Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1)

by Pasquariello, Jonathan

  That was when Rurik had returned to the house.

  Klaric touched Amira’s shoulder, freeing her from her thoughts. “Will you be fine, if Gleb and I go get rid of the bodies?”

  “Yes, I’ll be alright.” She smiled at Elop. “Maybe I can talk him into cooking me a little something.”

  The mention of cooking brought a smile to the man.

  “Okay. We should be back by first light,” Klaric said, motioning for Gleb to help him carry the first body.

  Again a cry came from her room.

  She had forgotten what had drawn her away from Rurik’s side in the first place. Inside, she found Archaos fast asleep, but in a bundle of blankets beside him was the small baby they had found outside the door of the apartment.

  He cried out minutes after Rurik and Krul’s struggle ended. The cry had startled them. They were already on edge. He must have been with Rurik. She had pulled him into her arms and carried him into the room with Archaos, cooing in his ear to calm him.

  Now, he was wiggling around, tears dripping down his face. Amira held him close, rocking him back and forth.

  “Who are you, little one?” She asked.

  With the baby in her arms, she walked back over to Rurik’s room.

  She looked down at him. “What happened out there tonight? And how do you know this little guy?” She pushed a loose strand of his hair off his forehead. “You better come back to us.” The last she said in a pleading whisper.

  Chapter 35: Gaining Ground

  The summons came and Kaillum grunted to his feet. His father had sent a runner, calling him to the war council. Ducking out the entrance of his tent, Kaillum scanned their massive army in the early morning light. He struggled through a few restless hours of sleep after the late attack by the Talurians.

  The enemy had been able to kill nearly three hundred men, with only thirty of their own, and the Talurian Captain and druid made it back to the Keep alive. It had been a savage blow to the Targa tribe. Their people made up the majority of forces in that area of the camp.

  Kaillum reached the side of camp as Mathis and Shaymesh were returning from their chase. He had missed everything, yet stood witness to the results of the silent bloodshed. The bodies still lay in their tents, as if waiting to awake with the morning, never knowing what hit them.

  Now, he was on his way to his father’s command tent. It was the first morning of the campaign, and their strongest ally, Taverous, had fallen after the battle against the shadow demons. Much needed to be discussed.

  He saluted the guards at the door and walked into the tent, making his way to his seat off to the side of Melidarius. A large, round table had been set up in the middle of the room. Melidarius sat apart, slightly elevated, with Kaillum and Dageros off to each side and a third seat for their sister, Fayeth, but she had not returned from her mission of mapping out the local geography.

  Around the table sat General Vyker, Chief Amhar of Chargon, Chief Rowkar of Targa, Chief Equim of Kilgar, Commander Ceth of the Kitamites, Captain Shaymesh, Arclite of the Tearanei, sitting in for Taverous, and some select Lieutenants, who were privileged to observe the war council.

  From the look on everyone’s face, Kaillum knew an argument had been taking place before he arrived. Rowkar of Targa was livid.

  Melidarius stood to his feet. “Rowkar, the attack was completely to our surprise. We saw no enemy movement coming from the city, and attention was directed to Taverous’ ailment at the time.”

  “No excuse!” Rowkar shouted, “If those were your men, I think you would feel differently!”

  “If those were my men, they wouldn’t have been caught sleeping,” Equim whispered to Amhar.

  The remarked carried too much volume, reaching Rowkar’s ears. “You! You have no room to talk! The Talurians destroyed your mightiest fortress in days. Your warriors fought like they were asleep.”

  Equim jumped to his feet, his chest heaving up and down. Rowkar rose to meet him. The alliance was fragile to say the least.

  “Men,” Kaillum said, motioning for them to retake their seats. “This is what they want. Our victory in this war can only come from our power in numbers. We must act as one. There is no ‘your men’ or ‘my men’. We are the alliance—the greatest army that has amassed on this island in our recorded history. That is only possible because of each one of you.” Kaillum pointed at his father and the three other Chiefs. “We cannot falter.”

  General Vyker was nodding in appreciation of Kaillum’s words. “The Prince speaks wisdom. In furthering our joining of armies and, in hopes of tightening bonds, I suggest we stop keeping soldiers in areas of their own kind. We must not have a Kilgarian camp, Targan camp, Chargon camp, and a Merkadian camp.”

  The Chiefs accepted the idea and sent runners of their own to inform the necessary people.

  “This is good,” Melidarius said, “We show that we can act differently than those bastards inside their high stone walls. Now, we must decide our next move. This will be an open forum. Feel free to offer any idea. Nothing will be dismissed.”

  “We need to attack now!” Taverous burst into the tent held up by Mathis and Lasal. His face was pale, his eyes deeply sunken in, his chest laboring for air.

  “Sorry, your majesty, he insisted on coming,” Mathis said, “He has been conscious for a mere five minutes.”

  “Do not make excuses for me!” Taverous trembled, “Balar…his name is Balar. My brother.”

  “Calm yourself,” Shaymesh said, taking Mathis’ place at the old man’s side. His large frame dwarfed Taverous, exaggerating his fragility. “Explain, my friend.”

  “Thank you, Shaymesh,” Taverous put his hand on the druid’s shoulder. “The fear coming to reality overwhelmed me.” Slowly, he composed himself. “I had two brothers at one time, Balar and Rykin. To not make this story long, Balar had turned evil, wielding death magic, and waged war on our own people. In the end, Rykin invoked a spell that would kill Balar but sacrifice his own life. This was centuries ago.”

  The Chiefs looked at one another, realizing how old Taverous was implying that he was.

  Taverous continued. “Balar has somehow returned. I had no proof, until last night, when he tried to kill me.” His Tearanei were standing uneasily. They had an immense fear of Taverous’ brother. “He has grown stronger. He used an attack that would have killed me years ago, but, as he has grown stronger, so have I. He will not have an easy shot like that again.”

  “With his power, combined with the Talurian soldiers, we cannot win.” Chief Equim said.

  “Hold fast, great Chief,” said Taverous, “That brings me back to attacking now. His power is great but intensely greater while the darkness of night covers us. We need to take ground away from them now before we have to survive another night. Those shadow demons were a test—a sampling of his weaker summons.”

  “Your majesty,” Vyker stepped forward, addressing King Melidarius, “Our army is ready to march at your word. Personally, I am aching for some combat.”

  Melidarius sat quietly, mulling over the information that Taverous had provided. “What do the Chiefs think?”

  Each one nodded in turn. Rowkar and Equim thirsted for blood. They had both taken casualties already.

  “Very well. General Vyker, set up the first assault,” Melidarius said, “Don’t send everyone in at once. I would like to see the strength of their defenses inside the outlying buildings. Then we will only have the surrounding palisades to breach before laying siege to the Keep.”

  The men concluded their planning and had chosen Kaillum, Arclite, and Captain Shaymesh to lead the strike team. The leaders feared what traps and surprises awaited their troops, but this war would not be won by sitting back and waiting—especially with Balar on the Talurians’ side.

  * * *

  An hour after the war council had concluded, Kaillum found himself checking over his blade—a present from his father, given to him on his eighteenth birthday. The emblem of the Merkadian Royal house
graced the hilt. Carrying this blade signified Kaillum as the eldest Prince and heir to the throne of Merkadia.

  He didn’t always feel the part, but it was inevitable. Lately, he had been thinking that it might be better if he died in some heroic battle during the war, releasing his responsibilities to Dageros. But, dying, in the hope of escaping duty, isn’t really heroic.

  He shook away his thoughts and walked out of the armory.

  General Vyker stood outside, flanked by Shaymesh and Arclite. “Your highness, are you ready?” The warriors stood ready for command, heavily armed and eager for combat.

  Kaillum nodded. “I am.”

  The General walked a mount over to Kaillum. “For you.” He patted the horse. “Remember, I’ll be close behind. My mounted support will be ready at a moment’s notice.”

  Kaillum waved the horse away. “I will march with my soldiers.”

  Vyker grinned in acceptance.

  Kaillum faced his company—three hundred soldiers. Arclite and Shaymesh were his Captains. He gave them a quick hand motion, and they ordered everyone into a march. They moved down the hillside toward the charred buildings of Hillsford.

  “This will get interesting no doubt,” commented Shaymesh. He twitched his fingers in the air, causing the ground to ripple debris out of their path.

  “Prince, I will keep an eye on you,” said Arclite, in his calm, deep voice. “You can focus on your command.”

  “First off,” Kaillum started, “Use my name. I’m not fond of being called by my title. And second, I am going to need you with the first wave. If this, Balar, has some magical surprises in store, they will need you.”

  “Yes, your highne—Kaillum.” Arclite bowed and jogged forward along the line of soldiers.

  “These people interest me,” Shaymesh said, smiling. “I rather like them. I have had some very enlightening conversations about healing magic with that, Mathis, fellow.”

  “I know we will be grateful to them when this is all over,” Kaillum responded, distracted with his thoughts.

  As they approached the city, Kaillum scanned the burnt out structures. His forces could be easily ambushed if they moved through the city in one large group. He ordered the company to spread out and approach the buildings in groups of ten.

  He cautiously started down an abandoned street, motioning for Shaymesh to lead another group down the parallel avenue. Now, being blocked by the city buildings, Kaillum was blind to the rest of his forces. The mission did not provide much chance for force management; hopefully, the warriors were somewhat self-reliant.

  With a glance back at Vyker and his mounted soldiers, Kaillum pushed deeper into the city. The majority of buildings were reduced to their bare frame, but the ones that could still house soldiers had to be cleared. They could not afford to have enemy troops at their rear.

  Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the city. Kaillum followed the sound and ran around the corner of demolished housing. A team of soldiers had entered a building at the end of the street, and the support beams had been rigged to collapse. The whole team had been smashed under the weight of the second floor. Another crash came from further away, the Talurians knew they had to check the builds and were going to make them pay for each one.

  Kaillum called a soldier over. “Run along the streets. Spread the word that buildings are to be searched by a single man. We haven’t seen any enemy troops, and we cannot risk so many lives.” The soldier saluted and left the group.

  A howl cried out through the city. Kaillum swung in the direction of the sound. In response, mounds of debris that littered the sides of the streets shifted and bodies stood to their feet. He didn’t hesitate. He charged the closest enemy and launched a well-placed strike that severed the man in two, cleaving him at his waist. He dispatched the other two before they could retaliate. Out of immediate danger, he looked his enemies over. They were not regular soldiers. They were corpses—misshapen men.

  “What foul magic is this?” Kaillum stepped back.

  A scream came from behind him. The four soldiers with him were fighting off a large group of the undead warriors. He moved to help when his ankle was grabbed. The hand belonged to the torso he had detached. The corpses started to right themselves. He jabbed his sword down, freeing his foot.

  “Regroup!” Kaillum shouted, running to a nearby intersection.

  There he found Captain Shaymesh and a large group of warriors fending off wave after wave of undead. The Captain shouted orders from within the circle he had arranged while lobbing green orbs of energy over their heads. The undead blasted apart with the assault, but crawled, piece by piece, back to their counterparts.

  Kaillum made a running leap over the line of soldiers and moved to the side of Shaymesh. “We must hold this spot. Vyker will arrive soon.”

  Blasts of energy surged along the next street over, and soon Arclite could be seen battling two undead soldiers. They looked different than the rest—more complete. They lacked the gruesome holes and missing limbs that the regular undead fighters had, and they wielded long, wooden staves.

  Arclite had lost his swords, and the flashes of yellow energy were coming from the contact between Arclite’s forearms and the constant staff attacks. The glow around his hands grew with each block and, with one of the Staffwielder’s mishaps, Arclite discharged the energy in a fiery combustion, enveloping both his attackers, leaving them withering in pain.

  They didn’t revive.

  Arclite hurried over to the blockade. “Their only weakness is their heart. Without destroying the heart, the bodies will always put themselves back together and not always the same way.”

  “We are being overwhelmed,” said Shaymesh.

  The main street gave view to Vyker galloping down the hillside with his mounted forces in tow. “Reinforcements are coming!” Kaillum shouted to his troops. But, as if answering his statement, a beam of red light shot from atop the walls of the Keep. It sped overhead, past Kaillum and his men. It reached the border of the buildings and expanded into a red, translucent wall. The first of Vyker’s riders hit the wall and turned to ash. The General barely halted in time. His riders rode back and forth along the wall, looking for a way into the city.

  Watching from atop the hillside of the camp, Mathis and Lasal jumped into action. They weaved a network of bright yellow beams, extending it out to the shimmering wall. Taverous, too weak to add to the weave directly, leaned forward and placed his hands on the two Tearaneis’ shoulders, channeling energy through them.

  Kaillum watched in vain as they tried to break through the magical defense. His group was slowly losing men, even with the power of Shaymesh and Arclite.

  Arclite turned to Kaillum, “I must help.”

  Kaillum nodded and switched spots with him along the line of soldiers.

  Arclite moved to the center of the circle and started adding his own weave to his companions’ spell. Kaillum was trying to watch their progress, but the magic was subtle to the untrained eye.

  An undead shot up and clawed at the soldier positioned next to him, tearing at his throat. Blood sprayed across Kaillum’s armor. Much to his enemy’s surprise, Kaillum pulled him closer, shoving his blade into the abomination’s chest, piercing his heart. He withered in Kaillum’s grasp, feeling the last of its life slip away.

  Kaillum threw the limp body to the ground. “See!” He shouted to the soldiers around him, “They can die!”

  A battle cheer went up, and the soldiers pushed back the enemy with a renewed strength. The uproar was met by the riders circling the city, but their outburst was for another reason. The Tearanei had started to tear holes in the wall. The progress of the mages started to gain attention from the surrounding undead warriors.

  A high-pitched, soundwave rippled over the city. The undead suddenly stopped their attacking and started running for the inner palisades.

  At that moment, the wall, separating Vyker and his riders, crumbled from the combined might of the Tearaneis’ magic. Kaillum, fuel
ed by anger, ordered a charge. He leapt over the small barricade they were using as cover and chased after the retreating enemy. A trail of soldiers followed after him.

  The undead were not very fast on their feet and some, who had been hacked to pieces multiple times during the battle, never regained their correct shape. Kaillum tore through the fleeing mass of malformed flesh, dropping body after body. His soldiers finished each one, in turn. The buildings started to thin, and the inner palisades grew closer with each invigorating kill.

  Kaillum was driven with pure bloodlust, craving each victim.

  He drew closer and closer to the gateway in which the undead entered the wooden walls. The first of the undead had reached the enclosure. Kaillum was close enough to make out a familiar face along the Keep’s walls.

  There stood Saris. Thandril towering behind him, ominously crossing his arms across his thick chest—always unwavering and protective of his Master. Saris’ guards flanked each side of him, covered in black platemail. Another man stood beside the General, a pale figure, wrapped in a black robe. His stance was unsettling, and a faded, red aurora resonated out around him. That must be Balar.

  General Saris raised his arm, and with the fall of his hand, a rain of arrows shot into the sky. The sight sobered Kaillum. His forces had gotten too close. The hunger that drove him had betrayed him. They killed maybe twenty undead during the chase, but now close to two hundred of his tribesmen lay open for slaughter. That was the idea. The Talurians probably hoped for more, but Kaillum’s meager force would suffice for their efforts.

  “Retreat back to the buildings!” He shouted, shaking off his clouded state.

  Time had seemed to slow. The arrows should have reached their mark by now.

  His soldiers ran, not looking back, but Kaillum checked every few yards, making sure no man was left behind. With one of his checks, the sight of the arrows froze him. They had stopped in the air, hanging like splinters in the sky. Later, he found out that this was the work of Lasal. As he stared, transfixed, they started to tremble, like bats preparing to flee from their dark cave.