Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1)

by Pasquariello, Jonathan

  * * *

  Kaillum had managed to disguise himself as one of the guards and simply ran out of the main citadel with all of the other soldiers. It was the first time he had been outside since his failed attempt on Saris’ life. The city was afire when he became a captive, now the sky was clear and blue, nearing sunset. The courtyard and inner buildings of the Keep were already cleaned up and organized repairs were already started on some of the more heavily damaged structures.

  He pushed the city from his mind.

  Kaillum knew that the executions were planned for tomorrow morning. He needed to find someplace safe to stay for the night and work on a plan to free his brother. The energy of holding his current appearance, combined with the effects of Arteus’ drug on his system, were quickly tiring him. He found a relatively calm area of the city and returned to his normal profile. Then, pulling his coat high around his neck, he moved out into the crowd.

  * * *

  The next morning, Amira heard a steady knock on her door. She quickly put on a robe and went to see who it was. It couldn’t be the maidservants, it was barely light outside, and they knew to hold off until after the morning meal was served. Again, the pounding came on the front door. “Coming!”

  She lingered at the door for a moment, checking her reflection in an ornate mirror hanging on the wall. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to no effect to look more presentable. She turned the knob and swung open the door.

  “General!” Amira had caught her anger before becoming completely unhinged. “Sir, your arrival is unexpected. You haven’t been by, nor have I heard even the slightest word from you in days. Your son will never know his father if you continue in this way.” She threaded her words like a dagger.

  “I don’t think my lack of parental appearances is what causes you to attack your Lord like this. Word tells me that you have heard of our exciting announcement from another’s mouth. I will have to see to that. I wanted to be the one who told you.” Saris smiled. “Had I been the one to break the news, you would’ve had more time to adjust to the idea. But, now that I have found you here, purely outraged about the idea, I feel something must be done. How can I make you more… agreeable to this arrangement?”

  Amira was shocked by his candidness concerning something so important. Had he any real feelings for her? Maybe a slight fascination, but there couldn’t be much more than a physical attraction after such a short amount of time spent together. Maybe it was just her caring for his son. “You are absolutely mad!” Saris seemed unfazed by the remark. “What if I don’t want any part in this?”

  He moved closer to her. “We will have to compromise, for I have already announced our marriage and I will not be made to look a fool.” His eyes were fixed on hers. A glint of anger hid there; ready to come out if provoked. “I need to have a wife at my side, for my own standing and for the child’s.” As if knowing he was being talked about, Archaos cried out from his crib in the next room over.

  Amira immediately turned and walked away from Saris.

  He followed her into the room, sighing under his breath. She already had the baby in her arms as he rounded the corner. She stood next to a window, cradling the child. The morning light pushed through her thin silk robe, and the shadow of her slender, shapely body was shown to full effect.

  Saris smiled, outlining her figure with his eyes.

  She was not, however, oblivious to the primitive male drive, cinching her robe tighter with one hand. “Basically, I have no choice in the matter of being your wife. But, you’ll allow me a say in how our marriage will work, in which way I choose to fulfill the role of being your wife?”

  “Essentially,” He stated, coldly.

  She hesitated to say any more to the man. She had grown scared of him.

  The longer she was around him, the more she saw through his façade, past his empty compliments and manipulative kindness. She was now his hostage, fated to be his wife till this harsh world took his life. Sooner than later, she hoped.

  Amira changed the subject. “Why am I not allowed to leave this wing of the Keep?”

  “A precaution, my lady,” He answered. “It is only for a little while longer. There are only a few prisoners that survived our interrogation process. They will be dead within the hour. One has escaped and we hope to flush him out during the execution. We don’t think he has left the city yet, so he is bound to be close. Now, you will dress accordingly and join me in the courtyard.” Saris said the last part like an order to one of his soldiers. “The ordeal will start in little over half an hour.”

  As if waiting for Saris to finish, a stream of Harmite slave women poured into the room carrying armloads of dresses and small boxes filled with jewelry.

  “I believe these belonged to the late baron’s wife. You are slenderer than her, but I hear one of these women is a fine seamstress. She will have to work fast, but I doubt she will let me down,” Saris smiled.

  She huffed past him, carrying the baby in her arms. Even if forced into her new role, she was still appalled that their first public appearance together was going to be an execution!

  Chapter 21: Execution

  The crowd roared as the line of prisoners marched into the town square. These were the last of the men who had destroyed their city, and the people wanted blood!

  Leading the line was Ceth, followed by five other soldiers that had also lived through the horrid interrogations. Two guards dragged an unconscious Dageros behind them. They couldn’t have the man doing any more of his magic during the execution.

  They were led to a long, raised platform that had been thrown together by the local carpenters the night before. Along the walkway there stood seven sturdy logs, standing on end. Each man was roped to their assigned post and waited for the display to begin. Two said prayers under their breath. One openly cried out, desperate to be freed from his situation. Another just held a stupid smile on his face, like the whole thing was the funniest joke, clearly in a delusional state of mental survival.

  The last of the unnamed soldiers, put in killing order right before Dageros and Ceth, who were going to be last, was as cool as ice. No emotion on his face, his eyes steady—a tall man of middle age with arms like an ox. He made the impressively built Ceth look small.

  Horns and drums started and the crowd cheered even louder.

  It was time.

  The General was making his entry into the square. A large parade of soldiers came forward, marching to the rhythm of the drums, followed by a company of newly appointed personal guards in dress uniform. Next in line were the Honor Captains, tailed by Thandril and Captain Arteus. When all had reached their places, the horns started to play a new tune.

  An announcer stood from a viewing area that had been set up for the officers. “I give you the great and honorable, General Saris of the mighty Talurian army. And, accompanying him, his radiantly beautiful fiancé!”

  The people applauded as the two walked into viewing.

  Saris was in dress uniform like his guards, with a ceremonial sword hanging at his side. No doubt he carried one or two real weapons secreted away on his body—never at ease. Amira was in a gorgeous flowing dress of light blue silk with silver threading, attractively hanging off her shoulders. The people clapped and clapped. Saris waved to all of them. He ate it up, loving the attention, and on his arm was a woman beautiful enough for a man of his status and position.

  * * *

  Rurik watched the two take their seats.

  She doesn’t look happy.

  He stood off to the side of the courtyard. Public butchery wasn’t for him. The crowd cheered even louder when the executioner started up the stairs. He was covered head to toe in black, carrying a long curved dagger at his side. Without hesitation, he pulled the first man’s head back and raised the blade to his throat.

  Saris sprung to his feet. “Any last attempt of giving me some kind of information that I can use?”

  Tears streamed down the man’s face. His eyelids were
swollen from the restless night. He shook his head. No. In an instant, the life seeped from his eyes and a spray of blood colored the floor in front of him. The empty body sagged into the restraints, and the executioner moved onto the next.

  Saris repeated the question two more times. And two more men refused to answer, quickly falling to the slayer’s blade.

  The crowd eagerly awaited the fourth victim’s blood. Each kill was more satisfying than the last. They were mourning their family and friends and these men were the outlet for their hatred and bitterness.

  The smiling man came next.

  Again, Saris motioned toward the man and repeated his question. “Do you have anything to say? Any information at all?” The General didn’t really expect any of them to break their silence.

  The prisoner just smiled. The executioner raised his blade.

  “Wait!” The prisoner shouted.

  The crowd quieted.

  Ceth and the large man at his side turned their heads to their comrade. “What do you think you are doing?” Their eyes burned.

  “General, what would happen to me if I were to give you some substantial information? Something that would drastically help you in this war?” The man asked, without losing his same smile.

  “Quiet soldier!” Ceth shouted.

  “Well,” Saris smacked his lips and paused. “I would see to it that you were set free.”

  “How can I trust you?” The prisoner asked.

  “Will you just shut up and die!” yelled the giant man.

  The smiling man turned his head, “I’m just trying to save my ass, Ryon. You should have done it sooner.”

  Ryon flexed his arms, pulling at the restraints. “You are making a mistake!”

  “Tell me, sir. What is your name?” Saris asked. He paid no attention to the prisoners’ squabble.

  “My friends call me, Jol. I think we can be friends.” His grin stretched across his entire face.

  “Well, Jol. I’m going to need something from you now. How do I know if you even hold secrets inside that small head?” Saris played the crowd, and they joined in with laughter and cheering.

  “How about the fact that the main body of King Melidarius’ army, joined by the other tribes, is making its way here, this very moment?” He finished his sentence, with a taunting nod toward Ceth.

  “Ryon, stop this now!” Ceth roared.

  Ryon took a deep breath and, focusing his strength, snapped the ropes tying his arms. Before anyone could react, his hand had reached Jol’s throat and, with a flick of his wrist, destroyed the small man’s windpipe.

  Jol held his throat, gasping, and making hair tingling, whistling sounds, failing to get any air into his lungs.

  The Archers along the perimeter let arrows fly. One hit Ryon, sticking into his thigh. He grunted and reached down to snap the arrow off close to the skin.

  Rurik shouted for the guards to respond. Within seconds, the courtyard was a frantic mess. Saris ordered two of his personal guards to take Amira back into the Keep and threw an urgent look toward Thandril.

  The druid was into the air and flying north before the thought could be put into words. Had Jol been telling the truth?

  Rurik reached the platform in time to see Ryon hurl the executioner onto the cobbled square below. Rurik sidestepped the black-clad man’s falling body and mounted the platform. Ryon had freed Ceth and was fighting off anyone who attempted to get onto the stage while the commander untied Dageros.

  A townsperson stepped out of the crowd. His face covered by a heavy cloth hood. He swung a sword out from his coat, catching a guard in the chest. Rurik countered with his own strike only to have Ryon block his blow, the giant man wielding one of the large wooden posts from the execution platform as a club.

  Ryon swung it wildly, taking down multiple men. The unknown peasant motioned for the prisoners to follow and tossed around more heavy cloaks. Ryon released the log into the crowd causing more of a stampede. With ease, the four men disappeared into the madness.

  * * *

  “Damn it!” Saris slammed his fist on the table. “How could they just get away?”

  “Someone helped them. It was most likely the other prisoner that escaped.” Rurik said.

  “Is that an excuse?” Saris eyed the corporal, waiting for the right response.

  “No, sir. There is no excuse. Just thought it might be a good lead to start the search.”

  “Agh! You aren’t going to find them!” Saris hit his fist again. “I just want to know if that smiling jackass knew what he was talking about before he died, or if he was just trying to weasel out of his execution. Not like he would have lasted long after I turned him over to the people of the city. He should be grateful he died quickly.”

  Saris moved to the door, “That is all for now, Corporal. It is meaningless to discuss this any longer. We will wait for Thandril’s return. Goodnight.”

  * * *

  The chilled, early-morning breeze danced in through the window, nipping at the General. Saris opened his eyes, hazily looking around the room. He threw the blankets off of him and slid his legs over the end of his bed. He rubbed his hands over his face.

  A damn hard couple of weeks.

  He had tried to convince Amira to stay with him during the night, but she refused, claiming a moral conviction against staying with a man before she was married. He knew she was just going through her varied excuses to not be with him. Well, she would be married to him soon. She wouldn’t be able to dodge him for much longer.

  She would be his—maybe a big wedding in the grand hall of the Emperor’s palace. If his rank granted him anything in the damn Talurian court, it was the privilege to use the vast grounds and ballrooms.

  He wrapped himself in an expensive fur robe that he had taken from some unknown guest’s suite. The nobility of this outland’s city sure had a taste for the more luxurious items. One of the very few places he had been outside the capital with indulgences like this, he thought, popping a crisp grape into his mouth.

  A tray of fruit and bread had been quietly delivered to his suite before he stirred. A chunk of bread had already been torn off. He would have to talk to the overseer in the kitchen. One cannot have the slaves stealing—just greedy. He was sure they were given sufficient food.

  Someone leaned into the corner of the room, hidden in shadows. They cleared their throat, “Sir.”

  It was an unmistakable voice. “Thandril! How come you didn’t wake me? How long have you been back?”

  “I did wake you. Who do you think opened the window?”

  Saris grinned. “So…what did you find?”

  Thandril leveled his gaze with his master. “It’s true. An army is coming, and far bigger than ours. We have maybe seven days. I flew north all day, searching. Near nine o’clock I came over a mountain and before me stretched a sea of campfires and nearly ten thousand tents. They are slow moving at that size, so the discovery now does give us a chance of to form a strong defensive stance, but we are severely outnumbered. The armies of the island are against us. And they carry metal weapons—Merkadian weapons.”

  Saris was speechless. He went inside himself for words. He found few. “We may have started this war, but they anticipated it with a deadly foresight. We must prepare.”

  A fast rider was sent out a moment later, bound for Talur, carrying a hand-written letter from the General, sealed with his signet. Saris had to warn Emperor Tymedious of invasion.

  Chapter 22: Preparations and Goodbyes

  There would be no illusion of ignorance when Melidarius’ army arrived – it was too late to sacrifice the people of the city to misdirect him. They had heard Jol’s words before he died. They didn’t need to know if it was true or not. They wouldn’t be around to find out.

  The city was in utter disarray. What little rebuilding had taken place was torn down and carried away in wagons and on donkeys and horses—materials to start someplace new. Complete evacuation of all people except the military and a large grou
p of slaves, kept from leaving with their masters, took place. Someone needed to keep things going around the Keep, and no soldier could be spared.

  “Looks like a bunch of ants scurrying around out there. All running up and down the streets. Bumping into each other, scared and confused. I’m glad I was never one of the flock, one of the sheep—I’ve always been a leader. A predator. A…what do you call it? From those books? Ahh…a lion! Yes, that is what I am.” Saris stared out the window.

  “Now, look inside the walls of the Keep.” He pointed to the soldiers pulling old trebuchets out from the rarely used city garrison. “They require some work, but they should be up and going by the time we need them.” Soldiers were inside the smithy helping out with anything they could. Giant spikes were being sharpened to fashion another barrier around the Keep to fence in the overflow soldiers. The Keep was designed for only two thousand or so soldiers. Saris’ army neared seven thousand.

  Saris turned from the window. “Rurik, thousands of men from all over this island will come over that northern horizon soon. Thandril flew a direct route from where he found them and he noted many topographical obstacles in their way. His best guess puts them within seven days of Hillsford.” Saris paced back and forth in front of the seated Rurik, who had just listened so far, not making a comment.

  Rurik’s idea of General Saris had changed significantly since getting closer to him—the man enjoyed the sound of his own voice, enjoyed intimidating people, and enjoyed making a show. Rurik had yet to see the master tactician and strategist that he had dreamt of meeting. Saris was a brute. A bully. He stood behind his legendary soldiers, iron weaponry, and advanced technologies. One day, someone is going to come along with a bigger, stronger sword and cut right through him.