Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1)

by Pasquariello, Jonathan

  The door closed and she was gone. Rurik pounded his fist against the wall. He knew it was wrong, but Saris was wrong. Saris was taking a woman who didn’t want him and, worse, a woman he didn’t deserve. He couldn’t stand for that.

  * * *

  Amira closed the door behind her, forcing herself to separate from Rurik. The distance to her room was exaggerated from emotion; each step a struggle, sapping her energy. But she finally arrived at her door and had beaten her temptation.

  She dismissed the maids, not like they really had to do much—the boys had fallen asleep two hours before her return. They were staying in a bedroom attached to hers, and she enjoyed the space it gave her. She had been with Archaos every waking moment, and now there was another little one to steal her affection. She was already becoming very attached to Aeronais, and it didn’t just stem from her feelings for Rurik.

  Slipping into her oversized bed, she found herself counting the gaudy tiles that stretched across the ceiling. I wonder how much each of those cost. If I have to put up with being this man’s wife, I will certainly make sure that I get to redecorate.

  A quick knock rattled off on her door, startling her from her thoughts. She pushed off the blankets and slipped on a thin silk robe that one of the maids had placed next to the bed. “Coming.”

  Maybe one of the women forgot something.

  The knock went once more as she neared the door. She undid the latch and cracked the door open. A strong hand pushed it open.

  Rurik.

  Without a word, he grabbed her by the waist with one hand and caressed her neck with the other, pressing his lips firmly against hers. She pushed to her toes and met his kiss with fervor. No more strength to resist her desires. And she didn’t want to. Her need for the man was too great. She wanted this, all of him.

  They moved into the room, and Rurik kicked the door closed.

  He wildly undid the belt of her robe, and it fell open, like the beautiful awakening of a rare flower. He stopped for a moment, staring at her with such affection, that she forgot to breathe.

  Her bare skin tingled with excitement, and a deep warmth blushed her breasts.

  Her lips parted, trying to form a word. He raised his finger to her mouth, silencing her, slowly shaking his head. No.

  He pulled her close, entangling his fingers in her hair as he tasted her lips once again.

  Amira grabbed hold of Rurik’s shoulders and lifted her body onto his, wrapping her legs around his waist, feeling his body react to hers. As he carried her to the bed, he kissed and bit at her neck. Her head rolling back in blissful anticipation.

  He laid her down, bracing himself over her. Her chest heaved up and down, waiting for his touch, longing for it.

  Rurik ran his hand along her side, feeling the shape of her thigh and hip, stopping with his hand on her slender waist.

  She couldn’t wait a moment longer. She pulled him in, feeling his skin on hers. He rocked back and forth, while she arched her back, whimpering soft cries of pleasure. They had come to a full expression of their feelings and manifested their passions through pure, physical ecstasy.

  * * *

  Captain Larkin moved through the secret passageways of the house that Saris had shown him some years back. He regularly escorted unnamed whores out during the night, for the General, and sometimes, a still warm corpse. If Saris was one thing, it was dishonorable. Larkin despised the man, and if it weren't for his high-paying benefactor, he would have left his current position long ago.

  It wasn’t the evil that Saris committed, that made Larkin hate him. He considering himself at least equally monstrous but lacking the rank and financial backing.

  The reason for his strong animosity was simply that he felt he should be the one passing out in a drunken mess of sex and never see the consequences to any of his actions while someone else took out the trash.

  So, now with one last rendezvous, Larkin thought his information, this time, would be enough to earn him his promised reward. Then he could go off and live on his own estate, possibly near the coast, he thought, with a throng of beautiful mistresses, fine food, expensive furniture, and a fancy wardrobe.

  He made sure everyone was asleep, before making his way through the network of tunnels. A ladder took him into a small shed located at the edge of Saris’ property. He covered the trap door and moved out into the night air. He ran through the trees and soon came to a pond surrounded by dense trees. At his arrival, a man stepped forward from the shadows.

  “Hey! Where is Krul? Who are you?” Larkin took a defensive step back, “I was ordered to relay information only to Krul.”

  “Be quiet,” the man whispered, angrily. “Sound carries far from the mouths of idiots.”

  The rebuke shut Larkin up.

  “Krul is dead.” The man spat at the words. “He failed his mission, and if he were still alive, I would kill him myself.”

  Larkin glimpsed a scowl on the man’s face. He seemed mildly familiar, but he wore a hood, and any distinguishing features were hidden.

  “You are our last chance to find some way to hurt Saris. We can’t openly attack the man’s estate without raising suspicion. So, I hope, for your sake, that it was worth my time responding to your signal.”

  “I don’t think you will be disappointed,” Larkin grinned, foolishly, “The fiancé is putting on some kind of act to protect two additional people that came on the wagon. The leader of the group, Corporal Rurik Kaster,” The man showed a glimmer of recognition at the name, “showed me a letter, but Saris sent his own message ahead of them with a fast rider, the same time that he sent word of war to the Emperor. There was no mention of cause to be distrustful, but it was very detailed, and what it said was different from what has shown up on the doorstep.” Larkin paused, and rubbed his hands together, “And you’ll never guess the surprise twist!”

  “I’m brimming with excitement,” the man responded, flatly.

  “One of the additional party members is a baby! When the hell did they come about taking in a baby?”

  “A baby.” The man repeated to himself, retreating inward in thought.

  “Good, right?” Larkin asked. He got no response. “Maybe good enough for my big pay off?” He leaned forward, trying to peek at the man’s face. “Hello?”

  The man suddenly jabbed out and caught Larkin in the throat. “You have done enough. Your services are no longer required.”

  Larkin fell to the ground, grabbing at his collapsed throat.

  The man whistled, and two other figures appeared. “You, get rid of the body.” One of the new men drug Larkin away, still trembling with his last seconds of life. “And you, find me Gretio, tell him I think we might have a lead in the Aamin Kaster case. I think we might have the break we need to tarnish our mighty General, after all,” He laughed quietly to himself “And the poor fool probably doesn’t know what is going on with his ‘trusted’ people. Saris will fall by association.”

  Within a minute, they cleared the area around the pond and disappeared into the night, leaving behind no trace that anything had transpired there.

  Chapter 39: Closer

  Vyker marched his troops forward for the sixth day.

  The morning air was chilled, and steam rose from the hot bodies of his mixed soldiers. Each day they had assembled into three or four groups and hit at the Keep’s surrounding palisades. They could not start the siege until the Talurians outside the walls, were killed or pushed back inside.

  After the horrific battle against the demon beast, Taverous and his Tearanei had retreated into their large tent. The energy expended during that fight had ravaged their bodies, and they needed to recuperate.

  Luckily for Vyker and his army, it seemed the effects of the battle wore on Balar also, for he and his undead had been absent from the battlefield, equally as long. Their only magical aids at the moment were the royal children and Captain Shaymesh, who had warned against the Talurians own druid.

  The muscles tightened in Vyker�
��s neck, a snarl etched across his face. He looked on the Talurian army with hatred. He loved each morning that he could answer a small, but satisfying, amount of his anger, with the blood of his fallen enemies.

  “You doing alright over there?” Dageros asked. He rode next to the General, taking the place of his brother that morning.

  “Just firing up the inner rage, my boy,” Vyker said with a smirk.

  Dageros laughed, “Oh, to be a surly, old war General!”

  The two rode on horseback, accompanied by a dozen other mounted soldiers, then followed by two companies of footman. They were one of three groups attacking today, Shaymesh and Fayeth, who returned from her scouting trips earlier in the week, led one to the south of them, while Ceth and his newly appointed second-in-command, Ryon, headed one to the north.

  They halted just out of the bow range. Vyker scanned the low, wooden walls. Each day they had managed to reach the barrier and inflict substantial damage but had yet to overrun the forces guarding it from within. He wanted today to be the day. He could taste it as if victory was something tangible.

  He waited a moment before giving the command, looking to make sure Shaymesh and Ceth had their forces in position and took a last look behind, toward the open pavilion were King Melidarius sat with Kaillum and the three other Chiefs, anxiously watching.

  His hand found the hilt of his heavy jagged sword. He ripped the blade from his side and thrust it into the air. Shaymesh and Ceth did the same in response—all was ready.

  Vyker slashed it down like a hammer and shouted, “Charge!”

  Seconds after the soldiers were unleashed; an aerial response from the Talurian archers dotted the sky. Vyker galloped across the battlefield, raising his shield to deflect the arrows. Pang, pang, the tips assaulted and dented his metal buckler, but it held.

  His riders were the first to reach the walls. Lines of metal clad Talurian soldiers stood ready with spears anchored in the dirt.

  The river of men splashed up and over the barrier and, what was two sides, was now a twisting mess of bodies all locked in violent struggle. The initial impact dismounted Vyker. He swung his blade, dropping enemy after enemy, and soon a circle of ground had been cleared around him by fear of his frenzied blood-letting.

  He spotted Dageros or rather a group of him. The real Dageros remained inside a small arc of his fighting copies. They defended him while he was able to judge the situation and pass out orders.

  Vyker was so proud of the young boy, who he had grown into such an honorable man.

  Dageros’ family was like his own. He fought his way toward the Prince, leaving bloodied earth in his wake. After so many years, the movement of war was a secondhand thought—a spin here, a stab this way, a downward swipe across there. It was a well-practiced waltz.

  He kept his focus on Dageros. Suddenly Fayeth teleported beside him, nearly catching a reactive swing from her brother. They were talking about something, but Vyker couldn’t make out the words, he couldn’t completely focus on them, he had his limits.

  A rush of enemy soldiers surged up and broke through Dageros’ copies. Without a moment of hesitation, Fayeth notched and let fly, three arrows, taking her victims in the center of their throats. Dageros slid between his sister and another soldier, catching his prey in the stomach, ripping open a wide, disemboweling gash.

  Vyker reached them right as the immediate action ended and watched as Dageros quickly rebuilt his self-army. The momentary reprieve allowed Fayeth to repeat her message to the General. Balar’s undead have reentered the fight and had taken on a new shape. Before she finished telling him everything, a chorus of roars erupted to their left.

  Handfuls of men launched into the air. Vyker strained to see the cause. A rush of men retreated from the area. It seemed whatever had been causing the havoc, was not easily falling to the blade.

  The sea of men thinned enough for the three to view the tormentor or tormentors, there were five beings standing out in the open—manlike abominations. They were products of some kind of combination among Balar’s undead soldiers.

  Standing eight feet tall, the gnarled and muscled men, orchestrated death with six fiercely accurate and controlled arms. Two carried massive iron shields tipped with long spikes, which would spread open to reveal two more arms wielding a curved sword and a long spear. The last pair reached over and aimed a bow at its prey that would send arrows thundering through the air, launching men off their feet with its bone-crushing impact.

  Long, blade wounds riddled their bodies, but no effect on their performance was visible. They probably inherited the only weakness of their previous version—their heart.

  Vyker shouted out over the mass of warriors, “Stay away from them! Concentrate on breaching the palisades!”

  A streak of light flew past his eyes. One of the Tearanei now stood in the center of the battle. Vyker tried to recall his name. It was the quiet one, well quieter than the rest.

  Lasal! That was it.

  The hooded mage whirled his staff through the air. Flashes of silver echoed the point in which throwing daggers released from his palms. He jumped high into the air and glided down like a feather, grasping at the various vials that hung from his vest. With a pop, a cork was removed from a shiny metallic potion, and he launched it at the feet of one of the six-armed creatures.

  The dirt absorbed it instantly. The creature froze in place, tugging at its legs. They were turning to stone faster than he could react and before ten seconds passed, the being was a statue, capturing its horrendous expression.

  Dageros touched Vyker’s shoulder to get his attention and pointed off to their right. Mathis and Arclite had also joined the fight. The men’s presence rallied the troops around them, and again the tide was shifting in their favor.

  A sharp whistle cut through the air and, moments later, the massive wooden gate to the Keep lifted. Two dozen of the six-armed undead poured out from the Keep, but only to take position around the entranceway. The remaining Talurian forces fled inside the protective stone walls while their undead allies kept any of Vyker’s forces far from the gateway.

  The Tearanei were absorbed with a magical conflicted that had started when a group of Balar’s Staffwielders had appeared atop the walls of the Keep. The Tearanei struggled to divert their attacks from landing devastating blows on the troops below.

  With their efforts being directed toward them, the Talurians managed to retreat into the Keep and close the gates behind them. The six-armed undead beat back anyone courageous enough to pursue, with some soldiers getting trapped inside the Keep, to be helplessly slaughtered by the black army within.

  Vyker rallied his soldiers and ordered the palisades to be burned. Soon after, the whole outer base was aflame. Vyker was angered by the loss of life during the assault, but couldn’t help feel a little happiness that his army had gained another step closer to victory.

  As if hearing his thoughts, the mass of soldiers roared out in cheer. They carried the dead and wounded back to the camp with almost a skip in their walk. They knew their brother-in-arms had fought for something greater than themselves and, soon, their sacrifice would be honored to the fullest. It was time to begin the siege on the inner Keep of Hillsford.

  The Talurians had nowhere to turn.

  * * *

  The cheers echoed Saris’ nightmares. He cringed as he watched his limping army retreat through the gate. He was not atop the wall in his usual position. He was on the ground, trying his hardest to not strike his own soldiers.

  How could they let those savages out there beat me? General Saris!

  And that damn Balar! That good for nothing piece of horse shit! With all his might, he cannot simply hold the Merkadians at bay.

  Thandril stood at his side. “Should I give Arteus the command to retaliate? The trebuchets are rearmed from last night.”

  Saris walked away in disgust. “I don’t care what you do.”

  With a sudden realization of his hunger, Saris made his way to the
dining hall. When he didn’t eat, he was cranky, well, crankier. He tried to think of some great plan for the next day. With the Merkadians controlling everything around the Keep, he was starting to feel a smothering effect.

  His hands were shaking at his side.

  I’m hungry, that’s all it is.

  But he never acted like this—unsure, restless, afraid.

  The doctor, Kuran, appeared next to him, how long he had been there, Saris did not know. Being so lost within himself, his senses faltered dramatically.

  “General, I have some disconcerting news,” started Kuran, without making much of a greeting. Something was weighing heavily on his mind. “Over the last few days, I’ve had some soldiers come in to see me about an overwhelming feeling of anxiety and fearfulness. I thought it was the mounting stress of war, but recently the soldiers started showing physical signs of sickness, like fever, headache, and trembling…Sir! Your hands!” The old doctor snatched Saris’ hand.

  Saris didn’t show much response to the action. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his eyes sat hollowly in his skull.

  “Sir?” Kuran snapped his fingers in Saris’ face, but the walking drone still had no reaction.

  Long seconds after the snap, suddenly, Saris spun around, “What are you doing?” His face held vehemence in it.

  “Sir, you were unresponsive to it as it happened. I couldn’t get you to listen to me. I was telling you about the sick soldiers.”

  As if finally recalling a long-ago memory, Saris punched his fist into his palm. “Oh, yes. I remember you saying something about that.”

  Kuran turned Saris toward him, and held his face in his hands, looking into his eyes. “Damn it!” The white of his eyes was tinged with a cloudy, black haze around the edges. “Exactly like the worst of my patients.”

  Again, Saris’ response was delayed, but when he caught up, he remembered what was going on. “I think I should go with you.” Without another word, the two men turned back in the direction of the infirmary. Saris absently disregarded his hunger and his responsibility to command his army—he was in no state to fulfill the latter of those.