Fate of an Empire (Talurian Empire Trilogy Book 1)

by Pasquariello, Jonathan

  “Oh?” Hyle cocked his head to the side. “It has come to my attention that the two babies are the born twins of General Saris,” He yelled out into the crowd, “The protector of our people and lands. The Corporal and Private will not be unlawfully accused of any crime, without a word of General Saris’ own account. They were chosen by Saris to protect his children, and we must question him before moving forward. We are done here. You will not execute these men that might be perfectly innocent.”

  Hyle glared at Gretio, “I am ashamed that you would go about this without the General present.”

  The crowd felt the shift in momentum and started to disperse. There would be no execution today, and they knew it.

  Drokel threw up his hands. “This is ridiculous!” He took a sudden step forward, meeting Hyle face to face.

  Horcam was less than a second behind with a dagger inches from the throat of Bloodbornes’ House Lord.

  “You are not the only one with a quick hand,” Drakken whispered, standing behind Hyle and Horcam, with his own daggers poised to gut the two men. Horcam grunted and withdrew his blade. “That’s better,” Drakken said, “I cannot have you killing my dear, old father.” He nodded to Drokel.

  Gretio pushed his way between the Lords. “Gentlemen, people are staring.”

  Drakken leaned toward Gretio, “So much for this being easy.”

  Amira caught the remark and looked to see if Hyle heard.

  “Again, the children will be released immediately. They should be rightfully taken care of by their mother.” Hyle motioned to Amira.

  She knew it took no small check on his emotions to say that.

  “We will release the children, but not the men,” said Gretio.

  Rurik looked at Amira and silently nodded his approval of the arrangement. Hyle looked to her for confirmation.

  “That will do,” she choked out the words.

  Gretio let out a shrill whistle and used his hands to signal something. A guard at the back of the crowd ran into a nearby building, returning with a second man, each carrying a baby.

  Amira ran to meet them and practically tore the boys from their arms.

  “This is not over,” Drokel growled.

  “I am aware. There needs to be a proper trial,” said Hyle, “That was all I was after—a proper handling of the law.” With that, he turned from them and led Horcam and Amira back toward his carriage.

  Amira didn’t look back. She couldn’t see Rurik again, bruised and battered, and still walk away. She hugged the boys tightly and trailed behind the Lord.

  “He will be okay,” Hyle said over his shoulder, “They won’t try anything since my accusations are now public. With two House Lords involved, Gretio will be forced to open an official case, involving the Emperor.” Hyle stopped and turned. “Now, we wait for Saris to finish things and get back home. He can clear this all up.”

  He rubbed Amira’s shoulder. “Concentrate on those boys in the meantime.” She nodded. “I will post some of my House Guards around Saris’ estate. You will be fine staying there. I know you have a couple companions of your own there.” He smiled toward Gleb, who waited by their own wagon. “That slave seems like he would die for you people. I must learn how to teach mine that quality. I will try to see you soon. For now, rest, and be patient.”

  “I will try,” said Amira, “Thank you for everything.”

  Hyle smiled, “It’s my pleasure.”

  * * *

  The men watched Hyle, Horcam, and Amira walk away and, with them, the boy that carried Rurik’s stain of treason.

  “Damn you, Gretio,” Drakken hissed, “You said this was going to be over and done with by tonight. Now we have a whole new problem. Hyle is convinced, that whore is telling him the truth about the second child.” He spat on the dirt. “Twins! Bullshit. She is working him.” He grinned at his father. “Quite differently than how she worked this lucky bastard.” Drakken kicked at the crumbled Rurik.

  Drokel grinned at the imagery. “Nothing more we can do about it tonight, son.” He slapped Gretio’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “We will talk later. I’ll find some way you can make this up to me. Goodnight.”

  Drakken sarcastically bowed farewell.

  The father and son walked away, leaving Gretio on the raised platform with Rurik and Klaric. “Well, aren’t we a chipper bunch.” He sighed. “Guards! Come help me!”

  Chapter 43: Growing

  Thandril stood in the center of his bedchamber, staring at the spot where the young woman, whom Taverous had referred to as, Fayeth, teleported away from. He had been taken to the Merkadian camp and heard of Balar’s plan—sacrificing the Talurians for his own vendetta against his brother by draining energy from the army through a sickness he created. Thandril knew they should not have trusted Balar.

  This was the consequence.

  Thandril didn’t side with the Merkadians, but he understood the scope of the situation. By him killing Balar, Saris, and the Talurian army would be saved but, in turn, so would his enemies. The war would continue. But, there was no real consideration about letting Balar finish. He needed to be stopped, and Thandril would make sure of it.

  A furious knock rattled the door.

  “Unlock this damn door, you son of a bitch!”

  Captain Arteus.

  Thandril knew he had been gone for some time, and surely he had been sought out during his absence.

  He moved to the door and unlatched the lock.

  Arteus rushed in. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve sent countless soldiers to find you. I had to come see for myself.” Arteus growled. “I’m going to kill that boy who said you weren’t in your room.”

  “I just got back here,” Thandril said, defusing Arteus’ wrongly placed anger toward some unnamed guard. “I’ve been checking in with various stations around the Keep. The men must have missed me on each occasion. What’s the matter?”

  “The matter?” Arteus started, “Oh, how about our problem with that unholy, bastard magician setting up his own little perimeter along the wall?” Spit accompanied the vehemence in Arteus’ voice. “Or, how about his soldiers keeping anyone from coming within a hundred feet of him? Or maybe, the fact that a third of our forces is either dead or dying from a strange, highly-contagious, highly fatal disease?” Arteus shoved the large druid out of frustration, pushing himself back more than Thandril.

  “I will handle it,” Thandril said.

  Arteus threw his hands in the air. “Thank god! He will handle it!”

  Thandril moved past and slipped out the door. He could hear Arteus start to follow, cussing as he jogged to match his pace. They made straight for the area of the wall that Balar had taken into his control. Thandril was focused on the mission given to him by Taverous, and this new change of events was going to make it a lot harder. Balar would not be caught off guard. He was already looking at them—defending against Talurian interference.

  “There!” Arteus pointed to the magician.

  Balar sat with his eyes closed and cross-legged, hovering three feet off the ground.

  “I see.” Thandril surveyed the defenses. Balar had set up rows of his undead footman, backed by the Staffwielders, leaving the six-armed creatures to huddle closely around him. He was closed in like a frightened turtle.

  “No one has been able to communicate with him.”

  “I will try.”

  Arteus scoffed. “Go right ahead.”

  Thandril started for the stairs, keeping his distance from Balar’s troops.

  The magician’s eyes bolted open, marked by a bright red flash. They were set on Thandril, following him as he moved closer. With a low hum, the undead soldiers were triggered to do the same—turning to match Thandril’s approach.

  “I know what you are planning, druid.”

  The voice boomed, but Thandril looked around and noticed he was the only listener.

  “You do not have the strength or prowess to complete what you so naively attempt.”

>   Thandril started to slow.

  “That’s right. I know about your little outing. Your little trip to see my brother.” The voice laughed in a sadistic, guttural tone.

  “For all of eternity, he will underestimate my might—misjudge my supremacy—over him, and our late brother. I’ve also made a slight error, so now I don’t have time to wait for your precious people to die slowly to my sickness. I will have to take their energy in a more direct way.” Again the laughing.

  Thandril halted ten feet from the line of undead, crouching—ready to spring into action.

  “Go,” was the last word Thandril heard in his mind, ordering the release of Balar’s undead.

  They charged at Thandril. He lunged forward, sweeping his mighty arms out in front of him, and, with a roar, hurled the first of his victims through the air.

  “Charge!” Arteus yelled from behind.

  The Talurian troops reached his position, right as the frontline of undead dropped to the ground, making room for the Staffwielders to unleash a wave of searing energy overhead. Only a few of the Talurian reacted quickly enough, avoiding the flesh melting attack.

  Thandril saw Arteus leading a group of men around the back of Balar, from the opposite section of the wall. The majority of Balar’s undead had been focused on himself, and he was going to keep it that way. He tensed as he stretched his energy far down into the ground, searching for the living plant life he so intimately knew.

  There. It had been so beaten back by the growth of industry and civilization. Thandril released more of his energy. He was going to do something he had never done. It was a risk, but one he needed to take.

  The undead soldiers handily repelled attack after attack from the Talurians. Only one or two of them fell with every futile wave. Suddenly, the wall started to shake. They weren’t expecting that, and neither was Balar. The surprise caused him to lose focus and he fell from his trance. Furious, he got to his feet and twirled his staff in the air, hurling bright balls of red energy into the declining sea of Talurian soldiers.

  Again, the wall shook.

  Balar took a deep hissing inhale and scanned the sea of faces, looking for Thandril. This was his doing.

  A final, thundering shake split the wall, raining Balar and his forces to the courtyard below. Balar caught himself and rested softly on his feet. His undead were not as lucky. They twisted and screamed, and wrestled to get back into their correct form. The delay helped the Talurians finish off a good number of them.

  The six-armed soldiers kept anyone from getting close to Balar, never leaving his side, and never missing home with their strikes. Balar casually started to walk away from the fight, ignoring the actions of his constant guardians. He was confident—always.

  Thandril completed his spellweaving. Bright, green sprouts of foliage uncurled through the dirt. Being distracted with the fighting, a group of undead foot soldiers failed to notice the vines winding up their legs, ever so delicately. When they did notice, it was too late. The plants constricted, and weaved their tendrils through the animated cadavers.

  The undead slowly dropped to the floor. However, that was not the end of Thandril’s spell. After a moment, they started to change. The rotted flesh that stretched over their bodies started to harden and turn into the bark of a tree. The plant fibers enlivened their muscles. Their red eyes faded, and a pale green color started to blossom.

  The Talurians watched, keeping the area clear of Balar’s soldiers. A hard line formed across the courtyard. Balar and his soldiers prepared to launch a final wave, in hopes of finishing the remaining Talurians. Then, Balar would have enough power to unleash his attack on Taverous and his Tearanei companions. That was all he cared about. The Talurians and Merkadians were only pawns—unfortunate casualties in a fight between brothers.

  Thandril and Arteus moved to the front of their forces. The soldiers parted. Following the two leaders, were the reawakened, forest guardians. They were no longer mindless, bloodthirsty abominations. The life-giving energy of Ethindriil had given them more than physical ability. They were beings of a new kind, and Thandril was their conduit of creation. They would fight alongside him until discharged.

  Thandril turned his head toward Arteus, “Let’s end this.” The Captain nodded, and then split his face into a wide grin.

  In unison, “Charge!”

  Chapter 44: Temporary Alliance

  “We need to step in,” Taverous said to King Melidarius, emphasizing his words. He pointed out across the battlefield. “The eyes of the Talurian people have turned from you. Their fight is against Balar. The same enemy that threatens to unleash certain death against your army once he finishes with them.”

  The two men, along with the rest of the Merkadian Army, watched as the Talurian fortress had come to life, struggle erupting within their own walls. But, now a sudden silence—an ominous lull.

  “They regroup now, but he will destroy them,” Taverous continued, “And once he has gathered energy from their deaths, he will have enough power to attack,” He motioned to his three Tearanei companions, “And collectively, we still, will not have enough power to defend against it.”

  Melidarius remained silent, squinting at the eerie Talurian stronghold. General Vyker, along with the chieftains and the royal children, all stood waiting.

  “Your command, Majesty?” Vyker asked.

  Melidarius let out a long sigh, “Ready the troops.”

  Vyker clapped his hands together and yelled for his officers. The chieftains scramble to gather their forces. Taverous nodded his approval and herded in the Tearanei for counsel.

  Prince Kaillum approached his father. “It is the right thing.”

  “I know, son. Another labor of leadership.” Melidarius clasped his eldest son’s shoulder. “One day my son…one day.”

  Kaillum smiled and playfully nudged him. “One day…far, far from now.”

  Dageros butted in. “What are we all talking about?”

  Kaillum laughed, “Nothing to trouble you, my little brother.”

  Dageros flashed multiple copies of himself, all of which stood cross-armed glaring at Kaillum. “I may be young, but I am many.”

  The three laughed.

  * * *

  “Fall into formation!” Vyker yelled out over the lines of troops.

  Shaymesh and Arclite were leading the two companies. Vyker had stayed with the King. Taverous, along with Lasal and Mathis, had taken position along a mostly-intact section of tall housing, gaining them a vantage point for any needed magical assistance.

  Vyker raised his voice higher to address his forces. “We have a need to fight alongside the Talurians. A greater enemy is before us and, if the Talurians fall, so shall we.” A wave of negative comments flowed through the ranks. They didn’t comprehend. The Talurians were the enemy of the entire continent—the longtime evil among the tribes. “I don’t expect you to understand this. I expect you to trust in your leadership and follow orders. We know what is needed.” Vyker motioned to Shaymesh, who proceeded to relieve the General and take up the pre-battle rallying.

  As the old Captain shouted barbaric war cries at the men, Vyker turned to find Kaillum standing a way off, splendid in his royal platemail.

  Kaillum met Vyker’s gaze and walked to him. “I’m taking command of one of the companies. You can choose.”

  Vyker started to form an argument, but Kaillum’s eyes showed fierceness that the aging General had not seen. The boy Prince was becoming the man who would one day rule. “Very well. Take Shaymesh’s forces. He will be honored to secede to you.”

  Kaillum nodded. “Alright.”

  A sudden fury of noise broke the silence of the battlefield. It came from inside the Talurian Keep. Taverous relayed a message to Arclite with some kind of unspoken communication the strange magic users had. The fighting had started again.

  It was time.

  “Your highness?” Vyker cocked his head.

  Kaillum smiled, understanding. “Attack!”


  The wave of soldiers fanned out across the battlefield making for the gaps in the wall that had formed during the first bout between Balar and the Talurians. Arclite’s forces ran along the left and Kaillum’s down the right. They expected confusion on the part of the Talurians when first entering the Keep. They will assume more enemies to fight. The Merkadians will have to quickly make a show of action against Balar and his forces. If obvious sides were not drawn, the casualties would escalate uncontrollably.

  Kaillum calculated their distance from the walls, taking care to add time for navigating the twisted wooden palisades. Nearing the entrance to the outer defenses, the air seemed to thicken.

  Kaillum’s feet slowed.

  He looked to his left and to his right. The whole line of forces was slowing. Not moving less, but stuck running in place. A few soldiers stopped and took a step back, and with a foot’s distance behind, normality returned. Kaillum tried the same, then lunged forward again, but hit the same sort of barrier.

  Arclite looked in his direction and then both looked back to Taverous, who was already working a counter spell with his companions.

  “Balar,” Kaillum mouthed the name. Arclite nodded. “At ease! Kaillum shouted out over his soldiers. “There’s no way to force our way through. Save your energy.”

  * * *

  Thandril and Arteus ran at the wall of undead, remnants of the Talurian army steps behind. This was their last attempt. Thandril watched his creations run ahead of them, showing a speed unknown to humans.

  Balar’s undead waited, poised with their swords held high.

  Staffwielders aimed their weapons. Once in range, their staves unleashed bolts of death magic. The forest beings took the brunt of the assault, losing limbs and chunks of their torsos. The advantage of being a creature of life and not of death was the ability to re-grew missing pieces.

  By the time they reached the undead, they were once again whole.