Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1)

by Pasquariello, Jonathan

  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.

  Chapter 7: Keeping Order

  A ladder was quietly placed at the foot of the city’s outer wall, careful not to disturb the sleeping city of Hillsford.

  The cold breeze of night hushed and lulled the soldiers that stood watch, the lonely few that remained of the city’s garrison. Their comrades added to the army marching north. There was no thought of a counter attack from the Kilgarian tribesmen. Barely a quarter of their army remained intact. Saris concluded that they would flee further north to fortify their head village. He was wrong.

  Two men climbed the ladder.

  Once they reached the top, they kicked the ladder into the underbrush, hiding it from anyone passing by. They hurried to the gatehouse, easily evading the few guards that remained watchful.

  There was only one guard stationed there overnight, and another patrolling the street.

  The two intruders split up.

  One lowered himself off the wall and onto the top of the gatehouse, dropping to a prone position. He hung over the side of the building, sneaking a glance through the window. The guard was desperately fighting off sleep. The intruder slipped off the side of the small building in complete silence.

  His victim shot awake to feel the cold blade of a dagger enter the base of his skull.

  The man held the guard, noiselessly guiding his body to the floor. He leaned his head out the door, spotting his partner dragging the other watchman’s limp body into the shadows of a nearby alley.

  He was to wait there until signaled that the street was clear. After a moment, a shrill whistle cut through the eerie silence, and he jumped into action. He moved to the gate, unlatching the wooden brackets that held it shut.

  The large door slowly rose and a group of men, all wearing black leather armor and carrying shortswords and round bucklers, rushed into the city.

  * * *

  Saris took the old baron of Hillsford’s quarters. The Baron had been dead for a year and there was still no replacement for the far-off border city. Kuran, the surgeon, had found a woman from the town to nurse Archaos. She was staying in a room with him and a few of the other attendants.

  A fire roared in a large, stone hearth. The General was enjoying the comforts of staying in the city overnight. His usual nights were spent on a cot, in a cold tent. He welcomed the warmth of a fireplace, plush furniture, and bedding.

  Thandril had found Saris there and told of what he discovered in the north.

  Saris stood by the fireplace, glass of alcohol in hand, wrapped in a thick, fur robe. He had found some unknown bottle of dark liqueur, hidden in the dead Baron’s office, to accompany Thandril’s news of his enemies plot to kill him. The fire flickered, impetuous shadows dancing across the walls. It was the only source of light, and the harsh glow was daunting.

  The druid sat in an overstuffed chair sipping at his own glass, “We need to move trusted men into your personal guard. If Melidarius plans to kill you, he will send someone to do it in the shadows, behind closed doors, not on the battlefield. They will use deception and guile. I fear we need to be wary of a spy.”

  Saris looked at him, “Do not worry, friend. I only trust you; everyone else is a suspect. How else do you think I got this rank?” he laughed, “It certainly wasn’t this ruggedly handsome face.”

  “I am General of the Talurian army because I trust no one. I have never shared my thoughts, feelings, or fears to anyone; because I know, the moment I do, someone will take advantage—take an edge. I rotate my guard every week from random companies. Moreover, their Captains can vouch for each of them. I’ve had assassins try to kill me four times, no doubt sent from one or another of the house leaders vying for my title.” Saris held out his fingers in an exaggerated fashion, then swiped them away. “But, every one of them I discovered and personally dismembered, scattering their remains before the trueblood houses as a warning.”

  Thandril suppressed a grin toward his intoxicated master. “I know you can protect yourself, but I would feel better if we doubled the guard tonight.”

  “Tonight? Nobody even knows we are here.”

  * * *

  A group of Talurian soldiers moved through the empty street toward the city watch’s main headquarters.

  “Corporal, why do we have to be doing this in the middle of the night? We haven’t slept in three days! Can the watchmen not keep a sleeping city under control?” asked one of the soldiers.

  Rurik motioned for his men to halt.

  His eyes were bloodshot and ringed with dark circles. He had not slept since the funeral for Aamin. “You all know very well that the city watch has been reduced to nothing. All Hillsford had was a handful of local men, offering to act as a temporary militia. Sergeant Linket wants us to check in with the different offices throughout the city to make sure everything is going smoothly. I have now given more information than any of you require to follow orders so, if everyone is finished complaining about not getting their beauty sleep, let us continue.”

  Rurik scanned the ragged group of soldiers, lusting for a complaint to explode upon. Nothing came.

  He sighed. “Let’s move.”

  Shortly after his company finished escorting the General to Hillsford, Rurik was told by his Captain that he and a small detachment of soldiers were going to stay in the city under the command of Sergeant Linket while they marched back north.

  Klaric ran up alon
gside Rurik. “How are you holding up?”

  “Not now.”

  He stopped and pulled Rurik around, “Okay, you need to stop. We need to talk about what happened. It’s alright to be upset, but killing yourself from exhaustion is not a good way to grieve. You look horrible—”

  Rurik put his hand up, cutting him off. “Klaric, if you ever touch your commanding officer like that again…”

  “Commanding officer?” Klaric contorted his face. “Commanding officer? I’ve been your friend for over twenty years, and now my ‘commanding officer’ is threatening me? I’m just trying to help.” Klaric shook his head and moved back into formation.

  Klaric was Rurik’s best friend. Meeting as young boys, they shared in every major shaping event from childhood to adulthood. So, when Rurik signed up for the army, Klaric was right behind him. Klaric had known Aamin since he was born and felt every bit a brother to him.

  The squadron walked the rest of the way in silence.

  The city watch headquarters was located near the outer, northern gate. Upon arrival, they found the building filled with commotion. Local men entering and exiting the different rooms, equipping themselves with weapons and putting on the city’s tabard of blue and yellow.

  Rurik learned the man in charge was the retired Sheriff of the city, Gertin—The retired lawman heard they needed someone with experience and thought it would be nice to be back at his old station.

  “Sheriff! What is going on here?” Rurik shouted.

  Gertin turned to find the Corporal standing in the doorway to the jail.

  “Uh…Sir…I…I had things going smoothly until more and more men kept showing up to volunteer and then quickly lost control.” He shook his head, cradling the side of his face. “The acting Baron of the city has offered a hundred gold coins to every man that steps forward for service. The offer has attracted every low-life, thief, and beggar in the city.”

  Rurik nodded his understanding and climbed up onto a desk in the middle of the room. “Everyone stop!”

  The noise was sucked out of the room, and all the men turned their heads. Snarled faces and hungry eyes stared back at him.

  “If you have not signed up already, return your weapon and tabard to the quartermaster and leave. We are not accepting more men. You may all go home or wherever you came from.”

  While some of the men gave in and started making their way back to the armory, a few started cursing at Rurik and drawing their weapons.

  “We were told that if we came, there would be payment!” shouted a man from the back of the room.

  “Yeah! We want our hundred gold pieces!” yelled another, moving through the sea of bodies toward the corporal.

  Rurik still stood atop the desk. His sword quickly unsheathed at the sight of other weapons being drawn. “It would be wise for all of you to drop your weapons and leave. Now!”

  Rurik was flushed with anger. He jumped down off the desk and waved to one of the soldiers at the door to bring in help. The man who was moving through the crowd raised his sword, leveling it with Rurik’s throat.

  “You are not going to yell at me now are you?” He said with a toothless grin. Then he started to laugh and the men around joined in.

  “You don’t want to do this, sir,” Rurik warned.

  Klaric rushed through the doorway, followed by a group of soldiers.

  Rurik put his hand up. “It’s alright Klaric.” He looked back at the man holding the sword to his throat. “This is your last chance.”

  He laughed again. “Oh, you soldiers are all the same. Just give me my damn money.”

  Rurik lashed out with lightning fast speed and knocked the sword away from the man. Then proceeded to pull a dagger out of his own belt and pinned the man’s hand to the desk. He screamed in pain. Blood pooled under his palm, staining the antique wood.

  “Does anyone else want to question my orders?” Rurik looked around the room intently and witnessed the gathering mob of ruffians slowly start to break. The headquarters soon emptied, save for Sheriff Gertin and a handful of signed militia.

  “Okay, now that we have a semblance of order here, let me hear of the progress you are making, Sheriff.”

  “W-well, sir, the city seems to be calm and under control and, thanks to you, here as well. I apologize for my lack of ability at handling the situation, S-sir,” the old Sheriff bowed nervously.

  “It’s alright—been awhile since you’ve dealt with these kinds of men.”

  A guard came running through the door of the jail. “Sheriff! Fenton had not reported in from the eastern gate for three hours, so I sent a man over to check in. Fenton’s dead! His body dragged into a nearby alley. Sir, his throat was cut, from ear to ear.”

  Rurik moved past Gertin. “Leave it to us.”

  Chapter 8: Intruder

  Thandril carried the passed-out drunk from the chair to his bed and left to check on the baby. He walked down the stone hallways of the Keep, stopping occasionally to appreciate the expensive artwork and antique furniture arranged throughout the many wide-open living rooms. The baby was in the west wing, under Kuran’s care. Thandril had to move through the rose garden and inner courtyard just to reach it.

  He went up a small flight of stairs and rounded the last corner before entering the long hallway to Kuran’s room. A sharp inhale escaped his lips when he did not find the two guards from Saris’ private detachment at the door.

  Thandril poked his head in. Kuran was sitting by the fire, puffing on a pipe, while the nurses lay spread out, asleep on the floor. Archaos lay quietly in a cradle next to the doctor.

  Kuran heard the slight creak of the wooden door. “Ah, Thandril, here to check on the boy? Come in.”

  The druid quietly closed the door behind him and took a seat next to Kuran, “Did you send the guards away?”

  “Yes, I did. They seemed exhausted, and we are fine here, as you can see,” Kuran smiled, indicating the sleeping ladies around the room and the crib near the fireplace.

  “You are fine now, but I have a feeling something will strike when we least expect it. Melidarius has planned an attack on Saris. I just want to make sure his son is safe.”

  “You are a good friend to that man.” Kuran rocked back and forth in his chair while taking another puff of his pipe. The sweet perfumed tobacco filled the air with the smell of honeysuckle. “He is lucky to have someone looking out for him—someone who cares about his wellbeing.”

  “I am fortunate to have him. I remember little about my past before meeting Saris. He was a private in the Emperor’s army at the time he found me,” Thandril paused, thinking. “Nearly twenty years back now. Saris must have seen something special in me, in the sobbing boy curled up in the scorched ruins of a desolated village. He clothed, sheltered and protected me.”

  “He has his moments.” Kuran grinned. “I’ve had my fair share of eccentric dealings with the General over the last decade.”

  Thandril nodded in understanding. “After a while, I started to develop the special abilities and powers of my people, a sort of organic spellweaving. I was able to commune with nature and over time, even learned to change into those very animals I observed in the wild.”

  “That is very fascinating.” Kuran started packing his pipe once again. “And amazing that you were able to groom your skills without the guidance of a fellow druid. The last time I saw another druid was about…thirty-two, thirty-three years ago. A small tribe moved through a town named Ulam’s Gateway. I was a fresh surgeon from the capital and had not seen much of the real world, so they were a treat. Ah, to catch a glimpse of a mystical druid—children’s stories come to life.”

  Thandril smiled. He rarely heard anyone mention seeing his people. Their numbers had been few even at the best of times.

  The women tossed and turned around on the floor, suggesting the talking was disturbing their sleep.

  “I should go before we wake the women,” Thandril waved goodnight to Kuran and silently exited the room.

>   He returned to the eastern wing of the Keep by way of the garden. The night was cold and damp; dew gathering on the leaves of the closed, sleeping flowers.

  He stopped at the soldiers’ quarters, having asked to bunk in the barracks instead of a room like Saris’, a room fit for a noble. He didn’t like the comforts of the upper class. Thandril was a warrior and loved the outdoors and nature, not cushiony beds with soft, feather blankets and gaudy room decorations.

  He decided to check in with Saris’ private guards and alerting them to the possibility of an assassination attempt. Thandril ran up a spiral staircase to the upper level of the barracks. He reached the door and gripped the handle when he heard a faint slashing sound. He flung open the door to see the six bunks, lined out three to a wall, occupied by impaled corpses.

  At each bed, a man stood off to the side gripping a sword, driven into the sleeping soldiers. Thandril burst into the room and let out a bloodcurdling roar. The black-clad murderers faded into smoke and collected in the center of the room, leaving a single man standing with his sword drawn. Eyes of bright gold pierced through the darkness, staring at the massive druid.

  He mockingly saluted Thandril before dropping his weapon to the floor and quickly running across the room. He leapt through the window, falling to the courtyard below.

  Without any hesitation, Thandril ran to the broken window and dove out. He landed hard on the grassy lawns of the courtyard and rolled to his feet, running after the man. His legs churning the manicured landscape. Wet grass sent glittering fireworks into the moonlight.

  Thandril, realizing he was slowly falling behind, stopped and knelt down, thrusting his fingertips into the damp soil. The ground around the intruder started to shift and he lost his footing, falling over into the grass. Thick strands of weeds and vines shot out of the ground entangling him.