by Sandell Wall
Epilogue
THE LEGION CAMP at Delgrath was deserted. Only a token force still occupied the town, the rest had marched away to join Sir Lorent. Those that had been left behind were the unwanted: old veterans too aged to stand in a shield-wall, green and untrained recruits, and the misfits who should never have been allowed into the Legion in the first place. One of those misfits stood on the perimeter of the camp, staring at the eastern horizon. Tall and thin, he did not look like a Legion soldier. While he peered into the distance, his long-fingered hands twitched involuntarily, like they had a mind of their own. He appeared to be waiting for something, and he seemed content to wait however long he must.
——
A solitary dark figure wandered through a blasted wasteland. He traveled fast, his cloak wrapped tight around his body to keep out the grit and sand. Ahead of him an ancient fortress of obsidian and bone reared out of the bleak landscape. With its sharp angles and bizarre geometry, the structure did not look like it was built upwards from a foundation. It was embedded in the earth like it had fallen from the sky.
Wary and methodical, the dark figure circled the fortress, watching and waiting. He observed for a day and a night, going no closer. Finally, on the second day, he entered the ruins.
He chided himself for his fear. The castle was abandoned. Whatever people had made it were long gone, erased from even his extensive knowledge of history.
In the bowels of the fort he stepped through a dark doorway and immediately sensed another presence. Before he could react, runelight exploded around him and every muscle in his body went rigid. Ropes were looped around his wrists and ankles and then pulled tight, lifting him from the floor and suspending him in the air. He was stuck like an insect in an arachnid's web.
He struggled with all of his considerable strength, but he could not break the paralysis sinking into his muscles. In his pouch were runes of his own that would reduce this interloper to cinders and ash, but he could not reach them.
Out of the shadows stepped a nightmarish figure. A figure he had seen before. Lithe and quick, covered completely in silver armor, the thing was taller than he was. The proportions of its sinister horned helm were twisted and wrong, hiding an inhuman physique. Behind slits where eyes should be, there was only blackness.
Once he was immobile, it approached him slowly, each step placed with exaggerated calculation. Long, talon-like fingers removed a metal circlet from a pouch.
“Thou didst not heed mine warning, pawn of the false emperor,” the thing said, its voice raising the hackles on his neck. It hissed as it talked, biting off each word.
The paralysis was complete—he could not even move his head. He was helpless as the creature placed the circlet on his brow.
“We welcome thine presence, Brax of the Rune Guard,” the thing said. “To the forgotten empire.”
Burning like cold fire, the runes on the metal crown blazed into life. Even though paralyzed, Brax could still scream. His scream intensified with each heartbeat, growing louder and louder, finally reaching a terrible crescendo as he crossed thresholds of pain and terror that he never knew existed. He screamed as his person, his identity, his very sense of self was obliterated. He screamed because that was all he could remember doing.
Outside the room, the only evidence of his anguish were the birds that circled the ancient fortress, disturbed from their roosts by the wails of some poor, miserable creature.
About the Author
Sandell Wall is a computer programmer/business analyst by trade. He lives in Michigan with his wonderful wife and newborn son. He has embarked on a personal quest to write a million words. This book represents the fulfillment of one tenth of that quest. Rune Empire is his first book.
You can visit his website at http://www.sandellwall.com. He would love it if you stopped by and joined his mailing list.