Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1)

by Pasquariello, Jonathan

  * * *

  Kaillum scanned the assembled crowd. Whatever their new friends had done worked. They now stood in the middle of the Merkadian campsite. He took a step toward the men, and they nearly fell down, trying to get away from him.

  “Oh, damn it.” Kaillum cursed under his breath, “All a bunch of spooks.”

  Dag walked over to him. “Well, looks like General Vyker talked all of them into coming.” The two brothers left Merkadia around the same time that Vyker was starting his tour of the tribes, adding each one to their ranks. The effect was an enormous army of warriors from four of the five large tribes of the island: Kilgar, Targa, Chargon, and Merkadia—four tribes against the lonely fifth, the Talurians.

  “Your highnesses,” Amhar recognized Dageros and Kaillum, and ran to meet them, “What is going on?” He watched Taverous and his strange traveling companions.

  “Highnesses?” Taverous questioned the two young men, raising his eyebrow.

  Dag grinned back at him, “Must have forgotten to mention that.”

  “They usually take down the command tent last before moving out,” Kaillum said, “Amhar, can you take us? We’ll explain everything there.”

  He nodded and motioned for them to follow.

  Everyone came, except for Ryon. He had spotted a group of Kitamite tribesman and bid farewell, for now, knowing it was out of place for him to enter into an officer’s meeting.

  * * *

  “We are getting close now, should arrive at the city in four days, five at the latest.” General Vyker made marks on the large map stretched out across the King’s desk and then backed away as King Melidarius leaned forward and concurred with his estimate.

  The tent attendants opened the door, “Entering, their Highnesses, Prince Kaillum and Prince Dageros.”

  Melidarius stood to his feet—a tall, burly man, with choppy, shoulder-length hair and a full beard. He was modestly dressed in comparison to the Talurian emperor, but he didn’t care about those things. He was a Warrior King. The most valuable item on him was his weapon, hanging from his hip—a custom broadsword, with a jagged backside, passed down from his father.

  Kaillum and Dageros walked in, followed by Amhar, Taverous, and Ceth, then the three Tearanei. The guards around the perimeter of the command tent instantly became more alert at seeing the strangers. The tent was sparse, only the King’s chair in front of a wide desk, and two more on the other side. No other furniture was present. Other than Melidarius and Vyker, only four guards and the king’s shield bearer were in the room.

  “My sons!” Breaking all protocol, Melidarius left his chair and hurried across the room to welcome his boys back.

  Vyker stood off to the side, holding his typical, serious facial expression, “Welcome back, your highnesses.” He made a deep bow and the recognized glint in his eye exposed his happiness at seeing the boys.

  General Vyker was like an uncle to them. He had been by their father’s side ever since he took the throne, nearly thirty years ago. Kaillum being twenty-five and Dageros being twenty-two, meant Vyker had been there to help with each step of their lives.

  “Greetings Vyker!” The brothers said together, smiling.

  Melidarius backed away from his sons and eyed the strangers. “And who do we have here?”

  “Apologies father, this is Taverous—” Kaillum started.

  Taverous stepped forward and broke in, “And this is Arclite, Mathis, and Lasal. We have a lot to discuss, your Majesty.” He put his arm across his chest in salute, accented with a bow.

  “Father, we need to talk about what happened in Hillsford. You may have a problem when the army reaches the city. They know we are coming.” Dageros lowered his head, ashamed.

  “It is okay, son. It was something to gain an advantage, not win the war. We will figure it out.” Melidarius looked to Vyker. He nodded in acknowledgment. “I’m just glad you two are alive.”

  He motioned for them to take a seat and waved for his attendant to retrieve chairs for the others.

  “It’s unfortunate that your plan in Hillsford didn’t work,” Taverous said, “But, we can be of assistance. We have special abilities and magic which can aid you immensely if you would accept an alliance.” He raised a questioning eyebrow, waiting for a response.

  “We would be grateful for the help,” The King said, “We have formed a loose alliance with the other tribes of the island, and I fear this will be the last time, for many years, that there will be an army big enough to defeat the Talurians.”

  Taverous went on to talk about why he had come to the island in the first place, who his companions were in more detail, and about the Tearanei people group. Kaillum and Ceth took turns explaining what had developed in Hillsford and about the incident during the execution.

  While talking, the air fluctuated inside the tent and, with a flash of blue energy, a young woman appeared.

  Taverous knew instantly, “A sister?” He threw a questioning stare at Kaillum and Dageros.

  “Well, hello.” She smiled at Taverous. “Who are the new guys?” She aimed the question at Melidarius.

  He introduced them.

  “And this is my daughter, Fayeth.” He said to the newcomers.

  “Nice to meet you,” She made her rounds, shaking each of their hands. The gesture was alien to them, but they caught on quickly.

  Fayeth then hugged Kaillum, “Welcome back, big brother!” Then punched Dageros in the arm, followed by a hug, “You too, little brother!”

  She was slender but athletic and muscular. She wore a tight fitting outfit of tanned leather and carried a sleek bow over her back. She was of medium height and her blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun.

  Once done with the greetings, she walked past her father and over to the desk, with the large map. “We may have another player entering the game. My scouts and I have been tracking a large group, moving quickly in this region,” she pointed to a spot on the map. “Close to where the Talurian army was located before they retreated back to the city. We are not sure if they are part of the Talurian army or not. But, they have kept to the woods, and their movement is swift and silent, quite unlike the Talurians.”

  “She leads a specially trained group of hunter scouts,” Melidarius said, matching Taverous’ quizzical stare. “Her ability to teleport lets her search wide areas and eliminates the inconvenience of delayed reports.” He put an arm around her. “She is a big asset to our army.” Her face lit up from the appreciation.

  Taverous nodded. “I understand the importance of teleportation. There are a number of gifted Tearanei that have mastered the art, as have I.”

  “Well!” Melidarius clapped his hands together. “Darling, Fayeth, go back and try to identify whoever it is that you have caught a whiff of.” She nodded and immediately teleported away. “Kaillum, Dag, and Taverous, we have plans to discuss. Your friends can get comfortable in one of our spacious wagons since they are no doubt tired from the long trip, and we are about to move out. Ceth, can you escort them to Captain Shaymesh, he will find a place for them. And after that, I think your people would really like to see their leader.”

  The King smiled grimly. “Once we reach Hillsford, everything will change, for all of us. We have a great war to win.”

  Chapter 28: Pact with the Devil

  Horns sounded from the far end of the city.

  Each soldier relayed the alarm, like a falling line of dominoes, back to the newly constructed, command center in the courtyard of the Keep. The city of Hillsford, in only a matter of days, had transformed into a highly defensible fortress.

  All the buildings within a hundred yards had been cleared from around the central Keep, as not to provide cover for the Merkadians once they arrive. But, the outer buildings had been reinforced and laden with defensive traps. They were to be used as the first line of defense until there was a need for a retreat into the Keep. At that point, the traps would be armed and the Merkadians would have to slowly progress through the city avoidin
g dangerous hazards, in hopes of reaching the open space around the Keep.

  “The alarm has been sounded,” shouted Thandril, “Get the General.”

  Thandril was now always in full battle armament: heavy, custom-made gauntlets and greaves and a polished breastplate inlaid with bone—a fierce picture of strength. He carried a half-moon shield that would have immobilized any other man and, at his side, hung a menacing warhammer, a gift from Saris some years back.

  An army, masked in the darkness of night, emerged over the far horizon. They carried no torches, flew no flags, beat no drums—not the showing of a proud King and his arrogant General. They stopped far enough out that Thandril couldn’t distinguish any details with his mono-scope.

  Saris stepped next to him. “Here already? I thought we had, at least, another two days.”

  Thandril continued to look at the dark mass of soldiers, shaking his head. “I’m not so sure it is the Merkadians.”

  “Well, who the hell would it be?” Saris grabbed the looking device from him.

  Another man walked up on the other side of Thandril. “So, is it time?” He asked.

  “Doctor, I thought you would have joined with one of the caravans evacuating the city,” Thandril said. “And, not sure. We don’t exactly know who it is that’s out there.”

  “Well, who the hell would it be?” Kuran reached for the scope in Saris’ hand. “Let me see.”

  Thandril looked shocked. Saris laughed.

  “What?” Kuran asked, keeping the device up to his eye.

  “Oh, nothing.” Saris continued laughing.

  “A single man is riding forward, the only mounted one of the bunch,” Kuran said.

  “Okay, my turn again.” Saris reached out.

  Before he could get a look, a voice spoke, sounding only a few feet away. “General Saris, I have a proposition that I think would be very beneficial to your situation.”

  “The man’s mouth is moving,” said Kuran, watching the far-off rider, “But how is it possible that we could hear him?”

  “Doctor, nothing surprises me lately,” Saris said, shaking his head.

  “That voice…I know it,” Thandril felt the hair on his arm stand up, “He is the one I talked to at the site of the massacre—the man that told me to look for the changeling when I returned to the city. He saved your life, but also killed many of our soldiers.”

  Saris stared at him, thinking. “Maybe we should hear him out. At least, we know he has his priorities in check.”

  As if in response to their private conversation, the voice spoke again, “Yes, you should. Come out to me. Only you and Thandril. None others.”

  * * *

  Saris and Thandril rode out the city gates, while a company of their fastest lancers hugged the inside wall, ready to charge if things started to look bad. This man had helped them, but he had also killed a great deal of Talurians and Captain Barolas.

  The man slowly came into detail, as the city moved farther and farther behind.

  “Makes me nervous, Master,” Thandril said, eyeing the stretch of soldiers. “If something goes wrong, don’t wait for the lancers, make a run for it. I will slow them down.”

  Saris trotted along on his horse, beside his druid. He reached over and placed a hand on Thandril’s shoulder. “Everything will be fine, my friend.”

  The man hopped down from his mount, readying to meet them.

  Saris’ hand moved over his mouth, “My god.”

  They stared at the man, unable to wrap their minds around what they were seeing. The man who waited for them was Barolas, but not. His skin was pale and lifeless and his eyes were glazed over. Any warmth that he carried before was gone.

  A wide grin curled his lips

  “Surprised to see this face again?” He said. His mouth barely moved, and the voice was not that of Barolas. It was the eerie, ethereal voice that they heard over the city when the fires were taken out. “This may be your friend’s body, but inside, things have changed,” He grinned once again, “My name is Balar, and if you weren’t such a secluded people on this damned island, you would know that name. I am a great warrior and, at one time, a champion in my lands. Many have tried to kill me, but none have succeeded.”

  “You sure?” Saris asked, “Because, you look sort of dead.”

  “Dead in body,” Balar growled.

  “Let’s get to the point,” Saris said, “What do you want from us?”

  “I want barely anything, in return for what you desperately need.”

  “That would be?” Saris asked, getting frustrated.

  “A way to win this upcoming battle. You know, truly deep down, that you stand no real chance against an army the size that King Melidarius drives against you.” He motioned behind him, toward his ranks of undead. “We can help. This won’t be the first time I’ve stepped in on your behalf.”

  “You call falling out of the sky and killing my men and one of my Captains, whom you now wear his skin, helping me?” Saris shouted.

  Thandril stood tall, ready for anything. He still didn’t feel completely right since his last encounter with this man, or spirit.

  “They needed a push; it was unfortunate but necessary. And you have no gratitude for me saving your city from those fires?” Balar cocked his head to the side, “You would all be dead.”

  Saris yelled out in aggravation. He doesn’t like to be played around with. “Fine, if we do decide to accept your help…What is it that you want in return?”

  “Simple. I want the life of someone who marches alongside the Merkadians.”

  “Well, you have powers of your own, right?” Saris looked past him, at his army. “Or are they the ugliest bunch of people I have ever seen?”

  “Those are just toys,” He waved his hand in the air, “and will be gone after this is over. And yes, I can fend for myself, but I want my full attention on the man that I seek. Let the pawns fight the pawns. So, if you do this service for me, I will take out their strongest weapon, and victory will be yours.”

  After a moment of silence, Saris stepped away from Balar, motioning Thandril to follow. Balar knew to give them some space.

  “What do you think?” Saris spoke quietly.

  “I think…that he can hear us, even in a whisper,” Thandril said.

  At that moment, Balar chuckled.

  Saris and Thandril both turned back toward him.

  Balar put his hands up in surrender and mouthed, “Sorry.” He moved back farther and jumped onto his mount.

  Thandril turned back to Saris, “I don’t trust him. He has no respect for human life. For all we know, he could get our whole army killed, just to win this fight he is after.”

  “But the way it stands now, we might get our whole army destroyed and not win the battle.” Saris stepped away from Thandril.

  “But, sir—” Thandril followed after him.

  Saris held up a hand to silence him. Thandril stopped in his tracks, might as well have been a slap in the face. “Sorry, Master.”

  Saris walked over to Balar’s horse. He hadn’t noticed from a distance that the horse was also reanimated, another one of his magical workings.

  “Well?” Balar asked, noticing Saris’ distraction with his horse.

  “If we do this, know that you do not carry any authority. You will take orders from me. You obviously control these…” Saris eyed the swaying undead warriors, “Things. But you will use them as I order. You may offer any assistance in the areas of your magic as you see fit. Are we clear?”

  Balar nodded. “Seems fair,” He said evenly.

  “Then, you have my word. You will have your kill. You are now an ally of Talur and a soldier of the Empire. Report to Captain Arteus inside the Keep.” Saris said, turning to his mount.

  Balar started for the city, followed by his army of undead, being called without any verbal command.

  “I hope I did the right thing,” Saris said, lifting himself onto his horse.

  Thandril remained silent.
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br />   “You know I value your opinion, Thandril, but we need help. You know that. I wish there were another way, but there isn’t. I need you with me on this.” Saris said, his eyes pleading the large druid.

  Finally, Thandril nodded, “I am with you. Always.”

  They rode the rest of the way in silence, keeping the thoughts of the coming battle inside, relishing the calm. Two days—that was all they had.

  Chapter 29: Ambush

  Rurik pulled the wagon through the front gates of the city, noticing the locals staring at them. It was one of the poorer cities in the empire and, other than new recruits for the school, travelers rarely came through.

  Rurik and company had been on the road for seven days now and had reached the city of Dartholme—a city that had sprung up around the military institute that it was named after Dartholme Military Academy. The school catered to the highly privileged boys of the five houses of Talur, usually gaining officer ranks for its graduates.

  The seven days together had slowly put the group into a good routine and, even better than that, in a friendly mood. Klaric calmed and eventually stopped butting heads with Amira, Galro and Gleb were inseparable, and Rurik and Amira were able to slowly get over their embarrassing run in.

  They were getting closer to the capital with each city they passed. Though, Rurik couldn’t help but think about the battle that would start in Hillsford, most likely that very same day.

  Klaric sat up front with Rurik. “What are you thinking about?”

  “If we didn’t leave on this trip, we would be facing down an army right now,” Rurik said, “A little unsettling.”

  “Don’t even think about it. You are doing something important here. This woman and child need to be safe.” Klaric put a hand on Rurik’s shoulder. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m really proud of how you are coping with your brother’s death. You have really stepped up, instead of falling apart.” He nudged Rurik with his elbow. “I didn’t know there for a little while.”