mostly silent, lost in their thoughts as they waited for Jad to return with orders from the king.

  He felt cold fury sweep the room and saw it glint in the eyes of his officers. No one and nothing killed men of the King’s Own without justice being served.

  Tork looked from one man to the next, each face as grim and fierce as the last. They’d march into the fires of Hell if required. Nothing less would do, either. Not in the King’s Own. Not now. Not ever.

  The doors groaned open, held wide by two soldiers to allow Jad to stride through. Every head turned, and Tork supressed a smile as he watched Jad swallow as he approached the long table.

  “Good afternoon, Commander Tork.” He nodded at the others. “Officers.”

  “Afternoon, sire.” Took climbed to his feet. “What news?
”

  “The king sees fit to allow four hundred soldiers of his most royal guard to fight in defence of the city this evening.”

  That’s more bloody like it!

  “Commander Tork!”

  Tork placed his fists upon the table and leaning forward. “Sire?”

  “His majesty has decreed that you will not proceed to the wall this evening. If you die in battle here, the King’s Own have no overall leader should the wall fall to the enemy.”

  “Every member of this unit is as important as the soldier beside him, thus I’m no more important than anyone else here!”

  Jad held up his hands and closed his eyes. “I’m just passing on the message, Commander.”

  To the pit with your fucking message!

  “I understand, sire.”

  “His highness has also declared martial law and has ordered the army be deployed in support, although it will take another day, maybe two, before they will be in a position to fight.”

  Tork took his seat. “Sounds like his majesty is taking it a little more seriously than before.”

  Jad ignored that. “As you know, most of the inhabitants of the western quarter have been evacuated and placed in temporary accommodation in the city centre. When the army is deployed properly, the last few families who’ve refused to move will be forcibly relocated. Once the army has taken up positions, the view is the soldiers of both the Watch and the King’s Own will be pulled back.”

  “Until soldiers start dying in their droves,” a voice muttered further down the table.

  Tork did not rebuke the officer because it was his same thought.

  “Questions?”

  Silence greeted the king’s advisor.

  “No?”

  Faces creased with savagery and fury returned his questioning glance.

  “Well then, Commander Tork, I’ll leave it with you.”

  Took stood once more. “Thank you, sire.”

  “A good day to you all. Commander, I’ll see you in the war room tomorrow morning.”

  “Aye, sire.”

  He waited for the doors to thump closed before he turned back to his officers.