Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1)

by Pasquariello, Jonathan

  Chapter 40: Sickness and Power

  By the next morning, the first of the infected had died, throwing up their internal organs, one by one, in violent, gory spasms. They had been isolated in hopes of stopping the contamination, yet the disease still spread, bringing tens of soldiers to Kuran every hour. Saris had been one of the worst, but Thandril had used some of his magic to slow, not stop, the process, holding the General in a deep coma.

  “Once you find a cure, I will be able to reverse it,” Thandril stated, confidently.

  “I hope so,” said Kuran, “You better go now. We can’t risk you being here any longer than necessary.”

  Thandril lost his usual serenity and pinned one of his fingers to the doctor’s chest. “You find a cure.” Fire lit his eyes. “You will answer to me if he dies.” He threatened, before turning toward the door, leaving Kuran shaking in his ominous shadow.

  * * *

  Taverous jolted from his sleep and ran from his tent, vomiting. His nightmares bared the mark of his brother, and his evilness poisoned Taverous’ body. Balar reeked of death and vileness, and he could smell him from where he stood. Hiding in those walls, Taverous thought, with contempt.

  During his slumber, Taverous had learned of Balar’s next attack, and it was nothing like the others. His dark brother was summoning death itself. He had used the attack one time during the old Blood War of the Tearanei. It was fatal and a cowardly attack that would kill anyone in its pathway. Taverous crumbled to his knees, shaking from the revelation. He could do nothing about it.

  He wiped the bile from his lips.

  His Tearanei had heard what was going on and quickly appeared at his side. Taverous conveyed his discovery, and in turn, the three dropped their eyes to the dirt, forced to remember their fallen brethren from centuries back.

  Taverous steadied himself, making to his feet, and braced against their shoulders. “Take me to Melidarius. He must know what is coming.”

  The three led—carried—Taverous through the camp to the command tent. Melidarius, Vyker, and both Royal Princes were already going over siege plans, set to begin that day. The King had now learned to trust Taverous when he felt something was important.

  Taverous needed to speak to the war council, so Melidarius made it so. Within ten minutes, everyone else was present—the Chiefs, Ceth, Shaymesh, and lastly, Fayeth, who still had some extra fascination for Arclite, tracking him with her eyes.

  Taverous started by retelling what had happened and about his detection of Balar’s plan. Then came the hard part of their situation. “Balar must be stopped before his attack reaches full strength. If the disease takes enough lives from within those walls, he will be able to expel a wave of death upon this army, with such power, that whoever it touches will instantly die. An army of my Tearanei fell to this very weapon over a century ago. I was absent, but even if I was there, I do not know of a way to stop it, except terminating the caster.”

  Dageros rose to his feet. “Then let’s get this siege going as fast as we can. If we are lucky, we can breach those walls in a couple of days, and then you and your friends can slash him down where he stands.”

  Taverous was quiet, not wanting to reveal more. He got a reassuring touch on his arm from Mathis. Taverous nodded and turned to the assembled council. “We have until around midnight tonight. He planned it many days ago, and the showing of the illness is the last piece of the magic. The men inside that Keep will be reduced to nothing before the moon hangs at its highest.”

  “That is not enough time for a successful siege!” Dageros hit his hand on the long table in front of him.

  Amhar, of the Chargon tribe, took to his feet. “Why don’t we leave? If we know, it’s going to happen, and it’s going to win the war for us. Why not escape it?”

  The two other Chiefs, Rowkar and Equim, agreed with Amhar. They needed to flee from the city.

  Taverous shook his head. “We are marked. He has targeted us, and there is no escaping. You couldn’t get far enough away to make a difference. We must think of another solution. Any thought of running is futile and a waste of precious time.”

  “I may have an idea,” Kaillum spoke up. “Would General Saris be part of the group of infected?”

  “Most definitely. Saris is a rival of power to Balar, maybe not magically, but that is his army.” Taverous eyed the Prince; trying to see where he was going with the thought.

  “I may know someone who can help us from the inside,” Kaillum turned toward his sister, “I’m going to need your help.”

  * * *

  Thandril hurried toward Balar’s suite, trying to hold himself together. Saris was like a father to him, or more, as a savior, and he was forever in his debt. Balar’s room was located deep inside the citadel. He claimed he needed privacy to regenerate his powers.

  A ripple of energy shifted from inside the building. Thandril quickly looked around and noticed that none of the others in the hallway had felt it, most likely something Balar was doing. Thandril didn’t trust him and constantly stayed on guard against anything, but right now, he might be the only person who could do something about this disease—the only person that could save Saris.

  He reached the door to the suite but hesitated to knock. Who knows what could be behind that door? The dark arts that he practiced within were not natural. Before he could finish his action, a soldier came running to find him.

  “Sir! We need you now!” He turned and ran down the hallway, without waiting for a response.

  Thandril dropped his hand away from the door and, with a sigh, ran after the soldier. “Hold on!”

  He rounded a corner to find the soldier kneeling down beside an unconscious, young woman. A beautiful young woman, he thought. Wait. She wasn’t a soldier, and the female nurses had been sent away with the caravans. As he tried to decipher the scenario, she suddenly jumped forward, clasping his wrist. The movement revealed long, curly, Merkadian-blonde hair, and her eyes burned brightly.

  Trying desperately to react quick enough, Thandril pushed away from the pair, only to be grabbed from behind by a pair of massive arms. They grappled him at the midsection of his chest, equally tall as him. The hallway of the citadel was gone, and now a burnt-out cityscape filled his vision. He tried to wrestle free, but the arms holding him were strong and sure.

  “Relax.” A steady voice whispered into his ear. “If our main objective were to kill you, it would be done already.”

  For some reason the words calmed Thandril, but he knew they shouldn’t have.

  “I’m going to release you. Don’t try anything stupid. Your powers won’t work here.”

  The arms slowly started to pull away. Thandril lunged forward and then spun around to face his captures. The old druid that he had battled along his escape from the camp stared him in the eyes. Alongside him was the young woman from the hallway, smiling, with an edge of mockery, and the male soldier, who he had followed, also stood before him. The man started to shift, and his identity became clear.

  “You!” Thandril knew the shapeshifter.

  Thandril lashed out with his fist, expecting a surge of energy to rush through the air, but nothing came. Again he tried.

  The other druid slowly walked toward Thandril. “I told you. Your powers will not work.” He pointed up, to either side of them. They were in an alleyway, and on the second story of the two surrounding buildings, the Tearanei mages stared down at him, arms crossed over their chests. “They have deadened your abilities.” He smiled, smoothing out the wrinkles on his face. “You are strong, so it takes their combined effort to subdue you. We don’t want a fight.”

  Thandril reared back, snarling at the old man. Fear of his weakness made him angry and disoriented. “Let me go!”

  “Young man, we wish to help you. Do you want Saris to live?”

  The words surprised Thandril, but he didn’t trust anything they might have to say. He was a trapped animal, so he did what was natural. He attacked. Before he could reach the druid, his v
ision tunneled and, with a thud, he dropped to the ground.

  * * *

  There was faint breeze breathing across the back of Thandril’s neck. He forced open his eyes, just to realize there was no light, or worse that he had been blinded. No, not blind. He noticed a small crack of light shining a few yards away at ground level, probably a door. It was, and it opened with painful suddenness, flooding his sensitive eyes with the afternoon light. Three men entered.

  “He’s awake.” One of the voices said—rough, sharp, like a warrior.

  “Is he alert?” A second asked, like the first voice, but carried an air of superiority. A leader of some sort, he thought.

  “Yes, he can hear you.” The third was soft, melodic, and unsettlingly ancient. “And, most likely, trying to take in as much information as he can about us.”

  The words shook Thandril. This third man had powers or an uncanny ability at perception.

  “Leave me with him, alone,” He said.

  The first two left without objection, closing the door again, plunging the room back into darkness.

  “I know you can hear me.” The man said, his face close enough that Thandril could feel his balanced breathing.

  “You do not need to talk. But, you will listen.” The words circled around Thandril’s head, shifting from every direction so that he couldn’t make out where the man was standing. “Balar, the man who resides in your stone fortress, is more evil at heart than darkness itself. I know you can see it. I know you have felt it—the wrongness. You are, by nature, one with this planet, and all that live throughout, that is your heritage. I know you don’t remember your beginnings, so I am sorry that you do not know your proud legacy. Perhaps, in time, you will learn it for yourself, but that is not my reason for bringing you before me. I need something from you and, if you do what I ask, your precious Master will live.”

  A light blinked into existence, showing the man’s soft, lined face. His short, gray hair edged his appearance, and his green eyes seared through Thandril’s soul. “My name is Taverous. Balar is my brother, and… I need you to kill him.”

  Chapter 41: The Law

  Rurik pushed to his side, moving gently to not wake Amira. He watched her as she slept, tracing the outline of her shoulder with his finger. He leaned forward and kissed the center of her back, causing her to coo softly. She rolled over to face him, returning the kiss.

  “I’m sorry,” Rurik said, “I woke you.”

  She quieted him with a second kiss. “I only wish it could be this way every morning.”

  “It can be,” He smiled. Throwing the covers off, he stood to his feet, showing his muscled back.

  “Mmm…I could definitely get used to that,” she slapped his backside playfully.

  “Hey now.” He waved his finger at her. “You play nice.”

  A sudden flurry of knocks hit the door, causing both to jump. They panicked. They couldn’t be found together. Rurik had to figure out how to get Amira away from Saris, but this wasn’t the time to get discovered.

  “Ma’am, open the door,” a rough voice shouted. “You have ten seconds.”

  Amira looked at Rurik wide-eyed and pointed to the babies’ room. She mouthed, “Go!”

  He grabbed his clothes from the floor and disappeared through the adjacent doorway, seconds before the bedroom door was kicked in. Three men came barging in, waving clubs, followed by a short, scrawny, hawk-nosed man, with a thin mustache. Out of the corner of her eye, Amira watched Rurik dive through a low window.

  Amira gathered the blankets around her naked body. “Well, that is no way to enter a lady’s bedchamber.”

  The little man stepped up to the bed. “Was anyone in here with you?” He motioned for his men to check the other room. “We are looking for Corporal Kaster. And I think you might know where he is.”

  Her mouth gaped open. “What kind of lady do you think I am? I am engaged, sir.”

  “Well, from the look of you,” He peaked under a corner of the blanket, “The kind of lady that would have a moonlight fancy.”

  She kicked at him and backed further toward the headboard, “Get away from me!”

  Rurik entered through the door, seemingly confused. “Excuse me, but what is the meaning of this?” His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

  The man clapped his hands together. “Yes! Just the man we were looking for.” His thugs reappeared from the adjacent room, two of them each carried a baby. The third, and biggest, moved straight toward Rurik.

  The ruffian’s speed did not match his towering stature. He moved swiftly and with precision. Before Rurik could pull his blade from its sheath, he was caught in a tight bear hug. Three other guards came into the room and reinforced their companion, leaving no time for a counter-move.

  A moment later, Klaric appeared in the open doorway. “Hey! What’s going on in here?”

  The man shook his head in frustration and grunted. “We are on Empire business. Turn around, and walk away.”

  “Oh? And what business would that be?” Klaric said, boldly stepping forward.

  “The kind that you are not privileged to know.” He snapped his fingers and, again, more men entered behind Klaric, tying him up quickly.

  “You sons of whores!”

  That got Klaric a solid strike to the back of the head, his body slumping forward into the restraints.

  The man looked back at Amira. “We only came for Rurik and the babies. We are done. Now, go back to whatever you were doing before I got here.” He winked.

  Amira spat at him, “You pig! You have wrong information! What could you possibly want with the babies and our escort? The man that Saris himself picked to guard, and lead, our group!”

  “You ignorant, lying wench!” He pointed at her. “Tread lightly.” He snapped and the room went into motion. Marching over an unconscious Klaric, the guards took the babies out, followed by a struggling Rurik, and lastly the leader, with a scowl etched across his face.

  “No!” Amira cried out, frustrated with her inability to stop the actions being taken against them. She scrambled to put on clothes and ran to the foyer.

  At the door, Gleb and Elop grabbed her, stopping her from running out into the pathway of the carriage—a jail carriage—with Rurik, tied and gagged, staring at them through barred windows. She shouted curses after them until they were completely out of sight. Gleb and Elop walked her back inside.

  “We will go down to the jail. This has to be some misunderstanding,” Gleb tried to console her, but she knew this was not a misunderstanding. These were the people hunting Rurik’s underground rebellion.

  Klaric came running into the lobby, throwing off the last ties of rope. “Those sons of a bitch! Where are they?” He huffed and puffed, looking at the three for an answer.

  “I’ll be right back,” Amira said.

  Klaric watched them walk away. His hands held in the air. “Well, what happened?”

  “We are going to the prison. Ready the wagon,” Amira shouted over her shoulder.

  * * *

  Lord Hyle, Housemaster of White Mantle, scrapped at his plate, putting together the last, perfect bite of his breakfast. Papers and reports were fanned out in front of him. The fighting had barely started, yet Emperor Tymedious already found a way to deplete a large portion of the treasury and the military food reserves. Hyle was, involuntarily, put in charge of making something appear from nothing, and if he stared at these papers long enough, maybe that would happen. He had his doubts.

  He set his fork down and tugged at his bristled, graying beard. “What to do…what to do…” He mumbled to himself, fingering sheet after sheet.

  A knock landed on the door to his chamber.

  “Come in.”

  It swung inward, and Horcam, fellow House Member, head bodyguard, and trusted assistant, walked in with purpose, holding a grim look on his face. “Lord, I have disturbing news,” he continued without reply. “The men you ordered to watch Saris’ estate have reported activity and, mo
re pressing, an imperial raid of some sort has occurred. People may have been taken into custody. We don’t have a lot of information.”

  The Housemaster jumped to his feet. “Ready my carriage.”

  Horcam bowed, “Already done, my Lord.”

  Hyle clapped his hand on his guardian’s shoulder, “Very good.” He moved from his desk and grabbed his official robe off a nearby rack. Once they appeared in the main hall of the House, Horcam motioned for the other soldiers to fall into formation, and the group moved out into the lobby together. They settled into their seats. Lord Hyle sighed, “This better not have to do with her. That damned Saris can conquer an army blindfolded, but can’t keep a quiet household safe.” Horcam grunted in agreement.

  * * *

  “Get in there!” The jailor tossed a naked, battered Rurik into the cell.

  The barred door slammed shut, leaving him in darkness. The cell was one of many along the narrow hallway, each filled with a sad, frail shadow of a person. Lost from the world, for who knows how long. They had been stripped to nothing, as he was. Scars, old and new, lined their bodies. There was no commotion over his arrival or even acknowledgment.

  Where were the boys?

  He was separated from them at the time the wagon reached the jail. He didn’t remember seeing them be brought out.

  Were they still with that man?

  Fear for the babies pained his heart. He needed to find a way to them. Trying to focus, he continued to scan the room.

  The main jailhouse of the city was located back down in the outer city—the Houses didn’t want to bear witness to such a vile lot of people. It was simple, small. One main room that served for everything: receiving prisoners, admitting visitors, answering inquiries, a rest area for the on-duty guards, and anything else they might need it for. At the back of the main room, centered on the wall, was one door that led to where Rurik and the other prisoners were being held.